Alana’s hand shook as she made a fist and hollered at herself to knock on Seamus’ guest suite door. It’d taken all evening, the next morning, and into the afternoon until she’d worked up the nerve to do what had to be done.
Get it over with.
It mattered not that she never intended to follow through with the arrangement. She didn’t want to agree, let alone sign something binding.
When she closed her eyes she only saw—and yearned for—a certain pair of sapphire ones, and guilt swirled in her gut. Every once in a while, it jumped up and took a bite of her heart, leaving her shaking. Fighting sobs.
It’d taken hours to gather her wits even after she’d resigned herself that her cousin was right.
At least Xander hadn’t lectured her any more. He seemed to recognize how hard this was for her. Besides, he too despised Seamus.
Relenting to the stupid prince’s demands—even if they really were for naught, and she had to keep reminding herself of that—was like losing a battle that would never sit right in her mouth, let alone her cousin’s.
Xander had promised to help her figure out a plan—for everything.
Too bad her whole body still ached for Alex, and Alana felt like she was betraying him by agreeing to sign parchment that would declare Seamus as her betrothed.
Nausea roiled her gut. Bile rose and what little food she’d forced down at midday threatened to spill onto the corridor floor.
She jumped when her cousin put a hand on her trembling arm. Alana swallowed, but the distraction had helped, and she clamped down her urge to retch.
“I’ll come with you. I can chaperone. Decorum will keep him from asking me to leave.” Xander’s voice was right above her ear.
“Nay. I shall handle this.”
He offered a curt nod, but squeezed her wrist when she went to move away from him. “You scream if he so much as—“
“I will, but he won’t do that today. He’s getting what he wants.” She gulped.
“I’ll be right here, waiting for you.” Xander planted his feet, flexed his wings and locked his jaw. He inclined his head once more and crossed his arms over his green breastplate. The hilt of his sword brushed one palm.
At least he was ready for anything, and would save her—if she needed it.
Alana nodded. Couldn’t find her voice. With one last fortifying look at her cousin, she swept into the room without waiting for Seamus to call out after she’d knocked.
The wretched Irish Prince was lounging on the oversized bed instead of in the sitting room, and wearing nothing but a diaphanous green robe covering his arms and shoulders, but the rest of the material was lying at his sides on the plush mattress.
Completely open.
His green eyes went from surprised to smug much too fast for her liking, and he made no efforts to cover himself. If anything, when Alana looked at him, the bastard preened.
Her urge to vomit was reborn, despite the vast expanse of defined muscles on display. His body should be pleasing to the eye, but this was Seamus, so it was not.
She avoided looking at his manhood, which she’d had the unfortunate opportunity to notice was a hard length, standing at attention. He was aroused.
Had she caught him about to touch himself? Or was he awaiting a lover?
Alana shuddered, but that seemed to please him more.
“Do you like what you see, dear princess?”
She rolled her eyes and didn’t honor him with a response, but his answering smirk said that was what he’d expected—or desired.
Seamus smiled, flashing his dimples and sat up. His hard pectoral muscles flexed, and his abdominals rippled with his movements. “I was lying here, thinking of you, my sweet princess. See what you do to me?” He had the nerve to gesture to his erection.
Was he about stroke himself?
Alana scoffed. Wanted to demand he cover up, but that would let him know his nakedness bothered her, and that was the last thing she wanted to admit.
Like most Fae, she usually had no qualms about nudity—and he needed to assume she was comfortable with all that bare flesh; immune to his good looks would be even better.
She strode forward, but kept her body out of grabbing distance. She didn’t believe he’d try to snatch her to him, but the memory of being pinned by his big form was at the back of her mind.
His anti-magic medallion was still in place at his neck, gleaming red in the light as if the deep stone dared her to try a spell.
“Not talkative today, are we?” The prince cocked his head to one side and shifted the dark waves of his hair.
His looks were wasted on him, but the fact she could see his beauty just irritated her. Alana wanted to picture him as shrived and ugly as he really was.
