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  Next session? My heart hammers in my chest, pressing against my ribs. I didn’t think that I would continue to have confessions with the Father, not after I married Prince Henrick.

  My cheeks burning, I climb to my feet. I loathe the idea of Father Derrik bringing my sister into these sessions, which I think he knows. The idea that my sister would know what happens in here, that she might turn away and be ashamed of me… that is almost too much to bear.

  Then there is the fact that Amabel is genuinely prettier and more pious than I am. I’m afraid that Father Derrik wouldn’t be able to resist her.

  And I don’t want Ama to ever feel the way I do right now. Plus, a little tiny piece of me gloats whenever I’m pulled away for this.

  I’m special.

  I’m different.

  The fact that I have these thoughts is another layer of shame, heaped on top of all the others. But none of that matters just now, as I pull the sleeves of my dress back onto my arms and right the itchy black wool skirt.

  Father Derrik tsks. “You are such a disappointment. Do you know that? If your mother and father were still alive, they would be embarrassed to call you their daughter.”

  I suck in a breath. That barb landed, but I’m careful not to let it show. When Father Derrik knows that something hurts, he does it more, for longer, and harder. He’s been giving me private confessions since I was fourteen; by now it’s just instinct to hide my emotions.

  Not too much, of course. It’s better to let him see that I’m scared of him.

  A knock comes on the door. Father Derrik walks around to my front, grabbing my chin and raising my face to meet his eyes. “Prince Henrick is coming. You will behave, or you will be punished. Am I understood?”

  I nod stiffly, and he releases me with a huff of disgust.

  “Enter!” he calls, his hand moving to my shoulder for a moment. I can’t help the shudder that slides down my spine.

  I swear one corner of his mouth ticks up at the involuntary reaction. The door opens to admit Sister Marguerite.

  “Are you finished, Father?” she asks, her tone saccharine.

  “Yes, I think that Rue’s sins are absolved for the moment.” He presses his lips together in a polite smile.

  She curtsies, not even bothering to look at me. “Prince Rastoder is waiting for you in the sanctuary of the church, Father Derrik.”

  “I’ll go now.” He casts an eye over me. “See that she’s spotless before you bring her to meet her husband to be, won’t you?”

  “Of course, Father.”

  He looks unimpressed with her simpering. He strides off, leaving Sister Marguerite and me alone. She shuts the door to her office and then turns to me, her expression bitter.

  “What did you do to make him so angry?” she admonishes me. “God help you, girl. Heaven above only knows why someone like the royal Prince is even considering wedding you. Now come, you have a scant few minutes to get ready.”

  Grabbing me by the arm, she hauls me down the hallways and into the lavatory. She forces me to remove my dress and wash in the cold tap water while she watches.

  “Get every single filthy part of you clean,” she hisses, standing by the door. She hitches up the thin black cincture the holds her habit in place on her bony frame. “And be quick about it. The Prince doesn’t have all day.”

  I grit my teeth, reminding myself for the umpteenth time of what it was like before Ama and I came here. How we lived on the streets, how we barely avoided being kidnapped and used by strange men while we were trying to make ends meet on the outskirts of London.

  It was some kind of luck that we found a convent that was willing to take children in, even if it was here in Liechtenstein. No matter what life is like here, it’s undoubtedly worse out there.

  She hurries me out of the lavatory, entirely naked, and to my room. Being naked in the halls of the convent is a different kind of shame, but I don’t want to put the clothes that I was wearing before back on.

  In my room, I pull on the dress, Sister Marguerite’s dour gaze on me the whole while. I run my brush through my hair, trying not to imagine that the tangles I find there are from Father Derrik gripping my head as cruelly as he could.

  As we rush to the church, I try to imagine Prince Henrick. Will he be dashing, as storybook Princes so often are? Will he fall in love with me, with just one look?

  My heart flutters. My stomach rumbles, nervous and empty. What will he be like?

  As I step into the church, the sound of Father Derrik’s voice bounces off the vaulted ceilings. It’s met by an answering laugh, rich and deep.

