The Prince With No Heart (10 page)

Violet couldn’t help remembering the naked seal king with her pretty mother slung over his huge shoulder, his big male hand caressing her bottom as he held her in place. Worse, she remembered how her father - who’d been dragged off first and was farther out in the water - had ceased struggling in his captors’ grip as the king approached. Her father’s handsome face had gone flushed and dazed, his lips slack with shock. At the time, Violet hadn’t recognized the expression. Now she wished she could erase her knowledge of what it was. Her father, the King of Arnwall, had been aroused at his kidnapping.

Violet jerked as Augustin cleared his throat, pulling her from her reverie. She hoped her thoughts weren’t showing. She’d told no one of her suspicions, and had no intention of changing that.

“Fishing is good here?” Augustin asked.

“It’s better than some places. Most years our fishermen make a good living.”

He nodded, his profile so finely carved his face could have graced a coin. “They may be alive,” he said, his compatible turn of thought causing her to blink in surprise. “You shouldn’t give up hope. Stranger things have happened.”

“Wherever they are, I pray they’re together. They loved each other very much.”

He turned to her, and her stomach dipped, the ground beneath her seeming to drop a foot. She realized she could love this man. With his gaze so quiet and steady, he seemed a rock in an upheaved world. It didn’t matter to her heart that he helped her reluctantly. She knew then that what he promised, he would fulfill.
His
word would be his bond.

She looked away before the sting behind her eyes rose to their surface.

“We should go on,” she said. “I’ve been away long enough.”

They encountered the first dead cow two miles short of her castle. The carcass lay in a ditch, intestines gutted, heart missing from its chest. A cloud of flies rose at their approach, but the beast hadn’t been dead long.

Prince Augustin stopped, looked down at the remains, then took her hand and pulled her gently away.

A second cow sprawled across the road further on, followed shortly by two sheep. The last still held a mouthful of clover between its teeth.

“This is just savagery,” the prince said grimly. “He’s barely eaten them.”

“It’s a message. To me, I expect. To torment me on my return.”

The prince’s fingers tightened around hers. “His wolf does not rule him then. Messages are the province of men.”

Violet couldn’t disagree. Her throat was too clenched for speech anyway.

A smaller shape, this one brown with white spots, lay curled under a pasture wall. Violet recognized it as the blacksmith’s dog. Tidbit was friendly creature, no taller than her knee, a pet to many in the village. More than once she’d seen Bojik toss sticks to it to retrieve.

“Bojik,
no
,” she murmured before she could stop herself. If he’d done this, he was truly lost.

Tidbit lifted his head and barked.

The dog wasn’t dead. It had only been sleeping. The depth of her relief astounded her. Was she honestly holding out hope that Bojik was redeemable?

“Well, well,” sneered a voice so low and gravelly it stood all her hairs on end. “Arnwall’s fair ruler condescends to return. And it looks like she’s brought a friend.”

Violet’s tormentor had been hiding in the branches of a broad thorn tree. He dropped lightly to his feet as he spoke. His brown eyes glowed with uncanny light, his fingernails transformed into claws. He wasn’t the man she’d left a few days ago. Then he could have been mistaken for a true suitor. Now, despite his smirk, the energy he radiated was dark and unhappy. He was dirty too, which he never had been before.

Steel rasped softly as Prince Augustin withdrew a blade from his boot.

Bojik’s grin bared incisors that had grown inhuman. “Ah, Princess Violet’s little friend has a stinger. This is going to be fun.”

Violet shot a glance at her champion, painfully aware that he wore no mail or armor - or even a linen shirt. The knife he’d pulled was long but far shorter than a sword. At least he held it like he knew what to do with it. His face was perfectly serene, his body crouched - for defense or attack, she supposed.

“I’m big enough to take you,” he said.

Augustin was taller than Bojik but not as brawny. Bojik laughed, and the men began to circle each other, scuffing up puffs of dirt on the dusty road. Though it was midday, no traffic stirred. Violet suspected her people were giving this cow-strewn thoroughfare a wide berth.

“Bojik,” she said, willing her voice to remain steady. “We should talk before we do this.”

Bojik ignored her, his glowing eyes fastened on Augustin. “Did she open her thighs for you, Goldilocks? Did you stick your little stinger into her cunt?”

Rather than deny it, Augustin smiled at him.

