The thought brought him up short. How had these feelings developed so quickly? The longing he felt for her ran far deeper than lust. The word love kept darting around in his mind, as alien as the concept was to him. As a result of Crausin’s draconian tutelage in matters of the heart, Comron could honestly say he’d never been in love. Lust, yes and often, but love, never.
From his early adolescence, Comron could hear his father repeating the lesson, “Romantic love is just an illusion we create to rationalize the effort we go through to have sex.” He taught Comron to avoid the trappings of romantic love at all cost. At the age of fifteen, Crausin presented Comron with a young courtesan for the sole purpose of deflowering him. Wanting him to be no stranger to the wiles and mysteries of women, Crausin saw to it that Comron had regular visits from a host of skilled courtesans, lest he develop an attachment to any particular one.
In fact, Crausin encouraged Comron to bed as many women as he desired. His only prohibition was against forming feelings and attachments. For that would be a strict violation of their oath. To this end, Crausin had Comron scrupulously followed and monitored. Not a moment of Comron’s personal life went unobserved by Crausin. If ever he noticed Comron developing a fondness for any particular woman, he would order Comron to share the woman with him or end the relationship immediately. Complications were to be avoided.
With a growing sense of disquiet, Comron recalled the one crucial incident that occurred some eleven years ago. It was during his first year abroad at university. He’d developed a fairly casual relationship with a young woman named Rachel. The speed at which Crausin learned of it was astonishing. Immediately, Crausin insisted that he bring the girl to him or end it. Desiring to exert his independence, Comron refused and continued to see the young woman. It wasn’t a week later before he found himself, along with Rachel, trapped in the south wing cellar of Northridge Castle where Crausin violated the girl and sadistically tortured her for days, forcing Comron to watch. She died three days in.
Witnessing Crausin’s diabolical insanity for the first time had been the most frightening and terrifying thing Comron had ever experienced. Was that the price one paid for real genius, the inevitable strain of insanity lurking beneath the surface?
The traumatizing episode had left its indelible mark on Comron, searing the lesson deep into his psyche—Honor thy Duke-Father. Obey him in all things or unleash his demon from the darkest pits of hell.
Comron knew that from all outward appearances, it seemed that Crausin indulged Comron exceedingly, spoiled him beyond measure by granting him his every desire—every desire but one.
It was the most splendidly crafted gilded cage, one where Comron’s freedom to love was merely an illusion.
And now the bars of the cage pressed in upon him, the tension building with his frustration. If he didn’t leave Vaush soon, he would go out of his bleeding mind.
“Crausin, where the blazes are you?” he muttered.
At that very moment, Vaush rose from the water like some bronzed goddess emerging from the sea. Helpless to do otherwise, Comron watched her, in all her curvaceous glory. The water ran down her bare skin, tantalizing him as it moved down her breasts, over her flat stomach and down between her thighs. His physical response to her was powerful; his heart pounded wildly and his breathing grew heavy as the blood rushed headlong to his groin. He placed his water canister over his lap, trying to hide the evidence of his arousal. How the hell had he gone all those years without noticing her when every ounce of his being cried out for her now?
It pained him to see her duck behind the bushes, but he was equally grateful that the blood could finally return to his brain and reason could prevail.
“We leave in five minutes,” Comron said irritably. Wensel was off to the side looking equally floored over the sight of a beautiful, scantily clad woman.
Vaush’s head popped up over the bushes. “You said thirty. I still have fifteen minutes left.”
“Make that four.” He marched off toward the water’s edge to cool his heated flesh. He doused his head with water hoping it would wash away the images of her from his mind. He didn’t need this sort of complication in his life.
His mind carried him back once more to the cold cellar, and Crausin’s hideously contorted face loomed large before him. Rachel’s mutilated body lay off to the side. Crausin’s deranged voice howled in Comron’s ears, shattering his mind. All the while, Rachel’s lifeless corpse stared at him from dark eyeless pits, begging to know why he let this happen to her.
I didn’t know, I swear, I didn’t know.
“Comron?”
He wheeled around, hands trembling and beads of sweat on his brow.
She knelt beside him. “Are you ill?”
“No,” he snapped and rose to his feet. “Let’s go. And no more stops until we reach the shore.”
CHAPTER 17
Vaush collapsed in the center of the clearing as if grateful the grueling trek had come to an end. Comron knew he’d pushed them hard, but spending another tortured night lying next to Vaush was the last thing he wanted to do. As it stood, dusk was once again upon them and the shore was nowhere in sight.
“How much further do you think we have to go?” Vaush asked on Wensel’s behalf. After the shooter incident, Wensel was terrified of Comron.
“Maybe ten to fifteen more kilometers,” he said and glanced at Vaush. “I’d have reached the coast today if I’d been alone.”
“Correction,” Vaush said, moving closer to him and letting her gaze fall conspicuously to where the metal shard had been imbedded in his belly. She whispered, “If you were alone, you’d still be lying on the transport floor with a jagged piece of metal sticking out of your gut. In a word, dead.”
He winced as she walked off to set her bedding. “Ach, at least now I’m beginning to see why it is that you’re not married yet.”
