The Luna's Bodyguard [a mature werewolf romance]

Ch 27: The Tallest Tower

OPHELIA'S POV

The guards turned suspiciously polite the moment we left the royal family's earshot. One of them asked me how my trip was, as if I hadn't gone on the run for twelve years and been dragged back by bounty hunters (though I couldn't say I'd come back unwillingly). They even bid me goodnight when they opened the door to my new suite, which was — unsurprisingly — on the tallest floor of the second tallest tower.

I told them to fuck off, of course, and slammed the door in their faces. It was fucking noon. There was no way in hell I was just going to stay in here until I fell asleep, like some kind of servant on retainer.

The quiet crept up like a cat, wrapping around my legs, clawing up my back. I took stock of the fancy four-poster bed and gauzy canopy; the silk drapes and coverlets; the gilded picture frames and knickknacks. All of it was rendered in egg-shell white and an awful shade of pastel pink; they'd taken the 'princess' memo a little too literally, it seemed.

The first thing I did was stride over to the window, opening the shutters and peering down. It was a steep drop; easily six stories, maybe even seven, but I suspected I'd have enough fabric to make a rope that could take me to the top of the rose trellis, which stopped about halfway up the turret.

I was just about to rip down the curtains when a unit of guards marched through an archway leading to the main courtyard. They came to a a sharp halt below my window, settling into formation on the edge of the path, as if they were planning on staying for a while. One even pointed up at me, elbowing the person next to him, and I scowled.

Fine, I thought, pulling back. I could use a challenge, anyway.

Fallon made an excellent point earlier; that taking me in had been far too easy. I'd come along willingly, under the assumption my captors were simple bounty hunters. Instead I found two mates in lycan princes, and a strange friend in a royal bastard half-witch. Not least of all, the man I intended to marry (and murder, in our marital bed) was right under my nose the whole time.

I ought to murder him still, I thought viciously, recalling the quiet anguish welling up from Fallon's mind as the curse bubbled up to his skin.

How was it that the boy who got so excited over showing me his favourite Radiohead album could do something so heinous, to his self-proclaimed best friend, no less? Was Nate — Ignatius — truly so jealous of me that he would resort to abusing his power and rendering the competition incapable of having children?

And yet, I could not deny that the thought of hurting Ignatius — killing him — chafed.

You must, whispered a low, soothing voice in the back of my head. It is your destiny, king killer.

I shook it off its eerie promise with a shudder. "Aurora is my priority," I muttered aloud, recalling her wide, horrified eyes at the luncheon. There was even pity in them, as if she'd managed to figure out everything that happened over the last few days in the space of a few seconds. "To hell with the plan."

My sister was somewhere in this castle, which changed everything. I had to get her out as soon as possible, which meant I wouldn't be sticking around for the royal wedding. Which I didn't even want to go through with, but a little part of me winced at the thought of leaving Nate at the altar, waiting for a fated bride and a future that would never come.