The Prince With No Heart (8 page)

Augustin suspected the older man was going back to bed. Ah, well. Chances were Violet was long gone. He wasn’t going to catch her on any mount, good or bad. He kicked the gelding into action out of mere principle, nodding at the pair of guards who wheeled down the drawbridge for him.

When asked, they claimed the earlier watch must have let Violet out.

The morning was quiet, a cat-gray fog beginning to swirl and settle in the valley. Cook fires were being lit in the castle’s town, the bend of their smoke telling him the wind blew out of the east. Augustin rode into its freshness, working Destrier to a trot and then a slow canter. The gelding had smooth paces for a lazy slug and could go quite a distance without stopping. Augustin turned him toward the crook of a nearby stream where a cluster of apple trees hid the bank from view. If Violet had not immediately begun her journey, she might be stopping there. He could offer her the loan of a guard to escort her home. She was a princess. No matter what her offenses, she shouldn’t travel alone.

The idea of offering this pleased him. It was coolheaded and considerate. Heartless or not, Augustin could be both those things. Let Princess Violet be the one who ran off in a fit of pride. Augustin was a gentleman.

His mood lightened further when he spotted signs of a camp exactly where he’d expected. He slid off Destrier to cross the stream and examine them, first looping the horse’s reins around a low tree branch. Flattened reeds gave evidence of someone sitting, while small bare footsteps in the squishy ground suggested the sitter might indeed have been Violet. A pile of clothes and a pair of boots stashed between two roots confirmed his suspicion. He’d recognize those sorry rags anywhere.

His prick hardened so abruptly his head went light.

If Violet had disrobed, perhaps she was bathing. The last time he’d seen her naked rushed back to him. Evidently, he was interested in doing so again.

A panicked neigh and a clatter of hooves on rocks spun him around in time to see Destrier scrambling frantically up and over the opposite bank. The prince called for him to return, but the stupid beast was too frightened to heed him.

The cheerful flutter of a small white moth told him what had happened.

“Bloody hell,” he griped. He should have tied the horse properly. Now he’d have a nice long tramp afoot to the castle - and probably more teasing once he arrived.

He swore more bitterly over that.

It occurred to him that following Violet would put the dubious pleasure off.

He’d almost decided to when a soft whuffling sound turned him back the other way. His breath caught in his throat and stayed there. A golden horse with a golden saddle had appeared atop the next rise, both horse and tack set ablaze by the young sunlight. Augustin had never seen a mare so lovely, so beautifully conformed and sleek. She was gazing directly at him, her great eyes liquid and soft.

“Well,” Augustin murmured, not wanting to spook her. “What are you doing here, sweetheart?”

The mare and her gear were fine enough to belong to a noble lady, even the High Queen herself. Augustin took a cautious step closer, at which the mare backed up.

“Don’t be afraid,” he soothed. “I just want to lead you back to my stables until we discover who you belong to.”

The mare nickered at him and tossed her head.

Taking this as encouragement, Augustin climbed the rest of the slope to her. The mare let him stroke her and check her for injuries. Aside from being a trifle skittish around a stranger, she seemed perfectly healthy.

“Well, then,” Augustin said, seized by such a strong urge to try her paces that he knew he wouldn’t resist. “Why don’t we see how you and I get on?”

She didn’t so much as sidle when he tucked his foot into her stirrup and leaped astride. To his delight, his weight didn’t trouble her at all.

“You’re a strong one, aren’t you?”

He took up the reins and turned her, careful not to pull too hard on her undoubtedly sensitive mouth. She responded without objection, as if she’d been his mount since birth.

Then an odd little shiver rippled back through her golden hide.

She took off without warning, like she’d been shot from a catapult. Augustin had to fling his upper body forward or he’d have been thrown off.

“Hey,” he crooned, patting her side to calm her. Despite his surprise, he laughed in exhilaration at her impressive burst of speed. “Where do you think you’re going?”

Rather than settle, the mare rolled her eyes back and galloped faster. Now Augustin wasn’t just holding on, he was holding on for dear life. He tried to turn the mare toward the castle, but this didn’t seem to be where she wished to go. Her thundering hooves were untiring, her golden mane whipping back at him. Much too soon for comfort, trees rose in a dark line before them, taller and more ominous than a fortress wall.

