I wiped my hands as clean as I could on the tablecloth before pulling out the rustling sheaf of papers. I took a moment to straighten my dress before marching, eyes in front, to the other end of the hall. I had to force myself not to clutch my dress with my free hand. This was it. There was no turning back now.

  Up close, the prince’s age was a little more evident. Crow’s feet lined the corners of his dark eyes, and there was a little salt and pepper at the edges of his beard. But he moved with the energy of a young man, and his eyes danced with jovial intelligence.

  Lord Wallis sitting next to him could not have been a greater contrast. He was even more disheveled this close. The ruddy sheen on his forehead and cheeks betrayed how much he had had to drink--he must have started well before the feast. A chicken bone had lodged itself in his beard, just next to the corner of his mouth, and he seemed entirely unaware of it.

  Hopkin was standing behind Wallis, attending him with a jug of wine at the ready. He had a look of utter humiliation on his face. His job was to make Lord Wallis look good, but the prideful man was making his job impossible. Hopkin flinched when he saw me, but didn’t do anything to stop me. Good. Perhaps our talk had been worth it..

  “As I was saying to our gracious host, Lord Haversham, the boar hunting is excellent in this region,” Prince Rickard said to the elderly nobleman beside him.

  “Aye!” shouted Lord Wallis, sloshing wine onto his wrist as he emphatically shook his silver goblet in the air. “We have the tastiest, most ferocious boars in the land!”

  I wrinkled my nose in confusion. Boar hunting? There were far more boars in the lands to the south.

  Oh. Boor hunting. Prince Rickard had drawn blood, and Wallis didn’t even realize it. As nervous as I was, I couldn’t hold down a tittering laugh.

  Prince Rickard must have heard me. He glanced over at me, and then back at the confused expression on Lord Haversham’s wizened face.

  “You see? She gets it,” he said, with a nod in my direction.

  He turned stool to look at me and extended his hand in greeting.

  “I apologize. I’m afraid I’ve not had the pleasure, Lady…?”

  “Willa!” Edna shouted from a few seats down, staring at me in shock. “She’s my wet nurse! Guards, take her impudent ass back my quarters!”

  “A wet nurse!” the prince chuckled, “I’m not yet in my second childhood, I’m afraid. I’ll have no need of your services for now.”

  That sparked an outburst of laughter from his side of the table. This was not going the way I had hoped. A heavy gloved hand from one of the guards behind me fell on my shoulder.

  “Wait, no!” I cried, feebly waving the stack of papers at the prince.

  They caught his eye. He raised his hand to signal the guard to halt and took them straight from my hand.

  “What have we here,” he said, barely audible over the sound of the feast. He began leafing through the pages. He grew stern as he went through them.

  “Where did you find these?” he finally demanded of me. “Whose hand wrote this?

  “Donovan, sire,” I said. “Lord Wallis’ steward. They are from his private diary.”

  Wallis’ ears pricked up at hearing Donovan’s name.

  “Donovan? What’s he been scribbling this time? Give me those!” He reached out with a greasy paw, and then corrected himself. “Er, if it please you, sire.”

  “For God’s sake, wipe your hands first!”

  Wallis hastily wiped his hands clean on the tablecloth--not too well--before extending his palm again. After a moment’s hesitation, the prince handed him the sheaf. I winced as I saw grease prints immediately show up on the page.

  Wallis squinted cross eyed at the pages. I knew he could barely read at the best of times. As deep in his cups as he was, he had to be seeing double. He was only halfway through the first page when he stumbled to his feet waving the pages in the air.

  “What is the meaning of this?” he asked loudly. I nearly rolled my eyes. What a transparent attempt to disguise his illiteracy.

  “It seems,” Prince Rickard said calmly, “that these pages accuse you of conspiring to take possession of St.-Martin-by-the-River by replacing Edward with a peasant, and raising the real Edward as a servant in your castle.” He raised his voice. “Is Hopkin here?”

  Hopkin raised his hand meekly. “Here, sire.”