She took a breath. There was no reason to dance around the Acana tree. “You get your way, Seamus.” For now, until I can figure a way out. “I’ll sign a contract, but ‘tis betrothal only. ‘Twill be worded that it can be ended at my behest.” She narrowed her eyes at the triumph on his visage.
He could be so handsome if he wasn’t such an awful person.
“Nay.”
“Nay?” Her heart thumped. She planted her hands on her hips and straightened her shoulders.
“When you sign a parchment for me, ‘twill be seen through. We will wed.”
Alana sucked down a calming breath when she’d rather scream at him, but Seamus would enjoy that too much. “Don’t forget, we have our fathers to contend with. As you know, most royal betrothals are at least two years long. You may decide on a great many things, but not that. Both kings will have a say. And I will plead with my father that I have one, too. That I can say when.” It would do little good with King Fillan, but Seamus didn’t need to know that.
The prince wrung his hands, and his indignation rolled off her empathic magic.
It was the first time she’d managed to make him angry, and even though it was a result of mostly the truth, Alana held back a smile. “Something wrong?” she asked in her brightest tone.
Her father would want to negotiate with the Irish King, and Fae lived a long time. Especially in nobility, let alone royalty, long betrothals were common, some longer than the two years she’d cited. Her dowry wasn’t set in stone. The king would want to release as little wealth as possible.
King Fillan had been betrothed for five years before he’d married her mother—and although noble, the queen had not been born a princess. He was a greedy man, and would take all he could wheedle from Ireland for Alana’s hand.
Even if she’d wanted to marry Seamus, the terms of when weren’t really up to her. No doubt her father would exercise all his rights and level all the power he could.
There was no love in these types of arrangements. Royal marriages were for alliances, and King Fillan had had his eye on an agreement with Ireland since she was wee.
He’d be delighted that she appeared to want to marry Seamus. Perhaps so much so that he would let her make decisions regarding the wedding—not that she’d tell the idiot prince that.
“I am in control.” Seamus thumbed his bare chest.
Ah, she’d hit a nerve by pointing out what King Ciaran must hold over his head. He was a prince, not the king. He’d always been arrogant, but so was his father. They probably clashed about such things. That was possibly why he had no apparent desire to go home—trying to scheme for Alana aside, of course.
She wanted to grin, but managed not to. She could handle his petty emotions, but needed to watch herself. He could still go to her father about Alex, even if he did get his way.
“Here ‘tis how it ‘twill work,” Seamus mocked her, but she told herself not to react.
“And how is that?” Alana tried to make it sound like a quip, as if she was unconcerned, but her voice had too much of a hard edge, and his expression told her they’d both recognized it.
“You will sign the contract, and I will not be designated as only your royal consort, but as king along your side…when the time comes, of course. Provided…our fathers agree.”
She narrowed her eyes. Instinct flared. There was more left unsaid. Mayhap he did have evil plans for her father.
Could she voice concerns to King Fillan to get out of this mess?
Alana would have to have proof. She’d have to watch him—or have him watched. “Of course,” she made herself echo.
“I shall indicate the same for you, concerning Ireland. My father will not disagree.”
Don’t offer me any favors.
She cleared her throat. “I would expect nothing less.”
Seamus nodded, as if the little concession was out of his sense of generosity. Even if he didn’t truly have the power to make such a designation, despite his confidence King Ciaran would agree.
The bastard.
“We shall marry, and you shall provide me with heirs.”
Alana trembled and had to talk her shoulders into remaining straight. She stood taller.
“I won’t make you get rid of your human.”
“What?” she blurted. She fought the urge to slap her hand over her mouth. So far, she’d denied every reference to Alex. She cursed her inability to hide her shock.
“I don’t expect you to remain faithful to me, so long as you regard me with the same…understanding…and employ discretion.”
She blinked.
What a scoundrel.
Seamus was the worst. Taking a lover, or lovers, before being wed was one thing, but marriage in the Fae Realm expected monogamy. All contracts spoke to as much, as well as all outside dalliances being outlawed, and were punishable by the king if the injured spouse presented evidence.
