Avoiding the prince is easier said than done.
After all, by my own hand, I owe him a kiss once a day, and while he grants me the grace of his absence for three days, he claims his prize when he returns, leaving me in no doubt as to his intentions.
After the first night of his return, I try to gift my tithe to him in the dining room so he has no reason to enter my bedchamber. A faint brush of my lips to his and then a hasty retreat as I try to avoid the mocking glint in his eyes.
The prince knows exactly what I’m doing, but he allows it.
Which only makes me feel even more like I’m being slowly driven into a trap by the hunter.
Days turn into weeks. Then the weeks glide by. Each day feels like a storm is brewing, though he’s often absent. I know the prince wants something from me, but what?
Beyond the obvious.
I’m growing heartily sick of the ever-present twilight. The sun bares its shy face for an hour or two each day, and I spend every moment of its presence basking in its glow atop the tallest tower.
Indeed, I’m dueling with my own shadow one morning when the storm finally breaks.
There’s a clatter in the courtyard below, and the enormous iron gates lift by means of a complicated pulley system. Lowering my sword and wiping sweaty hair out of my eyes, I kneel against the stone wall of the turret and watch as the prince rides out.
He’s invited me to ride with him each morning, but so far, I’ve declined. He’s also invited me to spar every day, and though a part of me wants to test my skills against his, I dare not.
Restlessness itches along my arms. Maybe this is his plan. Drive me crazy by means of self-imposed exile and boredom. The wind calls my name, and my fingers yearn for a bow. I know he comes and goes—most likely seeing to the business of his kingdom via the Hallow—but apart from the demi-fey, I’m alone. Eris certainly avoids me, and I’m not that desperate for company, though the endless silence in these halls is making me question just how far I’ll go.
A single hunt by his side.
One ride.
What would be the harm?
The prince’s knowing smile comes to mind. That. That’s exactly the danger. Because he’s just intriguing enough to make me want to know more.
He cuts a lonely figure as he canters across the drawbridge. Every morning I’ve watched him head south into the forests there, where he returns with game. But this time he doesn’t turn south. This time he heads north, and he’s moving fast.
Odd.
The sun is inching back below the horizon. It’s the worst time of day to be riding so fast, but there’s a sense of urgency about him this morning.
And he’s heading north. North toward the wyldwoods. North toward the crumbling wall that once guarded the realms of Seelie from the Unseelie. North toward the border.
Something is afoot.
Maybe it’s boredom. Maybe it’s too many days spent cooped up in this icy, echoing palace, where even the servants seem invisible, but it takes me precisely three seconds before I’m moving toward the stairs.
It’s not as though I’m stealing a horse from his stables. He did invite me to ride with him, after all.
There are only four horses available, and while three of them are big, rangy brutes that look like they could run all day and not flag, it’s the smaller, daintier mare at the end that catches my eye.
“Here, girl,” I whisper, holding out my hand for her to sniff my fingers.
She whickers approvingly and butts her head into my shoulder, almost knocking me over. I guess we’re friends now.
“Good girl,” I say, returning with her saddle. “Want to feel the wind in your face?”
She’s surprisingly easy to bridle, and while I’d prefer to get to know her a little better before I mount, I’m aware that every ticking second leads me closer to discovery. Swinging into the saddle, I urge her into the main courtyard.
“What are you doing?” someone calls behind me.
Caught.
I wheel the mare, glancing up. Eris pauses at the top of the palace wall, a hand on her sword. She arches a brow, as if to say get your ass back here.
Too bad I’m a rebellious princess who’s spent too long in her icy cage. I shrug, a smile warming me all the way through, and then I wheel the mare and give her her head. The swift clatter of her hooves over the drawbridge is echoed by Eris’s startled, “Hey!”
The wind whips past me, and snow flies beneath the mare’s heels. It feels as though she shares my eagerness. She’s utterly glorious, and for a second I forget the mission in the face of this glimpse of freedom.
Then the sight of hoofprints catch my eye. With the freshly laid snow, it’s ridiculously easy to follow the prince.
