Renard flung himself into a pace. Taillefer settled onto a bearskin-wrapped bench at the foot of the four-poster bed. A painting of their sigil—the mountain lion—hung over the tufted headboard.
“There is too much time,” Renard said. “She is too trained. This wedding will not happen if she decides it will not.”
“Then go sit in there with her now until it’s time to haul her down the aisle. Don’t let go of her hand until you say the words uniting the kingdoms.”
As usual, Taillefer sounded completely unbothered. This greatly annoyed Renard.
“I cannot,” he spat. The crown prince sucked in a deep breath, his lungs seemingly failing to draw in air properly. “Everyone must believe she is here on her own volition. Ardenia may try to void the marriage and the coronation. We cannot give them any more fodder to do so.”
Taillefer picked something off his boot heel. “Having seen that council in action, if they want to void your marriage contract, they will. The princess has nothing to do with that.”
In anger, Renard knocked a vase of roses from a marble-topped table. It went down with a crash and he crunched across the crystal, his pace not slowed. “Where is the stableboy?”
Taillefer smirked. “Where do you think?”
Renard was not amused. “He cannot escape?”
“He’s lashed to a table and barely conscious. He’s not travel ready.”
Renard shook his head, voice automatically lowering. “If she can carry him, she will carry him.” He nodded and met Taillefer’s eyes. “I must see him.”
“As you wish, my brother.”
* * *
THE two sons of Pyrenee entered Taillefer’s workshop in a rush of boot heels across stone, Renard leading the way. They were so loud that there was movement on the table—a surprise and a relief to Renard.
The crown prince kept walking until he bumped into the table, jostling the stableboy. The boy’s eyes opened, slit at first and then wide. Fearful. They were swollen at the edges—he’d been crying, recent and hard. Good.
“Are you here to kill me?” the boy asked, his voice bone-dry.
“No,” Renard spat, taking in the prisoner’s form.
He was lashed to the table as Taillefer had guaranteed, a festering wound longer than a man’s hand running the length of his sternum. Fevered sweat sat heavy across his brow, capillaries broken at his bindings where he’d struggled. He’d already suffered. Again, Good. “I’m here to make sure you’re still in one piece. Has my mother visited you? Or the princess?”
“Amarande? Does she know I’m here?” Ignoring the first question, Luca looked to Taillefer.
The younger prince answered, “She knows nothing, but she isn’t the sort to let that stop her.”
At this, the boy dared to smile. Renard slapped him.
“She won’t be rescuing you. If she hasn’t come yet, she won’t come at all. I will make sure of it.” Renard nodded, almost to himself. He turned to his brother, who fiddled with items of torture on the small pedestal table. “You are ready, are you not?”
Taillefer nodded, tugging on the golden jacket, the cut of it crisp along his shoulders. “I planned to spend an inordinate amount of time perfecting my hair in the mirror before the ceremony, but yes, otherwise, I’m prepared.”
“Your hair is glorious, but no one will be looking at you anyway.”
Taillefer feigned pain and Renard almost rolled his eyes.
“You will stay with the stableboy here—get him dressed and escort him to the wedding. She must see him in the audience. The threat must be clear.”
“Am I not to stand with you at the altar?”
“Yes, fine. I will place him under guard. But you will oversee all of it. As long as this boy and his stupid dimples are alive, my hold over the princess is enough that she will marry me.”
“Of course, Renard.”
“Have him prepared by the time the bells toll again. And if you can do something to make him not nearly as handsome when she sees him, all the better.”
Taillefer smiled and gave a nod.
And then the almost king returned to his castle to retrieve his bride.
CHAPTER
48
THE prince’s footsteps disappeared up the stairs and Luca released a deep breath.
Renard had tried kidnapping and made no qualms about only having him around to keep Amarande in line, but love was something that he couldn’t orchestrate, let alone break.
Luca would win. Love would always win.
And now he’d be in the chapel with his princess. Renard’s paranoia actually played in his favor. Luca couldn’t believe it. If the pirates could be there, too, there was so much they could do. The five of them, they could surely get out of there mostly alive. His princess had rescued him, but now he had the chance to return the favor.
It was enough that he almost smiled again.
But then Taillefer kicked into motion, turning to the large worktable and its cluttered contents. When he returned, the thick gloves were back on his hands and something new was hiding behind him. Gone were his playful smirk and laughing eyes. Rather than a fox, he suddenly looked every part a mountain lion.
Disfigurement, yes. That’s what his brother had requested.
Luca’s heartbeat sped, his lips parting. He kept his eyes as neutral as possible, though they nearly flicked to where the pirates hid again in the shadows.
“You heard my brother—as long as you and your dimples can smile at Amarande, she will marry Renard. That may still happen, but if it does, I may not be able to wait for the result that I desire.”
The prince’s voice was cold and calm. No audible madness in it, just abrupt determination.
“I’ve sworn to keep you safe—to keep you alive—but that no longer serves me.”
* * *
THE prince rang a bell. and a guard visited. Taillefer barked orders. and the boy left in a rush. It was then that Luca drew in a breath, all hope he’d had five minutes ago gone. “You’d kill me so that my princess fulfills her promise. He will be dead at the altar and you will have his crown—you meant every word you said in the meadow, except that you’d let Amarande and me be.”
“I did. But my mother’s wishes mean we must speed up the timeline.” Either Renard’s convoluted theory was actually true or he’d convinced Taillefer it was—which meant both sons thought they were in danger of missing out on a rightful throne. Taillefer smiled. “And there’s only one certain way to do that.”
Luca began to struggle on the table. He didn’t beg, preferring to fight.
“Don’t worry, boy; I won’t kill you. I’ll simply mostly kill you. I can only murder you once, and I may need you again.”
Then Taillefer revealed his newly procured items of torture. Yet another bottle of serum and a plant. This one very much like the giant hogweed, yet now Luca knew the difference.
Hemlock. This time there was no doubt.
Luca’s eyes fell back to the prince, the pieces falling together in his mind. “Did you kill King Sendoa with that?”
The prince cocked a brow. “Did you? This very hemlock was culled from the stream beyond your stable at the Itspi. Did your king tell you to keep your dirty hands off his daughter? Did he puncture that soft heart of yours? Did you decide you were bigger than him and your ambitions were, too, and take it upon yourself to ready his horse with something deadly in his waterskin?”