Prince of Twilight. Maggie Shayne

      He was intense, his eyes focused on the dancing fire that painted his face in light and shadow, giving him an even more frightening appearance. And even more beautiful.

      “The prince, the real son of the king, had been killed in battle before he was out of his teens, his body left to rot, unidentified and unclaimed. His father never knew what had become of him, and by the time I arrived, he had been mourning his lost son for some years. I knew the young prince’s fate. I’d heard it directly from the enemy who’d slain him. That man panicked when he realized he’d killed the prince, knowing the vengeance the king would wreak should he learn of it. So he stripped the prince of his clothes, obliterated his face and dragged his body into a stand of brush, never to be found.” He lowered his head. “When I arrived, the king mistook me for his long-lost son. I didn’t have the heart to kill the joy in the old man’s eyes. I saw no harm in playing the role.”

      “I see.” She didn’t, not entirely, but she was eager to hear more of his story. About Elisabeta, the woman who terrified her, seeming to possess her at times.

      “I’d been living as Prince Vlad for nearly five years when I met her. We married a day later.”

      She shot him a quick, searching look. “That’s it? You met her and married her a day later? That’s all you’re going to say about your…courtship?”

      Vlad lifted his brows, spearing her with his steady gaze. “What else is there to say?”

      “I don’t know. How you met her. Where. What made you fall in love with her. It must have been…intense, if you married her so quickly.”

      “Intense.” He turned his eyes toward the fire, stared into the snapping flames. “That describes it as well as anything. The details…the details are unimportant.”

      “The details are the only thing that’s important.”

      He shrugged as if it didn’t matter, and she knew he wasn’t going to share his private hell with her. Not now. And maybe not ever. “The outcome is the same, with or without my most intimate memories being spilled at your feet, Tempest. I was called into battle on our wedding night. Enemies had crossed our borders. I led our soldiers to meet them, but we were severely outnumbered. It was ugly. Bloody. Many died. I was struck down, but one of my men dragged me into shelter and left me there, safe from the sun.”

      She sighed, disappointed that he’d refused to go into detail about his time with Elisabeta. She sensed that he didn’t trust her with that kind of power.