Page 9 of Ruthless Prince

Logan

IwatchedWillow out of the corner of my eye as she crossed the EastRoom.

Her silky royal blue dress wrapped around her curves in a glorious way, and the enormous jewels sparkling on her neck and ears gave her the bold air of a queen. Her thick auburn hair tumbled over her shoulders in waves, catching the light with every graceful step she took. She looked gorgeous. Happy.Perfect.

I’d never hated someone so much in mylife.

The flame of anger inside me flared higher as I watched her step up to Rowan Harris. I knew him. The guy was a fucking freak, always harping on about lunatic fringe theories, but he was nice enough. If Willow had her claws in him, he didn’t stand a chance. She’d fooled far more discerning men in thepast.

Evenme.

I turned back to Teddy. He looked terrible. Pale and clammy, missing at least fifteenpounds.

Five months had passed since his father’s death, and he wasn’t coping well. Not that I blamed him. Theodore Senior’s death had come as a shock to everyone. He was only fifty-four when he passed, and everyone thought he was in goodhealth.

“Why are you looking at Little Miss Perfect?” Teddy asked, eyes wandering over to Willow. “Interestedagain?”

I cleared my throat. “No. Just thought she was someoneelse.”

“Jesus, she’s with Rowan Harris.” He lifted his glass of whiskey in Rowan’s direction in a mock toast. “Good luck,buddy.”

I smiled thinly. “My thoughts exactly. She’ll eat himalive.”

Teddy snorted. “I thought she was an ice queen, not a man-eater.”

“Maybe I’m thinking of someone else.” I waved one handdismissively.

Willow Rhoades definitely wasn’t a man-eater. No, she was something much worse. I’d discovered that nasty truth in the grimmest waypossible.

Our respective families had never been particularly close, due to their public status as political rivals, but we’d run in the same social circles for most of our lives anyway. That probably wouldn’t make much sense to a regular person, but in an opulent world like ours, it didn’t matter if someone didn’t share the same views as their peers. Wealth stuck with wealth no matterwhat.

In line with that, I’d spent my childhood having one major message drummed into me: Willow and I would be married once she turned twenty-one. There was a literal contract between our families to ensure it happened, brokered by the Order when Stephen Rhoades needed help. He’d traded his daughter’s future to my family to save his ownass.

It didn’t bother me. I understood from a very young age that marriages in elite circles didn’t happen because of love. They were arranged for social, economic, and political reasons instead. It was similar to the way things were in medieval times, when young princesses were married off to the rulers of other power blocs to securealliances.

In our world, no one was expected to love or remain faithful to their spouse. They could see and fuck whoever they wanted as long as they epitomized discretion and remained legally bound to theirpartner.

I grew up knowing it would be no different for me. If I wanted to remain living in the upper echelons of society—and who wouldn’t?—I had to observe the rules. I would marry an appropriate and carefully-selected woman, as per the family arrangement, and that woman just so happened to beWillow.

I had a different idea of what our future relationship would entail, though. Back then I still had some sort of youthful idealism, and I thought things could be different for us. I actually wanted something real withher.

She’d always been a beautiful girl, but that wasn’t what I liked most about her. Unlike the other catty girls in our circles, she was sweet, quiet and kind. A breath of fresh air. It wasn’t until later that I realized it was all a mask. Beneath that pretty, innocent exterior, her blood simmered with hatred and rage. She loved to pretend otherwise while she played the part of the perfect American princess, but I knew the truthnow.

She was amonster.

Our sham wedding would still happen, as dictated by the Order contract that bound her to my family, but our relationship would be just as loveless as every other elite marriage. Not only that, it would be downrightmiserable.

But only for her. I’d make damn sure ofthat.

“You know, I still can’t believe the bitch had the gall to invite me,” Teddy muttered, glaring across theroom.

My brows pinched together. “Are we still talking aboutWillow?”

“No. Her bitch mother,” he said, nodding toward QuinnRhoades.

“I believe we’re supposed to refer to her as Madam President now,” I said in a sardonictone.

“Well,Madam Presidentis a cunt.” His upper lip curled. “Don’t you think she has some fucking nerve inviting me and my mother to this bullshitparty?”