And he’s up to something, I know it in my bones.
Easing the white mare back into a canter, I swiftly follow the trail painted across the snow.
Eris is going to kill me if she catches me.
The thought is somewhat a cheerful one.
An ancient road heads directly into the craggy old forest ahead of me. It’s not like the forests of my mother’s lands. This one is old, and as I follow Thiago into the trees, I can feel the heavy, watchful sensation of it all around me. Old forests always seem somewhat alive, but this one has weight to it. Every so often I catch a glimpse of runes carved into the mossy flank of a tree, and piles of ancient stones mark the path.
The Old Ones walked this forest.
I can sense their power lingering in the earth, and the hum of a ley line vibrates through the air. I’ve always been able to sense the ley lines, but this one almost seems to whisper directly to me, as seductive as the prince himself.
The mare eases into a walk, her ears flickering nervously, as if she senses my sudden wariness.
Maybe this wasn’t a good idea?
My sword’s at my side, and my mother’s iron dagger is sheathed at my hip, but there could be anything lurking beneath these trees.
I’m almost ready to turn back when I come across the prince’s stallion, tied to a tree.
He’s here.
I leave the mare in a clearing a hundred yards away and slip along on foot. Whatever he’s up to bodes no good for my people. My mother’s always suspected he has ties to the Unseelie and that he’s working to thwart the alliance. If I can deliver proof to her, then…
…then maybe she’ll forgive me for not using the dagger in my boot.
Maybe she won’t demand murder from me.
Ahead of me, Prince Thiago paces a snowy knoll, rubbing his leather-clad knuckles. If the sun was acting normally, I swear he’d be looking up, trying to gauge the time.
Someone’s late.
But who?
I slip through the trees, inching over the snow as I try to find a closer vantage point. I’m almost to a thicket when a tingle runs down my spine. Freezing, I crouch behind a tree just as the bushes ahead of me part and a rider appears.
The horse is enormous, with a coat the color of midnight and an evil look in its eyes. Steam fogs the air as it snorts, and its hooves barely make a sound.
“You’re late,” Thiago growls, loud enough for the wind to carry it to my ears.
“Blame your own guards. They’re particularly thick along the border at the moment,” the stranger replies, swinging down from his mount.
His dark hair falls to his shoulders, and from behind, they’re the same size, the same height. That’s where the similarities end, though. The stranger wears beads and feathers plaited into his hair, and his long silvery cloak is made from what looks like wolf-kin.
Unseelie. He has to be Unseelie if he speaks of passing the borders.
A chill runs through me. Mother was right. The Prince of Evernight is meeting with the enemy.
“You look frustrated, old friend,” the stranger says. “How goes your endeavor with the princess?”
“Slowly,” Thiago mutters. “She’s being particularly stubborn.”
“I thought that was how you liked them?”
Thiago scrubs at his mouth. “I can’t help feeling that time’s running out. I only have two more months with her.”
“You’ve never failed before,” the stranger says.
“There’s always a first time.”
“And then what?”
Prince Thiago’s eyes narrow. “If I cannot woo the princess, then I’ll deal with her mother once and for all. I won’t let Adaia win.”
Woo? Win?
What in the Underworld is he speaking about?
“The game of love is more vicious than any battlefield I’ve ever been on,” the stranger muses. “I don’t envy you your masquerade. Though it amuses me to watch it, time and time again. Is it truly worth it?”
Game of love? If the prince thinks he’s going to win my heart, then he’s been drinking too much elderberry wine. I hold my breath as I wait for the prince to answer.
“Worth every moment of sacrifice,” he replies softly. “Worth every night I wake in my bed alone, dreaming of holding my wife in my arms again. I will have her back one day, no matter what I must do. No matter how long I must wait.”
“No matter how many times you must woo a haughty, arrogant princess who doesn’t care for you?” the stranger drawls.
“Careful.”
The stranger mutters something in return, and Thiago laughs.
It’s starting to sound like some sort of dream, vivid with all sorts of weirdness. What does it all mean? Wooing arrogant princesses…. How is that meant to bring his wife back to him?
