Page 23 of To Charm a Dark Prince

“I…I mean, there has to be a way—”

“No. No, theredoesn’thave to be a way, you idiot child. That is not how the world works. You are the prisoner of the exact person you were supposed to help me defeat. He’s—” Merlin looked over at the door, his one good ear twitching. “Shit.Tell him nothing. It might be the one thing that’ll save us both from that fate.”

“Wait—”

The door opened with a creak just as Merlin disappeared into thin air with little more than a wisp of smoke. She pulled the blankets tightly around herself and cowered in the corner of the cell. Like it’d do any good. There wasn’t anybody else in there with her.

The thing that stepped into the room might have been a man. But it looked more like cobbled-together, mismatched, and deformed armor than a human as it lumbered toward her. It was chaotic but angular and strangely beautiful, like a Picasso painting. From within the seams of its breastplate she could see a dim, opalescent glow.

“Whoa.” That was the best she could do.

It stopped at the door to her cell. “The prince would like you to join him.” It was a man, judging by the voice. And it sounded normal, considering the circumstances. Nothing on the armor creature moved when it spoke, kind of like Merlin.

“Um…” She looked down at herself. Under the blanket, she was wearing the white cloak that the silver knight had handed over. Whatever. She tried to balance her brief interaction with the prince with the warning from Merlin. Furrowing her brow, she thought it over for a second. “And if I say no?”

“I’m supposed to drag you there. Without the cloak, specifically.” The thing sniffed dismissively. “Doesn’t matter to me either way.”

“Had to ask.” She sighed. Standing, she wrapped the cape around herself tightly and made sure she was as covered as she could be. It reached to the floor, and she felt more like she was wearing somebody’s queen-sized comforter than a cape. At least she wasn’t going to freeze to death. “I’ll go.”

“Good.” The armor turned and led her out of the room. She followed after him, trying to take everything in around her.

Never once in her life had she ever set foot inside a medieval castle. It was a lot less rustic than she would have expected. The ceiling had high, gothic arches and wooden beams crossing between them. The walls were made of various materials as she wandered through—some wood, some stone, and some made unsurprisingly out of metal.

She passed people who paused to stare at her. She fought the urge to stare right back. Every single one of them looked like the guard leading her—made out of metal. Some appeared more or less human than others. They were beautiful and artistic, each one slightly different than the next. But they gave her the willies all the same.

Something about them just feltwrong.

Frowning to herself, she pulled the cloak around her tighter as they passed rows of hallways, stanchions with pale-colored flames, tapestries, and beautiful but faded works of art. When the guard took her to a large, shut double door, he pushed it open and gestured for her to go inside.

Stepping into the room, she heard the door click behind her. The guard had shut it behind her without following. That only meant one thing.Ah, shit.

“Come in, Lady Gwendolyn.”

Ah, double shit.

Swallowing the lump in her throat, she turned to look into the room. It was an enormous great hall. A fire burned brightly in the gigantic hearth that dominated one wall. She had seen pictures of walk-in fireplaces in history books and magazines of architecture, but they weren’t exactly common in Kansas.

The table that stretched through the room was made of gleaming metal that had all the appearance of an elaborately carved antique. Atop the table were plates of food, a jug, and a gold goblet filled with what looked like wine from where she was standing.

Great. More wine.

Standing in front of the fire, his back to her, was the prince. He wasn’t wearing most of his armor, though his arms were still covered up to the shoulders. The plates didn’t look nearly as bulky as before—it took her a second to realize they weren’t part of the same set. But one thing remained…the claws.

The pale flickering light cast him in a sharp silhouette, not helping how intimidating he was. He held a second gold goblet perched between the talons of one of his hands. Lifting it to his lips, he downed the contents before finally turning and setting it on the table next to a throne at the head of it.

She froze as the man approached her, watching him with wide eyes. Slowly, as if afraid that he was going to spook a frightened animal, he walked toward her, his hands clasped behind his back. He watched her closely with those searing, rust-colored eyes. She fought the urge to turn and run, so she settled on retreating away from him.

When she backed into a large wooden table, she squeaked, startled. In the space of time it took her to glance down at the offending piece of furniture and back up, he had closed the distance between them, and was only a foot or two away.

She had never felt so small in her life. God, he washuge.He was wearing an unbleached linen shirt with the V of the neck unlaced, tucked into a pair of black canvas trousers that disappeared into knee-high black leather boots. It seemed shockingly casual for someone who was a prince—but she supposed she knew extremely little about what people in Avalon wore.

She couldn’t help but stare.

And it seemed he noticed.

The back of a claw rested underneath her chin and tilted her head up to him. It would be so easy for him to rip out her throat. Swallowing thickly, she had to know whether or not that was going to be the case. “Can…can we get something out of the way, like, first?”

He arched an eyebrow—it was the same odd gray tone as his hair. “Oh?”

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