  Rickard regarded him for a moment with inscrutable eyes.

  “Hmm. I see.” He turned back to Wallis. “This is quite a convoluted intrigue that you’ve been accused of.” He waved his hand dismissively. “But it will have to wait until the morrow. I’ve not yet finished feasting.”

  “Now, wait a minute!” growled Wallis. He pounded his fist on the table. “I’ve had just about enough of this! We will end it tonight!” He spread his arms to the seated guests. “I know what you all say. You all think I started the fire, that I killed my own brother to take the castle, and then seventeen years later killed his son. What nonsense!”

  His face was beet red. A large purple vein was pulsing at his temple. This was going to last a while. When he got into one of his rants, nothing--not even the king’s personal representative--would be able to shut him up until he was done.

  The rest of the hall went silent. Over a hundred pairs of eyes turned to stare. The only sound in the great hall was his barking yell.

  “Who put her up to this?” he screamed. He scanned the high table, looking menacing at everyone. “Was it you, Lord Haversham? I know you always wanted this place. Or is it just an elaborate joke? Do you think it’s funny to make the fat man turn red and angry?”

  At that moment, I didn’t find it very funny at all. I’d seen him angry before, but never so entirely out of control. Rage had twisted his face into a bestial snarl. His eyes were rolling in their sockets like a mad dog that would need to be put down. His syllables were clipped, his teeth nearly clacking together as he snapped at the air.

  His animalistic rage gave me an inspiration.. My gift was talking to beasts and touching their minds--and what was he right now other than a beast? I briefly closed my eyes to focus and raise my energies. When I was ready, I opened them and stared at his face, focusing on how wolfish his canine teeth were, and the bear-like figure he cut. Anything that resembled an animal. And then I exhaled and pushed out to touch his mind. I just needed to nudge him just an inch.

  I felt the touch of his mind briefly, enraged and confused. He felt like a fox in a trap. I tried to push an idea into his mind, but the winds of his thoughts swept me away, and I lost the connection.

  He stumbled in his words for a moment. Had it worked?

  “Where was I? Oh, yes. How can one suggest, even for a moment, that I would have killed poor Edward? I took him as a babe, swaddled him with my own fabric!” He sprayed his guests on either side with a fine rain of spittle as he shouted. He was gesticulating wildly, but with every other word thrust his outstretched hand directly at Hopkin. Prince Rickard’s brow slightly furrowed. He had noticed.

  “I paid for a roof over his head and put food in his mouth! I paid tutors at great expense to teach him to manage his own estate! I even put him at my right hand managing my own estate!”

  He punctuated that last sentence with an especially emphatic thrust in Hopkin’s direction.

  “And when was that?” Prince Rickard’s quiet, commanding voice completely broke Wallis’ rhythm.

  “What?”

  “When did you put Edward in charge of your estate? I always thought you had that old steward Donovan running things.”

  “Well-- It was--actually,” he sputtered.

  “Sir Wallerd,” said Prince Rickard. At the name, I looked around for the baby I’d been caring for for the last few weeks. When Edna’s husband stood up, I remembered that the child had been named after his father--or at least, the supposed father.

  “Your grace.” Wallerd ducked his head gracefully.

  “Please answer truthfully. Remember that to lie to me is to lie to the king. Tell me, did Edward ever manage your father’s estate, to your recollection.”

  “No, your grace.”

  “Can you name for me who does?”

  “Donovan has been head steward at Castle Dreadmoor since before I was born.”

  “And who is in charge of St. Martin?”

  Wallerd gulped loud enough that I could hear it across the table and three seats down. His voice quavered as he answered.

  “Currently, it is the young steward Hopkin.”

  Prince Rickard’s sharp gaze turned back to Wallis. The prince’s eyes had taken a deadly cast.

  “Care to explain, Lord Wallis of Dreadmoor?”

  The color drained from Wallis’ face as quickly as his rage had turned it red. He collapsed back down onto his stool. He grabbed his goblet one last time, nearly tipping it over, and then tossed it back. He looked in every direction, casting about for a friendly face. Every direction except the prince, whose glare was pinning him to the spot.

