So I Married a Sorcerer (The Embraced #2)

“Of course!” Rupert replied. “The man is arranging his sister’s rape!”

Stefan and Ansel exchanged looks.

Dryden shrugged. “Aren’t princesses usually married off to strangers?”

Rupert lifted a clenched fist, ready to punch a hole in the wall.

“Sit down, Rupert.” Ansel used the same tone he had when Rupert had been a rebellious fourteen-year-old. “We need to discuss this matter calmly.”

Rupert didn’t budge. “Who are we to decide her destiny?”

Ansel quirked a brow. “Didn’t you do that when you kidnapped her?”

Holy crap. It was true. Rupert’s frustration and anger turned on himself, and another burst of wind shot across the room, blowing Ansel’s hat off once again.

“Dammit, boy,” Ansel growled.

“Enough, you two.” Stefan lifted his hands. “We need to go over this announcement. First, the timing. The moons embraced last night, so the competition is set to begin in two weeks.”

Ansel nodded, then pointed at the second paragraph. “Did you notice this? That the son would become Gunther’s heir?”

“I wondered about that, too,” Dryden said. “Gunther had an heir, but the boy died three years ago. Now there’s a rumor going around that Gunther can no longer father children. I thought it might be merely gossip, but apparently he was seriously injured two years ago in a battle with the Norveshki.”

Stefan grimaced. “I remember hearing about that. A dragon set his breeches ablaze.”

“Ouch.” Ansel winced. “My biscuits are burning!”

While the men chuckled, Rupert ground his teeth over the irony of the situation. If Gunther had been able to sire his own heir, he would have never sent for his sister. He would have gladly pretended that she’d never existed. But now she was his only hope. “Brigitta is the only way he can get an heir from his own bloodline.”

“Aye,” Stefan agreed, then turned to Dryden. “Do you know if any men have agreed to compete?”

“I’ve heard there are a few Eberoni noblemen who are interested. Or rather, their ambitious fathers are interested.” Dryden took a drink of ale. “But I’m surprised Gunther is inviting foreigners to compete.”

“I’m not,” Ansel muttered. “The greedy bastard gets three hundred gold coins from everyone who enters. He’s probably hoping for a hundred contestants.”

Dryden shrugged. “Even so, I doubt Gunther would let a foreigner win. Most people are saying the whole thing is rigged, that Gunther has three men he favors: his top general, the admiral of the Tourinian navy, and the captain of his personal guard. They say the contest is just to see which of those three men is the strongest, since Gunther wants a strong male heir.”

A strong brute forcing himself on Brigitta. “Holy crap,” Rupert growled.

Ansel gave him a pointed look. “If you don’t like it, why don’t you compete?”

Stefan scoffed and jabbed a finger at the paper. “Did you read the fine print at the bottom of this thing?”

“What?” Ansel leaned over, squinting his eyes as he read, “‘Only two contestants will survive the competition, for at the end of each round, the contestant with the lowest score will be put to death.’ Shit!” He sat back.

“Aye.” Stefan nodded. “That’s why Gunther opened the competition to foreign noblemen. He gets to kill them.”

“Bastard.” Ansel downed his goblet and slammed it on the table.

“We can’t send her back,” Rupert announced.

Stefan scoffed. “If we don’t send her back, we don’t get the ransom.”

“Screw the ransom!” Rupert growled. “We captured her so we could upset whatever plans Gunther had, and we have accomplished that. If he never gets her back, he can never have an heir from his bloodline. The House of Grian will die! That’s worth more to me than any ransom.”

Dryden’s eyes narrowed. “Why do you want the House of Grian to die?”

Ansel shot Rupert a pointed look that told him to shut the hell up.

“Here. For your expenses.” Stefan handed Dryden a small bag of gold. “We need you to go back to Ebton now, so you can keep us informed.”

“Sure.” Dryden stood as he pocketed the gold.

“Wait.” Rupert rushed over to the desk and wrote a quick note to inform Queen Luciana that her sister Brigitta was safe, and he would do his best to protect her. “Here. Deliver this to Ebton Palace. And thank you.”

“Just doing my job.” Dryden plopped his hat back on his head and pocketed the note. “See you later.” He left the room, and Rupert listened to the clump-scrape of his walk down the hall.

“You wrote to the king of Eberon?” Ansel asked.

Rupert shook his head. “The queen. She’s Brigitta’s sister and about to give birth. Brigitta didn’t want her to be worried.”

Stefan exchanged a look with Ansel, then asked, “How did you know about that?”

Rupert shrugged. “She told me. Last night.” He peered out the door to make sure the hallway was empty.

“Come sit down,” Ansel said.

Rupert locked the door, then took his seat. The other two men were watching him closely. “I know what you’re thinking. I said too much in front of Dryden. I need to be more careful.”

“You’ve always been careful.” Ansel refilled his goblet. “But today you’re different. A lot more emotional.”

With a snort, Rupert tossed his hat on the table and pushed back his mask. “I’ve always hated Gunther with a passion. And the House of Grian. That’s nothing new.”

“Yes, but Brigitta is from the House of Grian,” Stefan said, “and you seem very protective of her.”

Rupert shrugged. “I hate to see anyone being used by Gunther.”

Stefan sipped some ale. “Perhaps you feel protective because she’s betrothed to you.”

Rupert snorted. “Given the circumstances, I think we can safely say the engagement was called off.”

Ansel tapped a finger on the announcement. “This whole competition has been designed for the purpose of getting the princess pregnant, so Gunther can have an heir.”

Rupert gritted his teeth. “That’s what I said before. The bastard is using her as a broodmare.”

Ansel nodded. “And since we like upsetting Gunther’s plans, why don’t you beat him to the punch?” He leaned forward. “Seduce the girl and get her pregnant.”

Rupert flinched. “What—no!”

“It seems obvious that you’re attracted to her,” Stefan said.

“What?” Rupert scoffed. “Where the hell did you come up—”

“You look ready to commit murder whenever we talk about her bedding someone else,” Stefan explained.

“That’s ridic—”

“Is the task too hard for you, lad?” Ansel interrupted him, then gave his cousin a smirk. “I thought he was made of sterner stuff.”

Stefan grinned. “Nothing but an old windbag.”

“Enough!” Rupert rose to his feet and glared at the two men. “I will not abuse her. Nor will I have you talking about her as if she’s nothing more than a pawn or a walking womb. She deserves better than that.”

Ansel snorted. “You just proved our point, boy. You do care about her.”

Rupert blinked. Had they been playing with him? “Look, you bastards. I never said I cared about her.”