Punished by the Prince Page 4

  No. There is only one true monster in the Burkewood family. Me.

  However much I may pity this young woman for being bound to my brother, I should pity her more if it had been me.

  The doors swing open with a reverberating bang. A team of three stylists sweeps through the opening, followed closely behind by Elizabeth, who is also followed by Calian. The group surrounds her like flitting birds, making small touch ups to her appearance as she walks.

  I watch her approach, noticing the way her eyes dart over the details in the room but can’t seem to stop flitting between Titus and I at first, and by the time she has reached the steps to the raised dais where the thrones and Titus wait, she can’t seem to take her eyes away from me.

  She had better be careful where her eyes wander. My brother is a jealous man, and if he even thinks she prefers me over him, her future is going to be a much, much darker place. Her existence will be more miserable than the one she just left.

  “My lady,” says Titus in a voice full of forced calmness and reserve. He takes her hand, kneeling and kissing it before standing again.

  Seeing Elizabeth in the styles of our kingdom is like seeing her for the first time. She will make the women of the royal court buzz with jealous chatter, and they will likely try to ostracize her before they even get to know her. They will dye her dark hair blonde soon to show her true royal heritage status, and her full head of blonde will also draw the ire of every eligible woman in the palace. Not to mention those perfectly perky nipples and her absolutely mouthwatering tits. Fucking hell. I’ve always thought the Paris of Troy was a fool for starting the Trojan war over Helen, but now I can better understand.

  It’s nonsense though. I can think grand thoughts about what I would do with this woman, but even if she wished my attentions, pursuing her would drive a wedge so squarely in the middle of this city it might fracture the whole thing into a thousand tiny pieces. As the eldest Prince and heir to the throne there isn’t much beyond my right, but my own brother’s bride is one of those few things.

  I watch her curtsey to my brother, feeling all too much like I’m watching a sheep being led to slaughter.

  “It’s nice to meet you,” says Elizabeth. Her voice is meek. Her eyes downcast. She’s overwhelmed. And why shouldn’t she be?

  “They haven’t dyed your hair yet,” says my brother, reaching to lift a strand of her hair.

  Elizabeth flinches at the touch. “N-no. I just got here.”

  Titus laughs, but the sound is a little too forced--a little too high pitched. It’s the way he laughs when he’s losing his temper. “Leave us,” he says, turning sharply so that his back is to her. “And when you bring her before me next time, see to it that she is properly prepared,” he says.

  Elizabeth’s forehead wrinkles as the servants urge her backwards. Our eyes meet for a heartbeat. Run from here, I think. Run from here while you still can, Elizabeth. This place glitters in the light, but look in the shadows and you’ll find the truth. You’ll find monsters far worse than you ever imagined.

  5

  Elizabeth

  I’m half-dragged from the huge reception area, head still spinning. Titus was just as attractive as I remembered from the restaurant. He looked like he could have been the model for a Ken doll or something--strong features, muscles, blonde hair, and a smile that I’m sure gets him what he wants with most women. But when I met his eyes I felt something that made my skin crawl. I can’t explain it, not in a way that makes sense, but it was like looking into the eyes of something dead, something just pretending to be alive.

  And the way he dismissed me because of my hair…

  It was as if he had been presented with some expensive parcel that wasn’t entirely to his liking. There was no recognition in his eyes that he might offend me with his words, as if he was just talking about an object with a flaw.

  I suddenly feel more like a prisoner than a Princess, and I find myself watching carefully as I’m led back to my room, trying to memorize the way back down to the main area of the palace where I can possibly escape.

  Escape though? Am I really thinking of it already? I shouldn’t be so surprised that my mind wanders there. After all, less than three hours ago, I was sitting at dinner with my family. Now it’s like I’ve stepped into some other reality and it’s becoming my reality fast--too fast. When I looked into Prince Titus’ eyes, I saw that he wasn’t a man who would let me go once he had a hold over me. If I stay here any longer, I may never be able to leave.

  The spacious palace seems to close in around me as my thoughts race, as if the walls themselves are listening in to my doubts. How hard could it be to leave, though? They would never expect me to escape, first of all. And if I smuggled some food with me, I think I might be able to hike the distance back to the tunnel, and then I could risk hitchhiking. I could even try making a phone call, but I haven’t seen my phone since I arrived. I could’ve sworn I had it in my bag, but come to think of it, I haven’t seen my bag either.

  “I’m so sorry about that, Princess,” says Marcella as I follow her up the winding staircase to my room. “Prince Titus specifically requested that you be brought to him right away, but dyeing your hair in the customary way would’ve taken nearly an hour. There was no way to have it done in time.”

  “It’s fine,” I say more coldly than I intend. I’ve already dismissed these people, haven’t I? I’ve already written them off because I know there’s no way I’m staying here. There’s no way I’m going to marry that man with the dead eyes and the charming smile. God, how could this dream turn into a nightmare so quickly?

  “I’d just like some rest,” I say once we reach my room.

  The women nod, hurrying to leave me, apparently ready to get away before I decide to snap at them for bringing on Titus’ anger. Blaming them would be stupid, and if I wasn’t so preoccupied, I would’ve taken the time to ease their minds before they left.

