Masked Prince - Nikolai Andrew Page 0,17

lucky I didn’t punch him right in the face.

“No, sir,” he replied.

One thing these guys understood was the chain of command and thank fuck for that.

“Exactly. You defer to me. And my orders are that you wait here for five fucking minutes. Got it?”

All at once, all six guards stepped to the right to get out of my way, with a clatter of armor and plate, and in unison they barked, “Yes, sir.”

Sometimes it was damn good to be the prince. I booked it around the corner to the entrance to my own quarters. It was a forgettable, shitty little wooden doorway, and that was how I liked it. The door looked like an access closet for the chambermaids, but it wasn’t. It was my gateway to my own private world. I made my way up the dark staircase and through another small door, and then emerged into what was known as the Ruined Tower.

From the outside, it looked abandoned and neglected. But on the inside, it was every bit a palace—my fucking palace. With its own private dungeon.

In my dressing room, I stripped naked and splashed my face with cool water from the wash basin. Then I dried myself with a fresh towel and wiped down my arms and chest. I didn’t give two shits for appearances, but I smelled like a farm and the cool water cleared my head.

Once I was clean, I put on a fresh shirt, clean britches and my boots. Then from my dressing table, I grabbed the thing that I both needed and hated. Desired and loathed.

My mask.

It was made of Damascus steel, fold-forged and oil quenched. Dark ripples of carbon interwove with lighter layers of silver. Lightweight and strong, I’d had it made by a metalsmith that I’d brought over from across the south sea. On one hand, it protected others from the discomfort of seeing my scars. It saved me having to answer questions about how I got to be the way I was.

But on the other hand—way more important—it protected me from having to show my true self to the court and those in the castle. The real me, the one that I had allowed Iris to see, was something I guarded aggressively.

The masked me could be anybody, and I liked that. It kept the queen, especially, on her toes. Not being able to see my face made her uncertain and nervous around me. Just like the bitch deserved.

I sniffed hard, fastened the leather strap behind my head, and looked at myself in the mirror. I’d been told that if a mask could be handsome, it was. Possibly. All I knew for sure was the masked man that looked back at me wasn’t who had fallen in love with Iris. This guy? He was a mean son of a bitch who gave no fucks about anyone except himself.

The masked prince was a bastard.

In every sense of the fucking word.

We took the long way to our destination, through the castle courtyard and past the barracks, before my father’s soldiers left me at the door of his bedchamber.

The guards weren’t cleared to move through the castle interior without specific orders, and apparently they weren’t willing to leave my attendance at my father’s bedchamber to my whims. Probably sensible, since every fiber of my being longed to be back with Iris, but irritatingly formal nevertheless.

As soon as they were gone, leaving me with only his room guards, I placed one hand on the doorknob, and with the other, I removed my mask, not having any idea what to expect inside.

But what I found was far worse than anything I could have imagined.

My father lay in bed. It had been a few weeks, maybe a month since I’d see him. Not because I didn’t care, it was simply that over the years my hiding and staying in the shadows felt right. I retreated into my own world and my father never begrudged my isolated leanings.

But, seeing him now, he was a changed man. He looked like he’d aged decades. Now I understood his guards’ rush to get me back here.

I went to his bedside, and though he looked weak and old, the light in his eyes was still there. Gone was the strong, authoritative lion that I had come to know as my father, but he wasn’t totally lost to me yet.

This was the man that had secured my safety, even in the face of the queen’s disapproval. This was the man who had made