The Dark Prince

The Dark Prince RAVEN STORM Copyright © 2023 by Raven Storm All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. Book Cover by Gigi Creatives Created with Vellum Contents Pronunciation Guide One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight Nine Ten Eleven Twelve Thirteen Fourteen Fifteen Sixteen Seventeen Eighteen Nineteen Twenty Twenty One Twenty Two Twenty Three Twenty Four Twenty Five Twenty Six Twenty Seven Twenty Eight Twenty Nine Thirty Thirty One Thirty Two Thirty Three Thirty Four Thirty Five Thirty Six Thirty Seven Thirty Eight EPILOGUE Acknowledgments About the Author Also by Raven Storm Also by Raven Storm Pronunciation Guide Tyr - “Tee-r” Aella - Ay-ella Maddeus - Muh-day-us Puth- Poo-th One ISADORA “I won’t! I won’t marry him! You can’t make me!” Roselle’s shrieks bounced off the walls of our modest manor, sending servants and animals alike scurrying away to avoid her wrath. I stayed put, the hem of her white wedding dress clenched in my fingers. I bit down harder on the needles between my teeth that stuck out between my lips. My step-father Lord Perron stood half-dressed in his best suit, jacket hanging on a nearby chair. His shirt was unbuttoned toward the top, and his cravat hung at his neck in an untied mess. He looked how I felt most of the time. “lsadora, hurry up,” he said to me, dodging as Roselle threw a wooden brush at him. I made a desperate attempt to continue hemming her dress despite the fuss. My callused, thick fingers struggled to get the needle threaded where it needed to be. Such delicate work was for ladies, and not servant girls who worked with their hands all day. In my head I already rehearsed what the worst scenario was: I wouldn’t finish the dress, Roselle would scream, and my step-father would smack me in the face and withhold dinner. That was fine, I could cope with that. I knew the cook would sneak me some bread and cheese and Lauren would have a compress for my face. I would survive this. Other scenarios swarmed in my head causing my fingers to shake with anxiety. What if I accidentally stabbed Roselle with the needle? She’d stab me back. What if I messed up the dress and her new husband didn’t like it because of me? I closed my eyes and shoved my anxiety down deep, deep, deep, where no one would see it. I had to finish this dress. It didn’t help that Roselle was thrashing like an animal in its death throes. My step-father’s attention turned back to his real daughter. “The Dark Prince has been very kind to us in our time of need. This is the only thing he’s asked in return, and you will honor it. He will be here this evening. You will be on your best behavior, and you will marry him. ” With nary a thought to either of us, he stormed out of the room, snatching his jacket off the chair as he went. There was a moment of stunned silence. Roselle’s body vibrated, fists clenching as she grit her teeth. Her father never said no to her. Never. Roselle took a large breath in, and I let go of the dress in favor of covering my ears. I knew what was coming. She let out such an unearthly scream that it rattled the floorboards. More impressively, no one came rushing in to see what the fuss was about. It was likely that my step-father ordered them all not to. Roselle screamed daily, whether it was over a tiny hole in her hose, or a proposal to a strange man. The servants and I were mostly deaf to her tantrums by now. Roselle had to have known this would come someday. Her delicate beauty made her quite a catch despite my mother having been only a baroness before she married Lord Perron. We were a minor, unimportant noble family out in the countryside. Nevertheless, I understood why someone as powerful as the Dark Prince would be interested in her. Her long, blonde hair curled gently at the ends around the small of her back. Big, almond-shaped green eyes complimented her lithe figure. She was an accomplished singer and danced well enough. A pretty little wife for a man who had enough coin to buy her, since she didn’t have a dowry. Our family was practically destitute after my mother died. My mother. Not Roselle’s. And with my mother’s death went all her lands and titles, confiscated and given back to her family. Apparently, I didn’t count, because my mother had me out of wedlock. We’d lived out here in the country by ourselves for as long as I could remember, until Mother had fallen head over heels for the gallant baron, who didn’t seem to mind her pariah status in polite society. Anyway, it worked out fine since the Dark Prince didn’t need a dowry. He didn’t need anything since he already held all the power in our province. The surrounding villages (including ours) owed fealty to him as long as he kept his promise to protect us from harm. So when he asked (demanded) something of you, you gave it to him. His skill as a fighter was famous. Perhaps infamous. He was the king’s favored, and with the king having no sons of his own, many whispered he was a bastard risen too far above his own station. The man was feared throughout the kingdom, and rightly so. When the king had a traitor that needed to face his crimes, the Dark Prince was sent out. He was an extension of the king’s arm of justice, his executioner in the night. It was also rumored he was terribly disfigured. “He is old! He is ugly!