  I sigh, sinking down on the edge of my bed. “You’re still here?” I ask Calian, who stands near the staircase leading up to my room, hands folded in front of him.

  “Is there something you wish to speak about?” asks Calian.

  “I really just need some sleep,” I say.

  Calian says nothing, but his wise eyes linger on me, challenging my lie until the weight of silence forces me to speak. I don’t ask the first question on my mind, instead hoping I can convince him to stop prodding me.

  “Well, I can’t seem to figure out how a hidden kingdom like this would exist outside the view of the modern eye, or why. A city this size surely draws enough power to be noticed, and it must have supplies shipped in, not to mention being visible on Google maps even. So why haven’t I ever heard of it, or any others like it?”

  “Because we have a long standing agreement with the global leaders to stay hidden. It benefits them as well as us, and it has worked this way for centuries. Outsiders do stumble upon us from time to time, and there are methods of handling those cases. Usually they are brought in, most of the time with their entire families are given lands and titles to entice them to stay, or the person disappears--it depends on the kingdom and the king. As for the why, well, the Shrouded Kingdoms hold more power in global politics than all but a handful of countries, which is only possible because they are exempt from the vast majority of global regulations. This allows them to serve as a neutral third party. Everybody wins. But this isn’t what is really most pressing on your mind, is it?”

  “He wasn’t what I expected,” I say finally. “Prince Titus.”

  Calian nods, as if he already knew what was on my mind. “What will you do?” he asks.

  “You ask like I have a choice,” I say. I’m going to run. Run far away as soon as you crazy people leave me alone.

  “You haven’t asked if you’re allowed to go back to your old life,” he notes, raising an eyebrow.

  “Am I?”

  “No,” he says. “Trying to leave would only draw the Prince’s ire. And Prince Tit
us is not a wise man to cross. But you already figured that out, didn’t you?”

  I nod, swallowing hard. “Are you going to tell him about this?” I ask. About what I don’t know exactly, but it seems like Calian is seeing straight through to my intentions, and if he’s going to go to Prince Titus with what he suspects, I don’t think I’ll make it far.

  He favors me with a small smile, looking down in a wistful way as he hefts a glass paperweight from a desk. “Officially, I’m an arm of the royal Burkewood family. I do precisely as they command without question. But between you and I? I was never officially asked to report my suspicions about you to the Prince. I was only asked to bring you here safely and teach you what I could about our city.”

  I smile, feeling like I’m seeing Calian for the first time since he picked me up outside the restaurant only a few hours ago. It already feels like days ago--like it was in another life entirely. “Thank you.”

  “Please, don’t thank me,” says Calian. “In truth, you would be wise to avoid telling me anything you don’t want the Princes or the Queen to know. If they thought to ask me a direct question, I would answer them truthfully.”

  “I understand,” I say.

  He sets the paperweight down carefully, finally looking back up to me. “Running away would be a terrible risk, Princess. Prince Titus holds grudges as lovingly and with as much care as some people keep pets. If he put half as much effort into being a good Prince, he would have united the Shrouded Kingdoms by now.”

  “Noted,” I say carefully. “What do you know about his brother?”

  “Roark?” asks Calian with a sly grin. “You wouldn’t be the first who looked past the younger brother for the older. Prince Roark Burkewood is something of an enigma to me, I must admit. His younger brother and mother have no problem ordering me around and using me like a common slave, which means I overhear very much and have opportunities to see what kind of people they are. Prince Roark seldom uses my services, and when he does, he’s purely professional about it.”

  “So you can’t tell me anything more about him?” I ask, trying not to let the disappointment in my voice show through too much.

  “I didn’t say that,” says Calian. “You asked what I knew. I know very little, but if you had asked what I suspect or what rumors I can share, then I would have much more to talk about.”

  “Okay, then what are the rumors about him?”

  “Some say he was the one who killed his father--”

  “The king was murdered?”

  “Most likely,” says Calian. “Unless he rolled over in his sleep and suffocated himself on his own pillow.”

  “Do you think Roark did it?”

  “Personally? No. Prince Roark has never struck me as the type to sneak around and play subtle games. He’s a man of direct force and conviction. I believe if he wanted his father dead, he would have killed him in broad daylight or whenever the conviction struck him, and he would have paid no mind to who saw.”

  “You make him sound like a monster,” I say.

  “Monsters come in many forms, Princess. Something about Prince Roark does unsettle me, but I hardly think he should be your biggest concern.”

  “Who should be my biggest concern, then?”

  “Do not give Prince Titus or Queen Korintha any reason to doubt your loyalty to this marriage. That is all I can say. But you should get some rest, Princess. We have a big day ahead of us tomorrow.”

  With that, Calian nods and takes off down the stairs at a brisk pace, leaving me with nothing but the retreating sound of his footsteps echoing upwards. I look around the huge room, alone for the first time since I’ve been brought here. I move to the window, surveying the city beneath me. Even with it all right in front of my eyes, it’s so hard to believe. This is all real, isn’t it? Real and magical and terrible all at the same time.

