Penelope and Prince Charming (Nvengaria #1)(81)

“So that Alexander will not execute you?” Penelope asked, puzzled.

Damien raised his head, displaced water droplets spattering. “I do not mean that. I mean I need you to keep me from becoming like my father. The man was a monster who destroyed everything he touched. He was so filled with hatred and envy that he could not let anyone love him.” He shivered. “Sometimes, when I am enraged, when I demand things to happen, I hear his voice in my mouth. I hear his words coming from me, and I cannot believe it.”

Penelope slid her hands to his arms, her fingers warm with the water. “But if you are aware you are speaking so, you can stop yourself. From what you are saying, I imagine you already do.”

“But what if a time comes that I cannot stop myself?” A lump formed in Damien’s throat as he named his greatest fear. “What if Alexander is right and the very worst thing that can happen to Nvengaria is to have me as its prince? My father executed anyone who remotely disagreed with him. He ruled by absolute terror. He drove my mother to take her own life and executed his best friend, Alexander’s father, the Grand Duke—the man who stayed up all night with my father the night I was born, getting intensely drunk with him. Alexander’s father was godfather to me. And yet, the day of the Grand Duke’s execution, my father snatched the musket from one of the marksmen and fired the killing shot himself.”

Penelope’s eyes widened in shock. “What had Alexander’s father done?”

“Nothing at all, except remonstrate with my father for how he treated my mother,” Damien said bitterly. “My father, insanely jealous, accused the Grand Duke of being her lover, then of plotting to assassinate him and take his place. Which was pure and utter idiocy. He even made Alexander watch the execution, to learn what happened to a man who was not loyal. My father was a complete madman.”

Penelope listened in horror, but when Damien finished, she touched his cheek. “But you, Damien, are not,” she said decidedly.

Damien’s doubts and fears clawed at him. “How do I know? Madness is inherited, it is said. How do I know I will not drive you to do what my mother did? Penelope, I do not know what I am at all.”

The words tore out of him. And why the hell was he busily telling Penelope things he’d never before said to a mortal soul? Why was he constantly baring himself to her, prostrating himself before her and saying, Here is the wreck you have agreed to marry, may God help you.

“You are my love,” Penelope said, her quiet voice like a soothing stream. “And my prince. That is what you are.”

Her eyes held only confidence in him. No fears, no worries. Damien could drown in her.

He shook his head, the lump in his throat threatening to choke him. “No, he is here inside me like some damned ghost.” He pressed his hand to his chest. “Like the demon Wulf turns himself into. That is why I become Prince Charming, as you call me—to hide the demon. I have been fighting him all my life.”

Damien’s words were hoarse with fear. No one, not even Petri, had ever heard him speak like this.

Penelope’s eyes softened. She wrapped her arms around him and laid her head on his shoulder, her soft body and sweet scent penetrating the terror stabbing at him. “You no longer have to fight him alone,” she said.

Damien’s arms tightened around her. Water trickled down his back as she soothed the hair at the nape of his neck. His heart beat thick and hard, fear, need, and love all mixed up inside him.

You no longer have to fight him alone.

There was no one, no one in the world like this woman.

“I want to make love to you again,” Damien said, voice barely working. “Right now.”

Penelope jerked her head up, startled. “What about the ritual?”

“Later.” Damien’s need had sprung to life, sorrow and fear giving way to hard desire. “Get out of the bath and on the floor. Sasha has left enough towels to cover a bed.”

Penelope stared at him. “But …”

He turned her around and put his hands on her shoulders. “Your first lesson in becoming a princess is to obey your prince at all times and without question.”

Penelope sent him a skeptical look over her shoulder. “I am certain that is not a requirement.” Her eyes sparkled. “I will have to ask Sasha.”

Damien gave her a look of mock severity. “I am the Imperial Prince of Nvengaria.”

“And I am Princess of Nvengaria, descended from one of the joint rulers.” Penelope gave him a wide-eyed look. “This makes me an Imperial Princess, does it not? The equal to you?”

Damien wanted to burst out laughing. His fears chased each other and then dissolved under her sly look. Penelope had spirit, humor, and courage.

“You question the will of your husband?” Damien said, keeping up the pretense. “English ladies are raised to be obedient, are they not? Now lie on the floor and make ready for me.”

Penelope turned around, smiling, one hand out as though to stop him. “That is not very charming, my prince.”

“I am tired of being Prince Charming.” Truly, he was. “I wish to be the prince inside my wife.”

Penelope might be an innocent, she might know nothing about being a princess and a woman of the world, but she knew how to entice, whether she understood her power or not.

“My modesty, sir,” she said with a dramatic gasp.