Bojik roared, brown wolf hair washing up his strong arms in waves. He dove toward Augustin with his claws outstretched. If he hadn’t been so outraged, he probably would have gored the prince with them.

Fortunately, Augustin was nimble. He ducked away from the leap, obliging Bojik to hit the dirt and roll. He was up in an instant, facing Augustin a smidgen more warily. Violet’s breath sucked in as she got a look at Bojik. He was half wolf now, his face lengthened by a muzzle, his furry chest so large it had torn the leather laces on his jerkin.

Apparently, Augustin was less impressed.

“Woof-woof,” he mocked, his knife ready before him. “Come and get it, doggy.”

Goading Bojik to lose his temper seemed a reasonable tactic, except an angry were-wolf was no ordinary opponent. This time Bojik charged the prince too fast to avoid. Because his strength was unnatural, his upward momentum carried both men over the pasture wall. They hit the sparse grass beyond with a series of tumbling thuds.

Violet heard a wolflike yelp, then a decidedly human cry of pain. At that, she absolutely could not stop herself from running to the wall to see what was happening.

She discovered the men on their feet again, each one’s hands clamped around the other’s throat. They seemed to be trying to push each other off balance. If the prince’s neck hadn’t been leaking thick red streams around the were-wolf’s claws, Violet might have thought them equally matched.

The sight of her champion bleeding jolted her heart up into her throat. A were-wolf’s claws weren’t forged weapons, and Augustin could be harmed by them. From the looks of the fan of red sliding down his chest, he probably could be killed.

“She’s mine,” Bojik snarled, the claim distorted by his wolf mouth. “No other man can love her as I do.”

Augustin grunted, his rear heel skidding backward on the grass. “A flea-bitten stray could love her better than you.”

Bojik’s arms exploded with a massive shove. Taken unprepared, Augustin’s feet slid out from under him. He tumbled back and Violet screamed, terror an icy fire in her veins. Bojik had the prince at his mercy. His giant malformed frame fell on him ...

And then, against all logic,
he
howled with pain. He was flying over Augustin’s head. He landed curled into a ball and retching. It seemed Augustin had driven both his boots full force to his testicles.

Augustin sprang onto his feet before the were-wolf could recover, his knees looking wobbly but strong enough. As quickly as he could, he searched the grass for his fallen knife, grabbed it, and strode forward.

“Bastard,” Bojik gasped, helpless to uncurl. “I
love
her. You tell me you can say as much.”

Augustin’s approach hesitated for one heartbeat. Violet’s fingers dug into the stones of the pasture’s wall. In that moment, she couldn’t have said what she was most afraid of. Bojik’s wolf features had receded, perhaps because of his pain. He looked young to her, barely a man at all.

“I’m sorry,” Augustin said, his fist tightening on his knife. “I can’t let that stop me from killing you.”

“Do it then. I’d rather die than watch her love you.”

He closed his eyes, and the prince’s knife arm flashed up. Violet knew he would hit Bojik’s heart. Her champion’s aim was too sure and her enemy too resigned. Violet’s palm clapped over her mouth.

God help him
, she prayed - and she didn’t mean the prince.

A snarling blur of brown and white streaked across the pasture as the blade descended. The blade thumped the center of Bojik’s chest, sinking resonantly through flesh and bone. To her surprise, both the men cried out. In the confusion, Tidbit had attacked Augustin. The terrier was smart enough not to target the prince’s boot. His jaw was clamped on his calf, his teeth holding his furry weight off the ground as Augustin tried to kick him loose.

“Don’t!” Violet pleaded, scrambling over the wall. “Don’t hurt him. He thinks Bojik is his friend. Bojik used to play with him.”

Augustin put his boot down without flinging off the dog. His neck still bled where Bojik’s claws had dug in, but Violet saw the holes were closing.

“Shh,” she said, bending to put her hands on the furious animal. “Let go now. Everything is all right.”

The dog relaxed as she petted it, dropping from Augustin with a whine. Violet was trembling from head to toe as she stood again. Augustin touched her shoulder, the eyes that met hers so somber she couldn’t keep hers from welling up.

“So,” said a shaky whispering laugh. “One sort of canine you will defend.”

