The Heart of a Wielder (Book One of The Wielders Trilogy) ✔️

Chapter Five

Maren had a fitful night's sleep. Her bedroom door lock gave her little enough comfort, since she supposed the Prince would have access to a key. Or he could just probably just knock it down with his powers.

She felt foolish. She should have known that he would expect her to actually be his mistress eventually. But from their first private interaction on the day of the Selection, he had given her the impression that he found her completely repulsive, and she had become used to the idea that she would be unscathed.

But of course, she would not be so lucky. After all, it was implicit in the nature of the Selection that she would be providing her "services" while in his household.

In the gardens the night before, she had been surprised that he had been behaving somewhat politely to her. She had thought this was perhaps a positive sign that they might coexist in something more pleasant than outright hostility.

But then he kissed her.

She knew that other young women probably would have enjoyed having a prince kiss them, but she hated it.

She was no romantic; she did not dream of falling in love with handsome men. That was for someone with an entirely different life. Still, she could have hoped that if someone was going to kiss her, it would have been under circumstances where she at least wanted him to do so. Not like the night before.

She realized he was probably just feigning cordiality, so she would let down her guard. Had anyone even been watching them? And what did it even matter if they did? Why is he so obsessed with making everyone think they actually liked each other?

She tossed and turned, trying to come up with some way that she might extricate herself from this situation.

But there was no hope. She may be able to delay the Prince, but if he wanted her, she would not be able to stop him—at least not without getting arrested.

Of course, just because she could not stop him did not mean she had to just go along with the charade. Perhaps she was less powerless than she thought.

—

In the morning, she blearily put on her dressing gown and drank the coffee that had been put out for her. All her meals had been delivered to the small table in her sitting room, which she expected confused the staff, but Maren didn't care. It was far better than the alternative.

After a lot of coffee and a bit of breakfast, Maren dressed and found the book she had been reading the day before. She thumbed through it, not really reading. It was a novel about a young man having an adventure in an enchanted forest. It had been entertaining enough, but she simply could not concentrate on it. She kept looking up at the door to her sitting room, half expecting the Prince to barge in and maul her at any moment.

But he did not come that morning, or afternoon, or evening. Or the next day. On the third day, he finally knocked. It was afternoon, around the same time he had taken her to the garden before.

"C-Come in," she called shakily.

She wanted to recoil and perhaps hide in her room, but instead rose and curtsied. She kept her eyes averted.

"My lady," he grumbled, "You will come with me to the gardens, now."

"No, Your Highness, I will not," Maren said firmly. She hadn't known she was going to actually say "no" until the words came out of her mouth. She had thought of it the night of the ball, but hadn't been sure she had the nerve. Apparently, she did.

The Prince looked at her as though she had spoken gibberish.

"Excuse me?" he snarled. "I must have misheard you."