Her hazel eyes flashed at him. “Pardon me?”
Wensel suddenly looked nervous. “I’ll go get us some water,” he said and headed for the stream.
Comron laid out his cloak and sat upon it. “It’s that saucy little tongue of yours. It should keep you unattached for a very long time.”
“Just as well as I’d refuse to marry an insecure weakling who felt threatened by a woman who speaks her mind.”
“You believe a man shows strength by tolerating disrespect.”
“I believe a truly wise man is not threatened by a woman of intelligence and discernment. His equal.”
“So incredibly rare is such a creature, how would he know to recognize her when he saw her?”
She cocked a pretty brow. “The saucy tongue is a dead giveaway.”
“And yet you’ve found no man who recognized those qualities in you?” He opened a can of food and swatted at a mosquito.
“As a matter of fact, I have and I would have married him had my father permitted it.”
The jolt of jealousy surprised him. “Why did your father disapprove of the match?”
Vaush sniffed her food then set aside her container. “Because the man in question was a commoner. An esteemed and gifted physician from a respectable family, but a commoner nonetheless.”
Had he finally found a kink in this angel’s armor?
“So the elitist in you finally emerged, and you cast him aside,” he said with a particularly snide smirk.
“No. Father allowed us to continue seeing each other under the condition that we never marry or start a family.”
Comron’s brow furrowed at this development. Crausin never would’ve permitted him that much freedom.
“But Grantham, that was his name, wasn’t content with that arrangement. He gave me an ultimatum, defy my father to become his wife or I was to pack my things and leave.”
“You were living with him without the benefit of matrimony?” he asked in a judgmental tone, though what really galled him was the thought of this angelic creature sleeping serenely in another man’s arms, in another man’s bed.
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She hesitated. “His residence was our home base. But much of the two years that we spent together were out in the field where we volunteered our services. Grantham had a very successful practice, which provided him the freedom to engage in a great deal of humanitarian work, providing free medical care in underdeveloped regions. I accompanied him and organized volunteer workers from my foundation to set up vital services in the communities.”
His jaw twitched at the nauseatingly happy little picture she painted. Of course, the esteemed do-gooder, Doctor Grantham, was the only sort of man Vaush could ever love. He conceded that someone like himself wouldn’t stand a chance of winning Vaush’s heart. The only way to alter her opinion of him would be to become involved anonymously in one of her damnable charities. If he became a generous donor, her gratitude would overcome any aversion she felt toward him when he revealed himself to be her wealthy benefactor. Only then could he confess his deep admiration and ….
Stop tormenting yourself. Crausin would never permit it!
The bars around him tightened, and he felt as if he’d suffocate under the pressure.
“So you packed your things and left the poor sod,” he said, fighting off the rising anxiety.
“I packed my things to join him on our next mission trip. I was planning to tell him that I accepted his proposal.”
Again, his gut convulsed with jealousy. “Then why aren’t the two of you together?” That’s when it occurred to him. “Are you still with him?” He held his breath for the answer.
She shook her head. “I was to meet him at the hangar bay if I accepted his proposal, if not, it meant I had declined.”
“What happened?”
“I showed up at the last moment but stood there watching him board the transport. I told myself that if he turned around to look for me, I would let him know that I was there. But he never looked back, and I took that as a sign to let him go.”
“Without a word to him?”
She nodded.
He glared at her feeling Grantham’s pain. “Do you find some particularly perverse pleasure in being cruel?”
“Cruel?” A slight smile curled her lips. “That was me at my kindest. Grantham was a truly wonderful man who deserved someone who would love him with everything they were. I wasn’t that person, only I hadn’t realized it until that day standing there in the hangar bay.”
A wave of melancholy washed over him. “How good of you to figure it out after two years.”
A pensive expression fell over her. “When I watched him leave, I was truly sad to see that chapter of my life come to a close, but I also sensed that the fullness of my life wouldn’t be significantly diminished by his absence.”
Why did he feel as if he’d been kicked in the stomach?
“You see, if he had been the one,” she said, staring earnestly at Comron. “I wouldn’t have been able to breathe at the thought of him leaving.” Her gaze lingered upon him, drawing him in until she casually shrugged. “But I was breathing just fine.”
And how would she feel when they parted ways tomorrow? Would she shrug so nonchalantly, pleased to see this miserable chapter of her life come to a close? Did it matter to her that the thought of their parting made him ache inside?
She smiled wanly. “Not all of us can be as fortunate as you, Prince Comron.”
His eyes fixed upon her with the unspoken question.
“You have found the woman of your dreams.”
Had he been that transparent?
“In less than four weeks, you will be the envy of every man in the Sellusion Empire when you wed the fair Honored Lady of Garonne.”
His mouth twisted, his nostrils flared. First Crausin’s bloody oath and now the sham of a wedding to that rabid whore; it was all too much to bear alone.
He assured himself that Wensel hadn’t returned and then boldly declared, “I don’t love her.”
“What?” Vaush said, looking more confused than anything.
“I’m being forced into this accursed marriage.” There was no regret in his confession, only relief at confiding in her.
