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.”
Chapter Ten
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
“ 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.”
Chapter Ten
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
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