He’s not… sacrificing them to one of the Old Ones, is he?
Or a god?
And how many times has he done this?
I can’t help thinking of the old tale of the prince with nine wives. Don’t go down into the cellar, he warns his final wife, but of course, she does.
“So tell me,” Thiago says, “what is that bitch up to now? My scouts report there’s movement across the borders.”
“There’s always movement.”
“Not to this extent. There are banes in the wyrdwoods, hunting for fae flesh. Some of them wear Angharad’s sigil. There are goblins in the mountains, and they wear no clan marks. And something is leaving nothing but scorch marks where villages once stood.”
The stranger looks away. “There are rumors the Heartless are walking.”
My breath catches. Fetches hunt the nights and can twist along shadows themselves. They were never fae, but Angharad cut their hearts from their chests and with it, what remains of their souls. Bound to her will, they’re her hunting parties, and nothing escapes their grip. “What are they looking for?” Thiago asks.
“Nobody seems to know. The only whisper I’ve heard refers to leanabh an dàn, but that’s a myth, a legend.”
It’s also the old tongue, brought from the Other world we were exiled from all those years ago. I would love to be able to speak it right now.
Thiago paces, shooting the stranger a sharp look. “Are you sure they said leanabh an dàn?”
“As sure as—”
Snow drops from the tree above me, right down the back of my neck. A hiss of shock escapes me before I can smother it.
Both men freeze and turn toward me.
I duck back behind the tree, my heart pounding. Just one glimpse, but it’s enough to assure me the stranger’s eyes are pure black, and small horns curl out of his hair.
“What was that?” the stranger whispers.
Thiago’s definitely meeting with one of the Unseelie.
Why? Is the stranger a traitor to his queen?
Or is he planting suggestions in Thiago’s head at his queen’s behest? It wouldn’t surprise me to see Angharad pulling Thiago’s strings, though that presumes he’s a puppet, and so far, he’s given me no reason to think him a fool.
Thiago’s answer is a low rumble I can’t make out, and worse, it sounds as though it’s coming closer. Steel hisses in a sheath as someone draws a sword.
I need to get out of here.
But the snow’s going to lead him directly toward me. There’s no hiding my tracks, painted across the powder white snow like a beacon.
Looking up, I grab hold of the branch above my head and haul myself into the fir above me. I chose it because of how dense it was, and now it seems I made a smart decision. Sliding along the branches, I slip into the next tree, and then the next, using them to hide.
I can just make out Thiago as he darts around the first tree, pausing when he finds my tracks.
“Hmm,” he murmurs.
“Someone’s been listening,” the stranger hisses.
“I’ll deal with it.”
They share a look, and then the stranger draws his cloak tighter. “Make sure you do. I’d rather not have to explain to my queen just why I’ve been whispering her secrets in the Prince of Evernight’s ear.”
“It won’t reach your queen,” Thiago assures him.
It’s all I hear, because I’m easing down the tree and using a thicket of thorny brambles as cover as I slip away. The second I put some distance between us, I run for my mare.
Asturia’s to the south, where it rarely snows, so I’m not used to such a quiet forest, but I’ve spent years hunting in the mountains. Learning to move quietly can be the only thing that saves your life when your prey is a vicious predator.
Relief floods through me the second I find the mare where I left her. I’m about to put my foot in the stirrup when a voice calls out behind me.
“Did you enjoy your little excursion, Princess?”
Son of a dryad. The mare snorts in alarm and nearly dumps me on my ass. But it’s the prince behind me who causes the most alarm.
Thiago leans against a tree, one hand resting lightly against the hilt of his sword. There’s no hint of emotion in his dark green eyes. I can’t read him at all. But then a faint, mocking smile flickers over his hard mouth, as if he enjoys the sight of my sudden dilemma.
Caught. I have no excuses, and he knows it. I can see it in his eyes. “Actually, yes,” I reply, reaching for the mare again. “Nothing like a brisk ride to shake off the monotony of imprisonment.”
Thiago moves like lightning, his gloved fist curling around my reins. I can’t escape, for he’s blocking me in against the horse.
