Page 19 of Royal Protector

I say nothing, unable to get over my shock.

I’ve never heard Martina speak like this. She’s never been, shall we say, a fan of vampires and witches, but her words were always politely judgmental, not these spiteful attacks. Has being here angered her that much?

“Change might be good,” I dare to say, and wince as she pulls my hair tighter into the curling wand. “We don’t have to stick to the old ways. Humans are always evolving out of their traditions. So why can’t we do the same? It can’t be healthy for our population to stay stagnant.”

“Things are the way they are for a reason,” she snaps. “Are you denying the wisdom of our ancestors?”

Yes, I want to say, but I stay silent instead, letting her continue her tirade.

“You are whoyouare for a reason. Your parents’ marriage was arranged based on their bloodlines, their connections. Their lives were planned out so they could bring you into the world. Dozens of people have been devoted to turning you into a symbol for our people. And you want to throw all that away for a chance to play senator with an Alpha werewolf and an Alpha vampire who think they are too good for traditions?”

“Martina, I—” I stammer, but she clamps her hand down on my shoulder.

Then, to my surprise, she scents me, bringing her nose close to my jugular and inhaling. She never scents me—we are not friends or family. We are simply forced to exist together.

“Maybe it isn’t the Alphas’ influences,” she murmurs, and my heart begins to race. “Maybe it’s someone closer. A certain bodyguard, perhaps.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” I say, my heart beating fast.

“I think you do, Isabella. I really think you do.” She thrusts the curling wand into my hair again and doesn’t speak until the process ends. She directs my makeup application with curt words, and zips me into my gown without ceremony. Only then does she look at me, her eyes wary but sad.

“Isabella, change isn’t everything,” she says softly. “Even when traditions hurt us, they are there to keep us strong. To keep our people strong.”

“I never asked for this responsibility,” I say bitterly, slipping on the high heels she hands me. I haven’t even looked in the mirror to see how the gown fits, because if I see myself dressed up like her so-called “symbol of peace,” I may burst into tears.

“No, you didn’t,” she says, and for the first time tonight, there’s a little bit of sympathy in her tone. “But it’s your responsibility nonetheless. I’ll give you a few moments.” She leaves my cabin, closing the door behind her with a soft click.

I can’t cry, even though my chest aches. I don’t want to cause Antoine distress when he comes to retrieve me, although, for all I know, he can feel my inner turmoil through the bond right now. He isn’t smashing his way into the cabin, though, so maybe not.

I also can’t cry because it will ruin my makeup; somehow, that stupid detail makes me even sadder. I can’t give in to my raw emotion because I’ll be less beautiful to those around me. Never mind that my heart and soul are breaking, eroding away into nothing because of Martina’s beloved traditions.

I sit on the bed, careful not to crush my dress or add any unsightly wrinkles to the satin fabric. As I do, the door opens slowly. Antoine steps in and closes the door, frowning at the knob. “Why was the door unlocked?”

“It was?” I ask, my brow furrowing. That isn’t like Martina at all. She harps on my safety even more than Antoine, and his guards do. “Martina was just here. She wasn’t in the best of moods. Perhaps she was too upset and forgot.”

Even as I say it, it sounds like a lie. Martina never forgets anything. My life would be a hell of a lot easier if she did.

Antoine takes slow, careful steps toward me. The bed dips under his weight as he sits next to me and puts an arm around my shoulders. “You’re sad. I can feel it.”

There’s no use pretending, not with him. “I am. I’m tired of being me. I’m tired of my life.” He inhales sharply, and I add quickly, “Not of living itself. Just of being what I am. I want to be more. So much more. And I can’t, not when my life has already been determined for me.”

He kisses me on the top of my head. Sullenly, I hope he messed up one of Martina’s curls when doing so. “Isabella, I don’t know how we’re going to get out of this mess. I don’t know how to help things change, and I’m not going to make promises about a better life for either of us. We’ve both been forced into situations that would take a miracle to escape. But what I can tell you is that even if we never move beyond what we are at this moment, you would still be so much more than you are. You are so clever, so smart, and yet so kind. You are more than a pretty picture.” He pauses and kisses my hair again. “Although, you are a very, very pretty picture indeed.”

I let out a shaky laugh. “It means more coming from you.”

He adjusts his arm around me so I can lay my head in the curve between his neck and shoulder. It feels like the safest place in the world to be.

“I want you to know that I love you,” he says suddenly, and I tense at the words. “Pretty soon, I’m not going to be able to say it, so I want to be able to say it to you as often as possible now. Maybe if I say it enough, you won’t forget it when I’m no longer around.”

“Oh, Antoine,” I cry out, turning and hugging around the waist. He rocks me in his arms, kissing my hair, temple, and cheek. “I could never forget you. I love you too. I know it is fast, but I do. I never want to lose you, even if I already know I will.”

A rap comes on the door, and Bastien’s voice rings out. “We’re ready to leave when you are.”

“We’ll be right there!” says Antoine. He lowers his voice to a whisper. “In a few days, closer to the end of the conference, I’ll talk to Jack and let him know the situation. If anyone can think of a way to change things, it would be him.”

I nod and pull away from him, smoothing out my hair. He stands first and holds out a hand to help me to my feet. Then, just like a few nights earlier, he places my hand in the crook of his arm, and we head out the door, ready to dance the night away in each other’s arms.

ANTOINE

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