Chapter Eight

Princess

 

“Holy crap! Look at that!” I cried and pointed straight ahead at the vision that lay before me.

A village at the base of the river. A quaint, adorable village with thatched roof, timbered buildings that hugged the riverside and crawled partially up the mountain, their windows lit warmly and, I leaned forward and peered ahead, an abundance of colorful lanterns hanging from the roof ends. There were short piers jutting into the river with small, charming wood boats attached to the piers that also sported lanterns.

It was unbelievable!

And as we got closer, it got more unbelievable for it, like my (or the other Cora’s) house, was filled with flower beds, window boxes and planters burgeoning with thriving blooms everywhere. Not only that, there were glistening cobblestone streets and sparkling diamond-paned windows in the buildings.

“It’s gorgeous,” I breathed.

“It’s a village, Cora,” Tor informed me and I twisted quickly to look at him.

“No, honey, it’s gorgeous,” I whispered, watched him blink, slowly again, then I turned back in order not to miss anything.

We made it to the edge of the village and even though night had fallen, people were wandering the side of the road.

“Heya,” I said on a smile when a man looked up at us and started.

“Well, uh… hullo there,” he replied hesitantly as we trotted past.

“Cora,” Tor said low.

“Yep,” I replied then a woman lifted her head, looked at us and she started too but I caught her eyes and called, “Hello!” and capped it with a wave.

I turned, looked around Tor’s body and kept waving until I saw her lift a hand and a tentative smile hit her face.

“I’m seeing we need to make a deal,” he remarked.

I straightened and looked up at him. “A deal?”

“You need to be smart in the village. None of your games.”

I stared at him and I felt my light heart drop a notch.

“My games?”

“You’re Cora Hawthorne here.”

“Who’s that?” I asked.

“You,” he answered.

“I’m Cora Goode,” I told him.

“Yes, love, you were until you took my name.”

Oh. Right.

And his last name was Hawthorne. Noctorno Hawthorne. All together that was a pretty badass name.

“So, what I’m saying is, you’re Cora Goode Hawthorne here,” he went on.

“Well, I’m kind of Cora Goode, um… Hawthorne everywhere.”

“No,” his face went ultra serious, “you’re this world’s Cora Goode Hawthorne.”

My heart started to feel heavy.

“What?” I whispered.

“I think you understand me.”

“These people know me?”

“You’re Cora Hawthorne,” he explained without explaining.

“You mean,” I moved closer to him and whispered, “they know I’m a bitch?”

“No,” he answered.

Oh man!

My heart skipped.

“You mean they know I started the curse?” I breathed.

He sighed in a way that indicated he was seeking patience and he replied, “No, Cora, they know you’re a Hawthorne.”

He pulled back on the reins, Salem stopped but I felt my brows draw together.

“What does that mean?” I asked but he didn’t answer.

He swung his leg around, dismounted with practiced ease then his hands spanned my waist and he pulled me down and set me between him and Salem.

Close between him and Salem.

Then he tipped his chin down, caught my eyes in the bright lights of the gaily lit lanterns and muttered, “Right, your game.”

My previously light heart sunk like a rock.

I wasn’t convincing him.

Damn.

“Tor,” I whispered but said no more when his big hand came up and curled warm around my neck.

“It means, love, that you’re mine and what’s mine is part of me and I’m royalty.”

My body jolted and my voice was a muted shriek when I cried, “What?”

“Quiet,” he clipped, not releasing my eyes.

I got up to my toes and whispered, “You’re royalty?”

“Yes.”

“Royalty,” I repeated, just to confirm.

“Yes,” he forced out through his teeth.

“Honest to God, blue blood royalty?” I kept at it, not taking it in.

His brows shot together as he replied, “Gods, woman, my blood’s red just like yours.”

“You know what I mean,” I returned on a hiss, going further up on my toes and my fingers curling into his shirt to keep myself from toppling over at my precarious position and at the shock of his news.

“No, I don’t.”

Shit. They didn’t have the term blue blood here either.

All right. Moving on.

“What are you? A baron? A duke?”

“A prince.”

A prince!

“What?” I shouted.

His fingers at my neck squeezed and his face got to within an inch from mine. “Woman, quiet.”

“What?” I whispered.

