The Beltane celebration was going on around her, yet all she could see…all she could feel, was a misery so great it threatened to consume her.
The opulence of her surroundings was suffocating—so many jewels on display, the sheen and shine from bouncing light was bound to give Alana a headache. Spinning gemmed chandeliers, encrusted serving wear—even the eating utensils.
Glimmery tablecloths, magically infused with extra shimmer—it was all bound to make her hurl what little food she’d shoved down.
She preferred her punishment rations of soup and bread to the glamorous stuffed swine, duck and swan on display as the residents and the guests of the palace ate.
If she’d ever wanted to run away, the urge had never been greater than it was at the moment. And she’d always enjoyed feasts.
After her last jaunt to see Alex, and Xander’s rescue in the Field of Light, her cousin had made her vow she wouldn’t try again. They’d not gotten caught, despite the spells they’d both used.
The explosion had been explained as a trick by unknown lads in official reports—Goddess knew where that idea had come from.
The memory charms and scatter spells had worked—nothing else was said officially; or unofficially that her cousin had been able to discover from warrior chatter. If any of the three Fae Warriors had remembered anything, they must’ve been too embarrassed to report waking up on the ground while on duty. More likely, they feared punishment from Captain Daegus and had formed a pact of silence.
Xander stood very much in her periphery, hovering and shooting her disapproving looks from time to time.
She tried to ignore him, and his not-so-subtle visual admonitions.
Act normal. Her cousin’s voice was in her head, not in her ears. He’d spoken telepathically, and shoved through her mind-barriers.
Alana didn’t acknowledge him. Just swirled sweet red wine around in her golden-jeweled goblet. She’d already had three full glasses. Shouldn’t imbibe any more, even if it might numb the hurt. Then again, it hadn’t worked so far, other than wiping out the mental strength to rebuild her walls, although she should try.
Mind reading wasn’t an unusual Fae trait, especially with the strong magic of so many nobles present for Beltane, most in the great hall right now. Entourages from Wales, England, and Ireland were attendance, in addition to all the members of the Scottish Court. The best of the bloodlines, her father had boasted in his welcome speech not thirty minutes before.
She didn’t need anyone else knowing why she was so melancholy, especially by plucking it from her thoughts.
A fortnight.
It’d been two whole weeks since she’d seen Alex MacLeod on her second stolen visit to the Human Realm.
“Who’s Alex MacLeod?” The Irish Crown Prince, Seamus, sidled up to her, winking as he bit into a plump shiny pink fruit from the blue-barked Sùbh tree.
He didn’t bow, which was rather rude, considering who she was. Not surprising, considering the source.
Alarm shimmied down her spine and Alana straightened. She hastily rebuilt her mental blocks and internally shouted the spellword that would keep Prince Seamus—and anyone else—out of her head.
Xander, who’d always had excellent hearing, shot a murderous look in their direction; although she couldn’t be certain if it was for her or the prince.
Or both.
She swallowed a gulp and cleared her throat, forcing a smile. “Excuse me, Your Highness?”
About a decade her senior, Seamus was sinfully handsome, which made her skin crawl with extra vigor since good looks were so wasted on him. His eyes were a crystal clear light green hue, and alluring. There was no doubt why he commanded most of the female population.
His hair was loose today and fell around his shoulders in ebony waves. But she wasn’t tempted to touch them, unless yanking counted. Alana had always been of the opinion that his hair was as crooked as he was, since the almost-curl was natural.
The prince was tall and broad, and had as much muscle as the average Scottish winged Fae Warrior. She’d never seen him fight, but it was rumored he could hold his own with a sword.
He was dressed as finely as she’d always seen him—the heir to the Irish throne was as arrogant as royalty came. Prince Seamus wore the greens of his lands from head to foot—his leine matched his eyes, and his over-doublet was embroidered and shiny, with twinkling emeralds lining the whole thing. His trews were a richer shade of green and tight—no doubt with a purpose to display his personal jewels.
She refused to glance down, because he’d love the perusal and get the wrong idea.
Very very wrong.
“Who is Alex MacLeod?” the prince repeated, flashing an irritating dimpled smile that made him even better looking. He dropped his voice and bowed with a flourish, as if realizing he’d not greeted her properly.
She tried not to roll her eyes and bit back an order for him to go away.
Seamus extended his hand, obviously wanting to offer her a customary kiss on the knuckles and Alana shuddered for reasons other than his dooming repetition.
