The Marriage Game

In Which They Actually Interact

Most of the castle was fairly modern, with functional plumbing, lighting, and electrical outlets, but the prison had only been refurbished to keep it secure. The walls were worn stone, uneven and cracked in places. The castle had stood for nearly a century, and here, underneath the polished exterior, its age showed.

He was trying to sleep when Camila sat down on the old stool outside of his cell. She'd left Alex outside the door, a slight hint of confusion on his sculpted features, but as always, he asked no questions.

The fewer people who knew about the bond, the better. After the suitors retired to their quarters, Camila had dropped to her knees in front of her parents, filled with a sudden irrational terror. She'd confessed what had happened and begged them for the Vindicator's life. Only the four of them—her parents, herself, and the prisoner—knew the truth.

The prisoner glanced over, his eyes glowing in the darkness.

"You have a name?" She studied her fingernails rather than look at him.

He looked back up at the ceiling.

"Get me out of here and I'll tell you." His voice was rough and deeper than she expected. It sent shivers crawling down her spine.

"Funny. I'm not here to help you."

"Why are you here?" He pushed himself up and sat cross legged, resting muscular forearms on his knees. "I can't imagine your suitors are happy with this development."

"The mating bond? I won't-" Camila swallowed. "I'm not going to tell them."

A muscle pulsed in his jaw. "Maybe I will."

"Please. You're a prisoner on death row. You'll say anything to stay alive."

He chuckled, although the smile didn't reach his eyes. "True."

"I'm Camila."

"I know."

"You're uh, not actually on death row." Camila's face burned. Something about being in the same room as him was intoxicating. She inched forward, desperate to be closer to him. "We'll report you as dead to the public and send you to an outpost in Montana. They'll keep you under guard, but it won't be as strict as it is here."

"Your doing, I imagine?"

She nodded and—ignoring the painful tug at her heart—rose from her seat. "I hope you're happy there."

"Wait. Camila." In a single motion, he stood and moved to the edge of the cell. "Camila. This isn't what you want. It's a once in a lifetime opportunity. Just-" 

She looked back and instantly regretted it. He was taller than he had any right to be and his shirt, ripped, stained, and a charming off-white, barely hid his muscled chest.

"Stay a little longer."

He reached through the bars and his hand closed around her arm. His skin was rough. Calloused. Camila tried desperately not to notice. 

"I can't stay a little longer." Her fingers wrapped around his forearm—tan, muscled, the skin angry and raw where the chains circled his wrist—and pulled his hand away. "I need to find a husband who can save my kingdom. I don't need to have this connection. I saved your life, but that's all I'll do for you."

He leaned his head against the bars. His brilliant eyes found hers again. "One kiss." He whispered. "No one will ever know."

She shouldn't kiss him. She couldn't. He was a murderer and a criminal, but her brain was foggy and her body itched to be touched. 

Camila took a step closer to him. 

His index finger traced the curve of her jawline, tilting her face towards him. "Please."

She kissed him.

His lips were chapped and bloody, but her heart sang when they touched. He buried a hand in her hair. At the back of her mind, Camila felt a surge of guilt for destroying all of Serena's work, but then he kissed her again and she couldn't think of anything but him.

The bars of the cell were shockingly cold, sharp against her skin, but Camila barely felt it. His other hand splayed across her back, pulling her, almost violently, until she was pressed against him. For a split second, she was in heaven.

His hand wrapped around her neck.

It took her a second to process what was happening. She was kissing him, then he was spinning her around so she was facing away from the cell and one hand held her wrists captive and the other wrapped around her throat.

"I'm sorry," He whispered, his lips brushing against the shell of her ear. "I'm not interested in a quiet life in Montana."

"Guar-" She started to scream.

He squeezed her neck tighter and her voice stopped working. He relaxed his hand.

"Quiet."

Camila took a deep breath. Then, quietly, she said, "You're not going to kill me. You're my fucking mate. You might as well just let me go now."

"They don't know that. This is how this is going to go. In a few seconds, you're going to call for your guard. You're going to sound calm and collected. If you try to warn them of any danger, I will kill them. Do you understand, Camila?" He said.

Camila felt his chest vibrate against her back with every word. It was infuriating and frustrating, but every cell in her body screamed with need.

"You can't hurt them from that cell and you won't hurt me. Let's make a new plan."

"Can't I?" With callous precision, his hand dipped inside the back of her dress, brushing gently against her skin. With a sinking sensation in her stomach, Camila remembered the dagger she'd placed against her lower back only a few hours before. He grasped the handle, careful not to cut her. "I noticed it the second you sat down. Are you any good?"

"Hand it over and you'll find out."

"Well, I'm very good. Good enough to puncture a man's throat from across a room. Are you ready?"

"You're going to die."

"You're worried about me? That's sweet, but I'll be fine. Now, if you don't do your job right, that bodyguard of yours might not be."

"Fine, I- I'll do what you need me to do." Camila hissed. His hand was almost gentle now, cradling her neck.

"Lovely. I'm Declan, by the way. You know, if you were still curious. Call for the guard."

Camila took a deep breath. She pressed her toes against the inside of her shoe, freeing the hidden blade.

"Alex!" She called out. "Would you come in here for a second?"

The door opened.

Alex slipped inside. "Camila, wha-" His face paled. He fumbled for his gun.

"Drop the hand or she dies. Call for help, she dies. Got it?"

Slowly, Alex nodded.

"You're going to hand me the keys, then stand with your arms above your head facing the wall." The hand holding Camila's wrists steady moved to her waist, freeing her hands. The prisoner—Declan—bent his head so his lips were flush against her ear. "Say anything," he murmured. "And the guard's dead."

Alex kept his eyes locked on the prisoner. A muscle pulsed in his jaw. He didn't seem to be breathing. Finally, he said, "She goes free. If I give you these keys, she goes free."

"If you give me the keys, she won't die." Declan pulled her head hard against the metal bars. "You have five seconds."

Camila winked at Alex. Get ready she tried to mouth.

She pulled her heel up, then stepped down hard over Declan's left foot. The blade struck bone.

He grunted. Then his hands were on her head.

Everything went black.

So... that went well! If you had a soulmate, what would you want them to be like? 

Thanks for reading!

-Harley