41: A Broken Patience

Prince Caspian Romanov

~BANEHALLOW PALACE, RUSSIA~

I hear the commotion before we reach our wing.

Constantine and I are just coming back from a boring, lengthy, and totally useless meeting with the king and the boyars, powerful and privileged nobilities who rule lands and werewolf packs.

“How dare you! I was sent by the queen herself!” I hear a shrill, annoying voice echoing across the massive hallway.

Constantine’s and my own footsteps are muffled by the thick gold, cream, and red carpet that adorns the whole entranceway.

“Are you deaf? Get out of my way now, or she’ll be hearing about this!”

I groan and pinch the bridge of my nose. This is just what I need.

Constantine slaps my back and gives me a rueful smile. “Good luck, cousin.”

“What? You’re abandoning me now, ~cousin~?”

“I’ll risk my life and follow you to war, but you’re on your own with this one,” he smirks. Smug bastard. He turns to escape into our media room where I can see the rest of our pack mates are resting…or hiding.

I follow him in. I need a little time before I have to do this again. I've had to deal with Lady Celeste too many times these last few days. My patience with her and everyone around me is wearing thin. I know the reason for this. Quincy.

The distance between us is driving me crazy.

My friends and I should have gone home almost a week ago, but we have had to deal with some things after the massive attack on the palace by the rebels. Some of us were injured during our fight too.

We do heal faster than humans and werewolves, but with broken bones and gunshot wounds, we still need at least a few days to recover. It’s frustrating. No, it’s ~maddening~.

There isn’t an hour in the day that goes by that I don’t think about her. I’m barely sleeping and barely eating.

I’m still joking around with my pack, but my bouts of anger are getting more protracted and more frequent and my lycans are getting harder to control.

My lycan was on the verge of coming out to murder everyone a few times during the pointless meeting this morning. It’s just getting worse and I guess, will continue to do so until I see her again. I think my pack mates are aware of all this, but they’re waiting for my move.

I stroll into the media room behind Constantine as if nothing is bothering me.

The center of our media room is dominated by a mega-sized sectional that allows ample room for twenty over-sized lycans to lie down very comfortably. A screen covers a whole wall in front of it. Lazarus is draped on one side near the wall, close to the fireplace. Darius is lounging not too far from him.

Both are recuperating from various injuries from our last fight with the rebels.

They are both talking quietly to each other as if they’re oblivious to the high-pitched yelling coming from the hallway that can be heard clearly even from here.

Penny has a broken arm from the fight, and she is sitting close to Darius, scowling at the screen. She looks like she’s ready to murder somebody. The only reason she’s not out there killing someone is probably that she has her mate’s hand rubbing her back, calming her down.

Serena and Genesis are sitting next to each other, right smack in the center of the sofa, sipping their drinks and pretending to be watching the movie.

Genesis brightens up as soon as her mate, Constantine, settles down next to her. He grabs her face, kissing her like they haven’t seen each other for years instead of just a few hours.

The yelling continues, yet none of them are addressing it or making any attempt to stop it.

“Cowards,” I tell them.

“Cowards?” yells Penny, aiming her pissed-off glare at me. “Her ladyship has been doing this ~all~ morning.” She spits out the word ~ladyship~ as if it’s dirty.

“Believe me, you’d rather have me sitting here than out there ripping her spine out and ramming it right down her throat!”

Well then. I guess all of them are tired of having to deal with her.

“Oh, Beany, you’re cute when you’re mad,” I tell her and watch her sputtering. She loses her ability to talk when she gets very mad. “Who told you that you’re not allowed to do all that?” I add. My words are met with raised eyebrows and amusement by the others and wide-eyed, open-mouthed silence by Penny.

I’m sure she’ll come up with various creative ways to commit murder after she regains her speech. I leave my pack mates to go to where the noise is coming from.

