The dark prince a dark m.., p.1
The Dark Prince: A dark medieval fantasy romance, page 1
The Dark Prince
RAVEN STORM
Copyright © 2023 by Raven Storm
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Book Cover by Gigi Creatives
Created with Vellum
Contents
Pronunciation Guide
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty One
Twenty Two
Twenty Three
Twenty Four
Twenty Five
Twenty Six
Twenty Seven
Twenty Eight
Twenty Nine
Thirty
Thirty One
Thirty Two
Thirty Three
Thirty Four
Thirty Five
Thirty Six
Thirty Seven
Thirty Eight
EPILOGUE
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Also by Raven Storm
Also by Raven Storm
Pronunciation Guide
Tyr - “Tee-r”
Aella - Ay-ella
Maddeus - Muh-day-us
Puth- Poo-th
One
ISADORA
“I won’t! I won’t marry him! You can’t make me!”
Roselle’s shrieks bounced off the walls of our modest manor, sending servants and animals alike scurrying away to avoid her wrath. I stayed put, the hem of her white wedding dress clenched in my fingers. I bit down harder on the needles between my teeth that stuck out between my lips.
My step-father Lord Perron stood half-dressed in his best suit, jacket hanging on a nearby chair. His shirt was unbuttoned toward the top, and his cravat hung at his neck in an untied mess.
He looked how I felt most of the time.
“lsadora, hurry up,” he said to me, dodging as Roselle threw a wooden brush at him.
I made a desperate attempt to continue hemming her dress despite the fuss. My callused, thick fingers struggled to get the needle threaded where it needed to be. Such delicate work was for ladies, and not servant girls who worked with their hands all day. In my head I already rehearsed what the worst scenario was: I wouldn’t finish the dress, Roselle would scream, and my step-father would smack me in the face and withhold dinner.
That was fine, I could cope with that. I knew the cook would sneak me some bread and cheese and Lauren would have a compress for my face. I would survive this. Other scenarios swarmed in my head causing my fingers to shake with anxiety. What if I accidentally stabbed Roselle with the needle? She’d stab me back. What if I messed up the dress and her new husband didn’t like it because of me?
I closed my eyes and shoved my anxiety down deep, deep, deep, where no one would see it. I had to finish this dress.
It didn’t help that Roselle was thrashing like an animal in its death throes.
My step-father’s attention turned back to his real daughter. “The Dark Prince has been very kind to us in our time of need. This is the only thing he’s asked in return, and you will honor it. He will be here this evening. You will be on your best behavior, and you will marry him. ”
With nary a thought to either of us, he stormed out of the room, snatching his jacket off the chair as he went.
There was a moment of stunned silence. Roselle’s body vibrated, fists clenching as she grit her teeth. Her father never said no to her.
Never.
Roselle took a large breath in, and I let go of the dress in favor of covering my ears. I knew what was coming.
She let out such an unearthly scream that it rattled the floorboards. More impressively, no one came rushing in to see what the fuss was about. It was likely that my step-father ordered them all not to. Roselle screamed daily, whether it was over a tiny hole in her hose, or a proposal to a strange man. The servants and I were mostly deaf to her tantrums by now.
Roselle had to have known this would come someday. Her delicate beauty made her quite a catch despite my mother having been only a baroness before she married Lord Perron. We were a minor, unimportant noble family out in the countryside.
Nevertheless, I understood why someone as powerful as the Dark Prince would be interested in her. Her long, blonde hair curled gently at the ends around the small of her back. Big, almond-shaped green eyes complimented her lithe figure. She was an accomplished singer and danced well enough. A pretty little wife for a man who had enough coin to buy her, since she didn’t have a dowry. Our family was practically destitute after my mother died. My mother. Not Roselle’s. And with my mother’s death went all her lands and titles, confiscated and given back to her family.
Apparently, I didn’t count, because my mother had me out of wedlock. We’d lived out here in the country by ourselves for as long as I could remember, until Mother had fallen head over heels for the gallant baron, who didn’t seem to mind her pariah status in polite society.
Anyway, it worked out fine since the Dark Prince didn’t need a dowry. He didn’t need anything since he already held all the power in our province. The surrounding villages (including ours) owed fealty to him as long as he kept his promise to protect us from harm. So when he asked (demanded) something of you, you gave it to him.
His skill as a fighter was famous. Perhaps infamous. He was the king’s favored, and with the king having no sons of his own, many whispered he was a bastard risen too far above his own station. The man was feared throughout the kingdom, and rightly so. When the king had a traitor that needed to face his crimes, the Dark Prince was sent out. He was an extension of the king’s arm of justice, his executioner in the night.
It was also rumored he was terribly disfigured.