Society, nobles and peasants alike, lived by these rules. On the occasion a third—or more—bed partner was desired, all parties had to agree, and it was generally a joint effort, not one person taking a new lover. They even had designated mediators for such instances, if the married couple desired.
Alana would die before she’d give herself to him. If she hadn’t been sure about that before, she was now. “Oh, well then how could you ensure your heirs are yours indeed, my dear prince?”
He chuckled, and she wanted to vomit at the charming twinkle in his emerald eyes. “I do not worry on it much. My rival isn’t worthy.”
He means Alex.
So he didn’t even care if she was innocent. Probably assumed she and Alex were already lovers. Somehow that made her detest him even more. Alana opened her mouth to speak, but Seamus beat her to it.
“If you disappear for more than a day, I shall tell my father-by-marriage that I’m being cuckolded by a human. I will, of course, be properly appalled and wounded that you would seek a dalliance after our betrothal or marriage. With a human, no less. What an embarrassment for the Scottish Court and King Fillan.”
“Seamus—”
He held his hand up. “I’m not finished, my sweet princess.”
Alana glared.
“I will lead the army not only to wipe out your beloved, but his whole clan. The walls of Dunvegan would be easily breeched by Fae weapons even in a realm that is not ours and where magic is diminished.” He sat taller, and his green eyes were like hard emeralds.
Ice crawled down her spine at his even, serious tone. She swallowed and her insides wobbled.
“You know your father as I do. His bloodthirstiness has no end, especially where humans are concerned.”
“Seamus—”
“Every. Last. Wee. MacLeod.”
No matter how Alana told herself not to show a reaction, it didn’t stop how she jolted on her feet by his bed. Her frigid flush went across her chest, down her limbs to her toes and she gritted her teeth so they wouldn’t chatter. So she didn’t sway or fall over.
She wanted to reach out and steady herself, but the bedpost was the closest solid object and she wouldn’t touch it or show that kind of weakness in front of the bastard. Or risk getting closer to him.
Alana wanted to claw his eyes out when a slow evil smile spread on his lips.
“You and I have come to an understanding.” The prince’s voice was smug and he reclined into his many pillows. His body reeked of arrogance and triumph. And he was still very exposed.
“I-I-I…” She cleared her throat and tried again, clenching her fists at her sides so she didn’t attack him. “Haven’t said anything.” Her words still came out cracked and she fought a wince.
“You don’t have to. It’s not open for negotiation.” He beamed, then leaned forward, as if to impart a secret. “Oh, and it extends to however long it takes until you call me husband, and even after that. I don’t care if you keep your human, but I shall have you as well. As mine. My wife, my queen. Something the laird will never have.”
Do not cry, beg, or kill him. Act indifferent.
Alana cleared her throat again, tilted her chin up and reached for an expression of haughtiness. “Very well. I shall tell my father I wish to marry you.” She had to swallow so she wouldn’t vomit. “Just ensure that you employ the same discretion you expect of me when it comes to trysts.” She thumbed her chest. “If not, be assured I can also act more than appropriately injured that you would dare be unfaithful to me. As you so aptly pointed out, my father has a tendency toward bloodthirstiness, and being a Crown Prince won’t save you if you harm Da’s wee lassie’s tender feelings.”
That was laughable, really. Her father wouldn’t give a dungeon rat’s shite if her feelings were hurt. He would, however, kill any man who dared violate a contract with him, and Prince Seamus would be no exception.
She took a breath and looked away from the scoundrel, then turned on her heel and left the room without a word, scowling at his parting laughter.
Somehow, even though her reasons were valid—to protect Alex—and she had no intention of actually marrying Seamus, Alana had never sunk lower in her life. Her heart resided in her gut with no hope of returning to where it belonged. Her whole body hurt.
After opening the door, she fell into Xander, unable to hold back her sobs.
Thank the Goddess her cousin caught her up and carried her off before anyone could spot them.