“You should have told me you wanted to go for a ride,” he murmurs, right behind me.
I glance over my shoulder. “Perhaps I wanted to go alone.”
His eyes darken. “These woods are wild and dangerous. You don’t know the area, and any stray predator could find you out here.”
“Any stray predator? Or any stray Unseelie?”
“Ah. So you did see that.”
He looms closer, and I press my back into the mare, my hand finding my knife. Before I can draw it, his hand slams over mine, trapping us there. “Don’t be stupid, Princess. If you draw that blade, I’ll have to take it off you. And while I might enjoy it, you won’t.”
“Maybe you’re underestimating me.” I’m smaller than he is, but all my life I’ve trained against larger warriors precisely for this reason.
Hone your weaknesses, Mother always told me. And use them to your advantage.
Right now, I have the element of surprise—judging by his smirk—speed, and the fact that if he hurts me, he’ll have to explain himself to the alliance.
In return, he has weight, size, unknown skills, and power beyond imagining. The only way to beat him is to play dirty, and Mother’s court has been an excellent training ground.
I let my dagger go, and Thiago’s shoulders soften.
“Good choice,” he says.
In return, I kick his feet out from under him. I’ve got one foot in the stirrup when he calls out, “Eliara, fly!”
And the mare takes off as if she’s been stung by a whip.
With one foot off the ground, I don’t stand a chance. I land on my backside in the snow as the mare kicks up her heels and vanishes. Mother of Night. Rolling to my hands and knees, I stare after her in disgust. Treacherous beast.
The prince stands, dusting off his hands and flashing a smile at me. “What is it your mother always says? Revenge is the sweetest spice to any dish?”
He’s not angry, but that doesn’t make me any less wary. I clamber upright, sinking in the soft snow. “She also says never trust an Evernight.”
The prince laughs.
“And never make alliances with the Unseelie.”
His laughter dies. “How much did you hear?”
“Enough to know you’re up to no good.”
“Oh, Princess. I’m always up to no good.”
“Enough to know you see me as some sort of means to get your wife back,” I shoot at him.
It’s like an arrow, straight to the heart. “Hmm.” He’s clearly trying to remember precisely what he said.
“I’ll save you the trouble. You need to woo a haughty, arrogant princess, which I presume is me, in order to somehow see your wife again.” Once more, my hand drops to the dagger. “And I promise you now, you’re the last male in the entire alliance that I’d ever allow to put his hands upon me.”
“But that’s a lie, Princess.”
Oh, how I hate that smug purr.
“Or have you forgotten our agreement?” He takes a step closer. “Though technically, I suppose we can say it shall be your lips upon mine.”
“Not if you’re dead.”
His gaze drops to the dagger, and another slow, heated smile flashes my way. “Cold iron, I presume? Straight through the heart.” Opening his arms wide, he entices me. “Have at.”
There’s no point drawing the dagger. I’m not going to kill him, nor am I going to fight him. I have no horse, I’m in the middle of an unknown landscape, and I cannot bear to deal with his smirk if he takes the blade away from me.
Which he will. I know it.
So, I do the sensible thing and bolt for his horse.
“Vi!” he yells, and then he’s cursing under his breath as I sprint through the snowy forest. “I swear to the Old Ones, I’m going to thrash you!”
He’d have to catch me first, and if there’s one thing I am, it’s fast.
And inspired.
Gnarled old trees whip past me. I’m making headway when I swear one of them reaches out with a branch and trips me. Staggering forward, I gain my feet just in time to hear his harsh panting behind me.
A blur comes toward me out of the corner of my eye, and then his heavy weight slams into me.
We hit the ground, snow flying up around us as I kick and scramble. Gods, he’s strong. It’s like wrestling a bear. I may have overestimated my ability to defeat him.
“Hold still!”
I spin, wrapping my thighs around his hips and sending us rolling. A stick jabs my shoulder, but it’s the heavy weight of his body as he flips us that drives the breath from my lungs. I land flat on my back, and there’s no escaping him. Curse it. Every furious wriggle only succeeds in ensconcing him even more firmly between my legs.
