Penelope and Prince Charming (Nvengaria #1)(37)

“You exaggerate my virtues, my friend,” Damien said firmly.

“No, you dismiss them. Your father hated you for a reason. The people loved you and not him. Made him insane.”

Damien growled, “No more of that, Petri.”

Petri had known Damien forever and shrugged off his reprimands. “You dislike hearing the truth is all. Look, here comes something that will cheer you.”

Damien looked and forgot about Petri’s too-shrewd digs.

Penelope was walking into the village on the other end of the High Street, a basket on her arm, accompanied by Meagan Tavistock. Meagan spied Damien and Petri and waved.

Damien lifted his hand. Penelope did not return the salute, but he felt her gaze rest on him, saw her little smile, and his blood began to warm.

Sasha, as ever wearing his sash of office, trotted behind the ladies, and he in turn was followed by several Nvengarian servants. Good man, Sasha. He was carrying out Damien’s orders to protect the princess at all times.

Men began pouring out of the tavern, singing a bawdy song about a lass and a man at her window. It was severely off-color—Damien would have to translate it for Petri, who would laugh.

Damien felt a heavy hand on his shoulder. His attention on Penelope, he assumed it a reveler coming to thank him for his generosity.

Petri cried out and shoved Damien hard. Damien regained his balance and spun to see a man with iron-gray hair and a wild look in his Nvengarian-blue eyes fight his way free of Petri. The man lunged at Damien, a hooked knife raised.

“Nvengaria!” he screamed.

Damien twisted out of the way as the knife came down. Petri grabbed the assassin from behind. The man fought ferociously, his expression determined. He would kill Damien or die trying.

The men from the tavern caught on to the situation. They rushed to help, shouting.

The assassin flailed his knife at Petri, who jumped out of reach with a curse. The villagers swarmed the assassin, keeping him from Damien, but they tangled around him, causing more chaos. In the milling confusion, the man squirmed away and hurtled down the High Street toward Penelope.

“Sasha!” Damien yelled.

Sasha jerked his head up, his mouth open, as the assassin sprinted for them. Penelope and Meagan halted, poised, not understanding.

Damien started running, knowing he’d never catch the man in time. The Nvengarian footmen, trained to protect their master, rushed forward but they were too far away to help. Mouth dry, Damien saw the assassin reach Sasha, who’d stepped in front of Penelope.

Meagan screamed and dashed behind the well at the end of the street. Sasha shoved Penelope against the wall of the well, shielding her body with his as the assassin sprang at her.

The assassin’s knife came down, straight into Sasha’s back.





Chapter 11





Damien watched Sasha go down, disbelief then grief hitting him in quick succession. Sasha was his friend, his conscience, the man who’d believed in him all these years.

His next reaction was fury. Damien increased his speed, but the Nvengarian servants were there first, grabbing the assassin. The tavern goers, shouting in outrage, pounded toward them like Saxon warriors of old.

In spite of the strong footmen seizing him, the assassin managed to jerk his knife from Sasha’s body, the blade covered in blood. He shouted, “Nvengaria!” before plunging the knife into his own chest.

Sasha was sliding to the ground, Penelope trying to hold him. Blood spread across Sasha’s back, too much blood.

Damien reached them and caught his tutor as he fell. “Sasha.”

Penelope knelt, her hand on Sasha’s chest. Her green-gold eyes were anguished, her hand bloody where she’d scraped it against the stone well.

Damien’s heart thumped until he was nauseous with it. Damn, damn, damn. A Nvengarian assassin right here in this peaceful little village. And when he couldn’t kill Damien, he’d gone straight for Penelope.

“Sasha,” he breathed. Don’t be dead, damn you.

Sasha opened his eyes. His voice was weak. “I am not afraid to die for you, Highness.”

Damien let out a growl. “You will not die, old man, do you hear me?” He signaled to the footmen. “Carry him into the tavern and get his shirt off. Stop the bleeding.”

The footmen, handpicked by Damien for just such emergencies, moved into action. Rufus had a litter made and Miles had Sasha loaded onto it in very few minutes. Damien stood up as they lifted Sasha, who was bravely trying to hide his pain.

Penelope rose with them, her hand on Sasha’s shoulder. She had not said a word since Sasha’s fall, but her eyes spoke volumes. She understood what Sasha had done and why.

As soon as Rufus led off the train of servants bearing Sasha, Damien turned and dragged Penelope into his arms. She came against his chest in a crush of warmth and fabric, her hair smelling of sweet roses and sunshine.

Damien kissed her—a fierce kiss that held his anger and terror, never mind the villagers watching.

“Are you hurt?” he asked, drawing back to look at her.

Penelope shook her head. Her ungloved hand rested on his chest, the silver ring shining in the sunlight.

The ring announced that she belonged to Nvengaria, and to him. Damien tightened his arms around her, kissing the silky press of her hair. He needed to hold her. No, he needed to spend three days in bed with her, his hands on her body, his lips on her flesh.