“Can we not do this?”

“You’re a prince?”

He looked over my head. “I see we’re going to do this.”

I shook my head in shock and disbelief while chanting, “Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God,” over and over again.

“Cora.”

“Oh my God.”

“Cora.”

“Oh my God!”

“Cora,” he clipped, “stop saying that or I’ll kiss you quiet.”

I snapped my mouth shut.

“Get hold of yourself,” he ordered.

I stared up at him. Then I asked, “Your father is the king?”

“Yes, love, that’s what being a prince means,” he answered with waning patience.

“Holy crap,” I whispered.

“Cora –”

“So, uh… where are you in line to the throne?”

“First.”

“Holy crap!” My voice was rising again just as my body went solid and his fingers tightened at my neck.

“Cora, damn it to hell,” he bit out.

I sucked in breath then I whispered, “First in line?”

“Yes,” he gritted.

“Wow,” I breathed.

“Are you done?” he asked.

“Do you have brothers or sisters?”

He glared at me. Then he muttered, “I see you’re not done.”

I pulled the bunched fabric of his shirt in my fists back and then slammed them against his chest. “Tell me.”

“Dash, the second son, Orlando, the third. Now are we done?”

“Those are your brothers?” I asked in shock.

“Yes.”

“You look nothing alike.”

“Three different mothers.”

“Holy crap!” I cried.

“Woman,” he clipped.

“Right, right.” I glanced around to see eyes on us, a number of them. In fact, we were drawing a crowd. Then again, he was the future freaking king, for God’s sake. “Sorry,” I whispered when I looked back at him.

“Finished?” he asked.

“Um… for now,” I answered.

He looked over my head again and muttered, “Gods, save me.”

Then he let me go, grabbed my hand and guided me into a building with a wooded sign jutting out of it that had a painting of the very village we were in on it over which it said, “The Riverside Rory”.

I let him do this and let him seat us at a table by the window and kind of let the proprietress fawn over us and let him order for me and took a sip of the crisp, cool, pale amber fluid that was set before me (which tasted vaguely of apples and strongly of alcohol) and I did all of this without word because the only thought in my head was, Whoa, I’m married to a prince.

I snapped out of it when something hit me and I focused on him to see he was watching me. Then I leaned across the small, clean wooden table toward him.

“Does this mean I’m a princess?” I asked.

He stared at me looking annoyed for a second then he sat back and sighed, “That’s what usually happens when a woman marries a prince.”

I sat back and looked dazedly out of the multi-diamond-paned, wavy-glassed window, mumbling, “Oh my God, I’m a princess.”

“Gods, that you would have granted me this boon when she wed me and with it gave me one night of this hot, greedy tart rather than the cold, selfish fish you gave me,” he muttered, my eyes moved to him and I saw he was speaking to the ceiling in audible prayer.

But his words penetrated so I leaned across the table again and asked, “What did you just say?”

His eyes cut to me. “You like being a princess?”

I sat back and threw out a hand. “Of course I do. That question is absurd. Any girl wants to be a princess. And in this world, I am one.”

“Well, you are one but you aren’t.”

I blinked as my happy, fairytale balloon deflated. “I am one but I’m not?”

“Love, you live in a house, it’s a nice house but you live there because you choose to live there. You warmed my bed like you warm my hides, you’d live with me in my castle.”

My eyes rounded and I breathed, “You have a castle?”

“Bloody hell, here we go again,” he muttered, staring at my face.

The proprietress arrived with wide, shallow pewter bowls filled with divine-smelling, delicious-looking, steaming stew and a cutting board resting precariously on her forearm topped with a fluffy loaf a brown bread, a knife stuck in it and a small ramekin of creamy butter at the side.

And when she did, I looked up and informed her, jabbing my finger at Tor, “He owns a castle.”

Her body jerked, her eyes shot to me then she dipped down in an awkward curtsy while still balancing the bowls and board.

“Yes, your grace,” she muttered, her eyes moving to my shoulder.

“Isn’t that cool?” I asked her and her eyes flitted to me then back to my shoulder.

“Cora,” Tor warned in a low voice.

I turned to him and cried, “Well it is, Tor!”

“Gods,” he muttered and I finally noticed the woman and her burden.

“Here,” I reached out, “let me help you with that.”