The Prince of Evernight is between my thighs, and this is not how I planned this at all. I go still, giving in to the inevitable. For now.
Thiago breathes hard, pinning my wrists to the ground. “Well, that was fun—if predictable. Now what?”
Balls, or throat?
He sees my eyes narrow, correctly guesses which one I’ll choose, and takes my knee to his thigh, instead.
A grinning leer paints his face and he leans closer until our noses almost touch. “Pre-dic-table.”
I want to kill him.
Slowly.
“Enjoy the moment, Your Highness. Because this is as close as you’re ever going to get to winning me into your bed.”
“Would you care to make a wager on that?” He gathers both my wrists in one hand and then rests his weight on his other elbow.
I squirm. Nothing. “What do you have in mind?”
“Within the three months, I’ll have you in my bed, Princess.” He brushes his thumb over my bottom lip, his voice lowering to a husky whisper. “And you’ll enjoy it.”
A furious quiver runs through me. Mostly at myself and how much a part of me enjoys that simple touch. I bite his thumb, and he laughs.
“I’ll take you up on that bet.” It’s a terrible idea, but I simply can’t help myself. Me? In the prince’s bed? No surer bet has ever been won, even if I’m subjecting myself to his relentless chase. “Because my mother will bow at your feet before I’ll ever end up beneath your sheets.”
“Tell her to practice her curtsy. I want to see her grovel.”
Oh, you arrogant ass. “And if I win, then you will relinquish the disputed territories between our lands to my mother.”
The prince stiffens.
It’s the perfect opportunity to show my mother I can be valuable. Make whatever deals you have to, she’d said. Imagine the look on her face if I return with the deeds to the borderlands.
An unreadable expression crosses his face. “It’s a deal.”
He’s that confident? I gape.
“Now what?” he asks.
I swear, that smile is going to be the end of me. “What do you mean?”
“How do you escape your thrashing now?”
He’d best be joking. “If you even think about it, I’ll kill you in your sleep.”
“I quiver with terror.” He leans his entire weight upon me, as if to prove there’s no means of escaping him. Every rock-hard inch of him presses me deep into the snow.
I barely feel the chill. Perhaps he’s got good reason to be confident, because there’s a battering ram of indefinite proportion pressed firmly against my thigh. It stops just short of where I want it, and I can’t help freezing beneath him. One inch. Just one little twist of my hips, and this would be an entirely indecent embrace.
The son of a bitch is enjoying this.
Worse. There’s a small part of me that wants him to make that move.
“Get off me!”
“Ask me nicely, and I might just let you go,” he teases, his breath caressing my jaw.
I can see he’s not going to let me go. Not without making me beg.
And pride is my weakness. It always has been.
But what is his weakness?
The second I think it, I know exactly how I’m going to escape.
The kiss takes him by surprise.
But not for long.
I shove a handful of snow down the back of his shirt, and he yelps, giving me just enough space to kick him off. Then I’m out from under him, whipping his cloak over his head and planting a boot in the middle of his chest.
By the time he fights his way free of the cloak, I’m in the saddle of his mount—an enormous black stallion, how typical—and doffing an imaginary hat to him. “A pity you sent my mare fleeing. It’s going to be a long, cold walk back to Valerian, Your Highness.”
“Get your ass back here!” Thiago yells.
It’s so incredibly childish that I can’t help myself. I kick his horse into a trot and yell back, “Make me!”
A snowball hits me between my shoulder blades, but all I can do is laugh as his horse canters away from the clearing.
I do believe I finally won a round.
And look at that. Nobody even drew blood.
It takes the prince four hours to return.
Even after enduring a blistering lecture from Eris, nothing can shake my good mood as the prince limps in under the portcullis.
“I’ve had the servants draw you a bath, Your Highness,” I call down from the guard tower above in the sweetest voice I can possibly muster. “Since I daresay you’re chilled to the bone. Of course, they’re demi-fey, so whether the water is warm is entirely up to their whims.”
