Penelope and Prince Charming (Nvengaria #1)(108)
“Have more faith in me,” Egan said, looking affronted. “They’d not succeed, laddie.”
“You have provided solutions for all of us, it seems,” Penelope said. “But what about our child?”
Damien stared at her. “What child? If you mean Wulf, he is not …” He trailed off, his lips parting, his eyes going still.
“I mean the next Imperial Prince. Or Imperial Princess.” Penelope laid her hand across her abdomen. “I am not certain which yet, of course.”
Damien remained fixed in place. His hair stirred slightly in the now-warm breeze, but his body did not move. He might have been a statue, carved and painted to stand in the woods at the top of the pass, marking the road to Nvengaria.
Titus, catching on, whooped, his cry of joy echoing to the treetops. He threw up his hands and started stomping his feet in a complicated Nvengarian jig.
Sasha’s eyes shone. “Splendid, blessed news. Offspring of the joined lines of the princes of Nvengaria. The child of the prophecy.”
“Congratulations, sir.” Petri said, his grin wide. “Ma’am.”
Egan laughed loud and long. “Now that’s news that’s perked me up.” He removed a flask from his sporran and held it high. “A toast to Prince Damien and Princess Penelope, and the fruit of their loins.” He gave Penelope a wink.
Titus let out another whoop, and Petri joined him. The two linked arms and started dancing in a circle, first one way, then the other, both of them laughing and shouting.
“His name,” Sasha said, rubbing his hands together. He looked happier than he had in days. “Names are very important. I must do much research so we get it exactly right. And the rituals for the princess’s lying in and the christening. There is much to do, much to do.”
“Hell,” Damien said.
Chapter 31
Damien’s party crested the top of the pass not an hour after leaving the woodcutter’s hut. Slick mud from the snowstorm sucked at the horses’ hooves and the men’s boots at first, but as the day heated, the ground began to dry. When they reached the other side of the ridge, Penelope saw that the path leading downward was completely dry, as though the storm had never touched it.
“Most definitely of magical origin,” Sasha said.
Penelope privately agreed with him. The storm had been too localized, too abrupt, too strange not to have been magic. Practical Penelope realized that she now believed in magic without much trouble. The Nvengarians had transformed her.
Not long after they went over the pass, the path led them out of the trees. Damien halted, drew Penelope’s horse forward, and said quietly, “Look.”
The land dropped away in abrupt green waves, the folds thousands of feet deep. Pines thinned at the crest of the ridge, then grew dense and lush down the slopes, their heady scent thickening the air. Mountains rose stark on the other side of the huge valley, gray-white cliffs jutting from the green cover of forest. A hawk soared just below Penelope, its wings outstretched.
Far down in the valley, Penelope glimpsed a brief glitter of sunlight on water. Farther north the crenelated towers of a castle, gleaming in the sun, nestled on a high hill.
Something stirred within Penelope, an instinct deep inside her that had been slumbering, waiting to wake. It spun glorious emotion through her now—joy, excitement, and wonder laced with a touch of awe.
Penelope drew a long breath, realizing that she smiled. She turned to Damien, who was watching her closely.
“I feel as if …” She stopped and groped for the right words. “Oh, Damien, I feel as if I am coming home.”
“Yes,” he said quietly, his eyes dark. “I feel that too.”
He reached up and pulled Penelope from the saddle. His arm warm about her waist, he led her under the trees, out of sight of the others, who seemed to have made a tacit agreement not to follow.
Damien’s hot, rough kiss took her by surprise. Penelope let her hat fall to the ground unheeded, as he raked his hands through her hair and kissed her with the wildness she’d always felt inside him.
“I will never regret finding you,” he said, his voice harsh. “Never regret marrying you.”
For answer, Penelope twined her arms around his neck. He lifted her in hard arms, turning to lean her against a tree. Knowing what he wanted, and wanting it too, Penelope scraped her skirt up her legs, baring her skin to the cool mountain air.
Damien fumbled with buttons then she felt his shaft against her skin, heavy with wanting. He lifted her, arms cushioning her against the rough bark of the tree, and slid inside her.
There was nothing gentle about the way he took her. It was raw coupling, needy and commanding. Penelope was just as needy, holding him with tight fingers, Damien silencing her cries with his mouth. He finished very soon and Penelope did as well, her body frantic with desire.
She loved Damien even without the prophecy to force her, only now the thought was tinged with sadness.
* * *
At the bottom of the pass, as they neared the village of Ovota, two dozen of Alexander’s military men on horseback came out of the trees and surrounded them. The leader was deferential but made it clear that Damien was to accompany them to the Imperial Prince’s castle.
Damien had known they’d be there. Alexander would plan his defense to the last detail. Every plan would have a contingency plan … and he’d have contingency plans for those. If spells and assassins did not do the trick, armed riders just might. At least the escort was leading them the direction Damien wanted to go.