Page 70 of Bound to the Shadow Prince

A man steps forward, a pickaxe in his hand. He’s framed by the blistering sunshine, and I can’t make out his face. “Well, well,” calls out a crude voice. “You must be the princess.”

I don’t like his tone. It sets my shoulders on edge. “How very astute of you,” I say in my bitchiest princess voice. “Were you expecting someone else to be locked in the tower as the Royal Offering?”

He steps across the threshold and into the light of my magical lamp, and grins at me. The first thing I notice—after I get over my initial shock—is the absolute stench of him. He’s filthy and it’s clear from his reek that he hasn’t bathed in ages, if ever. The smile he sends in my direction is full of blackened, yellow teeth surrounded by a bushy, untamed beard. His clothesare crude, too, and he eyes me up and down. “You look well fed, princess.”

“Piss on you,” I snap. “Get out of this tower. You’re not supposed to be here.” Even now, just seeing him step across the threshold makes me anxious. There’s something about his manner that tells me he’s up to no good. He’s clearly not been sent by the king. He’s not wearing livery and I’ve never seen such a grimy individual in my life.

The man turns his pickaxe menacingly in his hand, as if to remind me that he holds it. He lifts his chin at me. “Where’s your food?”

I frown. “Get out.”

“I will just as soon as you give me all your food.” He grins again. “We need it more than you do.” The filthy man eyes me again, his gaze on my prominent breasts. “You’ve got a bit of padding to last you, after all.”

“Quit flirting and just get the food,” another man calls from the doorway. He peers in but makes no move to cross the threshold, as if he’s worried about the goddess’s wrath.

“She’s going to show me, aren’t you, princess,” says the man with the pickaxe. He takes another menacing step towards me. “Maybe if she’s real nice, I’ll leave her a few bites. She’s a pretty piece.”

A larger man steps inside, this one almost as tall as Nemeth, but thin. He looks just as grimy as the first man and just as poor, and he leers at me as well. “I’ll give her something to eat.”

And he grabs his crotch.

“Get your revolting selves out of this tower,” I demand. “I’m not giving you anything. Those supplies are mine and are meant to last me because I must stay as part of my goddess-sworn duty.”

“Piss on the goddess,” the bigger one says, marching forward. “We need food.”

Starving peasants? I’ll treat them like they are inferiors, just to cow them a bit. I flick my fingers at them dismissively, not showing the fear that’s skittering up my spine. “You can’t have my supplies. Get out of my tower. Go to the capital. Go to the king. He will feed you.”

The bearded one moves closer to me, grinning. “You don’t get to tell me what to do, princess.”

And before I can react, he reaches out and backhands me, knocking me to the floor. The luminescent globe lamp in my hand crashes to the stones a moment before I do, shattering into a thousand pieces as pain blooms through my face.

I cry out as my head hits the stone. A split-second later, my cry is drowned out by an angry roar.

Nemeth.

“Now you will die.” He stalks out of the shadows like a menacing demon, his wings flaring outward and making him appear enormous.

The men take a momentary step back, and then the bearded one steps over me while the tall one moves forward, holding his pickaxe. “Stand down, Fellian. We just want food.”

“You will get nothing from us.” I’ve never heard him sound so lethal. He stalks forward, toward the man with the pickaxe.

“Then we’ll fight you for it,” the man says, and surges towards Nemeth.

I bite back a scream as the two males clash. Staggering to my feet, I try to make out what’s happening in the darkness. Light pours in from the doorway, and there are more men waiting there, staring into the shadows as Nemeth scuffles with the peasant. The other, taller man jumps into the fray, and there is nothing but the snarls and thuds of fists hitting muscle. A wet, tearing sound pierces the air, overly loud, and I suck in a breath, watching in horror to see who is going to emerge from the struggling cluster of limbs.

SNAP.

Chapter

Forty-Two

That was bone. I know it was.

Horrified, I watch as a figure tumbles to the floor. It’s the man with the pickaxe and beard, his unseeing eyes staring in my direction. A brief moment later, there’s another terrifying snap, and I watch in shock as Nemeth strides towards the gaping doors. He flings the other man—now limp—towards the bystanders. “I will murder all of you if you try to take what is mine,” he snarls, voice unrecognizable. “Set one foot inside this tower anddareme!”

The men run, shrieking.

I watch in silence as Nemeth storms back in toward me. He scoops up the other dead man, returns to the doors, and flings the man outside with a swing, the dead body making a loud thud on the sands. Then, he closes the doors, and the last of the sunlight disappears, shrouding us in total darkness once more.

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