Page 4 of Princess of Thorns and Ruin

“Who’s that?” I ask, pointing to the older man.

She peeks into her planner. “Leopold Callas. Reputable family, but old. The Bringer made an exception about his age because the family’s preferred candidate died unexpectedly last week. He lives on the mainland and booked his ferry ticket late last night.”

The crowd parts for me as I make my way to him.

He’s not like the men I know. He’s…larger. His hands are twice the size of mine, and they look rough and used. Even though he’s wearing a suit, he’s not as clean-cut and pampered as the other candidates.

While his posture downplays his height, the color of his eyes steals my tongue. Green, lush irises meet my gaze before he bows his head. He must have shaved in a hurry because he missed a tiny spot underneath his jaw, the remnants of stubble visible. My fingers itch to reach for it, but I keep my arms firmly at my sides.

“Your highness.” The greeting is both gruff and quiet.

“Are you hiding from me, Mr. Callas?” I ask with exaggerated solemness.

“Yes,” he answers quickly.

I grin at his honesty. “You’re not mingling. Or eating. Why?”

“I’m—” He closes his mouth and shakes his head. “It’s all very intimidating.” The wrinkled white undershirt clings to his skin, the edge of a tattoo visible beneath his collar.

The ink drawing tickles my curiosity, and I try to guess its shape, but too much of it disappears below the stuffy fabric. The day is particularly hot, and I bet Leopold is sweaty under that thick jacket of his—and I’m grateful for my light blue dress. He seems to be thinking the same thing, his eyes fixed on the hem of silk at my mid-thigh like he’s curious to touch it. A strange energy sticks in the air, pulling me in.

“You’re intimidated by me, Mr. Callas?” I slide closer and gaze up at him. Leather and musk caress my nose, along with a zest of citrus and the sting of a salty ocean breeze…

“You’re a vampire princess,” he says slowly, like he’s reminding himself.

“Just a princess…for now.” I bite back a grin. “My entourage told me you decided to show up for the ceremony on a whim. You booked your ferry ticket last-minute. Why?”

His shoulders move nervously under his jacket. “I’m 29, your majesty. I didn’t think I had much of a chance.” The deep rumbles of his Greek accent scatter goosebumps across my neck.

I raise a brow. “Why should I choose you? Since you’re old and fickle?”

Leopold pushes himself off the wall, fire raging in his green eyes, and his voice is not timid nor servile when he answers, “I am not fickle.”

A dizzying warmth blossoms in my chest, our eyes locked in a battle he certainly intends to win.

Another candidate approaches us from the side, his brows pulled together in stark disapproval. “You dare raise your voice to your princess, Callas?”

Leopold stiffens and bows his head again. “Pardon me, your highness.”

I want to slap the newcomer for interrupting, but the strange energy has vanished, and Leopold keeps his gaze firmly planted on the ground. With a cold nod, I greet the new candidate.

“Princess, it’s such an honor to meet you.” The man has dark hair and an easy smile. “I’m Glenn Floyd.” He’s drop-dead gorgeous, too, with sharp gray eyes and a proud chin. “I’d love to see the gardens.”

“Lead the way, Mr. Floyd.” It’s only fair to meet every candidate, and Mr. Callas certainly isn’t eager to escort me through the gardens.

Glenn links his arm in mine and guides me under the big stone arch. Roses stick out of the bushes and graze his jacket as we weave along the path.

“It’s your last stroll under the sun, princess.”

A boulder pulses in my throat. “My last pleasant one. Tell me about yourself, Mr. Floyd.”

We walk along the tortuous path while Glenn recounts all the wonderful things his family’s accomplished, and his own many gifts. I find myself spacing out during most of the conversation, my mind occupied with the gravity of the decision I have to make in less than an hour.

My future, my legacy, my happiness hinges on this…vapid brunch.

When we round back to the buffet, Glenn kisses my pulse point, and while one part of me is flattered to receive the undivided attention of such a gorgeous man, another squirms at how rehearsed his manners feel.

I scan the bustling room. Dessert has been served, and the free-flowing alcohol loosened the candidates’ tongues. Eager to please the Bringer for his efforts, I meet a dozen more of them.

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