She didn’t want his lips on her, but she couldn’t be outwardly rude, especially considering what he’d gotten from her thoughts. She needed to come up with a plausible explanation. Quickly. So he’d go away.
Because of their difference in station, Xander couldn’t save her, either. He’d come closer to chaperone, as was appropriate as her bodyguard, but he wouldn’t interfere unless her life was in danger.
Alana slid shaking fingers into the Irish prince’s grip, and he lavished her knuckles with several presses of soft lips. When he licked her, she yanked back, but Seamus chuckled, his eyes gleaming.
I should slap him.
She couldn’t cause a scene at the ball. Her father had warned her that morning. He’d invaded her rooms and even promised to watch her. It’d be more like him to have spies reporting back to him, but no matter; she needed to be on her best behavior.
Alana inhaled and released her breath slowly. Twice. Clenched her jaw and forced a curt nod. “Good evening, Your Highness.”
He looked even more amused.
Wretch.
Xander’s gaze shot daggers at Seamus. Her cousin must’ve caught sight of the bastard’s slimy tongue on her.
“Are you enjoying the feast, Sir Xander?” the prince asked. “King Fillan is so very generous.” He tossed the half-eaten Sùbh fruit from one hand to the other, then threw it down on the table she sat at. His tone was conversational, normal.
Alana swallowed. She’d expected him to repeat his question for the third time. Why was he holding back now? He had to be scheming.
Her cousin narrowed his eyes, but nodded. He too, was covered from head to foot in finery. Instead of his normal hunter-green chest-plate, Xander wore one made of gold, embossed with the Scottish Court’s Seal. His silver epaulets denoted his place in the royal guard, and as her protector.
His trews were also gold, making the platinum hue of his thick warrior braid even more fitting, as if it was an accessory. At his waist, he wore a decorative golden-hilted dirk, but her cousin was as deadly with the smaller blade as his oversized broad sword.
“Ah, never a man of many words,” Seamus mused. His vibrant eyes settled on her. “Care to dance, Your Highness?”
Her gut shouted something like, no way in Five Hells, but she reached for manners and stood from her chair. Alana inclined her head and offered a hand. “As you wish, Your Highness.” She was proud of herself for not lying and telling him she’d be fond of dancing with him.
The prince’s eyes glinted with obvious desire and bile rose in her throat. He gave her a leering onceover and she fought the urge to fidget in her lavish royal purple gown. It had an open back and a low-cut bodice. Her shoulders were exposed as well, and she wished she was covered to her neck with yards of fabric.
The front of the dress was decorated with large multi-hued purple feathers that didn’t quite hide her cleavage. It was gorgeous, and she’d loved the design from the moment the seamstresses had brought it to her especially for the ball, but now she felt naked. Regretted not choosing something with more coverage.
Seamus had never hid his want of her, but now that he’d invaded her thoughts, it was worse somehow. More repulsing.
Xander growled low but quickly disguised the noise by clearing his throat. At least he was still protective, even if he remained upset with her.
If the prince noticed, he chose to ignore her cousin.
“I’ll be here when you return,” her bodyguard said.
Alana threw him a nod and slipped her hand to the Irish prince’s elbow, trying not to quiver against his side. She didn’t want to be anywhere near him, let alone in his arms on the dance floor.
Equally undesirable, because of the gown’s open back, he would likely be touching her exposed skin. She shivered and gooseflesh rose on her forearms.
“You’re stunning, as always.” His smooth voice should’ve been a compliment, but she wanted to break their physical contact and retreat. “Purple is certainly your color, my dear princess.”
She wanted to shout at him that she wasn’t his anything, but managed to reach for decorum. “Thank you.” Alana took another fortifying breath with the statement, and willed herself to calm.
There was no way someone as calculating as the Irish prince was going to let go of what he’d overheard in her mind. He was biding his time.
But for what purpose?
He placed his hand at the small of her back and hauled her into his chest when they’d selected a spot with a multitude of other couples.
It took everything Alana was made of to let him maintain the hold, as his fingers did indeed brush her bare flesh above her waist. Her spine tingled up and down, as if her body was attempting to dispel his large hand on its own.
“MacLeod. ‘Tis a human surname, is it not?”
Alex’s name with an Irish inflection gritted over her senses, and she fought a wince. “What?”
Something akin to irritation crossed those pale green eyes. “Princess, you’ve never been a good liar.”
They swayed with the movement of the slow love ballad the best Scottish Fae bards were singing from the raised dais. They used magic to enhance their voices and the tempo, deeper male and higher female blending perfectly.
