The Stolen Princess (Fated Royals 1)

The way Sara kept darting her eyes back over her shoulder only fueled my rage.

The red flush that had warmed her cheeks as I kissed her earlier was gone now, replaced by a worried paleness. The anger inside me ate away at my ability to speak so I tried to show her that she was safe. I kept her small hand tight in mine and never strayed from her side as we walked back along the King’s Highway.

We passed others, but outside of giving them a glare that had them moving as far to the other side of the road as was possible I paid them no mind; as far as I was concerned, she was the only living soul in the world.

I was fucking enraged that she’d spent even one moment in a house with that man, a man that had the gall to call himself her father. How such a piece of shit could have given life to Sara beat the hell out of me. All I could imagine was that she took after her mother, but from what Angelica had told me that woman was no better.

As we walked, I did my best to calm my mind. Rage does not make for clear thinking.

I wished that I had a home of my own, somewhere I could take her, to guard her, protect her, and give her a better life. To make love to her every morning and fuck her every night.

But I didn’t have such luxuries. All I had to offer was the clothes on my back, the bit of coin I’d saved through my years, my strength, and my wits. The only shelter I could give her was Angelica’s. It would have to do, at least for now.

What had I done with my life? I looked down, her youth and innocence more clear now than ever as was the gap of years between us and my own jaded soul and battle scared body. Even as we walked, I was reminded of the toll my life had taken on my body. My knees ached and the stabbing pain in my left side throbbed; a souvenir from a long ago infected battle wound that had damaged me in a way that could not be undone.

“Thank you for protecting me.” Her soft voice drifted to my ears breaking me from my dark thoughts then squeezing my hand as we neared Angelica’s cottage and the sun drifted downward on the horizon.

She was mine. My possession. Looking after her was my job. “Don’t you dare thank me. You’ll stay in my room,” I told her, as I handed her the key in my pocket. “First one at the top of the steps.”

She looked puzzled, then disappointed. “Come up with me. Stay close to me.”

But I shook my head. She had no fucking idea what would happen if we were alone together in that bedroom. I’d have her on her knees and roaring in five seconds flat. “Just put my things in the hallway and I’ll have Angelica collect them later.”

I didn’t want to worry her, but I knew I’d gotten us into some genuinely inconvenient shit: I’d assaulted her father, stolen his daughter, and now was keeping her hidden in the village whore’s house. Great. Appearances were not on our side.

What I had just done in that fit of wild, protective rage could very well ruin her reputation as a marriageable woman. I was furious that I’d done it, but at the same time there had been no other choice. I had no regrets except one: I wasn’t good enough for her to ask her to marry me right then and there.

She might be new to the world, but she was no fool. “You won’t come in with me to protect my reputation. Is that the idea?”

“It is. Your chastity is your power. I’m not about to fuck with that more than I have already.”

She looked ready to protest, but I stopped her short with a firm stare. “Listen, Sara. If your father comes looking for you, I’ll be ready. If a village mob gets word that I’ve just returned to town and all but kidnapped you, I’ll be ready. To keep you safe, I’m ready for anything.”

She blinked a few times in quick succession, then exhaled deeply. “And where will you stay?” She asked as she clasped the key in her palm.

From my belt, I drew my hunting knife and drove the point into an old milking bench on the porch, then sat down next to it. “Right here. On guard.”

Afternoon turned into evening and the shadows lengthened into night. Every few hours or so, Angelica would come to check on me, bringing me an apple or a bit of bread and butter. She knew me well enough not to try to lure me inside. I was grateful to be left alone with my thoughts, like some lion licking his goddamned wounds.