  My heart freezes in my chest, but Sister Marguerite grabs me by the arm and moves me along. Father Derrik turns, his eyes sparkling.

  “Ah,” he says. “There she is now.”

  Prince Rastoder turns and my jaw almost drops. With inky black hair, the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen, and a cleft chin, the Prince looks like… like a comic book superhero.

  He’s gorgeous.

  Sister Marguerite clears her throat, pushing me forward. “Your Royal Highness.”

  She curtsies deferentially. I do the same, stumbling through the gesture. I feel his gaze land on me, see his mouth turn down slightly.

  Oh, dear Lord.

  He finds me displeasing.

  He wishes he had chosen his own bride.

  My heart thrums as he looks me up and down. Without missing a beat, he turns to Father Derrik.

  “You’re sure of her lineage?” he asks, looking aggravated.

  His voice is like thick, dark silk. His accent is strange and formal. I swallow heavily.

  Father Derrik bows his head. “I am. She’s the firstborn daughter of the Rebel King.”

  My eyebrows jump up. What? Why is Father Derrik lying about my circumstances? Ama and I were born in a London slum to a cocaine-addled mother. There is nothing the slightest bit royal about either of us.

  Prince Henrick slides a look at me.

  “You wouldn’t know it, would you?” He gestures to me. “Come here, girl.”

  My heart starts beating quickly again. I feel Sister Marguerite’s hand on my back, pushing me a few steps closer. Prince Henrick makes a disapproving noise and closes the gap himself in a few strides.

  As he comes closer, I realize how very tall he is. He dwarfs me in his light grey suit, his shirt unbuttoned at the collar. My eye is drawn to the thin black necklace and silver token I see hanging there.

  The Church’s token, marking all true believers. I’m not surprised to see it there, but I am a bit deflated.

  He grabs my face, disorienting me. “Open your mouth.”

  When I do, he looks inside, judging me like someone judges a horse. He releases me and then turns me around a few times, looking at my body.

  “She’s thin. And redheaded.” His mouth twists. His gaze isn’t the least bit sexual as he calculates my worth. Finally, he dismisses me with a wave of his hand. “Enough. She’ll suit, I suppose.”

  “Take her back to the dormitory,” Father Derrik demands. Sister Marguerite hurries to my side and grips my arm, dragging me away from Prince Henrick.

  As we leave the church, I can’t help but overhear Prince Henrick. He makes no effort to keep his voice down. “It’s like you said, Father Derrik. She only has to give me an heir. Then she can be… disposed of. You said she has a prettier sister, didn’t you?”

  I gape. There it is, my life laid out right before my eyes. I marry Prince Henrick, I bear his child, and he has me killed. I’m to be a placeholder for my blonde-haired sister after all.

  “I did indeed,” Father Derrik says dispassionately. He pauses a beat. “Will you stay for a church service while you’re here?”

  A sob escapes my lips as Sister Marguerite hustles me down the hall before I can hear more.

  5

  I tug at the blond wig I’m wearing, cursing its itchiness. They say that with wearing a disguise, you need to go the opposite for at least two of your most identifying
features. Thus, the blond wig and the clothes that look like they were stolen from a grown-up choirboy. In these khakis and this grey plaid shirt, I blend in with the churchgoing crowd quite a bit.

  I glance over at Ari, standing next to me in the pews. He’s very Jewish-looking, but we did our best on very short notice, being that we only heard about the public church service a half hour before now. He’s wearing a grey tracksuit but trying to make up for being underdressed by looking very pious.

  Ari slides a look at me. I can tell that the Mass has gone on too long for his tastes, but I assume it is almost over by now. We’ve stood and knelt half a dozen times by now, everyone has been fed the communion wafers, and the collection plate has gone around. It all reminds me of my childhood, of being yelled at in a whisper to stand upright in church by my very frazzled mother.

  Sure, the Mass of my childhood was in Greek where this one is in Latin, but surely, they’re essentially the same. I keep my many criticisms silent, holding my tongue as the service drags on.

