Page 54 of Taken By the Shadow Prince

No, I’ll let her go if that’s what she wants.

But if I somehow convince her to stay, convince her that Atheya is her home, where she belongs...

Then I will make her my Princess. I will give her a title and a throne and a ring, if she wants it—though I feel that it’s a foolish Aligrian tradition that says love can be bought.

Love is not bought. It is earned.

And I’ll be damned if I do not earn Mavey’s.

I try not to think about that as I step out of the bath that has long-since grown cold. I should have been out an hour ago, but I got caught up in watching her—as she did next to nothing. She stirred a tonic, drank it, then got into bed and closed her eyes. Something to help her sleep, I presumed. But then she’d opened her eyes and watched the door for forty-five minutes before angrily turning away from it and, after fifteen more minutes, finally falling asleep—either with the help of the tonic or without it. I can’t imagine staring at a door or a wall to be much fun, even if youarecrossing your fingers that someone will walk through it.

I dry myself off before heading to my closet and finding something to wear. It’s lunch time here in Atheya—so I’ve got about seven hours before I head back to Aligris with my herd of half-breeds.

It’s actually because of the difference in time that I figured it would be best if I brought the demon witches in ahead of time—not only so they could train, but so they could get on the right schedule and not fight while half-asleep. I’m sure that wouldn’t do much for the cause, even if their magic is far more expansive than a regular witch or a fae’s magic.

I finish getting dressed, fight the urge to check to make sure Mavey’s still asleep, and then call for lunch—which, last time I was here, I hadwithMavey.

I almost laugh at how fucking pathetic I am, over this mortal girl, who I want so desperately to be mine, who may never love me the way I love her, and who may very well die before she’s willing to admit she has any sort of feelings for me.

Almostbeing the key word, of course. There is nothing funny about this.

Instead, I press two fingers to my lips and kiss them, sending them to her with a thought that technically does nothing but has me hoping she feels it, anyway.

Because if I’m going to be pathetic for anyone, I’m glad it’s for her.

But it is torture. The worst kind, being away from her. The self-inflicted kind at that. Then again, what right do I have to call myself a demon, to dole out punishments to anyone who I find even minutely repulsive, if I cannot handle a bit of that cruelty myself?

Chapter 30

Mavey

his return

Armin arrives shortly after the news of a large group of demon-witches arriving at the front gate is delivered to me in the form of a letter written by Mair but delivered by Isa.

The card is full of an overwhelming amount of gratitude that I’m not sure I deserve. I simply made the bargain—Armin collected them all.

So, I show him the letter when he arrives and try to pretend like I am not immensely relieved to have him back at my side. Perhaps by the end of my five years with him, I’ll have finally grown tired of him and will be more than happy to leave him behind.

Something about that seems highly doubtful to me, but I push that thought aside as Armin shrugs and sets the letter down on my end table before huffing and lying down on my bed, arms behind his head as he closes his eyes. “It’s good she’s grateful for your sacrifice,” he says. “Suppose that’ll make it an easier pill for her to swallow when you disappear from the realm here in a bit, right?”

I frown at him. “I meant foryouto take her gratitude, Armin.”

He opens one eye, raises one brow. “Why would I?”

“You’re the one who found them.”

He shrugs, shakes his head as best as he can while lying flat on his back. “They found me, technically. And you most certainly deserve the gratitude, you cruel girl. It’s your sacrifice that’s afforded her those weapons.”

“They’repeople.”

He somehow manages to shrug with his facial expression. “Sure,” he says, “But you plan to use them as weapons, yes?”

I shrug. “I suppose.” I pause. “And don’t call me cruel. I’m no such thing.”

His lips curve upward, and he closes that eye again. “You are far more cruel than you might ever know, Mavey. But trust me, I like you all the more for it.”

I study him. His face, the expression far softer than it was when we first met. Much more relaxed. So is the way he lays, as if he hasn’t a care in the world, as if he doesn’t fear me, the possibility that I might kill him.

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