“Gods,” Tor muttered again as I took a bowl from her and set it in front of Tor.

“My,” she whispered and I looked up at her, smiled and divested her of the bread board.

“Heya,” I belatedly greeted.

“Erm… your grace,” she mumbled.

“This bread looks fantastic! And the stew smells superb!” I noted as I took the last bowl and put it in front of myself. “And what’s this I’m drinking?”

“Cider,” she whispered.

“It… is…” I leaned closer to her, “awesome!”

“Erm, I’m pleased you think so, your grace,” she replied.

“I totally do!”

“We brew it from apples from our own orchards.”

“Well then, you’re clearly masters at it.” She stared at me like I had three heads so I went on, exclaiming, “I can’t wait to eat!”

“I hope you find it to your liking,” she mumbled, her eyes slowly lighting as she looked at me.

“It can’t not be. If it smells that good, I’m certain it tastes heavenly.”

“We’ve had few complaints,” she informed me, her voice getting stronger, her lips tipping up.

“I bet not,” I replied and finally looked around to see the inside of the pub was as appealing as the outside. I looked back at her. “You have a lovely place here.”

She bobbed again and pink came to her cheeks. “Thank you, your grace.”

I looked back around, noted the pub was filling and my eyes went to her. “Sorry, I’m keeping you from your duties.”

“It’s my honor, your grace.”

Wow.

I smiled at her. “If you get a quiet moment, get yourself a drink and come sit with us,” I invited.

“Bloody hell,” Tor muttered under his breath.

“No funning?” the proprietress breathed, so shocked at my invitation, she didn’t hear Tor.

I shot an irritated Tor a look then rearranged my face to smile at the woman. “No funning. I’m Cora,” I extended my hand to her and she jumped back like it hissed and bared fangs. “It’s okay,” I encouraged her.

She studied me then timidly lifted her hand and her fingers closed around mine as I felt a murmur run through the crowd.

“Liza,” she whispered as my fingers gave hers a friendly squeeze. “Liza Calhoon. My husband Rory and I own this pub.”

“Lovely to meet you,” I let her go and gestured to Noctorno. “My husband, Prince Noctorno.”

Tor glowered at me but composed his features to a benign (but still gorgeous) smile when he turned and inclined his head to Liza.

She bobbed again, dipped her chin low, stayed bobbed down and muttered reverently, “Your grace.”

“Rise,” he murmured and she did.

Uh… wow!

“I’m honored, to be sure,” she told him.

He inclined his head again.

She grinned at him then she grinned at me then she said, “Enjoy your meals.”

“I’m sure we will!” I assured her, her grin turned into a smile and then she twirled and scurried excitedly away.

The minute she did, the crowd’s low murmur rose and this was likely because the future king was in their midst but I didn’t care. My mind was awhirl.

I was a princess. My husband lived in a castle. And there was a huge amount of food right in front of me.

All was right in my world.

I tucked in.

I wasn’t wrong; the food was fan-freaking-tastic. I snarfed down a half dozen spoonfuls of scrumptious stew then stopped in order to cut into the bread.

“You want bread?” I asked Tor.

“Yes,” he answered.

I sliced while asking, “Can I see your castle?”

“You’ve seen it.”

I dipped out a huge wodge of butter and started spreading it before I looked at him. “Okay, then, can I see it again?”

He eyed me. Then he said, “We’d be safe there.”

I stopped spreading butter and stared at him. “We would?”

“The Shrew cannot practice on sacred land. All royal land is sacred land.”

Was he serious?

“Are you serious?”

He was chewing. I waited for him to swallow then he said, “Yes.”

I stared at him again, counted, got to two then exploded, “For God’s sake, Tor! If we’re safe in your blinkety blank castle, why’d you take me to a cave?”

His eyes narrowed and he commanded, “Quiet.”

“No,” I shot back, dropping his bread and the knife. “I want to know.”

“Lower your voice.”

“Dude, you took me to a cave!”

His brows knitted ominously and he growled, “I told you, I do not like this name.”

“I don’t care!” I returned heatedly and, might I add, loudly.

Mistake. Big one.

He rose from his seat and was around the table in a flash. Then I was out of my seat. Then I was in his arms. Then his hard mouth was on mine. Then his delicious tongue was doing equally delicious things in my mouth.

