Princess Avenger - Brightcastle Saga Book 1 by Bernadette Rowley

after the funeral and leave Brightcastle forever.
    Vard stood
before the prince’s bed, a thick pillow grasped before him, and
pulled an absorbent cloth, soaked in surgeon’s ether, from his
pocket. First the rapid-acting sleeping sponge over the mouth and
nose, then the pillow to cut off all air. There would be a short
struggle but his strength was superior to Zialni’s. He wouldn’t
fight long and Brightcastle would be free.
    He frowned.
What of the princess? Her brilliant smile shone in his memory and
he shoved it from his thoughts. The princess would mourn and move
on. Zialni had spoken of an arranged marriage and, according to
law, Alecia’s husband would rule until her first son was old enough
to take over. Things were bound to improve in Brightcastle, and for
Alecia as well.
    Wouldn’t
they?
    But he had
seen triumph turn to tragedy more than once in the past. Had seen
one tyrant deposed, only to watch as another rose to take his
place.
    He
raised the cloth, poised to clasp it over Zialni’s face, ready to
suffocate the life from another soul. It was right! Wasn’t it? The wolf in him growled. He
grasped the pillow and cloth in one hand and gripped the talisman,
forcing his unease to quieten, his heart to slow, his tumbled
thoughts to still.
    Do it! Now! His
limbs failed to move and Zialni’s peaceful snores mocked his
intent. The man deserved death. He had sent others to theirs. The
deed rested well with his Defender goal to protect the innocent by
whatever means.
    Still,
the fate of the princess nagged at him. He saw her face,
tear-streaked, fixed on a coffin; met her accusing stare as she
blamed him for the death. Something in Vard held him fast. This
wasn’t the time. He felt it so strongly it was like a voice in his
head. Go
back.
    He left the
prince’s chamber, replacing the pillow as he went, the cloth tucked
back in his tunic. The guard still slept, his breathing a little
quicker than it had been. As Vard reached the castle entrance, he
was gripped by a sudden urge to run. The creature within needed to
be free, to escape the confines of man. He slipped through the
front door, his mind on the wolf, human troubles dropping away to
the call of the wild.
     
    Alecia remained
frozen for several minutes after the captain’s departure. The heat
of his skin had surely left its mark? She looked down at her right
wrist but his fingers had left no brand. Had he been about to kiss
her? She raised her fingers to her lips and shook her head. She was
losing her wits over this man. How dare he lay hands upon me again ! Alecia had to keep him at a distance for if he continued to
behave like that, she might
not have the strength to rebuff him. Or the will .
    She
clamped down on that thought, the flush of shame firing her
cheeks. Jorge does not deserve this! No matter how quickly she banished them, memories
of the ‘almost kiss’ returned, along with the crush of his hard
body against hers. Her reaction to the captain confused her. He
should be nothing to her and yet from the very first contact there
had been something… some connection between them that scared her.
He stirred feelings she had never experienced with Jorge. Was it
just that the captain was a tough man of action while Jorge had
been a gentleman? The thought of her lost love and his devotion to
her brought a heavy wash of remorse. He is barely cold in the ground and here I
am lusting over another!
    Alecia
shook her head. Vard Anton could never be anything to her but a
servant. He was years older than she and the wrong class. Her
father would never let her marry a soldier. Marriage! Her heart lurched at the
thought.
    Deliberately, she turned her thoughts to her vendetta
against the mercenaries. It would continue; it must. Jorge would
not die unavenged. Her first attempt had almost led to disaster but
in the end, the target had lain dead -- if not by her hand. She could still do this,
but it would take brains, not brawn. Why did I not see that from