Page 153 of My Dark Horse Prince

Actually, there aren’t really any men.

There’s a woman her two young children. A lady carrying a bag of groceries walking past. There’s a teenage kid with a dog. And there’s one man, talking on a cell phone. He’s wearing a bright blue scarf, he has hair so dark that it’s almost black, and when he looks up at me, his eyes exactly match his scarf.

He’s drop-dead gorgeous. Like a print ad model for Calvin Klein. He smiles, and even though I never date and have no intention to, my heart still swoons.

I can’t help smiling back.

A moment later, he hangs up his call and stands. Then he starts to stroll toward me. I mean, this happens sometimes. I’ll meet some stranger’s eye and he’ll approach me. Ask for my number. I may be a mess, but like Mirdza’s bestie, I’m blonde, thin, and pretty.

It’s just a really bad time to deal with this.

I’d hate for the beautiful stranger to get caught in the crosshairs of this mess. I glance at my watch and realize it’s now only five minutes until Nojus’s deadline, and the stranger is a few paces away and closing.

“I’m dating someone,” I say. “Sorry.”

“I know,” he says. “I wish I could give Aleksandr my regards. Maybe someday soon.”

The bottom falls out.

How could this man be the one threatening my sister? He looks like he could be mugged by a Backstreet Boy with a pair of safety scissors. I’m suddenly much more worried about the men Nojus is sending, and annoyed by the fact that I mailed my cell phone to myself with a dramatic note.

“Is this some kind of prank?” I ask. “Because Mirdza—”

“I just told my men to release her.” He tilts his head sideways, examining me. “You’re taller than I thought from the photos after winning the Grand National. And have you gained a bit of weight?”

This guy is rude, too. “Now, listen here.”

“Oh, I am delighted to listen to anything you care to say,” he says. “You’re really a marvel to me, you know. When the men told me their powers just dissolved when they touched you, I thought they were lying. They’re creative in excusing their failures, you know, always have been. That’s the problem with people who were raised wealthy. They’re always full of excuses.”

Raised rich? Kristiana was raised rich, too, but not like, Aleksandr levels of rich, I guess.

“What did you want to tell me?”

I decide I should tread lightly. Maybe he has men stationed where I can’t see them, in the buildings all around the park or something. He looks like a trust baby people might report to.

“Why did you want me when your problem’s with Aleksandr?” There. That’s a good question. Maybe he’ll tell me something I can use.

“My problem isn’t with Aleksandr, actually. It’s with someone named Baba Yaga, if it’s with anyone, but even she did us all a huge favor.” He gestures at the bench.

I think he might be insane.

If the men following him are also crazy, that would explain their threats. No one was really in trouble, but when someone threatens you, it’s hard to realize that. Especially Mirdza. She’s been afraid of everything and everyone since the Martinš incident. Once you start running, it’s hard to stop.

“Baba Yaga? Are you kidding?”

When he smiles, he looks even prettier than I realized he could. “You don’t believe me?” He sighs. “It’s a shame that the revolution I started created so many complete zealots, but when you light a match, it’s hard to control the flames entirely. They burned so many things that we really should have kept.”

Revolution? Fire? What’s he saying?

“Here’s the thing, Kristiana. I’m genuinely worried you’re a threat to me. So while you arouse my curiosity, I think I’m probably safer just killing you.”

The idea that this fop might kill me is laughable.

Then again, he thinks I’m Kristiana. She hasn’t trained in martial arts. She hasn’t thrown a high-stakes horse race, or cut off someone’s finger when they were groping her. Luckily, that made Nojus laugh—he was actually angrier at his man for doing it than he was at me for defending myself. He kept thinking I would someday come around to wanting him.

As if my thoughts summon them, his men show up right then. I’m actually impressed to see that he sent a dozen men. I’ve met all but three of them, and the ones I’ve met are all decently strong and reasonably competent. The others look like kids who probably tagged along to learn something.

“Who are they?” the print model asks. “I thought Aleks might be somewhere near—hoped he would, if I’m being honest—but it didn’t occur to me he’d hire goons to come after me.” He laughs and it’s surprisingly melodic. “What’s the point?”

---