Secret Princess: The Beast's Captive Mate

The rain did not fall; it attacked.

Prince Alistair stood on the balcony of the Navia Palace, the storm lashing against his heavy velvet cloak. The fabric soaked through, clinging to his broad shoulders like a second skin, but he didn't feel the cold. He couldn't feel anything except the violent hammering of his own heart against his ribs.

He stared down at the mud-slicked courtyard below.

A squad of the King's Royal Guard marched through the sludge. They were dragging three civilian women toward an iron-barred carriage. The women were screaming. The sound sliced through the thunder, raw and guttural.

One of the women dug her bare heels into the mud, fighting back. She thrashed, her fingernails clawing at a guard's armored forearm.

The guard didn't even flinch. He raised the heavy pommel of his broadsword and brought it down hard against the side of her head.

A sickening crack echoed in the courtyard. The woman went limp, collapsing face-first into the filthy puddle. The guards grabbed her by the ankles and tossed her into the cage like a sack of dead weight.

Alistair's pupils contracted. His jaw locked so tight his teeth ground together. He gripped the marble balustrade. The ancient marble felt cold and unyielding, threatening to crack his own bones under the immense pressure of his white-knuckled grip.

He squeezed his eyes shut. Bile rose in the back of his throat.

This was the world the Wither virus had left them. Women were gone. The few who survived, the rare ones who were born, were no longer human beings. They were currency. They were meat. They were the cheapest and most expensive commodities in the kingdom.

A massive crack of thunder shook the balcony.

Alistair's eyes snapped open. The terror he felt for the women below morphed into a suffocating, paralyzing panic for the woman inside.

His wife was in labor. Right now.

He spun around. He didn't care about the rain or the mud tracking onto the pristine carpets. He sprinted down the corridor. His heavy leather boots slammed against the stone floor, the rapid thuds echoing off the vaulted ceilings.

He ducked into the shadows of the dim, torch-lit hallway. He had to avoid the main arteries of the palace. If his brother, King Orestus, found out about the birth tonight, it would be over.

Alistair pressed his back against a cold stone alcove. He held his breath. His lungs burned.

A patrol of four royal guards strolled past. They were laughing.

"Did you see the blonde they loaded up?" one guard sneered. "I bet a month's wages she goes to the breeding houses before dawn."

Alistair's stomach twisted into a violent knot. He pressed his head against the stone, fighting the urge to draw his sword and slaughter them all. He waited until their heavy footsteps faded into the distance.

He pushed off the wall and ran.

He reached the deepest, most desolate part of the palace-the West Tower. He stopped in front of a heavy oak door that looked abandoned. Dust coated the hinges.

He knocked three times. A specific, rapid rhythm.

The heavy iron deadbolt scraped back. The door opened an inch.

Alistair shoved his way inside.

The smell hit him instantly. Copper and sweat. Blood and bitter herbs. It was so thick it coated the back of his tongue. He choked on his next breath.

The room was lit by a few flickering candles. Queen Pandora lay on a blood-soaked mattress. Her skin was the color of ash. Her nightgown was plastered to her body with sweat. Her back arched off the bed as a violent contraction ripped through her.

Healer Agnes stood at the foot of the bed. Her hands were slick with bright red blood. She was shaking.

Alistair rushed to the side of the bed. Pandora's hands were thrashing in the air. He caught them. He pressed her clammy palms against his cheeks.

Pandora's unfocused eyes fluttered open. She felt his warmth. A weak, broken moan escaped her cracked lips.

Another contraction hit. Pandora's body jerked. Her fingernails dug deep into the back of Alistair's hands. They pierced his skin. Blood welled up around her nails.

Alistair didn't pull away. He leaned down, pressing his forehead against hers. Their sweat mixed. "I'm here," he whispered, his voice cracking. "I'm right here."

"Push, Your Grace!" Agnes yelled from the foot of the bed. Her bloody hands worked frantically beneath the sheets. "The head is right here!"

Pandora bit down on her lower lip. She bit so hard blood trickled down her chin. She let out a bloodcurdling, chest-tearing scream. She pushed with every ounce of life she had left in her fragile body.

Suddenly, Pandora's hands went completely limp in Alistair's grip.

Alistair's heart stopped. He snapped his head toward the foot of the bed.

Agnes yanked her arms back. Cradled in her bloody palms was a tiny, motionless mass covered in fluid and gore.

The room went dead silent.

One second. Two seconds. Three seconds.

The only sound was the violent wind howling against the narrow stone window. Alistair forgot how to breathe. He stared at the unmoving lump of flesh. His mind went entirely blank.

Then, the tiny chest hitched.

A sharp, piercing cry shattered the heavy silence of the room.

Alistair exhaled a breath he felt like he'd been holding for nine months. His knees buckled. He hit the stone floor beside the bed, his hands still gripping Pandora's. Tears hot and fast pricked his eyes.

Pandora heard the cry. A weak, exhausted smile touched her bloody lips. She tried to lift her head to see.

