Penelope and Prince Charming (Nvengaria #1)(38)

If Sasha died, Damien would take revenge on every inch of Alexander’s hide.

If Penelope died, Damien knew he’d die himself. After he killed Alexander.

So this is what love does to you. It eats you from the inside out and never lets you rest.

Prophecy or no prophecy, spell or no spell, what he felt for Penelope was tearing him up.

Damien cupped her face in his hands. “I couldn’t reach you in time.”

Penelope’s lips were bloodless, her eyes filled with the same stark worry he felt. “I saw the man try to stab you. Why—what did he want?”

Meagan’s voice sounded beside them. “Oh mercy, mercy, mercy. Does this happen to you all the time, Damien?”

Meagan pushed her flyaway red hair from her face with a shaky hand and gazed in horrified fascination at the would-be assassin on the cobbles. The man’s eyes were wide in death, and a trickle of blood stained his mouth.

Damien let out a breath. “More than I care for it to, yes.”

“He’s dead, is he not?” Meagan pressed a hand to her throat. “How awful.”

Penelope was looking at Damien, not the corpse. “It happens to you often?” she asked, a dangerous look in her eyes.

Damien shrugged. “I am Imperial Prince of Nvengaria.”

Penelope would not let him get away with that, he knew, but she could say nothing more in the middle of the crowd.

The men from the tavern and the Nvengarian servants who hadn’t accompanied Rufus and Sasha gazed down at the body with him. Damien did not recognize the assassin, but the man was obviously Nvengarian. He had the eyes, the bearing, the crazed need for drama.

“What do we do with ’im?” one of the villagers asked.

Another man, who proved to be the constable of the parish, scratched his head. “Well, we all watched him do himself in. Coroner might want an inquest, but there ain’t much doubt. Foreign. Excitable. Tried to kill his highness and offed himself when he couldn’t. One of these radicals, no doubt.”

“I want to see Sasha.” Penelope struggled to disentangle herself from Damien.

Damien released her, understanding. He kissed her briefly and skimmed his hand to the small of her back. “Meagan,” he commanded. “Go with her.”

Meagan tore her gaze from the dead man as though she found it difficult to look away. Her eyes held stark horror, but her back was straight and her concern was for Penelope as she reached for Penelope’s hand.

Damien’s estimation of Meagan rose—she was a staunch and steadfast friend, very protective. The two young ladies moved toward the tavern, bodies close as though comforting each other. Penelope’s basket lay forgotten in the dirt, a paper listing things she meant to buy ruffled by the slight breeze.

Once Penelope and Meagan had disappeared into the tavern, the Nvengarian men let their emotions flow. One footman spit on the body.

“We will tear him apart,” another, Titus, said, his eyes full of rage. “Nail bits of him to every tree as a warning to those who dare try to kill our prince.”

“And our princess,” another growled.

The rest muttered assent. They spoke in Nvengarian, but the Englishmen seemed to understand the gist.

“Bloody upstart,” one Englishman said. “We should hang him from a gibbet.”

More agreement, the murmurs surging.

“Now, gents,” the constable interjected.

Damien said briskly to his men, “Let the English deal with this in their way.”

The Nvengarians quieted a little, but their blood was up. They wanted something to fight.

“I will hunt that pig Grand Duke Alexander and make him pay,” Titus said.

“Steady, lad,” Petri told him as he came up beside Damien. “You wouldn’t get closer than his fifth bodyguard.”

“I will kill Alexander and make him drink his own blood,” Titus insisted.

“I’d like to watch that.” Petri grinned. “You know, Titus, these English lads here have never seen Nvengarian wrestling. Work off some steam and show them a thing or two.”

Titus’s young eyes glittered. “Yes, sir.” He switched to his struggling English and pointed at the villagers. “You. Come. We show you fight.”

“Don’t kill anyone,” Petri said in a mild tone. “They’re our allies.”

Titus nodded gravely. “I will try to remember.”

Titus led the villagers and other footmen off, save for the constable and a few men left to deal with the body.

Damien turned away, his blood boiling as much as young Titus’s. Alexander throwing assassins at Damien was one thing. He could face them. But Alexander could not be allowed to hurt Penelope. Never Penelope.

Damien would have joined in the Nvengarian-style wrestling, which involved much kicking and punching and more resembled a free-for-all, if he weren’t so concerned for Sasha.

“Titus is not wrong,” Damien said as he and Petri made quickly for the tavern. “Alexander will answer for this.”

“Are you sure the Grand Duke sent him?” Petri asked. “Not very subtle for one of his assassins. In broad daylight and you surrounded by loyal men? He’d never hope to get away once he’d killed you.”

“He nearly succeeded,” Damien pointed out. “If not for you, he would have. No, this is Alexander’s work, Petri. He’s found a way to rid Nvengaria of its dangerous radicals. Go hunt Prince Damien, he’s told them. And they have.”