François, my trusted assistant, is standing stoically in front of the closed doors of my private bedchamber with his hands folded behind his back. In front of him stands a very angry-looking Lady Celeste.

Two guards are standing not too far away from the two.

“Let me in or you will be sorry! Don’t you know who I am?” she yells.

Her face is almost blue from all the screaming. François’s expression remains impassive, and his posture dignified. He’s not at all bothered by her antics.

“Imbecile!” she screams in frustration.

My assistant nods his head when he sees me. If he’s relieved that I’m here, nothing in his demeanor indicates it.

“Y-your Highness,” says Lady Celeste, finally aware of my presence. “Your Highness,” she repeats in a more steady and confident voice. She steps up to me and grabs my arm. “He’s being incredibly rude to me. I want you to fire him immediately!”

She wants me to fire my assistant? I raise an eyebrow and stare down my nose at the woman in front of me without uttering a single word. I do not appreciate such impertinence. Nor do I tolerate anybody treating any member of my staff in such a manner.

The longer we stand there, the more uncomfortable she gets.

I watch as her confidence falters and uncertainty enters her eyes. She furrows her eyebrows and after a while decides on a different approach.

Really, this woman is persistent, and I admire persistence, but admiration isn’t the feeling I have for her now. I’m losing my patience, and I want her out of my sight.

“Prince Caspian,” she says, giving me a coy look from underneath her eyelashes. “I’m only trying to please you. I wanted to wait for you in your room as a surprise—”

“Never,” I grit out through my clenched teeth, “enter my room without my permission.”

No one except for myself, my pack mates, and François himself is allowed to enter my bedchamber. Even the cleaning and dusting is done by François.

“But, Caspian, we’re going to—”

“Did you not hear what I just said?” I interrupt her again, noticing that she has a mink coat on. I’m very sure she doesn’t have much on or anything at all underneath it. “Do not enter my bedchamber without my permission,” I repeat. “Do not talk to my assistant the way you just did. Do not call me Caspian. Take your hands off me and leave.”

“Fine, I’ll go now,” she says, but her eyes are now filled with determination. “But Queen Sophia will not be happy about this.”

Of course she’d bring my mother into this. It has always been part of her arsenal.

“You and I are going to be mates. Queen Sophia will make sure of that. I will make sure of that,” she announces. “When I become a queen, I will have him fired!” she says, pointing her finger at François.

François remains cool and dignified. He doesn’t look at all impressed by her threat.

There is no way in hell I would get rid of my trusted assistant. François has been with me since I was just eighteen.

He comes from a long line of royal butlers and personal assistants. True, he is paid very handsomely for his service, but it is more than that. Being an assistant to the crown prince is a great honor. His position holds a certain power that commands respect.

When I become king, he will be revered even more among the palace’s staff and among the lycans and werewolves out there.

She starts to open her mink coat to show me what I’d be missing, but François signals the guards to usher her away before she manages to.

I hear her huffing and protesting loudly as they march her away.

“François, pack my bag,” I tell him. “I’m flying back to California early tomorrow morning. Inform Beckett and arrange our transportation.”

“Right away, Your Highness,” he says.

I don’t care if Mother forbids us from going back there. I can’t stand another day apart from Quincy. My thoughts are consumed by her. Every second away from her, I feel myself drowning and sinking further. I need her like I need air to breathe.

When I get there I’m going to claim her whether she wants me to or not. If she gets mad at me for it, I’ll spend my whole life making it up to her.

It doesn’t make sense to wait any longer when we both know we belong together.

We all know that I will kill anybody, human, werewolf, faery, or any other creature that tries to take her away from me.

She’s only allowed to be with me. She’s going to be my mate, my wife, whatever you want to call it. Any future children she has will be with me. That’s right. She’s only ever allowed to have ~my~ children. That’s that, and that is all there is to it.

I feel a ripple of excitement in my pack bond, and for once since I’ve gotten here, my smile feels genuine. I think my pack knows we’re flying back tomorrow.