“He is old! He is ugly! How could Father do this?” Roselle grabbed at me, sending my needles flying.
I grit my teeth and tried to smile. It would take me forever searching on my hands and knees to find them. My brain imagined every possible scenario where Roselle was married and happily away from me forever.
“He is rich and powerful. Of course someone like you would attract such a suitor. And he never takes his mask off when he goes out, so no one truly knows what he looks like,” I tried to rationalize. “He could be quite handsome around the deformity?”
Roselle cried harder.
I sighed, and gathered what I could. With her in such a fit there was no point in continuing, and my other chores weren’t even half done. I’d be damned if I missed supper in the kitchens just because Roselle was having a crisis.
Inwardly, I was ecstatic she’d be gone tonight, It would be one less person prancing about and making my life hell. There’d probably be a party later in the kitchens after my step-father went to bed. Maybe the cook would make those tarts I favored. I couldn’t wait to see Roselle ride off into the distance with her husband. She was the most rotten person I’d met despite being the most beautiful. It was as if the more attractive you were, the more rotten you were inside.
“I wish I were ugly like you,” Roselle sniffed. “Then The Dark Prince wouldn’t want to marry me.”
I gathered my pin cushion and victoriously plucked a needle from the floor. Her eyes lingered on my hands and dirty feet, nose going up in the air.
I kept my face blank. It was the best I could manage under such an insult. Certainly, I wasn’t a dazzling beauty like Roselle. Nonetheless, I was proud of my strawberry blonde hair inherited from my mother, and it was offset by the deep brown of my eyes. I kept it tamed during the day in a tight bun or braid, but I thought it could look quite nice if I ever had a chance to style it every day, like Roselle made Marie do for her each morning.
But there was no escaping the scars and marks on my body that clearly labeled me as a member of the serving class. Even the muscles that showed on my shoulders and arms damned me as a woman of working means. Even so, I was proud of the hard work I did everyday—work that would send my step-sister running from the manor screaming.
But I had to be honest with myself as well. Gazing at Roselle in her fine dress, I admitted I was jealous. What would it be like to wear something so fine? To have someone pamper and help prepare you to be seen by society? What would it be like to converse with other lords and ladies, or to be courted by handsome men in fine clothes? That was the life I was supposed to be living before my mother died and Perron made me part of the staff.
“Wait! That’s it! He wouldn’t want to marry you!” Roselle gasped, coming down from her little pedestal to grab me by my elbow.
I blinked, not knowing what to say to that. Roselle paused, looking at me with anticipation. My heart pounded in my chest. It was never good for me when she got that malicious glint in her eyes. “I-I don’t understand,” I managed to reply.
Roselle waved her hands dismissively. “Isn’t it obvious? I will tell Father that the Dark Prince c
an meet me out back in the garden, alone. What better way to spend some time with my future husband before our ceremony?” She smirked in satisfaction at this plan, draping a silk glove across her breast dramatically.
My stomach flipped and sweat broke out on my forehead.
“Here, get me out of this. Switch clothing with me,” she demanded.
My heart stopped altogether. “W-what?” I sputtered, clutching my sewing as if it might save me.
Roselle scowled, already fussing with the ties on her dress. “Are you dense? Pay attention. I’ll inform Father the Dark Prince is to meet me in the garden when he arrives. But it won’t be me, you understand? You will sit in the garden in my dress. The Dark Prince will see how plain and ordinary you are and cancel the wedding! No one would want to marry you!” She gave a little twirl of happiness, spinning around and letting go of my arm.
Run. Do it now, my inner voice commanded, but I didn’t move. Did she actually think something like this would work? No. If I ran, she’d only go make up a worse story to tell my step-father.
Seeing the doubt on my face, her tone immediately shifted. “Wouldn’t you like to wear a nice dress?” She put one hand around my neck, as if we were the best of friends.
I inwardly huffed. Of course I’d like to, but I wasn’t stupid. Me wearing a fine dress would be an open invitation for a caning. “That would never work. If someone sees me—”
“Of course it will work,” she cut over top of me, undoing the long line of buttons down her front. “Now let’s go. I am ordering you.”
Oh, great. It was easy for her to come up with such a scheme. If we were caught, she would only get a scolding and no pudding after dinner. If I got caught, I’d be taken around back and beaten so badly I wouldn’t be able to sit for a week. I could already imagine the impossibility of getting my work done for the next few days. That would lead to more punishment, more pain, and then—
I bit my lip hard, bringing me back down to earth and putting a halt to my racing thoughts.
The same outcome would happen if I didn’t obey her. At least if I played along, there was a chance we might not get caught, as small as it was. Surely, the Dark Prince had heard of Roselle’s beauty, or knew her basic attributes. No one in their right mind would take me for the flaxen, blonde beauty with big breasts and doe eyes.
