EIGHTEEN
Philemon sat in the water for a long time, seething. How dare those barbarian boys lay hands on him – a prince? If it had been the girl, he might have forgiven her – she was pretty enough to suit his tastes, and for that one glorious moment, he'd been human again. Desire had flared in her eyes for that moment, too. He hadn't imagined it.
But those men had ruined everything when they seized him and he'd turned back into a frog. He'd watched them from the water, and he was certain neither was her husband. She moved too freely for a wed woman. The easy familiarity between all three of them was the sort he'd known among the city guards before his father had died and he'd claimed the crown. Like brothers. They could be her brothers, though she was tiny compared to them. The child of
