POV: Ferdinand King"Touching," came a voice from the shadows, dry as autumn leaves and sharp with barely controlled anger.We sprang apart as Prospero materialized from between the trees like a wraith given form. Miranda's father moved with the kind of predatory grace that set every survival instinct I possessed on high alert, his dark eyes fixed on me with an expression that promised unpleasant consequences for my presumption."Papa," Miranda gasped, scrambling to her feet with guilty haste. "I can explain—""There's nothing to explain," Prospero interrupted, his attention never leaving my face. "Prince Ferdinand was just leaving.""Actually," I said, rising to stand protectively near Miranda despite the obvious danger, "I was hoping we could talk. About Miranda, about my intentions—""Your intentions," Prospero repeated with bitter amusement. "How refreshing. Most of Alexander's spawn don't bother with pretenses of honorable behavior."The casual mention of my father's name made m
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