The Yule Prince : An Enemies to Lovers Fantasy Romance

Chapter Four

Back in my chambers, I grab a clean shirt and some underwear and stuff them into my leather bag. I arrange a couple of pillows on my four-poster bed to look like me and throw the patchwork quilt over them. I secure my knife to my belt. Then, I pull on my bulky traveling cloak and slip into the corridor.

There is so much to process. So much to think about.

My name is not in the Book of Sinterklaas. St. Nicholas is my biological father. I am heir to the Christmas Throne.

I am not marrying Friedrich.

Raucous shouts and screeching pipe music resonate through the stone walls of the castle. Hopefully Krampus's party will go on until the early hours. By the time anyone has noticed I'm missing, I'll be long gone.

Once downstairs, I slip into the kitchens. I hope to find Maggie. I want to say goodbye, and I'm hoping she will give me some food to take on my journey. My heart falls when I can't find her among the bustle. When no-one is looking, I grab half a loaf of bread, some hard cheese, and a chunk of fruitcake from the counter and stuff it into my bag.

I wish I could leave Maggie a note to tell her where I'm going, but I fear that it will fall into the wrong hands.

Instead, I hurry through the entrance hall, smelling the Yuletide scents of smoke and spiced wine coming from the feast. Then, sparing a quick glance over my shoulder, I push the large iron door and slip out into the night.

The wind howls, and my boots crunch through the snow as I fight my way to the stables.

I will steal one of the horses from there, and ride until I reach St. Nicholas's Kingdom.

I do not care much that he is my father. He is not the fuzzy memory of the mortal man I recall from my childhood–baking together, cuddling me and mum, and reading bedtime stories by the fire.

I do not want to be queen of this infernal place, either.

But if St. Nicholas truly is my father, he must know my mother; he must know where she lives. And if I am to save his life from Krampus's assassin and the bottle of poisoned wine – then he can give me an address.

He owes me.

He is my way out of all this. He is my way home.

As I push the door of the stable, there is a crunch in the snow behind me. I reach for my blade.

"Going somewhere?" says a gruff voice.

Three of Krampus's guards surround me. They are big, armed, bulky masses of black beards and green velvet, and my heart skitters in my chest.

Krampus cannot know I am escaping. He cannot. I am not beyond his brutal punishment. I do not think anyone is. Except perhaps his spoilt and petulant son.

My mind reels through excuses and adrenaline clouds my thoughts. I'm rendered completely useless, frozen to the spot, until one of them grabs my arm.

The guard looks over my head at the others. "He's going to be very interested in where she's sneaking off to."

I cannot be taken to Krampus. I won't.

I swipe his face. A long scratch tears across his skin and he slaps me. I stagger aside, my cheek stinging. Two hands grab me from behind, then. Struggling, I am dragged to the wing of the castle where Krampus lives—a place I am forbidden to enter.

Each room we pass seems more horrific than the last.

I catch glimpses of chains drilled to walls, and whips made from birch twigs, and statues of horned goats molded out of sleek black coal. The guards halt outside a door with a demon head carved into the wood.

There's a muffled noise on the other side of the door, and I'm shoved inside.

"Found 'er by the stables, m' lord," says the guard.

I'm breathing fast. My hands are trembling. My blood is cold.

Adrenaline blurs my vision, and for a moment I cannot focus.

Then fury, relief, and indignation flood my system as I realize whose chambers I am in.

Friedrich is draped across a maroon armchair at the opposite side of his room. His cool eyes linger on the fresh cut on one of the guard's cheeks. Then he flicks his wrist. "Leave us."

When we're alone, I struggle to control my temper.

I'd almost escaped; I'd almost got away from him, and his father, and this cold and wicked castle. I finally had a workable plan.

I was finally going to go home.

And now I am here, in the Yule Prince's personal chambers. I stand next to his crumpled four-poster bed as he lounges by the fire. He usually dresses oppressively, but now his linen shirt is unbuttoned at the collar and exposes his collarbone. His blond hair a more ruffled than usual, too, like he's been running his hands through it. I wait for him to speak, as though I am some trained wolf pup, here to answer to his every call.

Heat floods my cheeks – rage and embarrassment and warmth from the crackling fire.

Finally, he looks at me directly. "My father plans for us to marry. But you are not a suitable bride."

My jaw feels as if it's about to shatter, I'm clenching it so hard.

"Do you think. . ." I take a deep breath and force myself to talk in an even tone. "Do you think I want to marry you, Friedrich?"

He absently touches his throat. When he places his hand delicately back on the arm of the chair, I realize he was touching the small red cut where I nipped him with my blade.

"Then it is decided. There can be no marriage." He studies his fingernails as though I'm too boring to look at. "I will help you escape the Winter Kingdoms. I will help you get back to your horrible little mortal world."