Page 35 of Settle Down, Princess

His fated mate.

I winced at the idea fomenting in my mind. I’d never considered using key elements of a person’s nature against them, but I had no other options, so I shoved the guilt to one side. None of the men were so terrible that I wanted to hurt them, but if it came down to them or me, I was resolved. I would choose me every time. No one else would, not my father, nor even my own mother. My nails raked idly back and forth across the upholstery, snagging on the fine threads, as I considered what I needed to do.

Distract the men tonight and set them all off balance, then, while their heads were still spinning, I’d find others I could pay to be loyal who would get me beyond the borders of Stormare, beyond Khean, and beyond the known world. As far as it took to escape the long fingers of men who cared little for my happiness, my existence, anything.

I tore my hands away from the seat and began to unbutton the neckline of my dress, revealing first my collarbones, then my décolletage. I paused when I got to my breasts, then undid a few buttons there, too, until the very tops were bared. As the carriage continued to rock back and forth, I flicked the small latch hidden at the side of the diamond-encrusted setting of the pearl ring my mother had gifted me as I’d left the castle. Known as a poison ring, this type of jewellery had become wildly popular with the young noblewomen of Stormare, though they seemed only to use them as a place to keep a little extra sugar to add to their coffee. It was more the idea of wearing something that had the potential to be an aid to something illicit that had all the young married women twittering in excitement.

Well, I wasn’t about to pack my ring with sugar.

I opened the small wooden box my mother had given me and carefully added some of the powerful blend of roseblood to the small internal space that would be hidden once the ring was closed. Once I had tamped it down, I flipped the pearl in its diamond setting back over and clicked the latch into place. I returned the box to my bag and made sure there was no hint of roseblood to be seen, it didn’t seem long before the carriage slowed to an easier pace. For a few short minutes, the motion of the carriage was gentler, telling me we must have left the rutted road behind to travel on a smoother surface. Next thing, the horses were being pulled up and, above some general hubbub, I could hear Creed calling for an ostler to take the team.

Arik rolled his eyes when he saw me step out of the carriage at the inn, but his gaze, along with that of all the other men, followed me as I smiled at Creed and took the arm he offered. Silas rode up as we were walking toward the entrance. Sweat had turned his hair lank and stringy, but he sat tall in the saddle, gazing down at the two of us with a look I couldn’t decipher. Creed opened the door for me to precede him into the taproom, then followed me in, with Arik and Roan coming behind. As I glanced about the space, a kindly looking older man with a white beard stepped out from the bar, wiping his hands on a tea towel.

“And how many I be of service, sirs?” he asked.

I drew in a breath, ready to ask for a drink, but Arik thrust himself forward, gaining the innkeeper’s attention.

“We’re here on the king’s business.” He shoved a small leather bag of coins into the man’s chest, his eyebrows shooting up when he felt the weight of it. “A room…” Arik threw me a glance. “Two rooms for the night.”

“And a bath, if you would, kind sir,” I asked, in a much gentler tone, taking a coin from my own pocket and pressing it into the man’s palm.

“Of course, milady,” he said, sketching a quick bow. “I’ll have my boy start heating up the coppers right this minute. But, while you wait for the water to warm, perhaps a drink?”

“Gods’ balls, yes…” Silas growled, and I turned to see that he was heading in our direction, his eyes on the bar.

His trajectory would take him right past me, so I made my move. My nails flicked out, finding the cut in his pants as he passed, and I raked them across the scratch there. Silas stiffened, his next step aborted, but before anyone else could notice, I brought my hands back in front of me and clasped them neatly. Silas went rigid, then squared his shoulders and turned to me, staring openly.

“Of course, good sirs,” the innkeeper said. “I think you’ll find our humble cellars are well stocked. A nice, Lanzenian vintage from several years ago, perhaps?”

“I hope you know what you’re doing, Trouble.” I turned to find Roan watching me. He crossed his impressive arms over his chest as his lips curved into a smirk. “That’s a dangerous game you’re playing.”

“Well, you’ll be there to protect me if I don’t, won’t you?” I peered up at him from beneath my lashes and he burst out laughing before snaking an arm around my shoulders and steering me towards the bar, where the innkeeper was already pouring out glasses of wine. I rubbed my hand up and down his thick forearm. “I find it hard to believe there is any foe I would face that you would not be able to bring down.”

“Gods help me, but I will,” he said with a sigh, then looked down at me. “Though if you could avoid pitting me against the men I consider brothers, I’d appreciate it.”

“Why would I pit you against each other?” I asked, my eyelashes fluttering. “You work so well together when you’ve a mind to.”

His low groan and the way he tucked me in closer to his body made clear that he understood my meaning.

“My mother always said I’d be led, skipping, down the road to hell by a woman. Just didn’t expect her to be a diminutive princess.”

And that was the thing. People around me had always dismissed me due to my gender, my size, and my rank, and all of that had served to undermine my self-belief. However, the very things they thought made me weak seemed like strengths from where I was standing, because they’d never see me coming, in much the same way as the battle tactics Silas had tried to instil in me.

Chapter 21

“This is a good vintage,” I said, sipping from the glass of wine I’d been given. “Well rounded, smooth… and with a slight taste of apricot?”

The innkeeper beamed.

“Peach, milady, or at least that’s what the wine merchant says.”

“You’re not tempted to try it, Master Creed?” When I looked down the bar, the man had a long glass of thick, dark stout in front of him. “It’s very sweet.”

“Why I don’t like it,” he said, watching every move of my glass as it went to and from my lips. “Sickly stuff. Stout never pretends to be anything other than it is. It’s just beer.”

I felt a little pang at his words, as if he could see through my designs, so I moved forward to settle beside him.

“I’ve never tried stout before. Never had beer before the…”

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