Secret Princess: The Beast's Captive Mate

Alistair pulled his blood-stained cloak tightly around his shoulders. He gave Pandora one last, agonizing look as she rocked the baby. He grabbed the iron handle, pulled the heavy oak door open, and slipped out. He pulled the door shut behind him until it clicked. He melted into the thick shadows of the corridor, moving like a stalking panther. His military boots made almost no sound on the stone. He navigated the labyrinth of the palace, slipping past two arched doorways heavily guarded by sentries. He timed his movements with the crashes of thunder outside. The narrow hallway opened up. Blinding light spilled from the Great Hall ahead. The deafening roar of drunken laughter and clinking gold goblets assaulted his ears. Alistair pressed his back against a massive, intricately carved stone pillar just outside the entrance. He held his breath and peeked around the edge. In the center of the hall sat King Orestus. The tyrant's face was flushed red with wine. He held a jeweled goblet in one hand, and with the other, he roughly gripped the waist of a trembling, terrified slave girl sitting on his lap. Orestus slammed his goblet on the table. "Drink, my lords!" he bellowed. "Tonight, we secure the borders! I have finalized a highly profitable military alliance with the Kingdom of Cavar!" Alistair's hearing homed in on the King's words. His chest tightened. A drop of cold sweat slid down his temple. Orestus puffed out his chest, grinning like a predator. "And to seal this alliance, I have offered them a prize. My dear brother Alistair's six-year-old daughter, Princess Josefina. She ships out tomorrow to be raised in the pens as a future breeding mare for the Cavar savages!" The hall erupted. A chorus of vulgar, booming laughter bounced off the walls. Several nobles leaned in, making disgusting, graphic comments about Josefina's developing body. Alistair's eyes flooded with red. The blood roared in his ears so loudly it drowned out the thunder. Pure, unadulterated rage obliterated his sanity. His fingers curled around the edge of the stone pillar. He squeezed so hard his fingernails scraped uselessly against the solid rock. The sharp edges of the stone bit deep into his flesh, drawing blood, but he didn't feel the pain. He forced himself to swallow the metallic taste of blood and humiliation in his mouth. If he charged in there now, he would be cut down in seconds. His wife would be killed. His daughters would be taken. Alistair spun around. He was a cornered beast. He sprinted back toward the West Tower, his lungs burning, his bloody hands clenched into fists. He reached the secret delivery room and shoved the door open. He slammed it shut behind him and threw the heavy iron deadbolt into place. Pandora looked up from the bed. She saw the blood dripping from his fingers. She saw the absolute devastation on his pale face. "What happened?" Pandora's voice shook violently. She pulled the baby tighter against her chest. "Did Orestus find out?" Alistair slid down the back of the door until he hit the floor. He buried his hands in his hair. His voice was a broken, raspy whisper as he told her what Orestus had done. He told her about the trade. About Josefina. Pandora let out a sound that wasn't human. It was a high, keening wail of pure agony. Her eyes rolled back for a second, her body swaying as if she might pass out. She stared at the tiny baby girl in her arms. In her mind's eye, she saw Josefina and this newborn baby locked in iron cages, treated like cattle, violated and broken. The absolute despair hit a breaking point. Something inside Pandora snapped. The terror in her eyes vanished. It was replaced by a dead, chilling emptiness. A terrifying calm washed over her face. She slowly lowered the baby onto the mattress. Her movements were unnervingly gentle, as if she were in a trance. Alistair looked up. The sudden silence scared him more than her screams. He pushed himself off the floor, reaching a hand out to her. Pandora turned away from the bed. She lunged toward the metal tray resting on a side table. She grabbed the heavy, iron scissors Agnes had used to cut the umbilical cord. Alistair's heart leaped into his throat. He thought she was going to end it all. He threw himself across the room, reaching for the blades. "Pandora! Don't do this!" Pandora twisted away from him with shocking speed. She turned back, her eyes blazing with the feral, murderous intensity of a mother wolf protecting her den. She glared at Alistair. "I will never let my daughters become their toys! Never!" she snarled, her teeth bared. Every word tasted like blood. She spun back to the bed. The iron scissors caught the candlelight, flashing a cold, deadly silver. Alistair watched in frozen horror. Pandora brought the scissors down. Snip. With a swift, desperate snip, she cut off a soft, dark lock of hair from the top of the baby girl's head. She clenched the hair in her fist. She turned to her husband. Her voice left no room for argument. It was an absolute decree. "From this day forward, she is not a princess," Pandora declared. "She is a boy. She is our Prince."