“All right, my heir. You win.” Father chuckled and climbed into bed next to me, kissing the top of my head. “No one will steal the book from you.”
“Who said anything about stealing?” I asked, taken aback.
King Traevon sniggered once more, shrugging his shoulders. He pulled the blankets up over him and fluffed his pillow. “I guess I said it.”
“Father!” I admonished.
“What can I say? The blue apple didn’t fall too far from the elven tree.” He winked and turned onto his side, his back facing me.
I grunted and scooted away from him, holding the tome close. “I don’t trust you.”
His bare shoulders shook—laughing silently.
I opened the book and scanned the page, not really reading, my mind on other things. I mumbled, “I’ve never seen you steal before.”
King Traevon yawned so wide his jaw popped. “Do I look like an elven tree? I think not. Goodnight, my daughter.”
“Goodnight,” I responded absently.
He could twist his words even better than Grandmother Isabella could—how she was always careful with her phrasing, being a seer. It must be a family trait. I had practically perfected it as a child myself, a gift of the tongue inherited from the familial line.
I wondered if he was proud of me for it.
Or did it make him feel filthy not telling the entire truth to those he loved, as it did to me? Did he want to scrub his brain, too, so only clean truth remained? With whole truths left to be spoken?
I flipped a page blindly.
I glowered down at it, all the words jumbling together.
There would be no more reading this evening.
I tilted my head back and stared at the glowing ceiling, the hues inside the room warm and comforting, perfect for sleep. But my brutal soul mate’s food now filled my belly, and it had renewed my energy. I continued to flip pages randomly while I evaluated the stained glass. I waited until Father’s breathing evened out, and then I waited even longer, listening for the telltale sign of his deep slumber—his odd hitching breaths, as if he was stressed even in sleep, dreaming of battles and blood and duty.
It took a firm forty minutes before I heard it.
I closed the tome and slid off the bed quietly—the book coming with me. I shoved it down into my traveling bag and pulled the strap over my right shoulder, my red locks catching and yanking under the leather strap. I left my hair as it was; less movement was vital with a king older than a millennium in the room.
Father didn’t stir as I slipped out the door.
CHAPTER TWO
Confession of a princess:
My mother taught me well.
All of those dreadful painting lessons have finally paid off—though I will never pick up a paintbrush again, much to her dismay. I simply do not have the talent for it, as Mother does.
But when I was young, my mind was the canvas, my mother’s words the brush strokes, lovingly painting with maternal dedication all she wanted me to learn.
I did retain the artistic secrets she revealed.
Mother would be proud of me…
If only I could tell her.
I HELD THE sides of my too large pajama bottoms up over my bare feet—having borrowed a pair of my king’s pajamas to sleep in. My thin, cotton camisole didn’t protect from the chill in the air, though, as his pajama bottoms did. I shivered while I tiptoed down the hallways, listening for any movement, as I strained my eyes on the ceiling.
There was movement, one that wanted to be heard, so as not to frighten me. But I ignored it. If the individual wanted to follow me from a distance, so be it. Out of sight, out of mind—for now. I was on a mission, and I would accomplish it.
I evaluated each creature the Fae had depicted in the stained glass, having read about most, but a few I had never seen before. The dragons had been on the ceiling in one of the bathrooms, and I wanted to be prepared should all of this artwork be a clear warning from the Fae—not-so-hidden in plain sight. I peeked into the bathroom I had never been in before, but all that graced the ceiling were two crowns dripping blood.
I assessed a peculiar, slick creature in the reception room, unsure what this Fae was. It had eight thick tentacles and many large eyes that stared down at me. The tentacles spread out like it was ready to pounce and swallow me whole. I shuddered hard but stayed right where I was to study it further.
I swallowed and heaved a large breath.
On closer inspection, it had sharp spines covering its body.
They were spiky teeth. Ready to devour.
There was possibly fur on the underbelly, too, with an odd opening down its middle that glowed golden.
I would not want to encounter this beast.
I flashed my fangs, the hair on the nape of my neck standing—just from a piece of artwork. The Fae were genuinely mighty.
I trudged into the royal conference room, wanting to turn back, having had my fill of ghastly and dangerous depictions of the Fae. Every single representation on the ceiling had turned my stomach with unease. Immense, beautiful, or deadly were the Fae, those who had created us—and those who could destroy us, if they were so inclined.
I shivered once more from the cold and stepped between the two chairs behind the caster royal desk. I removed the strap from my shoulder and set my traveling bag down on one of the chairs. I leaned forward and placed my hands on the desk, gazing down at the artwork portrayed there, my hair cascading around my face.
I started at the top left, and meticulously worked my way across, assessing all of the pictures carefully. We were headed to the Caster Kingdom for the next artifact. This desk could unwittingly be the key to our success.
“Aren’t you done yet, elf?” King Athon growled quietly from the open doorway. “You have been at this for hours.”
My attention didn’t falter from my perusal. “Go back to bed, shifter. I didn’t ask for an escort in the first place.”
“King Traevon needs to keep a better eye on you.” The tiger snapped his words brutally—and without apology. The King of Shifters stalked forward, cracking his neck in irritation. “Your most powerful enemies surround you, and you decided to gallivant right past their bedchambers in the dead of night. King Traevon needs to put you—his heir—on a Fae damned leash for your own good. You are far too reckless.”
“Shut up, shifter,” I mumbled absently, hardly listening to him blather on in his rugged, shifter accent. I pointed at the center of the royal caster desk. “What does this look like to you?”
“I should have let you faint,” he grumbled under his breath. King Athon stepped up behind me, and, without preamble—or asking for permission—he brushed my hair over my shoulder, and his cheek brushed mine—he really needed to shave, his whiskers rough on my delicate skin. He placed his hands on the desk, leaning over me, his hard frame pressing against my smaller one. He scanned the desk with his solid-black eyes. He asked brusquely, “Show me what you were looking at.”