When my belly warmed, my bones turned to water, my nipples were tingling, a surge of wetness gathered between my legs and my arms curled around his neck and held on for dear life, he lifted his head and I gazed hazily up at him.

He held me plastered to his body and he didn’t move back even an inch.

“When I say quiet, Cora, you be quiet,” he said low. “You don’t, I swear to the gods, I’ll keep at you until you do and I don’t care if that means I’ve got to throw your skirts up and take you on the bloody table. Am I understood?”

Oh dear.

“Yes,” I whispered.

“You’re a bloody princess,” he clipped.

“Okay.” I kept whispering.

“Act like one,” he ordered.

I nodded though I wasn’t certain what that entailed.

He glowered at me. I tried to look contrite.

Then he let me go and started to move around the table but as he did a wave of sound hit us, he moved back to me, his arm circled my waist protectively and we both looked at the wild, cheering like mad crowd.

“Hurrah!” someone cried.

“Long live Prince Noctorno!” someone else yelled.

“Behold, the black prince and his exquisite bride!” someone else shouted.

How. Totally. Cool!

“Hey, ya’ll!” I shouted and waved.

At my greeting, the cheer rose so high it nearly took the roof off.

Cool!

I smiled. Tor’s arm around my waist squeezed.

“Princess,” he clipped into my ear.

Oh shit.

Right.

I stopped waving like a friendly person, closed my fingers, cupped my hand slightly and started waving like a royal person.

This had no affect on the crowd who kept shouting, clapping and stamping then someone yelled, “We love you, Princess Cora.”

“Isn’t that sweet?” I yelled back in the direction from where the words came even though I had no clue who said it.

“Deliver me.” I heard Tor mutter from beside me and I looked to the side and up at him.

“What?” I asked.

“Just, gods, please sit down and eat,” he replied.

“Sure,” I said, smiled at the crowd, did the royal wave again then Tor let me go and we sat down.

The cheering kept going for a bit then subsided but only when Tor looked toward them, inclined his head but lifted a hand, palm up, and he pressed the air out. They took their royal command and cooled it.

Whoa. Awesome.

I got over my awe, finished with his bread then put it on the side of his bowl and started on mine.

“So,” I began, “I need royal instruction. I’m not hip on this princess gig.”

“Pardon?” he asked and I stopped slathering butter on my bread, dropped the knife to the board and brought the slice to my face.

“This princess gig. You’ll need to explain,” I told him and then took a bite of the bread.

It was chewy and full of flavor. Lush.

“Well, you can start with never asking the proprietress of a pub to drink with you,” he stated.

I swallowed. “What? Why?”

“She’s common,” he informed me and my head jutted back with not-so-mild affront.

“So? So am I.”

“You are not.”

“I so am.”

“Cora, your father is an Earl.”

I was sipping at cider and I choked at this news. I managed not to spew it across the table at him and instead swallow it but my mirth was not spent. Not by a long shot. At the thought of my hippie Dad being royalty in this world, well, I couldn’t help it.

I lost it.

Totally.

I threw my head back, wrapped my arm around my middle and laughed myself silly.

“Cora,” Tor called.

“Hang on,” I choked between giggles, my other fist on the table was banging it repeatedly.

“Cora.”

“Just a minute.”

“Did you not understand me before?”

That sobered me. My mirth died away but my stomach still ached. I held on, chuckling and wiping tears from my eyes, then I looked at him.

The laughter ceased as I caught the look on his face.

He was not pissed, annoyed, irritated or impatient. He was staring at me like he’d never seen me before in his life. He was staring at me like a movie star would stare at his movie co-star when he saw her for the first time and was instantly intrigued by something that would mean he’d soon become lovestruck. But Tor did it better because he was hotter by far than any movie star and he was real and sitting across a table from me.

Holy crap.

“I’ve never seen you laugh,” he told me quietly.

“I do it often,” I replied quietly.

“You should do it more.”

“If you’d quit being a jerk, I would,” I returned.

“That was worth not being a… jerk,” he said the last word cautiously, like he was testing it out.

I liked that so smiled at him.

He smiled back.

My skin tingled all over and I felt my lips part.

God, he was gorgeous.

