The Wicked Prince Read online

  Copyright © 2019 by Tilly Hart

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

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  I dedicate this book to my readers.

  Thank you.

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Ten

  CHAPTER TEN

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  EPILOGUE

  Thank You

  Chapter One

  Elliana

  The vast throne room towered above my head in a cacophony of wood and glass, intricate paintings wounds their way up the walls in a never ending sea of colour. My footsteps echoed in the sparse place, devoid of all but two people, and the silent guards who lined the room. They were more akin to statues than people, as still and cold as stone. I shivered as I passed one, his eyes stared right through me.

  I had no desire to be here in the centre of the palace, fighting through throngs of people in enormous puffed dresses and with men laden under seams of lace at their collar and cuffs. They'd sneered at me as I passed, my simple brown tunic, overlaid with delicately wrought slender chains of metal, marked me as an outsider. My hair lacked the coiffed and pinned curls that courtly women favoured, instead it hung in a long braid down my back.

  I was one of the people of the forest and I fit in here as well as a bear might. For all the disgust people looked at me with, I may as well have been a bear.

  Each footstep echoed as I approached the king and his queen, who appeared to be no older than myself at twenty and two, but comfortable in this gilded cage that they called home. The ceiling may have sat high above my head, but it made my stomach turn with the closeness of it. I longer for the trees and the stars, not stone and mortar.

  If it hadn't been for the desperate plight of my people, I'd have never set foot in this city, let alone the palace.

  Sometimes life leaves us with little choice.

  'Elliana, thank you for your presence in court. I am sorry to have called you here, but I urgently need your help.' The king’s voice was quiet but clear as his intense eyes settled on my face.

  I gave a low curtsy as the gruff man had instructed me to outside of the throne room, though I wobbled a little more than he had. 'The pleasure is mine, your Highness.'

  'The matter I have requested your help upon is of the utmost secrecy, do you give your word that you shall not whisper any of the things we discuss to anyone else?'

  'I do.'

  'Then please...' He beckoned me with his hand to come closer and indicated that I sit on of the empty lesser thrones beside him. ‘Sit. I would speak candidly with you.'

  I hesitated at the informality, unsure whether to sit on one of the grotesquely ornate chairs. The queen gave me a reassuring smile and so I sat, reluctantly, on the edge of the throne.

  'What can I do for you, your Highness?'

  'I heard that your people are struggling with the Apalegian Rot that has swept through your forests this year.'

  He was correct, my people were scarce of food, and living separately from society as we did, we had no money to buy any. We traded what we could, but other than salves and tinctures, we had little of any real value.

  ‘That is so. Is there something you can do to help?'

  'I can give you gold to bolster your supplies.'

  My eyes widened, that would be an enormous help. But out-of-the-blue generosity wasn’t something kings were known for. There must be something he wanted in return for gold.

  ‘Why would you give us gold? Our people are not your allies, you owe us nothing.' My eyes narrowed suspiciously, but the king gave a tired smile and ran a hand through his mop of dark hair.

  'I need your help?’

  I laughed, I couldn't help myself. 'What on the goddess's green earth could you need from me?'

  'Your people believe in magic, in curses and such?’

  To believe in such wasn't against the law, but people frowned heavily upon it in the kingdom of Latania. Was this a trap?

  'You do not believe in them, your Highness? Do you?'

  He shook his head and sighed. 'I don't, or I didn't, but my brother Diego met with a necromancer after my father's death. When he came back he had twisted into a dark, dangerous version of himself, and no matter what I've tried I can not shake him of it.'

  The queen placed her hand over his and squeezed gently before adding her concerns to his own. 'It may just be madness, but when he is close to my husband he isn't insane, a need to extinguish Dante and his siblings possesses him. Dante and I hope that your people may find a resolution to whatever ails him.'

  'We'd pay to have him back, the way he once was. He tried to have me killed last year, and I have kept him confined ever since. Months have passed and I've seen no improvement. I've sent doctors and holy men, but none could figure out what was wrong.'

  My people believed in magic, but I had never experienced it. To lead them on into thinking I could fix his deranged brother would be wrong, but my people needed the money for food, and without it many wouldn't make it through the winter, when it came. My mind raced, and I bit my lip as I resolved to at least meet the man. What harm could it do?

  'I cannot promise to fix something until I have witnessed it, may I meet him?'

  The king squeezed his wife's hand as hope flooded into his face. Guilt hit my belly as hard as a fist.

  'Yes. Though I would send you in in disguise, if you are willing. We change his servants every few weeks lest one get to familiar and try to help him. He can be rather charming, even now. We can have you observe him while tending to the daily chores.'

  'Why can't I meet him as I am?'

  'He has shown mistrust in my choices of help so far, I think he may open up more to someone who he doesn't see as aiding me.'

