One last futile effort. “I don’t want to be married, and I don’t want to be under your protection.”
He shouted in a language I didn’t understand, and a few servants came in carrying towels and soap. When I realized what he was ordering, I jumped to my feet. “I’m not being sold!”
He narrowed his eyes. “Then I suggest you accept my protection right now.”
I thought about it for a panicky second. At least he could control his ability; what if I ended up with someone who couldn’t? That was all I needed to think over.
“Okay,” I grumbled.
I hated all men.
“Good choice,” he said before he made the servants leave.
“I swear if you try to rape me, I will stab you in the heart,” I warned.
He smiled. “It wouldn’t be rape.”
I could escape before he tried to hand me over to some man.
In the meantime, what better place to hide than in an army of Untouchables?
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
SERVICING A PRINCE
I argued with the women in the tent for more than ten minutes before the prince barged in. “You will take a bath, or I will have two of my men bathe you. Your choice. Decide now,” he ordered.
I didn’t have my soap, and I was worried about Weston being able to find me. But I doubted he could invade an army of Untouchables, no matter how good he was.
There was also the problem of my silver cuffs that I didn’t want anyone to see. There was no way out of this, and my heart beat quickly while I pushed my long sleeves up. The prince looked at the cuffs with a questioning gaze.
“I don’t want them stolen,” I said.
“Are you a witch?” he asked suspiciously.
I blinked. “Uh . . . no?”
“Silver means nothing to us here. It’s the witch’s metal. Trust me, no one will touch them. I am assuming it’s not that way in the north?” he asked, and I shook my head. “You will bathe now. We have much to go over, and I will not dine with you looking like that.” He gestured to my body. I bristled a little, about to tell him he would be lucky to dine with me at all, but I bit my tongue.
He walked out of the tent and left me with six women who all looked at me with disgust. I was the only blond of the group, and they looked at me as though I were a witch. I watched them warily before they all ascended on me like vultures.
In between undressing me and talking in a language I didn’t understand, I heard words I did understand.
“She stinks . . .”
“I don’t believe she isn’t a witch.”
“How could our prince be attracted to a light-haired woman?” a woman said while she yanked on a lock of my hair.
“Ow!” I said, clenching my teeth in annoyance.
They poked and prodded and plucked at me, all while making snippy comments. I snapped at one when she ripped the hair off my leg with too much gusto. Women were almost worse than men. Almost.
I bathed for a long time before one of the women yanked on my arm and told me the prince wouldn’t like to dine with a woman as wrinkly as her grandmother. I huffed and pulled myself out, eager to get out of this tent full of harpies hoping I wouldn’t walk into anything worse.
“Hold still,” a woman scolded while she drew black around my eyes, matching the rest of them. And I realized that I was becoming another woman in the prince’s harem. Before I could think more about it, I felt a sharp prick on my arm.
“Ouch!” I said while I scooted back, and felt the woman doing my makeup draw a line down my face. There was some shouting in a foreign language while I glared at the culprit of the prick.