The whisper was Bojik’s. Violet couldn’t believe he was still alive. Everyone knew heart strikes were fatal to were-wolves. He lay on his back behind Augustin, legs drawn up slightly in pain. The knife was stuck in him to its hilt, the gory hand with which Bojik wrapped too feeble to wrench it out.

Violet thought nothing of dropping to her knees beside him. She laid her hand on his rapidly paling cheek.

He laughed raspingly again. “Don’t know if I’ll die or not. I think ... my champion knocked your fellow’s aim off a hair.” He winced as blood trickled from his mouth. “You could give the dagger a final turn. That might be poetic.”

“Oh Bojik. Why couldn’t you let me go? Why did you have to turn violent?”

“It’s my nature,” he said. A tear fell from her face onto his. He blinked as it hit him, something that could have been remorse flickering through his expression. “I’m sorry, princess. I shouldn’t have hurt you.”

“
I
could have borne it. You shouldn’t have hurt my people.”

Her sudden anger sent a flinch through him. She didn’t know if he understood, nor why it mattered to her.

“Violet.” Augustin’s hand brushed against her hair. “Do you want me to finish him?”

Did she have a choice? Bojik was a monster. He’d become a danger to her people. Her rejection might have played a part in his descent, but it was he who’d decided how to respond.

Augustin met her questioning eyes gravely. “He is your subject, princess. You have the right to pronounce his sentence.”

“He might die even if we pull out the knife.”

“Yes,” Augustin agreed.

She looked back at Bojik. Could he change? Did he want to? She couldn’t read what was in his face aside from pain and perhaps a shadow of fear for death. Whatever he felt, she knew he was too proud to beg for mercy.

“We could leave you to God,” she said. “See if He wishes to spare you.”

Bojik shifted uneasily. “Princess -”

“I ask no vows.” Her tone as she interrupted was hard as stone. “Your word means nothing to me, but I hope you know I mean mine. If you survive your wound, you must leave Arnwall and not return. If we ever - and I do mean
ever
- hear of you wreaking havoc elsewhere, Prince Augustin and myself will immediately hunt you down. Make your choice, Bojik. Do I remove the knife, or do I give it - as you put it - a final poetic turn?”

Bojik’s eyes had widened, her resolute manner startling him. He licked dry lips, tasting his heart blood as he did so.

“Pull it out,” he whispered. “God or the devil take me as they desire.”

Augustin knew he should be reveling in triumph. He’d defeated a deadly were-wolf. He’d rescued a fair princess. Her people were at that moment feting him in their banquet hall. He simply couldn’t enjoy the accolades. Bojik’s words circled through his mind like a hoop rolling down a hill.

I
love
her. You tell me you can say as much
.

“To the Prince of Madrigar,” toasted yet another of Violet’s courtiers. The well dressed older man had risen from his seat, his drinking cup held aloft. “We cannot thank him enough for saving Arnwall’s most precious possession.”

They had no idea what a treasure she really was. The prince looked at her, sitting by his side at the high table, smiling quietly. She was dressed befitting her station in rich pink velvet slashed with chartreuse, her glorious red hair held up with pearl pins. An endearing blush adorned her low neckline, the modesty the blush suggested at odds with the passion he knew her to be capable of. He’d been stone-hard from his first glimpse of her in the gown, his erection scarcely contained by his borrowed tights and codpiece. If he lived an eternity, he would not forget the incredible sense of aliveness she made him feel.

Squirming on his hard high-backed chair, he thought back to how she’d freed Bojik from the knife that impaled his heart. She’d refused the prince’s help, planting her slipper on the were-wolf’s chest and pulling back so firmly she did him no further harm. She’d been as white as a ghost, but she had not quailed. If Bojik lived, it would be thanks to her courage and compassion. If he died - which he might; they’d left him bleeding and near a faint in the field - he knew she’d shoulder her part in that as well.

Augustin didn’t think he’d ever met a woman so fit to rule.

“To Arnwall’s jewel,” someone else cried out. “May she always grace us with her beauty!”

“I have something to say.”

The words came from Augustin. Though he hadn’t planned to rise, he was on his feet, his chased silver chalice lifted before him. Its rim was dented, as was much of Arnwall’s silver. He pushed that thought aside as the hall quieted for him. A hint of heat touched his cheeks, informing him he was flushed. Since he couldn’t quash the reaction, he pretended it wasn’t there.