Page 2 of Wicked Prince of Carnage
“Is the child yours?” he asked, his voice deep, beguiling, as he held up her arrow. But she only squinted at him. “Are you a mute?” His eyes danced with amusement.
“Step any closer and I’ll pierce your heart, wolf,” Sterling growled, even though she would most likely miss. She wasn’t certain hewasa wolf, but who else would walk in the forest without shoes or a shirt?
His gaze fell to the goat and her baby brother behind her. “I’m not going to eat the babe or your scrawny goat … oryou. I’m only returning your property.”
“Shifters will eat anyone.” She snatched the arrow from him and hurried to step back, lifting her bow once more.
“That’s true of some, I suppose, but I preferfinedining.” The boy yawned as though bored with her, looked around the forest, then at the basket again. “So? Is that your child?”
Her gaze hardened on him. “What if he is?”
“Where is his father?”
“Perhaps I killed him.”
He laughed, the deep sound echoing through the forest. “I doubt that’s true—you can’t even hold a bow correctly.”
Sterling narrowed her eyes further. “He’s my brother. My mother died.” She didn’t know why she told him that. It could’ve been the curiosity resting in his stare, or that out of sympathy he would leave them alone.
“We all lose our parents in the end.” He edged toward her, even though she didn’t slacken her grip on her weapon. “I suggest you leave the forest. The prince and his wolves are hunting a coveted prize. You wouldn’t want to get caught up in that.” Her court called him the Prince of Carnage because of the destruction he brought with him wherever he went.
“I’m not worried about that bastard prince,” she spat.
He blinked before his lips curved into a knowing smile, wolfish, and dimples buried themselves into his perfect cheeks. She hated to admit it, but his smile was pretty.
“Then you’re the only one,” he said.
“If the prince would stop tormenting Bloodstorm with his wolves and the court would take care of the poorer villages, then maybe my mother wouldn’t have died. Maybe she could’ve found decent work.” With supplies harder to come by in her village, most of the shops hadn’t been able to hire anyone.
He studied her for a long moment, his smile fading. “Go home. Unless you’re looking for trouble.” The boy turned to walk away, and she froze, a pit forming in her stomach as her gaze locked on the royal crest tattooed between his shoulder blades—the tip of a black spear, banded in red ink, piercing upward through a circle. This wasn’t any wolf shifter—this was the Prince of Carnage.Prince Winter.
Her heart pounded as uncertainty warred within her. She couldn’t release the arrow because she would probably miss and then he would kill her.
Once he vanished from her sight, she collected her things, holding her brother’s basket close, and tugged on the goat’s rope to find her grandmother’s home.
Every so often, Sterling glanced over her shoulder to see if Prince Winter was following her, but no one was there. The castle was well on the other side of the forest, so what had he been doing there? It was common knowledge in Bloodstorm that he’d lost his mother five years ago from an arrow to the heart. That grief didn’t excuse his actions, however. Picking fights with humans begging for food, stealing and murdering other’s livestock, sometimes eating it in front of them while nothing could be done since he was their prince. And there were the traitors he collected for his father, those he unleashed his wolves on.
Sterling knew the truth about him—he was born a wicked prince.
After crossing through the second river’s shallow depths, she neared a cluster of willow trees before spotting a cozy cottage, plumes of gray smoke curling from its chimney. Brown and green paint coated the front, berry bushes bloomed in a small garden, and chickens squawked in metal cages. Chimes clinked, and a wooden rocking chair creaked on the porch as the wind blew.
Sterling dropped the goat’s rope, then ran toward the door. “Grandmother!” she shouted. “Grandmother, it’s me—Sterling.” She reached the door and pounded her fist against the wood. “Let me in.”
Footsteps thumped behind her. “Sterling?”
She recognized that raspy female voice, and relief filled her.
“What are you doing here?”
Sterling spun around to find her grandmother, an axe hanging loosely from her hand. Her dark braid curled over her shoulder, highlighted by a handful of grays, and a few fine lines decorated the skin circling her mouth and eyes.
“Grandmother,” Sterling sobbed, setting down the basket and running to wrap her arms around her. The scent of peaches caressed her nose, the comforting smell her grandmother always carried with her. The axe dropped to the ground as she hugged her back. “Mother’s dead. She died during childbirth.”
Her grandmother pulled back, her lower lip wobbling. “Merri’s gone? And you camehere?” She took Sterling’s face between both hands, her eyes wide, brows raised in what looked like fear. “Get inside. Now.”
Sterling hesitated for a moment but did as her grandmother asked, collecting her brother on the way inside. The cottage smelled earthy, mixed with smoke from the fireplace. Shelves of books lined the sitting room, and two settees mirrored one another with a table between them.
Her grandmother closed the door and bolted the lock. “Well,” she said, blinking away tears, “let’s get this sorted over tea. We’ll have to get you both back home, and I’ll take care of you two there. This part of the forest has always been safe from wolves, but we can’t risk it.”
