Prince of Cats - Tasha Black Page 0,33

protect their people. Their suffering was made palpable to him now.

There was great-grandfather Aife, his sad eyes gazing back at Killian from the painting. King Aife had allowed himself to be captured as part of an elaborate trick in a war with the Summer Court. Sadly, his chief of war had miscalculated and King Aife wound up dying in a Summer dungeon. But the ruse had worked, and the Autumn Court survived.

Next to Aife was a portrait of Princess Devona, with her bow. The princess had single-handedly protected the court from ruin, balancing on a parapet to take out the leader of a band of raiders with a single shot. Something about her portrait reminded him of Piper and he moved along quickly, passing by her legendary bow, which was displayed in a glass case beside her picture.

But somehow, he couldn’t focus on the portrait of Queen Cara. His mind was drawn back to Princess Devona.

Devona had been beloved by their people for her skill and bravery. He had no doubt that Piper would be loved by them too, if only she were allowed to be.

If only they didn’t need this delicate peace. And if only he could marry a mortal.

“Prince Killian,” a servant’s voice interrupted his reverie. “The Princess is waiting.”

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

I will not betray my kingdom to satisfy my own heart.

I will stand proud for my son today.

I will share this victory of peace with my kingdom.

But it all sounded hollow when he remembered that his true love would be on the lawn below and not on the balcony beside him.

24

Killian

Killian walked away from his storied ancestors to join his less illustrious, present-day princess. Somehow, he had a hard time imagining a portrait of Wynter ever making it into the Hall of Honor.

She was currently wrinkling her nose at the baby, who waggled his fingers at her and chuckled.

A small contingent of Killian’s personal guards stood nearby, along with a select few officials from his court.

“Kieran,” Killian cried to his boy, ready to take him out and give him the cuddle he wanted.

“Don’t,” Princess Wynter said in a tone so commanding he actually took a step backward.

“Why not?” he asked.

“You’ll mess up his gown,” she said primly. “I’m getting him out right before we go out there.”

Out there…

Out there were Killian’s people, the fae and other beings of the Autumn Court, all of them relying on him to make a wise choice in his wife, and adoring him for bringing them the promise of continued peace by producing an heir.

He was pondering all this when the large, unfamiliar guard stepped out of his place in line. Which was odd, because Killian made it a point to know all of his personal guards.

Maybe he’d been recently promoted.

It was hard to recognize anyone wearing a full dress uniform and helm, and yet there was still something oddly familiar about the man. He was heavyset, but looked strong, and had a stiff gait, as if he’d been freshly injured. But none of Killian’s troops had seen recent battle.

He was about to dismiss his suspicions as nothing more than nervousness, when the man turned slightly, and Killian got a better look at his face.

The sight of the guard’s eyepatch instantly transported Killian back to the woods, the trip to the castle with Piper and the baby.

The hellhound.

This guard had been one of its keepers.

The big man moved swiftly across the hall. He reached inside his uniform and withdrew something that shimmered in the sunlight streaming in from the balcony.

Killian looked to his other guards, but they were all focused on Wynter, who was issuing them a strong warning about what would happen if they didn’t stand in proper formation during the ceremony.

The imposter headed right for the pram.

At the realization that his son was in danger, Killian’s vision tunneled, and everything seemed to move in slow motion.

He screamed and flung himself forward, covering the distance faster than seemed possible. He managed to knock the knife out of the surprised imposter’s hand at the last instant, before he could plunge the blade into its intended target.

The man turned to him, an expression of terrified fury on his ugly face.

The imposter threw a quick punch, a wicked hook to the ribs that caught Killian off guard. He tried to roll with it and managed to deflect enough of the blow to keep from having the wind knocked from his lungs.

The man came after him with a wild