  I wonder how many women in my position would jump at the chance to marry Prince Titus and live the life of a Princess, despite the coldness I saw in his eyes. Most probably would. But one of the only ways I survived this long was knowing that no matter how poorly my family treated me, one day I’d be free of them. I’d have the freedom to meet the right guy and marry him, and I’d be able to look back on my youth proudly because I’d know I fought through it and came out on top. Marrying Titus would lock me into a life of the same mistreatment and abuse. I don’t know how I feel that so surely, but I do.

  So I do the only thing I can see left to do. I hike up my skirt and fly down the stairs as fast as I can, retracing my steps toward the exit of the palace, slowing down to avoid looking suspicious when I pass guards, and then speeding up again when no one is around. My heart thuds in my ears so loud I can barely hear anything but the wind rushing past my ears and the click of my heels on the marbled floors.

  I’m in sight of the huge doors I came in through when I hear fast, heavy footsteps behind me.

  “No!” I shout, not caring anymore who hears. My brain has shifted into survival mode, and I have no thought but to claw, bite, and tear my way out of this place that would be my prison, no matter the cost. Maybe my life on the outside was miserable, but it was just about to change. I was going to go off to college and find a job and start a new life. Surely that would be better than marrying that block of ice who calls himself a prince.

  I bank right, heading for a long hallway full of doors. I distantly hope that I can duck into a room and lose my pursuer, but when I glance over my shoulder I see an athletic man in light clothing gaining on me fast. I take the corner blindly, making it only a half step before I collide with a tall man who seems to be made entirely of hard, warm muscle. It’s like running into a wall, and I stagger backwards after the impact, coughing and trying to catch my breath.

  A hand grips me from behind, but when I look up and see the man I bumped into, I barely notice it.

  Prince Roark.

  His black hair is pushed perfectly away from his face, which is a pleasant mixture of classic, regal features but with just the right touch of rugged--from the stubble on his strong jaw to his breathtaking eyes and striking eyebrows. He wears some sort of clothing that looks like a mixture of armor and every-day clothes, with a leather cuff over his arm and a breastplate of leather squares neatly sewn together strapped over his chest, along with two high neck-guards of hard, curved leather that rise on the side of his head to just below his ears.

  “Prince Roark,” says the man behind me, who I see now to be a guard that can’t be past his mid twenties. “Pardon me. I need to take Princess Elizabeth back to Prince Titus.”

  “That won’t be necessary,” says Roark.

  He looks past me, as if I’m invisible, speaking to the guard over my shoulder. I watch him as he speaks, taking in the flawless shape of his mouth and the row of white teeth within. How could someone so beautiful be the monster Calian implied?

  “Prince Titus will want to see that she is disciplined. Sir,” adds the guard. “I should really see to--”

  “We needn’t wake Titus. Come. I’ll see to it that she’s disciplined. You can stand outside if you prefer. When my brother asks if you’re sure she was taught a lesson, you’ll be able to say you heard everything.”

  A chill runs through me. Disciplined? I have no idea what to expect, but the guard is already pushing me to follow Prince Roark, who towers over both of us with his broad, lean body. He leads us through a winding hallway to a heavy door that opens to a dark stairwell. He steps down the stairs, flicking on a light as we go.

  “I was just exercising,” I say when we’re half way down the stairs. Exercising? Really?

  “Do you often exercise in a dress?” asks Roark. “And in high heels”

  I clear my throat. “And what were you doing down here in the middle of the night?”

  He shoots me a frosty look over his shoulder before apparently deciding he doesn’t have to answer me. We arrive outside a tall door ornately carved with screaming faces stacked upon each other.

  “I’d
like to go back to my room,” I say in a strained voice. “Please.”

  “Wait outside,” says Roark to the guard, who looks like he knows better than to cross the Prince, even if he doesn’t like the orders he has been given. The guard nods his head, standing with his back to the wall just beside the door.

  Roark leads me into a room full of what appears to be torture equipment. The only somewhat normal thing in the room is a huge bed in the center of the large space, but it’s not an ordinary bed. There are no blankets, and the “mattress” is just a leather pad with straps and chains and hooks all along the edges. Whips, paddles, chains, ropes, and countless devices I can’t even begin to guess the meaning of line the walls. Machines that look like exercise equipment for the deranged stand ominously around the edge of the room, too.

  “Please,” I say again. “I admit I was trying to escape, but I won’t anymore. I’ll smile and nod and do whatever he asks of me.”

  “I’m sure you would, Princess,” says Roark, who has his back to me as he runs his fingers along a row of paddles dangling from the wall. He grabs one made of black leather and gives it an experimental swing through the air. “But I think if my brother found out about your little excursion, you wouldn’t be doing much smiling.”

  My stomach turns cold. I take a few steps back, bumping against the wall. I could try the door, but the guard outside would surely stop me, and I saw how easily he caught up to me before. “I’m sorry,” I say. “I’m just scared.”

  Prince Roark approaches me with hard eyes. He stops just inches from me and bends his head so his breath is hot on my ear. “Make it sound good, or my brother will be sure to punish you, but he will not go soft.”