Alana fought the urge to shove Seamus away. “I don’t know what you’re referring to.”
He smirked, then whirled her around as the dance steps required. “Thoughts do not lie, even though you’re shutting me out now.”
“Again, Your Highness, I think you’re mistaken…I do not know of what you speak. Humans? You should watch what your say. ‘Tis forbidden to speak of such things.” Her heart kicked up.
Seamus wasn’t going to believe anything she said, and she couldn’t panic.
His laughter surrounded them, as if she’d said something amusing and the prince was delighted. “I’m going to enjoy owning you, Princess Alana.”
Anger surged in her veins, as if she was a candle being lit, and the wick traversed her form. “How dare you speak to me as such?”
He gripped her waist and swung her around as a part of their dance.
Her slippers left the floor, and she was too stunned to do anything but hold on.
“Keep your voice down, and keep dancing,” he said in a light tone, as if chiding a child. “Unless you want…others…to enter our conversation.”
Alana’s eyes darted around the vast room, landing on her father and King Ciaran, Seamus’ father. Both leaders stood together and watched them dancing, and both wore pleased expressions.
She shuddered and fought the sensation of spiders crawling over her where the prince was touching her. Too much of his palms and fingers were on her skin. The gown couldn’t protect her. “Put me down,” she pushed out through clenched teeth.
“Keep dancing or I’ll tell King Fillan of your Alex MacLeod.” Seamus’ words were bright, as if he’d imparted some very good news.
Do not react, Alana chanted. “I don’t know of whom you speak,” she repeated.
His chuckle spoke for how much he didn’t believe her.
She thrust away the encroaching terror and reached for her wits, then whispered the first memory-scatter spellword that popped into her head.
Seamus laughed again.
She gritted her teeth.
The Irish prince set her to her feet and reached for something around his neck. He revealed a red-stoned medallion that was glowing. “Spells don’t work on me.”
Alana swallowed for the hundredth time in lieu of vomiting on him. Didn’t bother trying to deny what she’d attempted.
“As royalty yourself, sweet princess, I would think you’d have one of these, too.” He tucked the jewel out of view again and gathered her back to him for the last steps of the dance.
She didn’t answer; didn’t have anything to say.
True fear wasn’t something she was familiar with, and she didn’t like the feeling as it prickled all over her skin.
What am I going to do now?
She couldn’t stop shaking.
Alana trembled so hard her teeth rattled. The bastard Irish prince had released her with a parting, “I’ll come to you, my sweet.” She hadn’t said a word about Alex—denied knowledge of what Seamus kept remarking on, but he only continued to laugh and call her a bad liar.
He’d caressed her cheeks while she’d stood frozen and silent.
She’d gagged as her dinner made another threat to expel itself from her churning stomach, and fled the first chance she’d gotten. She needed some air…or something.
The winged Fae Warriors guarding the huge doors of the great hall both inclined their heads as she passed.
Alana felt, rather than heard Xander’s footsteps behind her, and his familiar scent of leather and sage tickled her nose. It was mixed with a hint of armor oil today, but it wasn’t bad. At least the pleasantness of her cousin’s presence helped chase away Seamus’ negative aura a bit. Bile receded and she was able to ground herself some.
“How bad is it?” The Warrior’s voice was low and serious, right above her ear.
When she didn’t answer him or stop walking down the wide corridor, he grabbed her arm.
She tried to whirl on him, but he tightened his grip. Their eyes met and she bit her bottom lip.
“Nay, Your Highness, not here,” Xander whispered. “You can’t be gone from the celebration for long, and you can’t be seen upset. The king will worry.” He said the last words for public benefit.
What he’d meant was that her father would send someone to find her. They’d both likely be punished if that happened.
She didn’t want to cause her cousin any more grief.
He swept her up into his arms and they slid into the nearest sitting room.
Alana’s eyes landed on a couple entwined, but they’d interrupted before the tryst could escalate to joining their bodies fully; they were still mostly clothed.
The male, a short-haired blond nobleman tore his mouth off a redheaded courtier’s large exposed breast. He looked irritated, until his eyes landed on them. The lordling—because he couldn’t be out of his twenties—hastily climbed off his lover and bowed. “Your Highness. Sir Xander.”
“Find another room,” her cousin growled. “Learn how to lock a door while you’re at it.”