  In the meantime, I look down the rows of aisles until I see the person that everyone is clearly in awe of. He was even called out by Father Derrik several times, so I know that he’s the Prince I came to see. There he is, looking every bit the royal, standing in the first row all alone.

  My question is, where is the girl? If there is someone he plans to marry, why doesn’t she stand beside him? I look at the next few rows, trying to put a face to the name Rue, but I get nothing.

  Was Louis just full of shit?

  I turn my glare on Father Derrik, who is every bit as blond and handsome as ever. In his ceremonial garb, he certainly seems like someone trustworthy.

  Not at all the snake in the grass that I know him to be.

  Father Derrik comes down the steps from the sanctuary, addressing the hundred or so congregants. “I have an announcement to make before you all leave.”

  He turns to the Prince, beckoning him forward. Then he gestures at the crowd, and a redheaded slip of a girl steps forward. My eyes are glued on her as she turns around, so easily overshadowed by the two men on her right. She’s tiny and blushing to the roots of her hair.

  She doesn’t seem able to look up, but her high cheekbones and wide-set eyes are accented by delicate clusters of freckles. She’s got long auburn locks that I can imagine burying my hands in. I immediately tense up, looking at her.

  She looks as if she’s just begging for someone to debase her. Delicate she may be, but she would be oh-so-pretty on her knees, worshipping my cock.

  My mouth kicks up into a smile, a half-formed idea swirling around my head.

  Father Derrik grabs her hand and Prince Henrik’s hand, raising them both aloft. “I would like to announce the royal wedding of Prince Henrik and Rue Büchel. It’s been kept under wraps, but it will happen in two days’ time, right here.”

  The smattering of surprised applause only makes the bride-to-be blush harder. She glances up, her blue gaze spearing me. I grab Ari’s arm, tearing my gaze away from her.

  Leaning down to Ari’s ear, I whisper. “I’m going to steal her from Prince Henrik and Father Derrik.”

  He turns his gaze up at me, frowning and looking surprised, but he says nothing. Soon, the Mass is over and people start to exit. I file past the emptying rows of pews, stopping at the last row. Ducking aside to let the people behind me get past, I wait.

  Patiently waiting until the object of my interest passes, I keep my eyes down until Rue approaches. When she’s close, arm in arm with a pretty blonde girl, I get a better look at her.

  She’s beautiful up close, dressed in white. Pouty pink lips, slender hips, and freckled skin everywhere that I can see. Those wide eyes that will likely always have an innocent look about them.

  Expressive eyes, big, blue ones that I can’t wait to see myself reflected in. They’ll look so good when she’s aroused… or terrified.

  Either one will be fine by me.

  Because there is little doubt in my mind now that I will have her, even if that means taking her by force. Actually, taking her by force is as exciting a prospect for me as stealing her out from under Father Derrik’s nose.

  I have to suppress a smile when Rue walks right by me. Rising to my feet, I trail her for a few steps as she takes a left and leaves the church. As a member of the public, I have no choice but to take a right, but I hang back there by the wall that separates the church’s foyer from the beginning of the pews.

  The church grows empty, leaving Father Derrik and Prince Henrik inside. As I lean against the wall, I can just hear their voices inside. Father Derrik’s voice is one I still find chilling, after all this time.

  “Are you pleased with how today went, then?” Father Derrik asks.

  “I am. More pleased when I think about the fact that I’ll never have to come back here again in two days, though.”

  Father Derrik chuckles. “In a year, you could be free to marry again. If the Rebel King’s daughter lives up to our expectations, that is.”

  Who the fuck is the Rebel King? And his daughter… is that the girl in question? I listen furiously.

  “She doesn’t have to do anything but lie still.” A pause. “Would it be wrong to restrict her movements once we are married? She could go through the whole thing bound for all I care. As long as there is an heir, I could not care less.”

  Father Derrik laughs. I smother a frown.