“But all of the society journals and holographs depict the two of you as blissfully beautiful and happy. You’ve reached that iconic status, where every couple wishes they were you and Spira.”
“It’s all a charade, an elaborate facade orchestrated by my father and Spira, which I am forced to comply with as stipulated by the betrothal contract. Every word, every touch, every gesture is a scripted falsehood.”
Vaush could not have looked any more shocked than if she’d witnessed a Nethicaen declaring his love for a Ti-Larosian. But with the confession, he had removed one of the barriers between them.
Her expression turned solemn as she finally spoke. “How horrible for you. Your duty as Crown Prince virtually precludes the possibility of you marrying for love. I truly hope that what House Eskridge is offering is worth the price of your happiness.”
Comron heard the farewell in her words. He could already see her walking away with a casual shrug. Something inside of him was dying.
“What if Grantham had been the one you couldn’t breathe without?” he inquired as his eyes scanned the area for Wensel. “Would you have defied your father over him?”
“Not only my father.” Her hazel eyes narrowed and her tone was deathly serious. “Nothing in this entire universe would have kept me from the man I loved.”
Her words rocked him to the core—to be the object of her passionate desire consumed him. He wanted desperately to know what it was to be loved by her.
Vaush smirked and rolled her eyes. “Of course, I’ve yet to meet this fictitious man. Meanwhile ….” She shrugged as Wensel entered the clearing. “I’m married to my work.”
With that, the door slammed shut in his face.
The prince’s spirit sank even deeper into the murky depths as the stark truth stared him in the face. After Patheis, Vaush would soar away like some exotic bird, so beautiful and free … while he remained earthbound, trapped behind the bars of his gilded cage.
CHAPTER 18
“Vaush, wake up!” came the fierce whisper and the not-so-gentle nudge.
“What?” she asked groggily as she opened her eyes. Her body ached all over, and it was still dark out. “It can’t be time to go; the sun’s not even up yet.”
“Someone was here.”
She shot up, bumping into Comron. “Another assassin? Striker’s stars, how many did they send after you?”
He cut her a look. “If it were an assassin, we’d all be dead right now.” He roused Wensel from his sleep.
“Who else could it be?”
“I don’t know,” Comron replied, hastily stuffing her belongings back into her satchel. “But we need to be on our way.”
“Huh,” Wensel said, rubbing his eyes. “What’s happening?”
“Comron thinks he saw someone,” Vaush explained. “Maybe it was another survivor.”
“Then why would they run?” Comron replied.
“Did you say something snarky to them?” Vaush asked, pulling on her boots.
He shook his head. “I didn’t have time to say a word. I sensed their presence. When I woke up, I only saw them slip away.”
Vaush frowned. “Maybe it was a native.”
“No, too tall and they wore hooded cloaks.” He slung his satchel onto his back and strapped the rifle onto his arm. “I don’t know who the hell they were. But you two have five minutes and then I’m leaving.”
“I’ll be done in four,” Vaush said hopping to her feet.
She quickly performed her morning rituals, not venturing too far for fear of running into whatever it was Comron saw. It obviously had him rattled.
When she approached them, Comron handed her his sidearm.
“Seriously?” Vaush said.
“I don’t know what’s out there,” Comron replied sternly. “If you see anything move, shoot first and we’ll sort it out later.” He leaned in, showing her how to remove the
safety. “You know how to use one of these, don’t you?”
“Sure, finger to this lever thingy, right?”
He turned to Wensel. “What about you? Are you a good shot?”
“I’m just teasing,” Vaush interjected. “I can handle one of these just fine.”
Comron gave her a steely look then turned away. “Come on. We make the coast today or die trying.”
By late afternoon, Vaush was ready to drop from exhaustion, her legs burned with fatigue. She’d run out of water long ago, but not once had she asked for a break. Even that wasn’t good enough for the indomitable Prince of Nethic who remained sullen and moody.
But how could she blame him? After five days cut off from civilization in this backwoods world was enough to make anyone testy and highly anxious to be rescued.
Just when she thought that their circumstances couldn’t get any worse, a fat raindrop splattered on top of her head, followed by another and another.
“Perfect,” she muttered. Spira gets to have him in some luxurious romantic spot, while I get him in this rat hole … in the middle of monsoon season.
But Comron doesn’t love Spira; it’s all a show! Did that revelation give her permission to feel for him, to stop the mental battle raging within? She couldn’t remember ever feeling so powerfully drawn to a person. It made her sick to her stomach to know that she’d never see him again, not in this capacity. Somehow, she’d come to care deeply for the man and even felt heartbroken that he was being forced to marry a woman he clearly despised.
Nonetheless, she reprimanded herself, it’s his duty to marry Spira, and I have no right to feel anything but gratitude toward him.
Comron had stopped up ahead and was waiting for them to join him. “We’re rapidly losing daylight,” he said staring at the thick, purple clouds. “If we pick up our speed, we can still reach the coast.”
The heavy raindrops were falling harder and faster. Wensel pulled alongside Vaush and ducked his head down under his coat. Vaush shielded her eyes and looked at the sky. “You’re asking us to pick up speed in this?”