Of Blood and Roses

Chapter 29

Pierre cursed. He stepped away from me and smoothed his long fingers over his clothes.

"My dear brother, you should have stayed inside."

I took in a few ragged breaths and looked up to see Jourdon approaching, his face twisted in disgust.

"What is the meaning of this." He focused on me. "Ophelia." He started forward. "Are you alright?"

I heaved a steadying breath. But before Jourdon could get to me, Pierre stopped him, blocking his path. He stood, straight and tall—taller than even Jourdon. He tilted his chin, looking down at his brother.

"She was just telling me about how she wished she was betrothed to me. But you knew that already, didn't you?"

Jourdon stared up at his brother, jaw tensing. His hand clenched at his waist as if searching for a sword. Nothing was there.

"Of course I knew. You made sure of that," he spat, his face transforming into something lethal. He flickered his gaze to me. "But that doesn't explain the bruises on my betrothed's neck."

I tried to stand. Just moments ago, I had thought Jourdon to be guilty of all of Pierre's crimes. Now I didn't want him to be any part of it.

"Leave us, Jourdon. This has nothing to do with you."

Pierre lifted a brow as he took me in. "Well, well. Did you hear that? But no, it's too late now. I think it's time we get everything out in the open."

Jourdon looked warily from his brother to me. "Ophelia. You don't understand. You can't deal with this alone. Come with me. I'll get you out of here—safe. It's what I should have done ages ago."

I straightened, brushing down my skirts. Pierre still stood between Jourdon and me. Something told me he wasn't going to let me through. To think all this time, I had thought Jourdon was the one betraying me.

The hall remained empty except for the three of us. I wondered how long it would be until Darren realized something was wrong. Had Sabine shown up yet?

I was stuck between two princes, one of them having betrayed me, the other the one I betrayed. I wasn't sure I could trust either of them, whether Jourdon had been involved previously or not.

Pierre interrupted me before I could reply. "Get her out of here? Oh no, brother. Neither of you are going anywhere."

Pierre grasped my arm, long pointed nails digging into my skin. I met his glare with one of my own.

"And you called me a liar," I snarled.

He chuckled then yanked me forward. Jourdon hesitated, glancing between Pierre and me. "What are you up to?"

Pierre sighed impatiently. "Our little rose has been sneaking around in more than one way. Come with me and see just how treacherous this fiend has been. Tell me then that you still want to keep her safe." His tone was mocking. "She's played us all for fools, brother."

Jourdon narrowed his eyes.

"No. Unhand her Pierre."

Pierre scoffed, pulling me closer. He leaned forward, his voice a threatening whisper. "Or what, great shining Prince? What are you going to do about it?"

Quiet as a soft breeze, figures emerged from the shadows around us. They wore black cloaks and twisted masquerade masks glittering with black diamonds. Metal glinted in the dark as they drew their weapons.

My heart raced. I had never seen these men before, but I had heard of them, back in Rosailles. I didn't need confirmation to know they were Aurelian's Chosen. A deadly force of assassins. During the worse of the wars, some of them had even managed to slip into the Verenician Palace and kill a few of my ancestors.

How long had they been there? Cool sweat slicked my skin. I had hoped with Jourdon here, Pierre might back down. But there were many things I did not know about the younger prince. Like how he was able to command one of the Garnette's oldest and most deadly forces.

Jourdon inspected the dark guard surrounding us, his muscles coiled. His hands fisted at his sides.

"What are you playing at?"

Pierre's mouth twitched. "Come with me quietly, and you will both find out." He yanked me against him. I stumbled to try and keep myself from being dragged.

How did he come to be so strong? My mind flitted to memories of flesh on flesh, his lips and my neck, his hands under my legs, holding me up to him and he pressed into me...

Bile rose in my throat, a mixture of revulsion and the ghost of my need shuddering through me. I closed my eyes tight.

Angelic whispers thrummed against my ears, matching the rapid beat of my heart.

I had opened myself to Pierre. I had allowed him in. Whether I wanted to admit it or not, I had fallen for him, and my heart was throbbing in my chest like it was cracking in two. Only a bright flare of anger kept the tears from falling. Only my shock kept the weight of truth from settling in.

Pierre pulled me back into the ball, the music loud and cacophonous. The courtiers laughed and danced, as oblivious as they had been before. We stood at the center of the room, several moments passing before they started to take notice.

Shocked gasps sounded through the room as Pierre shoved me to the floor. I fell, my dress spilling around me as my knees hit the hard tile. I bit back a cry, glaring up at him.

He met my gaze, unblinking. His full red lips curled into a smirk, the paint smeared from where they had pressed to mine only moments before. But he did not glare at me with hatred or loathing.

Instead, I saw the same heat as I had the night I entered his room. I saw the same look I had faced over and over again as he held me to him, as he ran his hands through my hair. Like he was never, ever, going to let me go.

It only terrified me more.

Pierre ducked down, placing one pointed nail under my chin to tilt it up. I tore my face away from his touch. He sighed.

"You will see, Ophelia. This is all for your own good."

I couldn't help it. A laugh bubbled up in my throat, part hysteria, part pain. The whispers would not stop, like somehow having Pierre closer amplified them. My head throbbed. "Whatever helps you justify the monster that you are to yourself, Pierre."

There was a faint flicker in his eyes, but then the heat in his gaze burned away, replaced by an icy blue that almost looked purple under the bright lights of the hall. He turned to address the audience gathering around us.

Jourdon moved to cut Pierre off.

"Pierre--"

Pierre nodded off to the side, and one of the shadowy men came up behind Jourdon, placing a dagger at his throat before he could say more. Pierre looked around, waiting patiently for everyone's attention to shift to him. He waved a hand, and the music sharply cut off.

"Son, what is the meaning of this," boomed King Gilroy. His gaze slithered down to me. "Why is the Princess on the floor like a common maid?"

A few sniggers rose in the crowd but quickly quieted as Pierre's expression didn't waver. His usual charm had been left behind, his expression grave.

"I'm afraid to inform you all that Princess Ophelia has betrayed us."