Penelope and Prince Charming (Nvengaria #1)(39)

“Shit, sir.”

“Exactly. I want Penelope protected. At all times. No one is to get near her. Ever. Do you hear me?”

“I understand.”

Petri did. Damien knew the man would take care of things with the same ruthless efficiency as he took care of everything. Damien felt only slightly better as they reached the tavern and ducked into its dim interior.



* * *



Penelope pressed a cloth to the wound in Sasha’s back, her heart beating rapidly. This man had saved her life. Would it be at the cost of his own?

I will never let that happen, Penelope thought determinedly. She had some small nursing skill—all ladies learned basic remedies—but a knife wound was a bit beyond her abilities. The landlord had already sent a lad running for the surgeon, Mr. Phipps from Coombe Stepping three miles away. Mr. Phipps would know what to do.

Sasha had bleated an embarrassed protest when Rufus had removed the man’s coat, waistcoat, and shirt. He’d remained distressed until Meagan consented to move off a little and turn her back.

Sasha had begged Penelope to stay, however. Held her hand tightly as though her very presence comforted him. Penelope relented, not having the heart to leave him.

Sasha lay still now, face-down on a blanket on the floor of the tavern’s parlor, his eyes closed, but he was awake and breathing normally, if heavily. Perhaps they might be lucky and the wound would not be mortal.

The scene replayed endlessly in Penelope’s mind, beginning with the man putting his hand on Damien’s shoulder and aiming a knife at his chest. Penelope had frozen, too far away to do anything, knowing at that moment she would watch Damien die.

Deep emotion she’d never known had rushed at her. Time had slowed, and she’d seen the knife flash as the man plunged it with deadly accuracy at Damien’s heart.

When Petri had shoved Damien aside, Penelope had gone weak with relief. Even the sight of the crazed assassin running for her, the pain of the stones scraping her hands as Sasha pushed her against the well, had not affected her as had witnessing Damien’s brush with death.

Penelope studied the ring on her finger, heavy, silver, and ancient. She’d seen her mother wear it many times, and her grandmother before that. Did the ring itself have anything to do with her strange need for Damien’s well-being? It had seemed an ordinary heirloom before now.

Penelope knew, without looking up, when Damien entered the room. The men inside moved for him as though his mere presence pushed them out of his way.

“Sasha, my old friend.” Damien’s voice held a note of gentleness Penelope hadn’t heard before as Damien knelt next to her. He placed his hand on Sasha’s bare, rather plump shoulder. “For this service, I can never repay you. You will be honored in the city square of Narato. We will give you a parade.”

This seemed to be the right thing to say. No thanks or sorrow, no remonstrating with Sasha for getting himself hurt.

Sasha managed a smile. “I only do my duty, Your Highness.”

“True.” Damien’s tone was light, but Penelope knew it was forced. “But you could easily have stepped aside and let the bodyguards fight the man off. That is their duty, not yours.”

Sasha put out his hand. Damien readily clasped it. The older man clung to Damien, seemingly comforted by his touch. “The sacrifice is an honor, sir.”

“I’ll not let you sacrifice your life,” Damien said firmly. “I need you, do you hear me? A surgeon is coming. He’ll stitch you up and have you organizing the rituals again in no time.”

Damien spoke confidently, but he looked worried. Though the knife might have missed an organ, the wound was deep, and such injuries could easily fester.

Sasha patted Damien’s hand. “Do not worry, Highness. The princess is here. She will heal me.”

Penelope looked up in surprise. Damien caught her eye and gave her a slight shake of his head. “You’re not that far gone, Sasha. The surgeon will help.”

“I need no surgeon if I have the princess.” Sasha spoke with happy certainty.

“What does he mean?” Penelope whispered to Damien.

Sasha heard her. “The true princess of Nvengaria has the power to heal the sick and the injured.”

Penelope’s eyes widened. She opened her mouth to protest—she knew how to make a poultice and brew an herbal tea, but that did not mean she could close a man’s wound or keep fever from entering his body.

Damien put his hand under Penelope’s arm, helped her to her feet, and pulled her aside. “Humor him, love. He needs you.”

Penelope stared at him. “Are you mad? When did you plan to mention this aspect of being the princess?”

Damien didn’t look the least bit ashamed. “When it came up. Which it has.”

“But I cannot heal him. What will happen when I fail? Will Sasha and the rest of your men denounce me?”

“No, because you will heal him.”

Penelope studied his face, which was honed like a bright blade. “Damien, I cannot, truly.”

Damien bent to her. “Wash his wound, rub his back, do something. Trust me.”

His blue eyes were full of warmth. Penelope longed to trust Damien when he looked at her like that.

She gave herself an inward shake. She needed to remember that this man was a leader, one who knew how to compel people to do what he wanted. He was doing such a thing to her now.