THREE

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 handsomewere 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. Iwastechnically 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."

*********

DARK PRINCE

Lord Perron seemed the worst sort of minor lord and baron. Conniving, sneaky, and clearly fed much more than anyone on his staff. Rumors of his daughter's beauty were renowned, rumors of his kindness were not. That was the reason I'd picked him to begin with—if the daughter was just as rotten as the father, then I wouldn't feel bad when the time came to do what I needed to do. I came here for one purpose—get the girl, take her back, and assure the king I was attending to my little problem.

When I first saw her sitting there alone in the garden, my teeth grinded with annoyance. This woman was not the ravishing beauty promised, and I cursed the artistic license of painters regarding her looks. The girl was hardly ugly, but that was the principle of the matter. No one lied to the Dark Prince.

I studied her as I stalked toward her, admitting she was comely in her own way. Her strawberry hair was striking, but there was a fear in her brown eyes that didn't lend itself toward the tales of spoiled selfishness that their servants had bandied about with mine when they'd infiltrated the house a week prior. If they'd gotten her appearance wrong, was it possible they'd gotten her manner wrong as well?

She's probably just afraid of marrying the infamous Dark Prince. Any woman with a modicum of sense would be terrified at the prospect.

I didn't want to wed at all, but like most things in my life, I didn't have a choice. If I was going to stay the hand of this curse, it was a necessary step.

The girl tried to hide her hands in the folds of her dress as I approached, and I noticed the worn calluses on her palms and the dirt under her fingernails. Unless Perron's daughter was a secret gardener, none of what they reported to me was adding up. Was this a trick? A ploy?

My eyes narrowed as I gave her my first test. "Are you a lady of this house?"

Her face paled. I knew most found my manner and mask unnerving, but she was acting as if I'd run her through if she answered wrong.

"Y-yes," she stammered, and to my consternation, she was being honest. She was too afraid to tell me a lie.

Whoever she was, she certainly wasn't who I was supposed to marry. I trusted my informers; I didn't trust Perron. I didn't know if he had other daughters, but at least this one knew the value of a day's work by the look of things, judging by her lightly muscled figure and the dusting of freckles on her nose. Hard workers understood sacrifice. Perhaps this would work out after all.

"You'll do," I proclaimed.

She jerked as if I'd slapped her."What—"

She protested, but I grabbed her by the wrist and yanked her up from the bench in one fluid motion. The girl flinched away, and anger flared in my veins. I tightened my grip and pulled harder. She could certainly do worse than me for a husband, but she was acting as though I were going to beat her.

I glanced down at the wrist I held, catching the tip of a yellow bruise that disappeared under the ruffled sleeves of her dress. Further inspection revealed another one near her jawbone, and a third fading near her temple. My anger intensified, but it was no longer aimed at her.

"S-sorry," she muttered, eyes darting to the ground.

I closed my eyes and tried to relax, my grip on her wrist loosening.

"Come," I offered, attempting to speak softer, "we will wed at my manor tonight. I do not wish to stay here."

She blinked rapidly at this, but didn't protest or ask questions. Perhaps she was just as eager to leave as I was, judging by the marks all over her body.