A tiny, sneaky peek at my WIP, my first medieval in forever. The woman in this scene is most definitely not the heroine. But even so, this new hero guy, John, can be mean as hell!
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“You can’t leave!” The king himself had warned him that his mistress meant to make herself his wife, but John hadn’t believed it. She was half a princess; he was only the nephew of an earl with no estates on the continent. “I won’t allow it!”
“It is not for you to allow,” he said, still holding the tent flap open for her exit. Other knights and their men were passing just outside. “No law binds us, lady,”
“The sacred law of love–”
“Don’t be a fool.” Suddenly he was tired and sore and sad and angry, and he had had enough. “You’ve no more love for me than I have for you, and neither of us has ever pretended otherwise.” His sense of chivalry, battered as it was, cried out to him to keep silent or at least wait until they were somewhere more private. But such a kindness at this point would only encourage her folly. “‘Twas ever the greatest of your charms,” he finished, looking her straight in the eye.
“You have no heart,” she said, pale and trembling. “Nor any soul. Your wife was blessed to die so young.”
“As she is in heaven, you may be right,” he said, keeping his own tone even with an effort. Just now he couldn’t imagine how he’d ever wanted this creature, beautiful or not. “Now go, else you may be blessed yourself.”
She gasped at the threat. “My brother shall hear of this.”
“No doubt,” he said. “But you’d better hurry if you want to tell him first.”
She stormed out, the hem of her gown barely brushing his boots as she passed.
“That was gracefully done, my lord,” his squire said. “Shall I gather some orphans so you may tell them their mothers never loved them?”
“Maybe later.” He collapsed into a chair. “But for now, I’ll just have another drink.”