Likely all the rough edges of life had been softened for her—just has they’d been for Tamas. Their father had seen to that. No unpleasantness ever touched his heir. Why should it, when Bane was there to deal with any difficulties, instead? Should not a future king be protected from strife and grief and pain? What more important purpose did Bane have but to ease his twin’s way?
So Tamas knew nothing of suffering. When plagues had swept the palace, courtiers and servants were made to wear happy smiles so as not to disturb Tamas, no matter how they grieved those lost—and so sickness was not so very bad. When a blight destroyed the fields and the kingdom starved, feasts still appeared on Tamas’s table—and so hunger was not so very bad. The worst pain Tamas had ever known was his broken arm, his healing aided by palace physicians and numbing potions—and so any injury caused by neglected roads or by misfortune was not so very bad…and there was no need to spend his gold on repairs or assistance.
And from Sapphira’s own lips—in agreement with her mother and father—Bane heard that the undying scourge’s invasion into their southern Phairan villages was not so very bad. Because the Gocean army had stopped them so quickly.
But they hadn’t been fast enough. And unlike that king and queen and princess, Bane had seen the shredded bodies, those lucky dead who were spared the horror of a transformation into the beasts that slaughtered their own families. He could still smell the blood until his lungs seemed to drown in it. He could still hear the villagers’ screams—and some nights bolted upright with his own screams locked between his teeth as the scourge’s venom pulsed agony through his veins and turned his rage into claws and fangs.
They couldn’t even conceive the suffering that Bane had saved them from.
So he would take that kingdom as his due. He’d take his brother’s bride, claim Phaira’s crown, and lock the royal family into a palatial chamber where they could be pampered for the rest of their pointless lives.
And Bane would feel no remorse at all.
Because surely, what he planned was not so very bad.
At its heart, the plan was simple. The Phairan royal visit would last near to a full month—time enough for treaties and settlements to be argued, agreed upon, and written before the visit culminated in a wedding. In that time, Tamas and Sapphira would likely meet often, but always in company of her parents and other officials. Never would they have a moment alone.
Bane would create that time alone. Finding the opportunity would pose no issue. Servant gossip told him that the princess preferred retiring to her bedchambers early, whereas Tamas always enjoyed revelries late into the night.
So Bane would shave his beard and cut his hair to match his brother’s, don court robes instead of a general’s armor, and visit her chambers. There he’d claim that he wanted to spend time with the princess, to learn more about her without the eyes of the kingdom upon them. He’d flatter and praise her.
Then he’d seduce her—and make certain that her parents and his brother found him in her bed with his seed still wet between her thighs.
Simple…except for the sheer number of personal guards that secured the Phairans’ guest chambers. Far more guards than a visiting family usually brought—but they likely protected more than the royals themselves. At the dinner, the king, queen, and princess had sparkled with enough gold and jewels to outshine the sun.
So, more guards than Bane expected. But he appreciated a challenge.
Except there wasn’t one.
The princess made it so easy for him. He emerged from his personal quarters, absently rubbing the now-bare skin of his jaw, and there she was—about fifty paces away, standing in the wide gallery that served as a corridor leading to the royal chambers, examining a painting on the wall.
Evenly spaced torches lit the corridor, throwing out splashes of firelight. Bane stepped into the shadows between to watch her unseen.
She carried a candle to light her way through the darkened palace, and now she held it up to better see the oversized portrait. One of his brother’s. Painted larger than life, Tamas was posed as a conquering hero astride a mighty charger and with sword triumphantly raised—though his brother had never conquered anything. But the portrait was accurate, in its own way. Anyone with brains to see exactly who his brother was only had to look at the vanity on display.
Bane had not thought the princess had brains enough to see. In truth, remembering her vapid gaze, he’d wondered if his cock would harden enough to carry out his plan.
Yet she seemed not so vapid now. Though the candle illuminated her features, she stood too distant for him to see her expression. But something in her posture, the tilt of her head, and the lift of her chin spoke of focus and determination, and the heavy thickening of his shaft answered his wonderings.