Page 11 of The Wicked Prince

Robin looked at him out of the corner of her blue eyes, putting on a good portrait of confidence, but he could see the cracks. She whispered, “Robin is my name.”

“No. It’s not.”

Robin froze completely beneath him.

“Sign your name, Roberta.”

He could feel her swallow thickly and struggle to breathe. She stared at her hand, the ink staining her fingers from where she’d stopped signing. “How do you know that?”

John laughed softly, leaning his head against hers and murmuring, “Sign. The people are waiting for their princess.”

Robin signed.

Lady Roberta of Locksley.

As soon as the quill had left the page, he squeezed her waist and said, “When you turn around, smile. Just because you tried to weasel out of this deal doesn’t mean I’m going to fail to uphold my end or that you can get away with not doing your part. The unrest doesn’t go away if the people don’t buy our marriage is somewhat willing. They’ll think I trapped you.”

Robin straightened up against him as the officiant took the quill from her and took the papers away. She whispered, “You have.”

Fine. Maybe it was a trap.

Like everything John did, it was magnificent at the very least.

Chapter5

Robin didn’t know how she did it. How she managed to face the crowd in the throne room and walk out of it. How she ended up on a balcony, looking down at a crowd of people, Prince John’s hand on her waist keeping her side pressed against his, as he gave some kind of speech. She looked for faces she recognized, for anyone she’d ever helped, but they were too far away.

She had no idea what Prince John said other than the fact that he called her Princess Robin. Not the other name. He took her hand and lifted it up to the crowd, trying to show off the gold band that Robin doubted anyone could even see. Then he was pulling on her arm and she realized she needed to kneel as the officiant—who had apparently been with them on the balcony the whole time—opened a box containing a tiara.

Oh. Right. This was also a coronation.

Of course John was doing it in front of the people he was more worried about and not the nobles in the throne room. The veil was pulled out of her hair and handed off to someone—Marian?—as John placed the tiara on her head and started going through her vows to the country now that she had already said vows to him.

She couldn’t remember saying the words, but she must have because at some point a hand was beneath her chin, tilting her face up as another hand took her arm and helped her rise. She stumbled on her ridiculous, voluminous skirts, her legs tangling up in the fabric. She was saved from falling back to the balcony floor by John snaking an arm around her back and pulling her flush against him. She caught herself on his arms and started to get her legs beneath her but then John’s lips were on hers again. Her legs buckled again as he kissed her for a much different crowd, covering her near fall by making it look like an impassioned movement.

She regained just enough awareness to make use of the ridiculous skirts she had on to kick John in the shin hard enough that he pulled back, but he still had that awful smirk on his face.

The sun was setting.

John turned back to the crowd and said in lieu of an exclusive ball in the castle that would normally accompany such a royal wedding, because he was marrying a woman of the people, they were taking the celebration to the city and creating a new tradition, involving the people in their happy day and not just the noblemen.

Robin’s stomach turned. It was all politics, just for show, but it was clever. Just like their marriage.

But it did take the crowd that had been a mix of jeering, booing, and cheering aback.

Somehow she made it off that balcony, and once she was out of sight of the public, she started hyperventilating. She couldn’t breathe. The tiara on her head and the ring around her finger were so much heavier and so much tighter than any of the chains she’d been in before. Her vision blurred, and she had one hand on the bodice, the jewels on it digging into her skin. Why was it so tight?

She’d signed her real name.

She was actually married to Prince John. There would be no escape.

She should have taken the gallows.

“—not helping, Your Highness!”

“Well, I’m not going anywhere. You might have forgotten because it happenedsolong ago, but I’m her husband. If anyone has a right to be here, it’s me.”

Robin blinked. She wasn’t in a hallway anymore. Someone had an arm around her shoulders and was rubbing her arm comfortingly. The hand was too small to be a man’s.

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