  Subterfuge, disguise, intrigue. So far from my calm life in the forest with Maman and the others. Yet I couldn't help but feel a small rush of excitement at the prospect of meeting this charming cursed prince.

  'Alright, your Highness, I shall play your game and parade as a servant, I'm no stranger to hard work. But I want an agreement that you will send three carts of food to my people for my time, today. I cannot promise that I will manage to help your brother, but I would have something for my family’s bellies in return for my time in travelling here.'

  'Done.'

  The couple smiled at one another before the queen turned to me. 'I will have a room prepared for your use, and garments sent up for you. It is best you go to him in the morning'

  'Thank you, your Highness.’

  'And please, Elliana, be careful.'

  I stilled at the edge of my seat as my pulse quickened in my neck, would he hurt me? I didn't mind trying to help the royals, but I had no intention of putting myself in harm’s way.My only goal in coming here was to help my family and friends. Nothing more, nothing less.

  'Would he hurt me?’

  King Dante shook his head, his voice a soft whisper. 'No, only my sisters and I. He's not shown any violence toward anyone but me. She meant to guard your heart. He is an attractive man and we fear that you may fall under his spell should you get too close to him. He is well known for his suave ways, and the darkness in him has only increased his ability to manipulate and deceive. What he is now is not truly him, remember that.’

  His voice was heavy with loss and my heart ached for him. I knew what it was like to lose someone you loved, albeit in a very different way. The guilt crept back into me as I bid them goodbye, knowing that it was very unlikely I could do anything to help the ailing man, but I would try, at least.

  Chapter Two

  Diego

  Five months.

  It had been five months since Dante had locked in solitary confinement, chained to the wall in the very room where I had had chained my sister’s lover up almost a year ago. The world seemed to have a way of mocking me like that.

  I flexed my wrist as I wrote at the desk, the shackle and chain clanging against the wood as I did. Every day I wrote vast letters to my father, my brother, anyone and everyone. I finished with my signature in a flourish of ink. Prince Diego of Latania.

  A scoop of sand swished over the wet ink and sealed it to the paper, the loops of black drying instantly at its touch. I stood up and stretched out my back before picking up the letter and placing it upon the fire. The edges curled and blackened in the heat before flames licked up and claimed the paper in its fiery clutches. I didn't move from my spot until it reduced the letter to ashes, like all the letters I'd written previously.

  I didn't write to communicate with people; I wrote to keep myself sane. To temper the anger and desperation that would well up inside of me as I rotted in the tower. The letters were full of hatred and sadness, anger and remorse, I spilled out my soul in a way I never would to another person. The outside had seen me as a charmer, a man in control, quick and clever. I didn't know how they saw me now; I didn't even know if Dante had told the word of my misdeeds. I suspected not, for if he had the people would have called f
or my execution. You don't attempt to kill the king and leave with your life. Except, that I had.

  It had taken many months for my body to heal after my brother, the king, had had me tortured to find his lover's sisters. In my mind I still couldn't fathom why I'd resisted telling him, but ever since father sent me to the necromancer who'd tainted my blood against my family, it compelled me to extinguish my siblings. If I tried to put distance between us, physical pain crushed me until I returned.

  And now here I was, locked away like a princess in a fairy tale, in the highest room in the tallest tower, alone with nothing but the dogged pull of the blood magic.

  I almost wished Dante would have me executed. At least then he'd be out of danger, and I'd be free of the madness which overwhelmed me whenever he was near. He'd said that he would find the necromancer and help me find a way out of the murderous fog which misted my mind, but so far there had been no sign of him. Perhaps Dante didn't believe in curses. I still wasn't sure if I did, or if the compulsion to kill my brother wasn't just jealously and greed taking the shape of madness.

  A key turned in the door's lock as I sat back down at the desk, sending a resounding click throughout the sparsely furnished room. and I turned to watch as a servant walked in.

  It was a new girl; they changed them regularly, and I gave her a nod as she entered. For a moment her green eyes snapped onto mine and she held my gaze. That was new too, they usually scurried in like rats, doing their chores as quickly as possible lest I speak with them.

  'Good morning.' Her voice was light and sweet and it brought a surge of desire bubbling up within me. She was far more brazen that most palace servants. Either she was very new to service, or she wasn't really a servant at all.

  I gave her a lingering look, my eyes taking her in from head to toe as a smirk played at my lips. 'Good morning. You don't look like you fit in here.’

  She should have cowered or turned away, but much to my surprise, she stood her ground. 'Well, neither do you, truth be told.’

  And with that she set about her chores; stoking the fire, bringing up a bucket of fresh cold water, taking away food and replacing it with more. I watched her, fascinated. None of the serving girls who had come in and out of my prison for the past few months had piqued my interest, but this one was different. Her limbs were trim and toned, her skin healthy and tanned, lacking the pallor of the courtly ladies who spent much of their time indoors. Where had she come from?

  'Did Dante send you?'