Agnes grabbed a warm, wet cloth from a copper basin. She started wiping the blood and fluid from the screaming infant's body.

Alistair forced himself to stand. He walked toward the foot of the bed. His eyes locked onto Agnes's moving hands. He waited for the answer that would dictate whether his family lived or died.

Boy, or girl.

The infant's cries bounced off the narrow stone walls, loud and full of life. Agnes moved the warm, wet cloth over the baby's delicate skin in quick, gentle strokes.

Alistair's Adam's apple bobbed hard in his throat. He took a half-step forward, leaning over Agnes's shoulder, desperate to see.

On the bed, Pandora slumped against the blood-stained pillows. Her hands gripped the sheets so tightly her knuckles were pure white. Her eyes were wide, manic, staring at the stone ceiling as she whispered frantic, breathless prayers to any god who would listen.

Agnes moved the cloth down to the baby's lower half.

Suddenly, the healer's hands stopped. Her entire body froze. It was as if she had been turned to stone.

The wet cloth slipped from her trembling fingers. It hit the edge of the copper basin with a sharp smack, splashing pink, blood-tinged water onto the freezing floor.

Agnes's shoulders started to shake. A violent shudder ripped through her spine. She sucked in a sharp, ragged breath. All the color drained from her face, leaving her skin a sickly, translucent gray.

Alistair saw her freeze. An invisible fist punched straight through his chest and squeezed his lungs. His breath caught.

"What is it?" Alistair demanded. His voice was a low, terrifying growl. "Agnes! Speak!"

Agnes turned her head slowly. Her eyes were wide with a terror so profound it looked like madness. Her lips trembled, parting, but no sound came out.

Alistair shoved her aside. He stepped up to the foot of the bed and grabbed the edge of the rough wool blanket wrapped around the crying infant. He ripped it back.

The flickering torchlight hit the baby's lower half.

It was flat. There were no male organs.

It was a girl. The ultimate curse of the Wither era.

Alistair's pupils shrank to pinpricks. It felt like a sledgehammer slammed directly into his sternum. His legs gave out completely. His knees slammed into the hard stone floor with a sickening thud.

He buried his face in his hands. His broad shoulders heaved. A raw, animalistic gasp tore from his throat. It was the sound of a man drowning in absolute despair.

Pandora heard the gasp. Her maternal instincts caught the shift in the room's oxygen. Her brain short-circuited. The last thread of her sanity snapped.

"No... no! It's impossible!" Pandora shrieked.

The sound was agonizing. She didn't care about the tearing pain between her legs. She thrashed wildly, trying to drag her exhausted body toward the foot of the bed.

Alistair's head snapped up. Survival instinct kicked in. He lunged forward, grabbing the wool blanket and wrapping it tightly around the baby. He spun around and caught his wife just as she nearly tumbled off the mattress.

He wrapped his arms around her, pinning her to his chest.

Pandora fought him. She beat her fists against his chest. Tears flooded from her eyes, soaking right through Alistair's linen shirt.

"It's a girl... God, why are you punishing us? !" Pandora screamed, her voice cracking into a hysterical sob. "Orestus will sell her! They'll treat her like livestock! My baby!"

Alistair clamped his large hand over her mouth. He shot a terrified look at the heavy oak door. If the guards heard this, they were dead. All of them.

Agnes backed away from the bed. She retreated until her spine hit the cold stone wall. She slid down to the floor, pulling her knees to her chest. "We are going to hang," she mumbled, her eyes vacant. "The King is going to kill us all."

The baby girl felt the panic in the room. Her cries grew sharper, piercing the air. Every wail felt like a serrated blade sawing against Alistair's heart.

He had to stop this. He grabbed Pandora by the shoulders and shook her. Hard.

"Quiet! Pandora! Look at me!" Alistair hissed. His eyes were wild, feral. "We cannot break down right now!"

Pandora's screams choked off into violent, gasping sobs. Her chest heaved. She reached out with trembling arms.

Alistair gently placed the doomed baby girl into her mother's embrace.

Pandora looked down at the tiny, red face. The sheer force of a mother's love slammed into her, overriding the panic. She pulled the baby tight against her bare chest, trying to shield her from the cold room and the colder world outside.

The baby felt the warmth of her mother's skin. The sharp cries slowly faded into soft, contented smacks of her lips. She had no idea she had just been born into a slaughterhouse.

Alistair stood up. He walked to the oak door and pressed his ear against the thick wood. He held his breath, listening for the clank of armor or the shout of guards.

Nothing. Just the storm.

He turned back to the room. He looked down at Agnes sitting on the floor. He drew the dagger from his belt. The steel caught the candlelight. His eyes were dead and full of warning.

Agnes slapped both hands over her mouth. She shook her head frantically, silently promising she wouldn't make a sound.

Alistair sheathed the blade. He took a deep, shuddering breath and looked at his wife. "I have to go to the Great Hall. I need to see what Orestus is doing. I need to know if he suspects anything. Wait here."

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."