THE DISCARDED PRINCESS: MARRIED TO THE RUTHLESS PRINCE

CHAPTER 2: THE SLAP THAT TOOK TEN YEARS

After Nolan read the letter, the hall was silent.

Elisa ran to me and grabbed my hands, kneeling. "Sister! I was only six then! Mother told me to hold the dagger! Please forgive me!"

I looked down at her. Ten years of exile. Ten years of training. Ten years of my mother in unmarked grave.

My hand moved before my brain could stop it.

*PAK!*

A slap so loud the musicians stopped playing. Elisa's head snapped to the side. Her diamond pin fell.

The entire court gasped.

"You... you slapped me?" Elisa held her cheek.

I leaned down, close to her ear. "You are all going to pay with your blood, one by one. But I will start with a slap. Consider it interest for ten years."

I looked at my father. "You exiled me at eight because a six-year-old said I pushed her. You never visited my cottage. You buried my mother with no ceremony. This box is all I have left of her. And you gave it to the daughter of the woman who killed her."

My father had no words.

Lady Varra tried to stand. "How dare you slap the Princess! Guards!"

Nolan stepped forward. Just one step. "My wife slapped her. Anyone who has a problem with that can slap me back."

No guard moved.

Crown Prince Julian looked at Elisa on the floor, then at me, then placed his engagement ring on the table. "Elisa, I was told your sister was wicked. I see I was lied to. The engagement is cancelled."

Elisa screamed. "NO! JULIAN! NO!"

I turned to leave. I had what I came for. As I walked past Elisa, she grabbed my dress and hissed, "Nolan will never love you! You will die alone like your mother!"

I kicked her hand off gently Whispering Wind style and walked out.

We rode back to Valerius in Nolan's royal black carriage huge, black wood, wolf furs inside, small fire lamp.

I sat on one side, holding my mother's box, crying quietly.

Nolan sat opposite, long legs almost touching mine.

He didn't say "stop crying." After one hour, he took off his heavy wolf cloak that smelled like snow and leather and leaned forward, placing it over my shoulders.

"You will catch cold," he said gruffly. "Your Mattaban dress is useless for Valerius cold."

It was warm from his body.

"Thank you," I whispered, blushing. Our knees touched each time carriage shook.

At midnight we arrived. He got down first, then lifted me down hands firm on my waist, my hands on his shoulders. Our faces were close. Too close. I could see his scar, his grey eyes.

"Your... your cloak," I said.

"Keep it," he said quietly, hands still on my waist.

Lady Cora cleared throat. "Your Highness..."

He let go, stepped back fast, ears red.

"Goodnight, Davina," he said.

"Goodnight, Nolan," I said first time calling his name without title.

He froze, then walked to West Wing.

I went to my room, still wearing his cloak that smelled like him. I touched my hot cheeks. "Stupid Davina, he is a transaction..."

Across palace, Nolan stood by his window, looking at my light, touching his hands that still felt warm from holding my waist.

Small. Slow. But something was there.

I did not return his cloak.

**********

The next morning, I wore it to breakfast.

The great hall of Valerius was long, black stone and fire. All the generals, lords, and ladies were there, eating chatting but Prince Nolan ate in silence.

When I entered, every head turned. Not because I was beautiful. I was in a simple grey dress, hair still messy from crying. But because I was wearing the wolf cloak.

Nolan's wolf cloak. The one he never let anyone touch. The one that had been on battlefields.

I put it on not because I wanted to, the room was cold, and my Mattaban dress was thin. His black battle cloak was on my chair from last night, smelling like snow and steel.

The entire Valerius hall went silent when I entered.

Nolan looked up. His eyes narrowed.

"That is my battle cloak," he said coldly.

"You said keep it," I said, chin up. "Or should I freeze so your generals can laugh at the discarded princess?"

Lady Seraphine laughed. "She does not know our ways"

"And you do not know your place," Nolan cut her off, not even looking at her. He looked at me. "If you wear my cloak, you wear my name. My name comes with enemies. Can you carry that?"

"I carried exile for ten years. I can carry a cloak," I replied.

He stared for a second, then nodded once. "Then sit. And eat. You look like you will faint."

That was his care. Not soft. Hard. Like an order.

I sat opposite him, not beside him. Distance. Transaction.

After breakfast, I went back to my room and found the false bottom in my mother's jewelry box. The wooden doll. Two girls holding hands. LIANA & VARRA — SISTERS FOREVER.

And the letter for Varra.

I read it standing up, then my legs failed. I sat on the cold floor.

My mother knew she was being poisoned. And she drank it anyway.

I did not scream. I knocked on West Wing door. The forbidden wing.

Nolan opened, in black shirt, hair wet from training.

"What?" he said. Hard. Always hard.

I gave him the letter. No tears. I refused to cry in front of him.

He read it. His hand tightened until paper almost tore.

"Your mother knew," he said.

"Yes."

"She was a fool," he said.

I flinched. "Do not call my mother a fool."

"I call it as it is. She loved a servant child who envied her. She was daughter of your mother's nanny, right? Your mother taught her to read, gave her shoes, begged the King to take her as maid so they would never separate. And the King married her instead because gentle queens don't please kings sharp tongued servants do."

"How do you know?"

"I investigated Varra when you went to Mattaban. I don't let my transactions be cheated."

He threw the letter on table.

"So now you know. Varra was not born a lady. She was lifted. And she killed the hand that lifted her."

I held the doll tightly. "What do I do?"

"You want revenge. I told you, hidden blade is more useful than open sword. Crying on floor is not hidden blade."

I stood up, angry. "I am not crying!"

"You are," he said, pointing at my eyes. "But you refuse to let it fall. Good. Keep it there."

He walked to his armor stand, picked up a small dagger black steel, plain.

"Master Yara gave me this when I was 14. She said give it to someone whose fists clench when she cries. I think she meant you."

He handed it to me. Not gentle. He dropped it in my palm like a transaction.

"Tomorrow we go to suburbs. The old nanny Varra's mother — is still alive. She will tell us the truth. Then we will make Varra kneel."

I held the dagger. It was warm from his hand.

"Nolan," I said.

"What?"

"Thank you."

"Don't thank me," he said, turning away. "We are a transaction, remember? You become a strong princess, Valerius gets a strong queen. That is all."

He walked into West Wing and closed the door.

But he left the dagger. And he left his cloak on my shoulders.

Hard love. No hugs. No kisses. Just a cloak he said to keep, and a dagger he said was mine.

That was enough for now.