  What the fuck? I’ve been accused of being a psychopath plenty of times in my life, but scheming so openly about having what would essentially be a sex slave…

  The last person I’ve heard talk like was is my brother Arsen. Of course, that was before his slave girl enchanted him…

  And before I murdered him in cold blood.

  Refusing to let my brain switch into self-recrimination mode, I try to determine their location within the nave. I hear the creak of their approaching footsteps, warning that they are close indeed.

  I hurry to the door, slipping outside. Ari is waiting for me on the steps of the church.

  “So?” he asks, looking expectant.

  Sweeping down the steps, I smile grimly. “We have a lot to do.”

  “Yes?” he says, casting a glance back over his shoulder.

  “Yes. We have a bride to steal.”

  Ari stops and opens his mouth to debate me, but I just keep going, heading for the parking lot.

  I wasn’t kidding. I don’t have much time and I have a lot to do if I want to ruin things for Father Derrik and kidnap a shy redhead all in one fell swoop.

  6

  I stand in Sister Marguerite’s office, four women bustling around me. They’re straightening my gorgeous white wedding gown, fussing over the train. I touch my throat, where the neckline begins. It’s a little like being strangled, but the women around me think nothing of it.

  My heart is in my throat, my stomach a mess. I’m to be married in the course of an hour, and I have no idea what to think. My heartfelt prayers for clarity and right-mindedness have gone unanswered.

  And now the time draws near, leaving me shaking and nervous.

  Amabel looks at me with a sigh on her lips.

  “You do look beautiful,” she says, reaching out to adjust my veil. “For once, the gown lends you some kind of… I don’t know. Authority?”

  She cocks her head. I press my lips together, uninterested in hearing her opinions about my looks today. All I can think about is what I overheard in the chapel two days ago.

  She can be… disposed of.

  That one line rings in my head endlessly. I tried to tell Sister Marguerite about it, of course. But she just laughed and told me I was making things up. Then I had the sobering thought that maybe she heard it too and just doesn’t care.

  She can be… disposed of.

  My eyes mist over. I grab Ama’s hand, my eyes pleading with her.

  “I’m going to be sick,” I lie, looking at her. “Will you please come to the lavatory with me?”

  She looks at me odd
ly. “Alright…”

  She rushes me down the hallway to the lavatory, closing the door behind us both. She looks at me, expecting me to bend over the toilet.

  But I don’t. Instead, I speak through numb lips.

  “Prince Henrik is going to kill me,” I whisper, tears overcoming me. “I heard him tell Father Derrik that plainly. Sister Marguerite doesn’t believe me, but—”

  “Are you speaking ill of Father Derrik again?” she asks, crossing her arms. “Are you still upset that he chooses you to confess privately? Is that what this is about?”

  I shush her, pulling her away from the door. “Keep your voice down. This doesn’t involve Father Derrik. I heard Prince Henrik say that I only have to give him an heir. Then I can be… ‘disposed of’.”

  Ama looks angry. “If this is one of your lies—”

  “Ama, look at me,” I plead with her. “I swear to you, on everything that we hold holy. I’m afraid for my very life.”

  She scans my face, her green eyes distrustful at first. Then, to my surprise, she sighs. “What will you do? Run away from the convent?”

  She sounds very practical about the whole thing as if the escape is my biggest concern.

  I look closely at her, sniffling. “You believe me?”

  Ama cocks her head and answers carefully. “I believe that you fear for your life. And I’m your sister, no matter how different we may be.”

  I wrap Ama in a hard hug, ignoring her stiffened limbs. We aren’t much for embracing or showing any kind of love, but I do it anyway, tears in my eyes. Eventually, she pushes me back with a gentle touch.

  “Are you going to run away?” she asks, looking at my tear-stained face.

  My mouth twists. “I already tried to tell Sister. She said I was imagining things.”

  Ama’s expression says that she thinks the same, but she just sighs. “There’s only an hour left until your wedding ceremony. You’ll have to leave now if you want to make a clean getaway.”