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

by Rebecca F. Kenney

We talked of little things, of the new horses and the refurbishments to the east wing, until I was halfway through my cup of tea and feeling oddly sleepy and detached.

This mfkr straight drugged his daughter. Screw this guy.

“Come, wife, help a husband out.”

I like him

“Women have fallen for me in less time. Men too. I am a prince. That makes me innately desirable.” My jaw dropped. “Men too?” “Would that displease you, if I’d been with men as well?” “I—no, I suppose not—unless you prefer them solely, and that’s why you want this arrangement.”

I'm fucking howling

“So I’m nothing but the bakery oven for the royal loaf,”

I like her too she's funny

“How many innocent men and women have you killed?”

“No,” I snarled. Licking my dry lips, heart pounding, I rose and walked up behind him. I slid my hand past his waist, down to his crotch, and stroked gently. “I will let you put this in my mouth.”

I wanted him, but I didn’t want to cry through this—warrior princesses didn’t cry when they made love to their fiendish princely husbands. 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.

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