The Kiss of Deception (The Remnant Chronicles, #1)(110)

“Afraid of a simple message?” he taunted Kaden, his gaze never wavering.

Kaden glared back. “A message means nothing. We don’t negotiate with the Kingdom of Dalbreck—not even with the prince’s own emissary.”

“You speak for the Komizar now?” Rafe’s voice was thick with threat. “I promise you, it’s a message he’ll want.”

“Kaden,” I pleaded.

Kaden turned to me, his eyes prickled with heat, and an angry questioning gaze blazed from them.

The chievdar pushed forward. “What proof do you even have that you’re his emissary?” he sneered. “The prince’s seal? His ring? His lace handkerchief?” The soldiers around him laughed.

“Something only he would possess,” Rafe answered. “A royal missive from the princess, addressed to him in her own handwriting.” Rafe looked at me when he said it, not the chievdar, his eyes sending me his own private message. My knees weakened.

“Scrawl?” The chievdar balked. “Anyone could scratch on a piece of—”

“Wait,” Kaden said. “Give it to me.” The soldiers released Rafe’s arms so he could retrieve the note from inside his vest. Kaden took it from him and examined it. The broken remnants of my red royal seal were still visible. He pulled a crumpled note from his own pocket. I recognized it as the one the bounty hunter had dropped on the forest floor that I never got the chance to retrieve. Kaden compared the two notes and slowly nodded. “It’s genuine. Prince Jaxon of Dalbreck,” he read, spitting out the title with scorn.

He unfolded the note Rafe had given him and began to read it aloud for the chievdar and the surrounding soldiers. “I should—”

“No,” I said, cutting him off sharply. I didn’t want my words to the prince spit out with complete derision. Kaden turned toward me, angry but waiting. “I should—”

I stopped and stared at Rafe.

Inspected him.

His shoulders.

His wind-tossed hair.

The rigid line of his jaw.

The redness of the blood trickling down his cheek.

His half-parted lips.

I swallowed to quell the tremor in my throat. “I should like to inspect you … before our wedding day.”

There were snickers from the soldiers around us, but I saw only Rafe’s face and his imperceptible nod as he returned my gaze.

Every tight thing within me went slack.

“But the prince ignored my note,” I said weakly.

“I’m sure he deeply regrets that decision, Your Highness,” Rafe answered.

I had signed the marriage documents myself.

Rafe. On that much he hadn’t lied.

Crown Prince Jaxon Tyrus Rafferty of Dalbreck.

I remembered how he had looked at me that first night in the tavern when he told me his name, waiting to see if there was any glimmer of recognition. But a prince had been the last thing I was looking for.

“Shackle him and bring him along,” Kaden said. “The Komizar will kill him if he’s lying. And search the surrounding hills. He couldn’t have come alone.”

Rafe pulled against the soldiers who twisted his hands behind his back to chain him, but his eyes never left mine.

I looked at him, not a stranger, but not a farmer either. It had been a clever deception from the very beginning.

The wind swirled between us, threw mist in our faces. Whispered. In the farthest corner … I will find you.

I wiped at my eyes, the real and true blurring.

But I knew this much. He came.

He was here.

And maybe, for now, that was all the truth I needed.





ACKNOWLEDGMENTS



It is hard to even begin to thank and recognize all the people at Macmillan—many of whom I’ve never met—who worked so tirelessly to get this book into your hands. They do smart and wonderful things behind the scenes, and I thank each one of them deeply and sincerely. Even if I don’t know you, I know you are there. A special shout-out to these brilliant Macmillan folks who have been so supportive: Laura Godwin, Jean Feiwel, Angus Killick, Elizabeth Fithian, Claire Taylor, Caitlin Sweeny, Allison Verost, Ksenia Winnicki, and Katie Fee. I bow to the greatness of Rich Deas and Anna Booth, who simply created magic with the cover and design. Crowns and backrubs go to George Wen, Ana Deboo, and Samantha Mandel, who slaved over this behemoth—multiple times. Thank you.

Kate Farrell, my longtime editor, deserves a week at a spa and a royal scepter—this was a whole new animal for us and she never wavered in her enthusiasm, support, spot-on guidance, and supreme patience. I don’t deserve her, but I’m glad she’s mine. Kate, without a doubt, you are a true Gaudrellan princess. I want to be in your tribe every time.

My agent, Rosemary Stimola, has exhausted all superlatives, yet she still manages to surprise me. Besides wearing her amazing agent hat, for this book she also put on her linguistics professor’s hat and guided me through waters lurking with dangerous things like past participles to help me create a consistent Vendan language. Ena ade te fikatande achaka. Grati ena, Ro. Paviamma.

I am grateful to writers Melissa Wyatt and Marlene Perez for writing sprints, beta-reads, sage advice, pep talks, and regular water-cooler laughs. You two are better than chocolate. Many thanks also to Alyson No?l for offering eleventh-hour advice as I headed into revision—a much-needed beacon to remind me where I was going. My gratitude also to Jessica Butler and Karen Beiswenger for early reads, cheerleading, and many sessions of playing the idea-bouncing game with me.