**THE PRINCESS SERIES is part of the GOLDEN UNIVERSE, and considered a sequel to THE GOLDEN QUEEN/A BRAZEN LOVE**
♦YOU MUST HAVE READ THE GOLDEN UNIVERSE NOVELS AND THE BRAZEN NOVELS TO READ THIS SERIES! AS WELL AS BOOK ONE, PRINCESS OF CANDOR!♦
In...
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♪ And then next the morning comes instead Well is this the life that lies ahead now? ♪ {Halsey—You asked for this}
As he advanced towards Cordelia and Helen, Thomas' expression darkened. Shadows danced over his face with his every step, and the torch he held flickered, the whoosh of its flames sending a jolt of warmth and a frosty chill all at once down Cordelia's back.
He did wear the same outfit they'd left in, but something was different about it. Cordelia noticed a few badges plastered to the top of his shirt, and gleaming in the candlelight. Had those been there earlier that day? He'd been wearing a travel coat, and she didn't recall having viewed him without it. And that mud on his boots—that wasn't there, she knew. He'd been adamant about having clean shoes, and she remembered seeing their shiny surface as he climbed into the carriage at Read Manor. She'd also looked at those boots as he guided them to their cabin, after they'd boarded—and they were clean then, too. How could he have soiled his boots while on the ship?
And that gun—Cordelia had never witnessed him wielding one let alone carrying one on his person. Was this boat more dangerous than he'd implied, and he'd needed to take a weapon for their safety?
As he stopped before them, his head tipping sideways, gauging them, Cordelia smelled him. Not his usual pleasant musk, but a tinge of copper, a rusty odor, as if he'd been holding a handful of coins and had rubbed them over his face and clothes. He was standing tall, his eyes slitted, unkind; their once warm amber glow was now cold, sharp, steely, the flames reflecting in the pupils as if burning within them.
"Thomas!" Cordelia broke from Helen's grasp, approaching him. New attitude or not—perhaps it was a figment of her imagination, catching him so stiff and uncaring—he was the man who'd saved them twice now, and she wouldn't be afraid of him. There'd be an explanation for his boots, a reason behind why he'd come here to recover them. "Are you seeing this? These men? We need to help them!"
She winced, reminding herself this might be a prison barge and Thomas had failed to mention it, and that there'd be nothing they could do for these men. But she couldn't stop herself from worrying for them. Some were clearly sailors, she'd seen their attire—why were they locked up down here? What had they done?
Thomas' lips bunched, and he moved them side to side, considering. "Well," he lowered the torch and used the butt of the gun to scratch at his temple, "no, we cannot." He gritted his teeth. "You were not supposed to find this out until we reached our destination."
Cordelia set her hands behind her back, clasping them to hide her shaking. She wasn't sure why she was trembling. The sight of the men locked up? The stench of sweat and metal and overcrowded bodies? Or Thomas' slightly menacing figure in front of her, his gaze locked on her as if seeing her for the first time?
"We were not supposed to find out until Spain? Right." Thomas' odor further infested her nostrils—what did he get into to smell like that?—as she took another step forward. "Because these are prisoners, and Antoine did not want me to know that this was his only resort—to travel on a prisoner ship? But these men," she cringed and turned toward the cages, narrowly avoiding Helen's widening gaze as she stood in the distance behind her, "they seem poorly confined, for this being an official prison ship, no?"
