Prince Fernando
Before I found Stella, some lesser lords arrived to congratulate me on my betrothal and to pitch their political ideals.
Then a mountain of unread communication demanded my attention. I opened seals, scanned the contents, and sorted them into piles based on importance. Several required written answers as soon as possible. Why did two of the rural noble houses evade the quarterly tax while I was gone? Ridiculous. I’d travel to collect it myself if they turned our royal officers away empty-handed. They wouldn’t appreciate the wielders I brought with me.
My thoughts flashed to Stella. Should she escort us in case we suffer injury? I shook my head, chastising myself. What a foolish idea. Letting a healer out in public invited harm to her. No. She must be protected.
I rubbed my fingers against my clean shaven cheek and tried to push the beautiful woman out of my mind. Maybe after I married Diedre, and she matured enough, I’d forget my imprudent desires. My future queen deserved a devout husband.
The thought of Stella beneath me, taking all of me in, made my trousers uncomfortably tight. Pull yourself together, man. You can’t have her.
I sighed and called for a servant, a sweet young girl named Bruna, to bring a pot of brewed tea. She bowed and left to fetch it, leaving the entry ajar.
I slumped over and rested my chin on my hand. My father had taken a dozen concubines, and it strained his marriage to Catarina. Valeria once told me she overheard her mother crying and saying, “he can sleep with whoever he wants, but if I take a lover, I’ll be executed.”
That was one of the few times I pitied her until she directed her bitterness toward me. How often did she point her finger at me, accusing me of stealing the throne from her precious progeny? Oh yes. I, the motherless prince, robbed the queen. Except it was she who replaced my mother and offered no affection in return. The recollection of her pinched expression, flushed face, and spittle flying from her lips invaded my memory.
Bastard.
My nostrils flared at this echo from the past. Of course, my father forbade her from insulting my lineage ever again, but her cruelty branded itself into my soul.
The door creaked open and a slim male I didn’t recognize entered with a tray of steaming tea.
“Where’s Bruna?”
He shrugged his shoulders and answered, “Not sure. The cook sent me up since she wasn’t available.”
He set the serving dish on my desk instead of the side table and removed the lid from the ceramic kettle to look inside. I frowned. He didn’t know what he was doing. The idiot lifted the teapot and almost spilled the beverage on my papers.
“Put it over-”
Scalding hot liquid splashed onto my face before I could finish my sentence. A guttural scream erupted from my throat as I crumpled from my seat to the floor, slapping my hands over my eyes to stop the burning. No amount of blinking lessened the searing agony.
All-encompassing suffering ripped away my rationality, leaving me writhing and defenseless.
The assassin pressed his weight over my midsection, restraining me. A sharp jolt pierced my gut. I barely processed what was happening.
He stabbed me.
A knife. He skewered me again, and I reeled, unable to push him off or protect myself.
An incision in my neck removed my ability to breathe, speak, everything.
Stella
Diedre and I were almost to the exit near the outdoor kitchen when a shout startled us. Our gazes met for a brief second before we ran toward the sound.
Agonized screams tore my heart to shreds, and I imagined multitudes of scenarios and how to react in the moment it took to follow the cries. Then they stopped.
A servant exited a room and barrelled past, narrowly avoiding colliding with me in the narrow hall.
“Did you hear the commotion?” I yelled after him.
“No,” he shouted over his shoulder.
Diedre’s brow furrowed. “Why was he running?”
“I don’t know,” I said as I neared the chamber he’d left. The stench of wet copper hit my senses. I flung open the door. Blood seeped around the corner of a work desk and into a woven rug.
Gooseflesh prickled my skin as I rounded the furniture with the princess right behind me.
Diedre shrieked. My tongue clung to the roof of my mouth.
Prince Fernando lay in a pool of crimson. Murdered.
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