The lass scrambled up, tucking her bare breasts away and adjusting her bodice. Fae were generally not ashamed of nudity on display, but her pale skin lit up, her cheeks flaring the same color as her hair. She straightened her deep pink gown and also bowed. She was no older than the lordling.
Alana couldn’t help but think of Alex, and being close to him like that. She hadn’t gone far enough with him on the beach that day, but she’d ached to do so. She wanted to bury her face against Xander. Nobles didn’t need to see her close to tears.
“I hope all is well,” the pretty redhead whispered, then the couple joined hands and left the room.
Her bodyguard set her down on a fluffy bronze sofa—opposite the one the lovers had been on—and locked the door with magic. Its blue glow receded around the decorative gold plate and handle, holding her attention before took a seat next to her.
“What did that bastard say to you?” Xander demanded.
“Nothing.” She kept her eyes busy by surveying the room.
The large hearth was lit, and a friendly fire was bright, warm. Purple, pink and orange sweetwoods burned, filling the room with the saccharine scents of baking treats.
The lumber was the finest their realm had to offer. Her father had procured all varieties and colors of sweetwoods from all over the Fae Realms for Beltane. He had to impress his guests, after all.
The flames danced in the colors of each wood, their enticing aroma filling the room, and good enough to make her want dessert.
Xander frowned. “What happened? You usually don’t agree to dance with him, no matter how much he begs.”
Alana’s stomach somersaulted again. “I had to.”
“Then ‘nothing’ isn’t quite correct, is it, lass?”
She startled at his gentle tone and inappropriate address.
Her cousin hadn’t called her that in a long time. Maybe he’d forgiven her. Too bad this time just made her hurt, because it reminded her of Alex.
His gaze was soft, concerned, but she didn’t want to be honest with him about her interaction with Prince Seamus.
She was embarrassed that he’d gotten one over on her. Especially considering how dangerous her…situation…was.
“I heard him ask who the laird was, Alana. He said Alex MacLeod’s name. So just tell me what we’re dealing with.”
“I didn’t tell him a thing.”
He sighed. “To an onlooker, it appeared that you and the prince very much enjoyed your time together. It also didn’t escape my notice that your father and his were very pleased. Don’t get yourself into a position you can’t reverse.” He’d had been polite, obviously avoiding the word betrothal.
“Oh Goddess, I am going to lose my dinner.”
Xander smirked.
“He said he’d enjoy owning me.”
Amusement dissipated and rage darted across his violet eyes. Xander’s jaw was set and hard, his mouth a flat line. “What?” He exercised his arsenal of Fae curses.
“I tried to use a memory spell, but he wears an anti-magic medallion. And I have a feeling it’s a good one, also spelled against removal from his body, if against his will. He wouldn’t flaunt it, otherwise.”
Her cousin shot to his feet and started to pace, his wings tremoring. He cursed some more.
“Relax, he doesn’t know anything.” Alana’s gut roiled. Instinct told her his knowing ‘nothing’ wouldn’t be the case for very long.
Ireland had Faery Stones, too. The prince couldn’t use the Stones in the Field of Light to get to the Human Realm—undetected anyway, and he wouldn’t be able to get permission—but he could use his own. Where they’d place him in the Human Realm was a mystery, but Ireland and Scotland were only a blink away from each other.
Alex was the leader of his clan. A nobleman in the Human Realm. It wouldn’t take much of an inquiry to discover everything.
She blinked tears away and watched her best friend jerk back and forth on the shiny floor. The tile in the sitting room was even finer than her rooms.
The furniture was of the most comfortable King Fillan’s palace had to offer. The room’s décor had been done in rich metals, all the upholstery was bronze, gold and copper.
The heavy drapes on both floor-to-ceiling windows matched. The pieces were also coordinated with embossed and engraved filigrees on their backs, arms and legs, so fine it was a wonder anyone was brave enough to sit.
Three couches, four high-backed chairs, and even the tables all complimented each other. The tone was welcoming, and wasn’t that a jest around this place.
“Why are you crying?” Xander whispered.
“I don’t know,” she wailed. Alana swiped at her cheeks, but more tears just graced her skin.
“What are your plans?” He whirled and stared her down from where he stood. He stopped pacing, but his gaze singed.
“What d’you mean?”
“What does Prince Seamus want?”
Dread rolled over her form, making her shake from head to toe again, despite the fact she was sitting, and her cousin had said the scoundrel’s name and honorific as anything but respectful.
“I don’t know.” Her answer was low, and quivered as much as she did.
“Well, you damn sure had better find out.”