Penelope and Prince Charming (Nvengaria #1)(113)

“Because you needed me for Nvengaria.”

“Yes.”

Damien’s eyes held sorrow, and Penelope’s chest tightened until it hurt. “I only wanted a husband,” she said softly. “And to be in love.”

Alexander gently slid the weights from the paper, letting the scroll roll up. “I regret to have caused you pain.” He sounded as though he did regret it, a polite host disliking to cause a guest discomfort. “But my interpretation is the correct one.”

“When I saw you, Penelope,” Damien broke in firmly, his gaze never leaving Penelope’s face, “I knew Alexander was wrong.”

Alexander shot him a glance that was almost puzzled. The Grand Duke was a very intelligent man, Penelope sensed, while Sasha was driven by zeal. They were like the two sides of Nvengaria—Alexander’s steely intelligence and Sasha’s passionate emotion.

Damien had been forced to choose which version he would believe. Penelope wanted to tell him she understood, that she knew he had deliberately chosen to take the chance on bringing Penelope to Nvengaria, no matter what the truth proved to be. And that the choice had been difficult.

“We can never truly know,” Penelope said. She glanced at Alexander. “But I can choose which one to be.”

“You would be a fool not to return to England,” Alexander said. “I am offering you safe passage.”

Penelope gave him a little smile. “I am a fool then. But Damien needs me here.”

Sasha made an exasperated noise, his anger letting him break protocol and interrupt the two highest men in the land.

“Why do you argue?” he demanded of Alexander. “It makes no difference what is on your paper, Your Grace. It is obviously incorrect. Princess Penelope is the true princess. She is the lady of the prophecy. She fell instantly in love with His Highness, she tamed the logosh, she heals wounds. She healed me. Look.” Sasha began hastily unbuttoning his coat, ready to show the closed knife wound in his back.

“Sasha,” Damien said sternly. “Not now.”

“But she healed me,” Sasha said, wide-eyed. “We found her, His Highness and I did, as was prophesied. She is the true princess!”

Alexander granted Sasha a cold smile. “A man may recover from a wound without being healed by a princess.”

Sasha pointed at him. “You were not there. I was nearly dead. She brought me back to life. Princess Penelope will return life to Nvengaria. She carries the prince’s child.”

“Sasha.” Damien swung around, his eyes filled with rage and fear.

“Shut your gob, you stupid man,” Egan said at the same time.

Alexander’s expression changed instantly from polite urbanity to the ruthlessness of a sword’s edge. He turned glittering eyes to Penelope. “Is this true? Do you carry Damien’s child? Do not lie to me.”

Penelope nodded once, her body stiff. The tension in the room rose swiftly, Alexander poised and ready like an assassin’s knife.

“I hoped Damien would not touch you,” Alexander said. “But he could not resist, could he? A beautiful woman, the rituals, the famous Nvengarian lust? This means I cannot let you go, Miss Trask. Not while you carry the prince’s son.”

“You can,” Damien broke in, voice hard. “Send Penelope back to Oxfordshire—let her live there in peace. The child might be a daughter.”

“That will solve nothing—you know it will not. A boy prince will want his kingdom. A girl will claim descent from Augustus, no matter that the line is broken.”

“Leave her alone, damn you,” Damien growled.

“There is a way,” Alexander said, looking thoughtful. “Marry me, Penelope, after Damien’s execution, and we will claim that the child is mine.”

Eyes widening, Penelope shook her head. “I would never do that—never.”

Alexander let his tone grow patient. “’Tis better than going on the execution block next to him. I am willing to spare your life, Miss Trask, but I swear there will be no more Princes of Nvengaria.”

“Damien is nothing like his father,” Penelope cried. “He is gentle and kind and would never think to execute a woman.”

“No, but he would coerce a lady into marrying him, and lie to get her into his bed.” Alexander took a step closer to her. “Do you not see, Miss Trask? When you look at him sometimes, you can see the madman inside him. It is like a trick of the light—and then you realize the madness truly is there.”

Penelope wanted to shout at Alexander that he was wrong, but the protest died on her lips. She remembered the times Damien had observed others with his assessing look, sizing them up, deciding how to charm them. She also remembered how he’d held her in the bath in Little Marching, begging her in a hoarse voice to not let his father take him over.

“You see it too,” Alexander said softly. “Do you not?”

Penelope’s throat closed and she couldn’t answer.

“My father is gone, his madness with him,” Damien broke in. “I agree with you that he nearly destroyed this land. But you, Alexander, wish to rule Nvengaria as though it were a shipping company, with neat returns. You want it to be clean and free of corruption, running along with all parts oiled. But that is not what Nvengaria is.” He gestured to the windows. “Those who live in it every day of their lives—they want the fairy tale; they need the prince and princess. They want love and hate, lust and rage—not oiled machines. Open the windows, Alexander. Listen to what the people of Nvengaria want.”