  Her hand slowed on the brush she used to sweep up the ashes from around the fire and she sat back on her heels. 'If you mean did he assign me as your servant, I’m sure the king has far better things to worry about than a servant’s work.’

  I narrowed my eyes as she looked at me, seeing no trace of a lie, but not trusting her either.

  'I've never seen you in the palace before.'

  She gave an exaggerated look around the tower room, my prison, and raised an eyebrow. 'Well, I wouldn't imagine you have a great grasp of comings and goings from your lofty viewpoint.'

  Insolent little... God I should have her whipped for that. Prisoner or not, I was still third in line to the throne. Yet it wasn't anger that she wrought in me, no, it was something far more dangerous. It was lust. I shifted uncomfortably in my chair and tried to ignore her, nothing but disappointment would come from lusting over a servant. A feisty, insolent one at that.

  I set myself about looking busy, setting ink to paper once more, but from the corner of my eye I watched the woman work. Her mousey brown plait hung messily by her face, her cheeks pink with exertion as she cleaned. There were no half measures in her work, the fireplace would gleam unnecessarily bright by the time she finished with it. She was on her hands and knees, the drab brown of the servant smock spread about her, as she swept. The dullness of her attire only stressed her beauty all the more. From her golden skin, which I yearned to touch, to the arch of her back, and the wriggle of her ass, I couldn't see a single flaw.

  My back protested from too many hours hunched over the desk, so I stood to stretch it out, feeling her gaze sneak toward me. I flexed the muscles of my arms and grinned at the intake of her breath. Along with writing hundreds of pointless letters, I'd worked hard to build my strength back up as my body healed from the torture I had endured. There was little else to do all day.

  'Do your scars still pain you?’

  'Excuse me?' She took me aback with the forthright question, I’d believed her to be admiring my physique when she'd been eyeing my wounds.Idiot. She isn't looking at you like that. You are a criminal.

  'Sorry. I didn't mean to be pry.' She turned back to her work, and I sighed. Conversation was better than nothing, and seeing as she wasn't afraid to engage me, perhaps I should give her a break, servant or not.

  'Yes, some still hurt. The deepest of them, the places where they sutured the skin back together, and the broken bones too. I deserved every one though, so do not pity me.'

  'I'll pity who I damned well please, though, I don't doubt that you deserved it.' She walked toward me and I froze. My chains tethered me to one half of the circular room, so I couldn't reach the fire or door, but could still use the piss pot, desk and my bed. No-one had come within my arm span in the past few months.

  I stood stock still as she gently ran a finger over some of my exposed scars, the knotted pink flesh numb beneath her touch. She continued to move around my body, and then stopped to lift my shirt, spreading a hand over the scars that littered my chest and abs. Arousal shifted within me, from somewhere far off in the pit of my stomach, a place which no one had reached in a long while.

  'You aren't afraid of me?'

  'No.'

  'Why not?'

  She shrugged and moved her hand down to hold my own, turning it toward the window light and inspecting my palm. 'There is a darkness in you, but it is not a darkness which clamours to hurt me, is it?’

  The words made the fog which I tried to keep at bay thicken, and for a moment I gripped her hand firmly as the wave of anger it brought surfaced then subsided. She never flinched or pulled away. She just waited until the moment passed.

  ‘No. I have no desire to hurt you.'

  Her breath was warm against my face as she continued her inspection, and the urge to reach out and hold her was maddening. She close, so pretty, so warm. Isolation will do strange things to a person. She wasn't my type; I liked the rich, vapid girls of the court, the ones who threw themselves at me regularly. Anyone who I didn't need to invest myself in. Things like love and trust weren't for the likes of me. Not before, and especially not now. I'd tried to assassinate my family, I didn't deserve love.

  She reached into her pocket and brought out a small wooden box.

  ‘It's a salve, it helps to heal. You need to massage it into the wounds every night, before bed.'

  ‘What are you? A healer?'

  ‘No.' She offered no more insight and instead dipped her fingers into the thick green salve and smeared it over my hand. With a firm movement of her thumbs she massaged it deep into my knotted flesh and I groaned. It was painful, but exquisite. I steadied myself against her as she massaged a tender spot, I winced and grasped her waist with my other hand.

  Her eyes flew up to mine and her lips parted as she held my gaze, her fingers stilling on mine. The world seemed a thousand miles away and for a moment there was nothing but she and I. Not a prince and a servant, not a criminal and an innocent, just a man and a woman. Hot flesh against hot flesh. I wanted to kiss her, badly. To scoop her into my arms despite the chains and keep her here with me. The intensity of the emotion floored me, and I stood rooted to the spot.

  She blinked and shook her head, dropping my hand and stepping backward.

  'I'm sorry, I should go.'

  'Wait--'

  'I can't. I need to get on with my work.' She turned, and all but fled to the door, knocking on it firmly and awaiting the guard.