  “No, your grace,” he finally answered in a hoarse whisper.

  Prince Rickard snapped his fingers for the guards.

  “Seize him! He will be confined to quarters. The trial will be tomorrow. I believe we have already seen enough evidence. We will skip straight to sentencing.”

  I wish I could say that I had pity on the man. I wish I could say that I was a big enough person that his panicked expression stirred some mercy in my heart as the guards dragged him through the wide doors toward the dungeon.

  I can’t say any of that. I smile every time I think of the moment that mother-murdering bastard finally realized that his reward was on its way.

  Chapter 23

  I shut the door quietly behind me, nearly catching my chemise in the latch in the darkness. Firelight danced across the patterned rugs covering the stonework floor. A familiar profile was outlined against the hearth, leaning forward in the great plush chair, chin resting on his hands. I tiptoed up to the other chair next to him. He was dressed for bed in a dark woolen night robe. It hung open near the top to show his broad strong chest. I had to suppress the urge to rip it open and bathe his torso with kisses.

  “Hello, Edward,” I said softly. That name felt strange in my mouth. To me, he would always be Hopkin.

  He looked up at me with a lopsided smile.

  “Hello, other Edward.”

  I snorted.

  “It really is Willa now. I mean it.”

  “Why don’t you sit?” He waved at the empty chair.

  “At your pleasure, milord.” I curtsied.

  “Christ, not you, too.”

  I let myself relax into the chair. The plush was so deep that I thought it would swallow me up. I spent a moment basking silently in the warmth of the fire.

  “There’s a lot to adjust to, isn’t there?” I asked.

  He was staring into the fire. He looked exhausted. It had been a topsy-turvy week. After the trial, Wallis had gone to the headsman. I hadn’t been able to bring myself to watch--I hadn’t wanted to see that old bastard one more minute, alive or dead. After that, a hasty prepared ceremony installing the new Edward as lord of St.-Martin-by-the-River.

  “You have no idea.”

  “Think so?” I arched an eyebrow at him.

  “Oh! Christ’s blood, I’m sorry. You, of all people.” He sighed. “I’m sorry. This was supposed to be yours.”

  I shook my head.

  “Of course not. You were literally born to it. I was just a peasant’s child who got caught up in it because Wallis got upset and did something foolish.”

  I reached out and put my hand on his knee.

  “The only reason you’re having trouble,” I continued, “is because Wallis robbed you of upbringing you were supposed to have.”

  “I suppose I’ll have to learn to read,” he said. He leaned back in the chair. I had to smile at the look of apprehension on his face.

  “I’ll teach you.”

  Hopkin--or Edward, rather--turned his head and looked at me with intensity. The flickering firelight made it hard to read his expression.

  “So I suppose you’re stuck like this?” He waved his hand up and down across my body.

  “Isn’t it more convenient?” I shrugged. “If I switched back, I think people would find it confusing. Better to let people think Wallis killed the fake Edward. Besides…” I gave him a sly, lopsided smile.

  “Besides what?”

  “Isn’t that a better canopy than willow branches?” I gestured toward the luxurious four-post bed behind us.

  My stomach was tied up in knots. He hadn’t known who I was before. If he was still willing…

  “You’re still willing?” he asked. There was a note of hesitancy in his voice.

  I slid off the chair onto the ground and sat in front of him. I put my hands on his knees. They were trembling at my touch.

  “Edwa--Hopkin. I’ve known you all my life. And since I changed, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you.”

  He placed his hands tenderly on mine.

  “I need you, Willa. I won’t be able to do this without you.”

  I slid my fingers between his, interlocking them.

  “I’ll never let you fall.”

  Suddenly, his arms were around me pulling me up into his lap. His warmth soaked into my body. I buried my face in his hair and breathed in his sweet musk. I sighed as his arms pulled me closer. My head was swimming.