My hands automatically pulled my thin cotton shift over my head, stained with dirt and bits of the lunch I helped the cook make earlier in the day. Roselle fussed a bit more in her underclothes, neither of us looking at the other as she lifted her dress and stepped out. We switched clothing. She held my dress out in front of her like it was a diseased, filthy rag.
My lips pursed as I stared at her, hope rising in my chest. Would she be picky enough to refuse to wear it, and cancel this plan?
With a pinched face and a look of disgust, she quickly put on my work dress. With determination she helped me tie her own wedding dress around me. It didn’t exactly fit right, hanging open a little in the breast area and in the back. I didn’t have nearly as many curves as her, but then again, I wasn’t fed as much either.
“How do you live in this rag? It itches,” she complained, turning me around for inspection. “Here, just let your hair down, but leave the top part braided. We don’t have time for anything intricate, but it will do.”
With shaking hands, I undid the small leather thong that kept my hair up. I held it out to her, and she glared at it with disdain before taking it and arranging her long, blonde hair in a haphazard bun at the back of her head. I hoped I got it back; I only had the one, and it had belonged to my mother.
Oh gods, we were actually doing this. Keep it together, breathe. I ignored every awful scenario that occurred to me: The Dark Prince screaming at me and throwing me to the ground. He’d likely hit harder too, since he was rumored to be a large man. Would he kill me like he killed so many others on the king’s orders?
My breath came in short, panicked gasps. Not that Roselle seemed to notice.
“Well? Don’t just stand there, get in the garden!” Roselle hissed at me.
I jumped to obey, dreading the first step I would take out into the hallway. Another servant would see me. My step-father would see me, and it would all be over before it began. My body ached just thinking about the punishments likely to come. To stave away such thoughts, I shifted instead to the Dark Prince himself. I knew he wore a mask, he was large, and he lived across the boundary line between the safe zones of the villages. Forests with wild animals cut off his territory from ours and most of the other larger towns.
Roselle pushed me across the threshold of her room and ordered me to start walking.
I don’t know how I made it to the garden without anyone spotting me, but I did. It was just a quick walk down the hall, out onto a lower balcony, and down the stone steps. I sat on the nearest bench I could find, convinced this wouldn’t work. Inwardly, I braced myself for another night without dinner.
The scent of jasmine filled my nose and I inhaled deeply, willing my nerves to calm. I wasn’t sure how long I sat there, watching the sun begin to move toward the western horizon. I could have been there for hours, or minutes. Time blurred together.
Yet, I immediately knew the moment the Dark Prince was near. I opened my eyes and caught a tall figure striding toward me with his coat still on, a large black cloak billowing behind him. My mouth went dry as he approached.
A mask covered a good portion of his face. He was only ten feet from me. Then five, then two. He stopped. Heavens above, he was tall. Golden eyes narrowed at me as if weighing and measuring my suitability.
Roselle was being cruel. He may be handsome were my first thoughts. Perhaps Roselle wouldn’t think so, but he certainly wasn’t ugly. His profile showed a large, pointed nose and jutting cheekbones, which narrowed as his face tapered to a point. Half of his lips were visible, large and almost puffed out, though it could have been a side effect of being jammed up against the side of the mask. His honey eyes shimmered as he studied me, shining with keen intelligence. He was dressed all in black. Even his hair was black, slightly curly but hanging down to just barely brush the top of his shoulders. It whipped around him as he quickly strode toward me.
The mask was white. It was a peculiar thing, covering the entirety of the left side of his face. I couldn’t imagine why someone like him needed such a thing, since usually men liked to boast of their battle scars. Broad shoulders and large hands seemed out of proportion to the rest of his body, but each finger was long and slender. He moved with a grace and fluidity that I immediately envied.
And then he stopped, only inches between us. I held my breath. His eyes narrowed at me. “Are you one of the ladies of this house?”
Holy gods, his voice. It was angry and deep, threatening in a way my step-father could only dream to be, yet it lacked his poison. I got the feeling the Dark Prince wasn’t angry at me, it was just how he was; furious at the world. That was something I could relate to.
I clenched the edge of the stone bench with my fingertips, uncaring of how rough the texture was as I tried to figure out how to answer his question. The truth, idiot.
“Y-yes,” I managed back. I was technically a daughter of this house. Technically.
The Dark Prince eyed me up and down like a prize cow, thinking hard and apparently coming to a conclusion. I closed my eyes, waiting for the blow to fall. Too plain. Ordinary. Too rough around the edges.
“You’ll do.”
Two
TYR
