Page 3 of Wicked Prince of Shadows
My heart stopped, and my fingernails cut into my palms.
“Hello, princess.” His voice was languid and dark with a rumble that chilled. “The hour grows late, and my patience is short. Cause me no grief, and I’ll do you no harm.”
“I-I’m not the princess.” My voice sounded like it was coming out of a dream, weak and airy. I hated it, but I could barely draw a full breath. “I’m an herbalist. A gardener.”
“Are you trying to lie to me, girl? You stand here in the royal garden in the princess’s garb with her rings. I’m not in the mood for poor lies. If you’re going to lie to me, at least strive to make it interesting. You’re far too young to be the royal herbalist.” He stepped toward me. Dark, oily shadows coiled around him, and the moonlight highlighted the sharp planes of his face.
I darted back and snatched the goblet. “No. I’m not the royal herbalist! I’m just a commoner, but—” I’d almost betrayed Enola. If he was looking for the princess, that meant he wanted her, and I wasn’t just going to hand her over. She was my friend! “You’re in the wrong place.”
His eyebrow arched, and he took a step closer. “You expect me to believe you’re a commoner who just so happens to be in the quiet garden intended for the princess on the night of a sacred festival when she is to be meditating on the plight of her people?” His head cocked. “So that makes you a pretty little imposter playing at being the princess?”
“Stay away from me.” I flung the goblet at him.
The white wine and sliced fruit struck his face first, followed by the goblet hitting his chest. It shattered when it struck the polished marble tiles. Wine dripped from his face and soaked into his embroidered robe and down onto his trousers.
“Effective.” He wiped his hand over his face. “At least if your intention was to annoy me.”
“I’m not going with you. I’m not the princess, and I’m certainly not a descendant of the Giving Queen, and you aren’t welcome here. So go away.” I shooed him as if he were a spine beetle or a murk rabbit while the voice in the back of my head screamed I was an idiot. “Shoo.”
His brow furrowed, and he looked at me as if I’d grown a second head. “Did you just tell me toshoo?”
“Shoo.” I said it again louder and picked up the carafe with my right hand. I could kill a plague rat or a spine beetle with a palm rock at thirty paces.
He pointed one clawed hand at me. “Woman, donot?—”
I flung the carafe at him. It struck him in the chest, and wine splashed on his face before dropping. The glass shattered as bits of fruit scattered. “I’m an herbalist, and I’m not going with you into your cursed realm! So enough.”
He released a heavy sigh and then drew his hand over his face to wipe away the wine. Grapes, peaches, and orange slices clung to his embroidered robe. He flicked a grape off his sleeve. “Well, that was foolish.” He wiped his hand over his face again. “Princess?—”
“Donottouch me. I’m not going with you anywhere!” I bolted toward the two double doors set at the eastern end of the garden in the pale marble wall. I flung myself at the handle and ripped it back, but it refused to budge, only rattling within its frame.
“Princess…” His voice sounded directly behind me.
I ran to the next wall. I would jump off the wall into the outer courtyard. My feet struck the marble, but when I reached the wall, an invisible barrier that smelled like rot held me back. It was clearer than glass, but not a sound seeped through. I could see the festival in the town on the other side, though the bright fire was dulled and the colors had dimmed.
"This is becoming tiresome." His voice was near my ear, close enough that I could feel the chill radiating from him. “You aren’t handling this in a dignified manner.”
Like the hells I'd be dignified! I whirled around, my borrowed skirts tangling around my legs.
The Hollow King stood mere inches away, clear wine still dripping from the stitches that held his face together. “You will come back with me and be my bride as the curse requires.”
“Go sodomize yourself on a rusted pike,” I snapped, my voice shaking despite my rough words. Bride to the Hollow King? My very being screamed in terrified response.
His eyebrow lifted, and his smile curled higher, revealing fangs. “Well, at least that’s a more interesting statement than pretending to not be the princess when you’re wearing her clothes and her jewelry.”
I ripped my shoes off, pulled the heavy dangle earrings from my ears and the bracelets from my wrists, and put them in the shoes to weigh them down. Then I pulled off one of the veils. “I will hurt you if you come any closer.” I tied the veil to the embroidered blue slippers. “Don’t test me.”
“I don’t see any more glasses of wine,” he said with dry contempt, his gaze flicking over me. “And if you think throwing your shoes at me will somehow stop?—”
I flung one slipper at him with all my strength. It struck him in the face with surprising force, the decorative beading leaving a scratch across his grey cheek.
"You little—" he started, but I'd already yanked it back by the veil and whipped it at him again, this time catching him in the eye.
He hissed, a sound like steam escaping hot metal. His jaw clenched, the stitches working as his wings flared out. “You are making a grave?—”
Teeth clenched, I struck him a third time in the mouth and shoved him back. Not hard enough to knock him off the wall unfortunately. His hand flew to his mouth.
"Enough!" His hand shot out, grabbing the veil as I tried to pull back for another strike. The fine fabric stretched between us, his claws puncturing holes in the delicate material.