The mare was heading straight for the Wailing Wood.

Hell
, Augustin thought - and then,
Hell, no
.

This was no ordinary runaway horse he rode. This was yet another of his beggar girl’s enchantments.

* * *

Violet supposed she should be grateful the prince wasn’t sawing at her mouth with the reins or kicking her sides bloody. His breathless curses were sufficient to upset her, some of them so creative she’d never heard their like before.

“Pestilent nag,” he hissed as they pounded deeper into the forest. Among the trees, the light was as green and shifting as if they’d plunged underneath the sea. “I’ll have you sliced up for dog meat! I can’t believe I considered forgiving you!”

This inspired a pang, but she truly couldn’t force herself to slow down. She’d never felt so peculiar as when she clamped the fairy’s gold bit between her teeth and her body began to shift. Now her heart hammered like a horse’s, and her thoughts were but half human. Dangers she didn’t understand drove her onward, the instinct to flee overwhelming her. Being strong and fast wasn’t the fun she’d imagined when the fairy first described it.

It wasn’t fun at all when Augustin sagged forward in exhaustion and simply clung to her.

She wasn’t certain, but she thought he might be weeping a little.

At last, as the day’s sun melted into orange and crimson behind the trees, Violet’s weary legs stopped running. The prince slid from her and hit the ground like a sack.

He rolled onto his back, groaning to God in a way that was not a prayer. With his weight gone from her saddle, she remembered how to spit out the enchanted bit.

Her body changed in a twinkling. One moment, she stood on four quivering legs. The next, she toppled forward off two.

“I hate you,” said the prince, his tone venomous though no louder than a ghost’s. “More than I thought it possible for me to.”

Violet lay flat on her face. Somehow she managed to turn her head to him.

If she’d had the breath, she’d have gasped. Stripes of blood, too numerous to count, crisscrossed the prince’s upper body. A few scraps of material stuck to the wounds, as if his shirt and leather jerkin had been whipped off. Cold horror spread through her. A whipping was exactly what he’d endured.

“The pine branches,” she said. “They must have been hitting you all along.”

“Oh, not all along,” the prince contradicted, mustering a smidgen of sarcasm. “If it had been
all
along, I’m sure I’d just be dead.”

Violet pushed herself up to sit. “I’m so sorry, Augustin. So, so very sorry. A fairy told me to abduct you.”

“And you had to listen?” Augustin laid one welted forearm across his eyes. “I thought you liked me.”

A single tear squeezed from beneath the corner of his closed eyelid, rolling directly into his matted hair. Violet’s heart clenched so tightly she truly thought it would break. She sensed he wouldn’t have admitted this if he weren’t utterly worn down.

“I
do
like you,” she swore. “More than like you. You are a gallant knight. Any other man would be trying to kill me now.”

“Too tired for that,” her prince sighed.

Guilt was an effective energizer. Violet jumped up, swayed, then looked down at Augustin.

“Stay there,” she said stupidly. “I think I heard running water up ahead.”

She’d smelled it, actually, but that seemed funny to say.

When she reached the fern-shrouded brook, she realized she had nothing with which to carry back a drink for him. She was stark naked but for her hair, which her braid just barely contained. The fact that she took so long to notice she wore no clothes suggested she wasn’t herself quite yet.

Thwarted in her purpose, she returned to bring the prince to the brook. He didn’t want her to assist him and wearily told her to leave him alone. Ignoring his protests, she slung his big arm around her shoulders and helped him, hobbling and cursing, to the water.

“You’re naked,” he grumbled as she let his weight down so he could sit.

Violet pressed her lips together. Nice of him to notice. “You’re not dressed for a fete yourself.”

He narrowed his eyes at her before bending over the water to wash himself. Cleansing off the blood revealed numerous cuts and bruises, but thankfully his condition was not as bad as she’d feared.

“I heal fast,” he said curtly, noting her expression. “I have a fairy godmother. When I was a child, she blessed me with good looks and vitality. Her husband threw in an untiring sword. That’s what makes me a superior champion.”

“I imagine it’s not the only thing that does.”

