Free PRINCE OF THE WIND by Charlotte Boyet-Compo Page A

was, indeed , a good man."
    She cocked her head. "Some would think so, I suppose." Her mouth twisted into a predatory smile. "Excuse me if I am not one of his admirers."
    This was a mistake, du Mer thought. According to Tribunal law, at Gunter’s death, his only living child was heir to Northwinds. The law made no distinction for sanity or insanity in its rulers; the Tribunal made, and upheld, the laws, anyway. The prince—or in this case, princess—was merely a titular head of the government. Since no treaty, agreement or alliance could be made without the Tribunal’s implicit approval, it mattered little that the now-reigning heir was interned in an asylum. The people needed a de Viennes to sit the throne, as one had for five generations—so the Tribunal had ordered Suzanna’s release.
    "A grave mistake, Your Eminence!" du Mer had argued with the Chief Tribunalist, but the old man held firm in his order.
    "Suzanna de Viennes is heir to the throne of the Northwinds and she will be crowned as such! We send you to bring her back to her rightful place!"
    All the way to Baybridge, Guy had worried. Suzanna had always been a cruel, vindictive child; she had grown into an even more cruel, brutally vindictive woman. What two years in the asylum had done to her was anybody’s guess, but Guy was sure it had done nothing to improve her temperament. He had hoped to find a catatonic, blathering fool, incapable of understanding the simplest command. What he had found was a flint-eyed, steel-jawed woman whose face bore the unmistakable stamp of revenge.
    "You need not fear me, Guy," she said, guessing at the thoughts running through his mind. "I shall not require your presence at my court."
    Rather than feeling relief at hearing he would not have to dance attendance upon her, Guy felt uneasy. He studied her closely, searching for the source of the vengeance she no doubt meant to wreck on him.
    Suzanna smiled nastily. "I could take Downsgate." She obviously delighted in the look of fear her pronouncement had on her father’s best friend.
    "You would have to have good reason," Guy answered, a trickle of sweat easing down his backbone. "I have done nothing against the crown and was named your father’s executor at his death."
    A sly grin replaced her smile. "I could have you and your family murdered. I could even do it myself."
    Du Mer’s heart lurched in his chest. The lunatic was more inclined to do that than to try to wrest his ancestral lands from him. She had never liked him any more than he had liked her, and now she had even more reason to hate him—he had been instrumental in having her sent to Baybridge.
    "Or," she said, coming to stand directly in front of him, "I could simply banish you and allow your family to remain in control of Downsgate at my pleasure." Once more she cocked her head. "They would remain safe and sound on land you have owned for three hundred years, but you would not be there."
    Du Mer gaped at her. "You would exile me?"
    "I would."
    "For what reason?" He hated the tremor of hurt and helplessness in his voice.
    Suzanna did not answer, but unbuttoned the cuffs of her plain gray gown. She rolled back the sleeves until they were well above her elbows. "Look at my arms, Guy."
    Reluctantly, he glanced at the thin, reed-like arms and winced. There were old scars and fresh, livid bruises on her ghastly-pale flesh. He turned away.
    "My jailers were not born nor bred as gentle men. Their hands are callused and careless of a princess’ tender skin."
    Out of the corner of his eye, Guy saw her unbuttoning the bodice of her shapeless gown.
    "They are men of huge appetites, and there used to be more of me for them to gobble up than there is now."
    Guy felt, rather than actually saw, her pull open the bodice. When she demanded he look, he shook his head.
    "Come now, du Mer!’ she scoffed, pulling the bodice further apart. "Your Overlordess has given you an order. Are you giving me reason to accuse you of sedition