A Crimson Frost Read Online Free

wondering if perhaps the champion’s prize were something other than the customary honors presented.
    “Then you will present me with your favour in the morning…at the Ceremony of Colors,” he began, “and I will win this tournament for our kingdom, for your father—my king—and for you, your highness.”
    Monet could not stop a delighted smile from donning her lips. Her heart leapt within her bosom. The Crimson Knight would bear her favour! Sir Broderick Dougray would—for all common appearances—compete in King Ivan’s tournament for Princess Monet of Karvana! In truth, Monet had dreamt of just such an occurrence many times. Still, she would not dwell on dreams.
    “And you will accept my favour when I offer it on the morrow?” she asked, doubt suddenly besting her confidence.
    “As eagerly as you will bestow my prize when I am named tournament champion,” he said, his grin of mischief broadening. She returned his smile, basking in his pure masculinity, his ethereal comeliness. She wanted to touch him—simply know her hand had pressed to him—to know he was real and not some dream. She was a princess, was she not? Did not princesses own special allowances? Of course they did!
    Reaching up, Monet gently placed a dainty hand against one broad shoulder belonging to Sir Broderick Dougray.
    “I thank you, Sir Broderick,” she said, “for your loyalty to your kingdom…and its king.”
    “I am—as ever—your servant, Princess,” he said, lowering his head in a gesture of respect and compliance.
    Monet smiled, her hand warmed by having touched him. She drew the hood of her cloak over her head once more. “I think I am not so afraid of you as I was before coming,” she whispered.
    Sir Broderick frowned. “What did you have to fear of me?” he asked.
    Tilting her head to one side, Monet studied him for a moment—his powerful and handsome countenance causing her heart to flutter.
    “Have you forgotten, Sir Broderick?” she asked, stepping from the pavilion. With a breath of light laughter, she pronounced, “There is reason Father christened you the Crimson Knight.”
     

An Enemy Revealed
     
    “Father,” Monet began, seating herself next to the King of Karvana.
    “Yes, my dove?” King Dacian asked.
    “Considering the rare Ceremony of Colors King Ivan has arranged to commence his tournament,” Monet ventured, “is there anything else different concerning it? His tournament, I mean?”
     
    King Dacian chuckled, smiling at his lovely daughter. How proud he was of Monet’s compassionate soul, humility, and beauty! Her heart was pure, kind, and caring, yet strong as a lion’s. He studied the features of her face—the warm violet of her eyes, the pure ruby of her lips, her angular and high-swept cheekbones. Her ebony hair—the exact color her mother’s had been—was drawn away from her face, upswept as befit a young woman. How he missed the tender cascade of a little girl’s tresses, the bobbing curls Monet had worn so often in her childhood. Yet she was a woman now—ever as beautiful as her mother had been, as slender, as graceful. Oh, how he loved her! His greatest treasure—this was his Monet.
     
    “Anything else different you ask, my lily?” Dacian asked. “Why, yes. Ivan always attempts to make his tournaments…distinctive—thus the Ceremony of Colors. There are other alterations as well.”
    “Such as?” Monet asked. She had not slept well through all the night. Something Sir Broderick had said the day before gnawed at her mind as a mouse to cheese—his reference to the tournament champion’s prize, as if it were different from the customary prizes awarded. Furthermore, she had wielded deceit—twice lied to mask her own ignorance. Vain lies were these. She had spent much of the darkest hours of the night in scolding herself for such sins.
    King Dacian frowned, tilted his head, and considered Monet for a moment. Monet felt a cherried blush rise to her cheeks.
    “Why do you