He shot her another suspicious glance. “If I take a sword cut, it heals in minutes. Any damage from a man- or fae-made weapon, I pretty much shrug off.”

Was he trying to deny he was brave?

“You’re not impervious to harm,” she said, gesturing to his welts.

“No,” he admitted, then winced as he tried to pick a piece of linen out of a deeper slash.

“Let me. Your hands are still trembling.”

He sighed but dropped his muscular arms, scooting around so she could reach the injuries on his chest. The piece of shirt he’d been attempting to remove was caught in a cut above his left nipple. Violet struggled not to notice how the flat disk sharpened when she poured a cupped palm of water over it. Augustin didn’t flinch as she carefully pulled the stuck threads free. Her breast swayed against his bicep. She knew she was breathing raggedly, but that wasn’t something she could prevent.

Bojik’s curse had woken with a vengeance inside of her.

“My God,” the prince whispered. “Your beauty would try a saint.”

When she looked, his gaze was locked on her nipples. Their aroused state was much more noticeable than his. The prince’s diaphragm moved faster, his lips parted for his breathing, a hill slowly lifting the wet cloth of his trousers. The sight of his cock stretching mesmerized her. Violet shuddered, her sex clenching. Augustin’s eyes rose and hers did too. His golden hair was slicked back from washing up, his face too starkly handsome for his looks to qualify as
good
. Beads of water from the brook sparkled on his high cheekbones. She saw herself reflected in his swollen black pupils.

“
I’m
not beautiful,” she said.

“No?” His smile was almost too faint to see. Suddenly, she felt his hand on her breast, warmly cupping the pulsing curve. “You feel beautiful to me.”

Violet had been kneeling, thighs together, naked bottom propped on her heels. When his callused palm compressed and turned on her nipple, hot creamy moisture ran out of her.

Augustin’s nostrils flared, his gaze dropping to her mouth. Unable to stop herself, Violet wet it and leaned forward.

“Don’t kiss me, sorceress,” he said.

She jerked back and he let her, though his hold remained on her breast. In truth, he didn’t seem able to loosen it. He glowered at that, clearly displeased with the stubbornness of his hand. He thought wanting her would harm him. Violet’s eyes stung with hurt. She’d rather he didn’t see this reaction, but of course he did.

“Oh, hell,” he said and leaned in to kiss her himself.

His firm smooth lips pressed hers with a sigh. Violet let out a matching sound and pressed back. Any resistance either of them might have managed burned away in the immediate flare of heat.

Even as he pushed her body back to the ground, Augustin undid his trousers. Her mouth opened for him and then her legs. To her relief, he didn’t hesitate to fill that cradle. His pelvis made a wonderful swiveling motion, working his thick bare length in between her folds. Violet moaned at how good that felt. He had one arm crooked behind her head, pillowing her neck. His other hand caressed her bottom, then coaxed her thigh to bend around his hip. His tongue slid slowly, deeply into her mouth, his hand leaving her leg to glide up and cup her breast. His fingers tightened until their tips pinched one tight nipple.

Sensation shot from that point of pressure along deeply buried nerves, causing her engorged clit to burn like it was on fire. Violet writhed, and the prince’s teeth caught her lower lip. She wouldn’t have thought she’d like being nipped, but she did. He licked the little sore place after, pulling a pleasured whimper into her throat. When he drew back, his eyes burned like twin blue flames.

“Put your arms around me,” he said, the harshness of his instruction rasping her eardrum.

“I’m afraid I’ll hurt you.”

“Do it anyway.”

She did it, and he let out a groan so rife with sexual enjoyment that she couldn’t be sorry if she bothered his injuries. Held in her arms, he hitched hips against her in short but powerful motions, repeatedly driving his erection up and down her a few inches. It was enough to make any girl lose control, and Violet was hardly
any
girl.

“Be still,” he said, the fingers that trapped her nipple tugging deliciously. “I’m going to rub my prick over your best spots. If you keep thrashing, you’ll interfere with my aim.”

She tried to obey him, but her spine arched up. God, she wanted him to drive inside her, to fill her aching pussy with that smooth rock-hard heat. The intensity of the longing was sufficient to make her speak. “You can’t put your cock inside me.”

“I know.” He growled it, sounding a bit angry.