Bride to the Fiend Prince (Dark Rulers, #1)

by Rebecca F. Kenney

“You are now bound by mettle and magic, by ichor and ice, for pain and pleasure, soul to soul and blood to blood.”

When women brandish daggers at me I usually spill all my darkest secrets, but with you—” he shook his head— “I just don’t feel that trust that a husband should feel for his wife. Maybe if you climbed on top of me again—”

“You’re a naughty little Princess at heart, aren’t you?”

“Keep smiling at everyone,” the Prince murmured. “I know looking pleasant is a terrible chore for you, but you must make a greater effort. To be honest, you look rather ill.” “I feel rather ill,” I whispered back. “Nerves.” He nodded so companionably that I wanted to smack him and remind him that we were not friends. “I sometimes have them before a battle.” “You mean you get nervous before you go out to slaughter people and steal their land?” I said sweetly. “You poor darling.”

But maybe they cried when the fiendish princely husband looked so heartbreakingly thin and pale. Maybe they cried when they could see Death slinking up behind him with a great scythe. Maybe then a warrior princess could cry, and rage, and catch Death by the wrists, and hold back that scythe with every ounce of will and strength she had.

“Wicked prince,” I said. “Cruel prince. You can’t make me love you and then leave me, just when we’ve started scheming for your freedom, and your future. It’s not right.”

“And those closer to the grave deserve love just as much as those with years of life left ahead of them.” He patted my hand.

I had taken Death by the wrists, and while trying to hold back his scythe from my love, I had impaled myself.

“Who’s Galanrae?” My father looked wildly around, his expression almost comical. “The Fiend Prince, Father.”

As long as you accept the fact that I’m completely indecisive, insecure, unworthy, and embarrassingly desperate for your love.”