Tornado of Nightmares (Book 2)

eleven

Lawrence gives them the most prince-like smile I have ever seen. It has my teeth grinding. I force myself to not roll my eyes and grab a baby carrot from off my plate, I sink my teeth into it. I feel a pair of eyes on me, when I look at Lawrence, he's watching me. His eyes are trained on my lips. Hotness pools through me, I hate it. I glower at him and stomp on his foot underneath the table. Everyone gasps.

Lawrence chuckles. "Don't worry, that's just our relationship. I bother her, she hits me. It's all good-natured."

I scoff. "There is no relationship between us, Your Highness. I'm your guard."

"Dia," my brother warns. I take a deep breath and push away from the table.

I offer my brother a small smile. "I'm sorry to cut this short, but I have to escort the Prince back to his quarters." I give Lawrence a sharp look. He doesn't see it though; his eyes have gone incredibly dark—they look almost black. His tongue darts out and wets his bottom lip. What the hell is he doing?

"All right," says Alastair. "We should be heading back anyways. I'll see you later Fran," he smiles at Fran before turning to me. "Dia . . .?"

I take my eyes off of the Prince. "Yes. I'll come find you later."

Dominic and Al stand as one and begin to take their plates back to the kitchen. Fran stands and walks over to give me a hug. "Do you need me to walk you somewhere?" I ask quietly. Some of the men and women around this castle are . . . a little obsessed with Fran. They ask for her and don't let her leave for a while. Sometimes she comes back covered in scratches and bite marks. It makes my blood boil. Fran never came into this willingly, she was sold from a menagerie and forced to be a prostitute. A high-end prostitute. A courtesan.

I know I originally came to sign up as a courtesan but after seeing everything that Fran goes through . . . I am glad that bitch turned me down. It's selfish for me to feel this way. To feel grateful that I don't have to go through what Fran goes through. If I could, I'd get her out of here. Maybe, after everything goes down, I'll ask her to come with me.

That is, if she still trusts me.

Fran pulls back and smiles, warmly. She shakes her head. "No. I'll be all right. Thank you." I give her hand a little squeeze. Her eyes turn to the Prince. He must still be staring at me, or us, I don't know. But Fran dips into a curtsy.

"Hey, Fran." Says Lawrence.

"Your Highness." She replies. "I really must be going."

He nods, and she leaves. I am left alone with Lawrence.

He looks up at me, grinning. His blonde hair falls above his brow, he looks much older this way. He wears a deep purple tunic and black trousers with silver buttons. Silver stitching is sewn together across the top of his tunic, adorned with the metallic buttons to match. He wears no cape today. He looks much more . . . human-like. Yes, he looks like a nobleman, but right now he doesn't look like the Prince of Moriella. He looks like a man. When he looks like this it makes it very hard to separate the title from the person.

When I'm alone, tossing and turning, hoping sleep claims me, I think about how much I hate this Province. I think about how much I want the King and his son to suffer. I think about how I want the guards to suffer for never coming to my aid. I think about how everyone lives happily here. I think about all those times I screamed and screamed and screamed for someone to help her—to help my mother—I think about how no one came. I think about how her prayers went unanswered. I think about her last breath, the fear in her eyes—not for herself, but for Alastair and me. That is what makes me want to kill the monarchy. For everything they have ever done to my family. That's when it becomes "easy" to separate the two of them. It gets really easy.