Page 6 of Beast and Remedy (The Last of the Heirs #2)

None of them are him and none of them will ever be him .

I suppress my heartache as I attempt to socialize. “How were your travels to Belmur?”

“They were well, thank you,” Prince Stefan says as the music beckons us to drift apart. He spins me back with grace and ease. “Have you traveled beyond your home recently?”

“I have not had an occasion to as of late,” I lie.

I have traveled outside of Belmur, but it’s not something I care to discuss. Especially with neighboring kingdoms.

Our bodies mold closer as the song amplifies, the musicians playing their instruments with focus. With my arm in his, he braces for a lift, my leg draping around one of his as he swivels us.

“I’d be happy to create an occasion for your presence in Northtry,” he offers, lowering me into a dip.

He inches toward me, and my discomfort thaws he regards me. The dark, calculating aura I first saw melts away the longer he stares, and my heart skips.

“My-My sister and I would love to visit your home,” I suggest, using Marian as a scapegoat.

When I was a child, I remember meeting his family.

Prince Stefan was near my age and his sister a few years younger.

But with Northtry located in the northeast side of Draymenk, the only way to get there was through Hinbron’s Pass and the Dereen Forest, so the visits we took were… few to nonexistent.

Prince Stefan raises me with ease, spinning us twice. He guides our dance effortlessly, his charm and dancing etiquette luring me into learning more about him.

Is he fond of reading? He is athletic, which I understand, given who his father is. But with his impeccable skills for leading and dancing, I wonder if he appreciates the arts.

He might even be the first one of the night not to step on my feet.

My unease for another man touching me ebbs the more his lips stretch into a small smile.

I push away my feelings, distracting and deflecting from what this man is making me feel. “Tell me, how is your sister? Princess Zara?”

“My sister is well. I will be sure to extend your warm wishes,” he says as the song slows, the dance reaching its end. “We should correspond to plan your future visit. Maybe during one of the festivals for the Makers.”

“That would be nice.” I smile through my clipped response, knowing deep down I have no intention of drafting any letters to another royal.

“I look forward to writing you upon my return home.” Prince Stefan stops as applause breaks the silence and kisses my knuckles. “Now, I must uphold my promise to dance with your sister.”

The fervor in his gaze stirs heat in my cheeks as I breathe, “Thank you for the dance, Your Highness.”

“Please, just Stefan.”

I press my lips together, trying to hide my bashful smile. “Thank you, Stefan.”

“Always.” He smirks, his voice lustful and trailing around my mind as my sister approaches. He extends his open palm. “Princess Marian, eager for a dance already?”

“I am always eager when it comes to your company, Stefan.” She chuckles.

I blink at her boldness. Damn, Marian.

They hold each other’s gazes as I step back, wanting to slip into the shadows and escape, but Pierre catches me, forcing me beside him, Jean, and Papa.

My habitual royal appearance was already cracking at the seams through my aching cheeks and false smile. I tuned out their socializing after brief introductions, every male greeting me lacking substantial intellect.

Vexation brimmed under the surface of my skin the longer I stood with my family, my knee wobbling underneath my emerald-green dress. I waited impatiently for my sister to finish dancing with the prince so she could rescue me.

But she giggled and danced with Prince Stefan several times over, her shimmering gold gown bright and reflective, matching her pure radiance.

I almost make a move to stop her, but King Vinzent beats me to it.

The prince kisses her hand as they bid farewell, and I hold my tongue as she struggles to restrain her bustling, excited energy.

Her feet move toward me, but her interest remains on the prince as she waves him and his father goodbye.

Stefan catches sight of me at the threshold and dips his chin.

I curtsy before he parts, my sister’s elation and squeal stealing my attention.

“Stefan asked for us to join him for an upcoming festival!”

“Oh?” I say in pretend surprise, wanting her to have this more than I.

“Yes! Stefan and his father need to return to their rooms early for the night because of their business in Unterkirch, but he told me he wants to send me letters! Isn’t that amazing?”

She rubs her temple and glances to where she danced with Stefan. She sighs contentedly, resting her hands on her hips. “You know, I think I have this princess role down too well.”

“I hope you were able to look past his attractiveness before accepting on our behalf.”

Marian’s jaw falls, and I laugh.

“You should have seen your face! You were all like, oh no! ” I snicker. “I couldn’t resist messing with you.”

She slumps and playfully smacks me. “Yeah, yeah. Eat my own words. I know . Are you still hoping for an escape?”

“Is it obvious?”

“We’ve stayed long enough. Let’s go.”

We peer at Jean, who is watching us warily. I feign a yawn, and Marian feigns sleeping.

Jean smirks and whispers in Papa’s ear, and when he gives us approval, I break into a wide grin.

My sister guides us through the ballroom, guests acknowledging us as we pass. Her gold dress matches the flower adorned walls, complementing and illuminating her.

Gazing down at my emerald-green gown, I’m glad the color is different. It’s another thing setting us apart as twins, giving us our own identity.

The stench of sweat lingers in the air as we stride up the stairwell toward my study, pausing at the threshold to a muted sound coming down the hall.

Scuffles and riffles grow louder. And something rumbles .

Marian and I share a concerned look before breaking into a sprint.

I burst open the door, gasping when a growl echoes into the corridor, making my blood run cold.

Shredded parchment, spilled ink, my collection of quill feathers destroyed. And my vials… My heart shrivels at the shelf of broken bottles scattered on the floor.

The wolf is ruining everything in its sight.

How did it break out of the storage closet? Did it eat all the contents in those containers?

What sort of reaction is this?

Fear dries my throat when the beast’s malicious eyes find mine, foam forming near its sneering, ravenous mouth. It rests its full weight on the injured leg and flinches, snarling at the light coming in from the hall.

I think through everything we did for treatments.

It couldn’t be the salve. Maybe the pain tonic? No, Marian has that recipe memorized like I do. I even made her repeat it back when she finished dressing for the party before I did.

What if someone broke in during the celebration? No, we have our guards stationed. No staff would be allowed back here, either.

Could it be an expired herb? Food we gave it gone bad? What did I do wrong? What did I miss?

“Vi,” Marian whispers, clinging to me.

I guide her behind me before raising my hands calmly as I enter the room.

“Vi, don’t!” Marian urges.

The wolf focuses on her.

“Don’t move,” I order, loud enough to divert the creature’s attention.

It bares its teeth, rumbling as its chest rises and falls rapidly. Panting.

It must be in so much pain.

I lower my voice. “Marian, move and try to see what vials it got into.”

“But—”

“Do it. Hurry !” I snap, inching closer to the beast.

I reach inwardly for my magic’s tether before cooing, “Will you let me help you?” I extend an open palm, trying to communicate my desire to aid, not harm.

Glass crunches, followed by a sharp intake of breath, and a deep, guttural growl escapes from the wolf.

It thrashes, pained and enraged, and my heart twists. Why isn’t my power working? Why can’t I calm it? I can see and sense its torment, and it battles whatever reaction my medicine and herbs are doing to it.

Copper fills the air, and the animal halts, its snout twitching. It’s not my blood it smells, nor its own. But Marian’s .

Damn the slippers we wore for a party.

The creature gnaws and snarls, its claws screeching against the floor. Drool pours from the wolf’s foaming mouth, preparing to—

My stomach dips. “Marian, look out!”