He lifted his spoonful of stew and asked before putting it in his mouth, “Why were you laughing?”

“My Dad’s an Earl.”

He chewed, swallowed and grinned. “That’s amusing?”

“My Dad’s a hippie in my world.”

Something shifted on his face, like a shutter closing but not completely. “A hippie?”

“A love child. A child of mother earth. He’s kind of a loon. He’s liberal. Like, way liberal. He smokes weed. He gets down to Grateful Dead albums. He wears tie-dye, kid you not, to this day and he’s fifty-five years old.”

“Sweets, you know I only understood half of those words but I didn’t understand the meaning of any of them.”

I grinned at him, leaned my elbow on the table so I was closer to him and took a bite of bread. After I chewed, I swallowed but in that time, I hadn’t come up with any answers.

“I haven’t been in your world long enough to make a like comparison.”

That shutter closed further, he looked to his stew and muttered, “Right.”

“Tor?” I called, he took a spoonful of stew and looked at me while he chewed, brows up. “Is everything okay?” I went on.

He swallowed then without hesitation he cut me to the quick and pulled the rug right out from under me, I landed flat on my back, winded and wounded.

“It would be, if this was Cora sitting across from me, having learned to be a decent person. It isn’t because you’re playing your bloody game, you’re good at it and I’m annoyed that I’m half enjoying it.”

Uh.

Wow.

Ouch.

“Tor –” I whispered.

“Cameras, pollution and hippies. Yes, love, you’re good. I should just let go and allow myself to fully enjoy it. Hell, who knows how far you’ll take it. You might eventually give me something I’ll really enjoy, like a bloody heir.” I felt my breath stall and he went on. “And you might play it so well, I’ll enjoy creating that heir. But, gods curse me, I can’t let myself enjoy it because I know it’s all a game to get your way and, as hard as I try, I can’t stop it from annoying the bloody hell out of me.”

I felt tears sting my eyes because for once in this cursed (literally) world (at least since the very beginning with Rosa and Aggie) I was enjoying myself and he just reminded me that I could not and why.

To hide my tears, I looked away.

“Crocodile tears, even better,” he muttered.

Great. They had the saying crocodile tears here. Perfect.

I sucked in breath through my nose, focused my attention on my stew and ate it.

It didn’t taste as good as I remembered it being not five minutes ago.

I emptied my bowl and was picking at (but not eating) my bread when I plucked up the courage to call, “Tor?”

“Yes, love.”

I took another breath and my eyes slid to him.

“Can I ask one thing without giving you a kiss for it?”

“You can ask it but that doesn’t mean I’ll give it.”

Of course.

I nodded. Then I asked it.

“Can you please not call me ‘love’ or ‘my love’ when you obviously hate me so much?”

It was small, I almost missed it, but I was pretty sure I saw him flinch.

“Cora –”

“Men call women who they care about that. My Dad calls my Mom that. He loves her. Deeply. He has for nearly four decades. Please don’t sully that by using those words, words you don’t mean, on me.”

He held my eyes and I let him. Or, more accurately, I couldn’t tear mine away.

Then he said quietly, “No.”

I pulled in my top lip and bit it. Then I nodded. Then I looked out the window.

“I need to make some enquiries,” he told my profile.

“Of course,” I whispered to the window.

“Don’t leave this table,” he commanded.

“Right.” I was still whispering.

I felt him move but didn’t look then I felt his heat at my side.

“Cora.”

I closed my eyes. Then I turned my head and tipped it way back to look up at him. When I did, his hand lifted to cup my cheek and he bent low and touched his mouth to mine.

I felt a tiny tear split through my heart.

When he lifted his head, he murmured, “For my people.”

That loving gesture was for the crowd.

“Right,” I whispered.

“Don’t move from this table.”

I nodded but made no further retort even though he was being bossy and repeating himself to boot. When I didn’t speak, his eyes examined my face as his thumb tenderly swept my cheek.

That tear split deeper into my heart.

“Gods, I wish this was real,” he muttered.

It is, you stupid man! my mind shrieked.

But my mouth didn’t move.

“I’ll be back,” he stated.

“I’ll be waiting.”

His thumb swept back and his eyes held mine.

Then he let me go, straightened and he was gone.