Page 3 of The Broken Prince

“Never worry about me, sweetheart.” He cupped the back of my head and pressed a kiss to my forehead before he turned away.

When he faced my mother, there was a pause, like she was the hardest one to leave. They stared at each other for a while, a silent conversation passing between them. “It’ll be alright, baby.”

“I don’t want to live through this again.”

“But we must. And we must do it bravely—because we aren’t just fighting for each other anymore.”

She inhaled a deep breath before she gave a nod.

Father smothered her with his arms, wrapping her tightly in his embrace and making her disappear in his grasp. His armor was so thick and heavy that it must be uncomfortable against her body, but she used it as a cocoon to protect her wings. “I love you.”

“I love you…”

He released her without looking back, climbed onto Storm, and then launched into the sky.

TWO

HARLOW

The castle wasn’t the same without my father. If he’d gone to visit his mother in HeartHolme, the energy wouldn’t feel so off. But now that there was the very real chance he wouldn’t return, everything was different. My mother wasn’t herself, choosing to spend her time alone when we would normally go for a ride on the horses or work in the garden. Atticus dedicated himself to the army and chose to sleep in the barracks rather than his comfortable bedchambers in the castle. Most kings would prefer to keep their sons from battle, safe behind the protective walls of the castle, but Father had been insistent that we dedicate our lives to the kingdom—rather than the other way around.

I had no purpose at the moment, so I went to my favorite bar for a drink. Instead of wearing my dresses in the summer heat, I did as my father asked and wore my uniform and armor whenever I was outside the castle, the outfit identical to the one my mother wore. It was black and ugly and uncomfortable so I didn’t care for it, but I would honor my father’s wishes.

I sat on the stool, and without saying a word, the barmaiden brought me an ale.

“You know me so well, girl.” I raised my tankard and took a drink.

She winked then walked off to serve another customer.

I took a drink, feeling the depression on my shoulders, never having appreciated the simplicity of my life until it was no longer simple. As I sat there, I felt a stare, one that punctured my skin with the sharpness of a knife.

My eyes shifted to meet my admirer—a gorgeous man with dark hair and dark eyes, his hand resting on the glass of scotch he drank like water. He was across the room, and it seemed like he’d been there long before I walked inside.

He raised his glass to me and took a drink.

I did the same.

Then he grabbed his drink and stalked to a table in the corner, moving as far away from me as possible, completely out of my line of sight.

Because he wanted to avoid me.

Because my father threatened to kill him if he spoke to me.

But my father wasn’t here…

I grabbed my drink and joined him at the table where he sat alone in the corner, a booth that was unoccupied because it was a quiet night in the village. It’d been a hot day, and people chose to go to bed early to beat the heat the next morning.

He was dressed in all black, vitality returned to his face now that he’d eaten and bathed. His short black hair was combed back slightly, and the scruff on his jawline looked a few days old. He relaxed in the chair, one hand snaked around his glass. His arms were exposed in his shirt, thick and corded, powerful once again now that he’d been properly fed. “Are you trying to get me killed?”

“My father left.”

He stared, his confident eyes guarded.

“And he said you couldn’t come anywhere near me, but he said nothing about my coming near you.”

A soft smile moved on to his lips, but it was gone a second later. “Where’s he gone?”

“HeartHolme. He’s going to investigate the east.”