He merely smiles.
That’s not the expression I was hoping to see.
“You look considerably happier than I expected. What are you planning?”
“You’re so suspicious,” he murmurs, taking the stairs two at a time. “I was rather displeased at first, but I’ve had time to think. And I consider today a win.”
I gape. “How in Maia’s name do you consider yourself the victor?”
He pauses before me, all heat and muscle and dangerous eyes. “Because you’re no longer afraid of me. And you wonder what I’m like in bed.”
“I do not.”
He rests both hands on the railing beside my hips, trapping me there. “No? I’m very, very good, by the way.”
There’s nowhere to go, no means to avoid him.
“Of course you’d say that.” It comes out a little breathlessly. “But I’m sorry to disappoint you. I’m not remotely interested in you or the state of your bed. You’re losing, Your Highness. You haven’t gained a single inch of ground, so perhaps you’d best forfeit.”
“Losing?” He leans toward me. “If you think I’m not making progress, then you haven’t been paying attention, Princess.”
I press a hand to his chest.
His heart kicks swiftly, making my fingers curl in his shirt. It’s too intimate, but I dare not let him come closer.
“You owe me a kiss,” he whispers.
“I granted you one in the forest. It’s not my fault it was swift and followed by a fistful of snow.”
“Hmmm.” His heated gaze slides over my mouth.
I go still.
There’s something intimate about that look, and every inch of me warms as if his gaze is a caress. I can’t help wondering what it would feel like to let him claim the kiss he clearly desires instead of the perfunctory one I grace him with each and every night.
He smiles. “Lie to me again, Princess. Tell me you’re not thinking about it.”
I shove at his chest, and though he takes a step back, I fear it’s more his doing than mine.
“I would kiss every inch of you, if you’d let me. And I would use my tongue, Princess, until you were begging me for mercy.”
Sweet Maia.
I swallow. “If you dared, then I would cut it off for trespassing where it wasn’t wanted.”
“I love the way you lie to me,” he says. Lifting my hand to his lips, he brushes a gentle caress there. “Until tomorrow. Sweet dreams, Your Highness.”
The breath leaves me explosively as he strides away. My will may be strong, but my body has begun to weaken. Even now, blood rushes through my veins and my nipples tingle as if they felt his touch.
Curse him.
Because he’s right.
I can’t help wondering what that mouth would feel like on my body.
My good mood evaporates the moment I enter my bedchambers. There’s a message resting on my pillow, and it looks exactly like the tiny scroll I discovered in the icy remnants of the ballroom.
I snatch it up, glancing around.
There’s no sign of anyone, but I’ve been gone for hours. Anyone could have left it. Except, Eris is the only other soul in the ruined palace, and I’m fairly certain if she were leaving me messages, they’d be painted in blood upon the walls.
Besides, Thiago gave me the only key. He couldn’t have lied about that. Not if he promised thrice.
Everything is not as it seems, Princess. The only way to discover the truth is to remain close to the prince. Push him. He won’t be able to maintain the charade for long, as he’s desperate to reunite with his wife. Trust your instincts.
The note chills me to the bone. The one in the ballroom might have been left by chance, to be discovered by whoever came after, but this was deliberately placed here.
This was deliberately written for me.
“Hello?” I call, running my hands along the walls and coming up short. There’s no hollow echoing revealed by a rap of my knuckles. No hint of any gaps. It’s as though the note appeared via thin air.
I cock my head slowly, feeling something watching me.
The demi-fey are notorious tricksters. Rarely seen, never to be entirely trusted with anything important, but never malicious if you leave them a saucer of milk.
Which I’ve been doing ever since I arrived, since it never hurts to have the local sprites as allies.
“Did you leave this message for me?” I whisper, sensing one moving behind me.
It’s in the room. I know it is.
But there’s no answer, and suddenly, I feel a swift breeze course by me, the curtains fluttering.
Alone. Again.
But, as I hold up the paper, I realize I can’t be entirely alone.
Because the demi-fey can’t put pen to paper.
Someone here in Valerian is trying to send me a message.