  At long last, I wasn’t the bookish misfit rejected by my uncle, or the temporary victim of a curse taken in as an incubator. Hopkin--no, Edward--had held me in his arms like this before, but he hadn’t known who I was. Hadn’t known that I was the childhood friend who knew him backward and forward. And he did now, and I finally had a place, here in his arms.

  I melted into him as his lips left a trail of fire along the side of my neck. I put my hand on the back of his head and pulled him closer. He brought his hand down to my knee and began sliding his fingers up the side of my thigh. He played with the edge of my chemise briefly before continuing underneath. I took the soft lobe of his ear between my lips and nibbled, egging him on.

  Suddenly, he shifted his grip on me, holding me firmly by my hips. He stood up holding me in the air. For a moment, the room tilted, and I was almost afraid I would fall, but his strong hand on my back steadied me. I looked down at him in astonishment. I hadn’t realized he was this strong. He nuzzled my belly through the chemise with his face. I cursed the thin fabric separating us as he walked me back to the bed.

  When he finally let me go, the bed caught me in its soft down. Before I could get my bearings, he was already on top of me. His eager hands pulled the chemise up over my belly. I shifted my weight as he pulled it over my head and tossed over the side of the bed. His eyes shone with desire as he looked at my body, filling me with pride.

  I tugged at the soft cloth belt holding his robe closed. The edges fell open, giving me a private view of his chiseled, broad chest. I couldn’t hold back from running my fingers over his body.

  “Aren’t you supposed to be marrying some kind of duchess?” I asked with a coy smile.

  He encircled my breast with his hand, prompting a sigh.

  “We’ll find a nice duchess for our son,” he said.

  I grabbed the edges of his robe and pulled his weight down on me.

  “Mmm,” I said, “Don’t we have to be married for that?”

  “Just a technicality,” he whispered, before sealing his mouth on mine.

  I tugged the edges of the robe aside far enough that I could slide my legs underneath and wrap them around his hips to pull him closer. We would have plenty of time to take it slow and easy later. I was burning for him now. I needed him inside me.

  The moment he pushed inside me seemed to stretch out into infinity. I felt his crown enter me, pushing me open. And then the feeling of my lower lips sliding along his shaft as he speared me. When I thought there couldn’t possibly be any more, it just kept going. When he finally bottomed out, I moaned uncontrollably. I’d had him before. How was it possible that there was so much more this time?

  He slid his hand underneath the back of my head and grabbed me by the hair. He lifted my face up to his. I felt like I could drown in those big, beautiful brown eyes. He bit his lower lip in pleasure as he plunged into me. I pushed back against him, driven wild by the heat in his eyes.

  There was nothing better than this. Nothing better than being speared on his manhood and being driven into the bed. Feeling his grip on me and knowing that he held me so tight because his overwhelming need drove him to it.

  The next several minutes, we filled the bedroom with gasps and pants and moans. Nothing existed for me except the places where we touched--his hands on my skin, his fiery lips on my neck. The slick friction inside me as he plunged into me over and over again, setting my whole body on fire, causing me to surrender to his strength.

  I felt the climax boiling inside of me. His thickness inside of me had grown into a steel rod, so I knew he was near his maximum as well. His face was filled with an almost spiritual ecstasy. I grabbed the back of his head and pulled him close. I wanted to see it in his eyes when he came.

  “I love you, Willa,” he panted.

  “Edward, I’m yours--Ah!”

  He pressed his hips against me as hard as he could for one final thrust. His eyes widened, overcome, as he showed me the very moment that it started. And then I felt it, the pulsing, pumping expansion inside me as he poured everything he had into my body.

  My eyes rolled into the back of my head as his climax tipped me over the edge. My vision turned white. There was nothing, nothing at all, except the feeling of him inside me, and the overwhelming waves of love and pleasure rolling through me as we shared the moment together.

  As I lay there stunned after it passed, he grabbed the soft covers and wrapped us up together inside like a cocoon. I pressed my back against him as he pulled me in, his arm on my belly. I put my hand on top of the back of his, as much to remind me that this was really happening as for the pure joy of touching him.

 

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