His too-potent, honeysuckle scent swarmed all around, twirling and seeping into my nostrils, capturing my attention. The heat from his massive body attacked my physical senses, my shoulders tensing from the sudden temperature change.
“You’re…a little close.” I cleared my throat pointedly.
“We’ve been closer,” King Athon returned bluntly and crudely, an undeniable Fae damned shifter ass. His lot were a dirty kind. He tipped his chin to the desk, indicating I should focus there. “Now, get on with what you wanted to show me.”
I pinched my lips into a straight line, holding my ground. I tilted my head to stare at his profile while he persistently studied the desk. “Someone could come in here.”
The King of Shifters wiggled his nose—just so. “I’ll smell them before they arrive. And I want the same vantage point as you. My eyes are killing me from trying to view what you were out there.”
I choked on a laugh. “I’m glad it hurt, you nosy prick.”
He grunted and peeked at
me from the corner of his eyes. “I am exhausted, elf. Point at it again, and let us be done for the night. You can properly look at the rest in the morning with your king by your side.”
“Fine.” I peered down my nose at him.
He lifted one eyebrow, prompting me to do as ordered. When I didn’t immediately do as he bid, he cautioned, “Or I can drag your elven ass back to your father and explain to him what you’ve been doing in the wee hours of the morning. I am going to sleep soon, Princess.”
“You’re a cranky bastard when you don’t get what you want. You should bloody well work on that. Perhaps have Bishop tell you no on occasion. Like, when you decided that murdering my grandmother was an excellent bargaining chip to have a trade embargo passed.” I glared for a hot second, and then I returned my attention to the desk.
“We’re back to that, are we?” he asked coolly.
“We never passed it.”
He snorted. “All right, if you want to know the truth of the matter, I may have reacted too quickly. It was a miscalculation on my part. One that I have learned from.”
“You mean that you learned not to kill someone before the deal is made? Because dead is…dead. There is no bargaining that.”
King Athon chuckled darkly. “Correctly stated.”
“I hate you,” I muttered, my features contorting in anger.
He laughed softly…and pressed his mouth against the bottom of my ear—not anywhere near the point. He whispered against my skin, “It also means my goods for the trade were stolen that night, and Bishop was badly injured during the theft. I had a traitor in my midst, a new assistant, who blamed it on your father. He wanted a war between our kinds, and, as you may assume, is now long dead at my hands. But that night, I reacted as any king would have done, and retaliated against your king. I learned my lesson about trusting a friend before checking facts, because, yes, dead is…dead.”
My mouth snapped shut, horrified. “Are you lying right now?”
“No,” King Athon stated simply—as if his words hadn’t shaken me to my core. He pulled his head back and stared down at the desk where my attention was frozen. “On to the matter at hand. Point now, or we are done here.”
“Did you apologize to my father?”
“Fuck no. I informed him what happened, but I did not ask for forgiveness.”
My eyes narrowed into thin slits, thinking aloud, “That would have shown weakness in your kingdom.” I shook my head hard, bumping my cheek against his by accident, attempting to swerve my thoughts back to the present. I…may have…scooted even closer to the heater that was my foul soul mate, protection against the chill in the air. I cast my eyes around the desk, muttering, “Where was it again?”
The King of Shifters grunted at my movement, stilling in surprise as I snuggled closer to him. He leaned his head back to gaze down at our bodies, ordering brutishly, “Quit wiggling your fucking ass against my cock, unless you wish to stare down at this desk for another reason—a reason neither of us wishes for.”
“Control your damned impulses, shifter,” I griped, and I pointed down at the desk—and didn’t stop squirming against him for warmth. “I found what I was looking for…and it’s cold in here.”
The shifter king growled softly, his tiger taking voice, but he tilted his head back down, eyeing where I was indicating. After a moment, he mumbled in exasperation, “It looks like a castle. Truly? That’s what this was all about?”
“Not exactly.” I used both hands, fanning them out from the castle. “Cross your eyes and look at it again.”
Dry, dry words. “You’re jesting.”
“Just do it,” I snapped.
King Athon shoved a few of my red locks that had slipped back over my shoulder aside, and he sighed heavily. “I cannot believe I am doing this.”
“It’s art. You have to look at it from different angles.” My mother had taught me that.
“Shut up, elf. I am looking.” He slowly pointed a finger and circled it around the castle, and he murmured even more slowly, “There is…something there.”
“Exactly!” I sharply pointed a finger into the air in victory. I turned abruptly, the front of our bodies now smashed together. I looked far, far up into his face. I stated excitedly, “I need to stand on your shoulders. I think I’ll be able to see it better from a higher angle.”
“You must be making fun this time,” the King of Shifters rumbled sarcastically, revulsion creasing his brutal features. “Have an elf balance on my person as if I’m part of a carnival troupe? Their dirty, bare feet smacking me in the face—while I let them do it? Oh, wait a moment. We did that the other night. I’d prefer not to have a repeat.”
I flashed my fangs. “My feet never hit your face.”
“I beg to differ, Princess. My mouth was busy on your pussy, and you moved your legs over my arms. Your tiny, Fae damned toe went up my nostril, and I took a heel to my right eye.”
A shade of red, the color of my hair, stained my cheeks. Mortifying. I countered honestly, “I don’t remember that.”
His dusky pearl lips instantly curled into a carnal smile, cocky as Fairy. “I don’t imagine you would. You were too busy grinding your—”
I slapped my right hand over his mouth, cutting off his vulgar tirade. “May I stand on your shoulders, or not, You Royal Dick? Or would you just prefer to shit on my person to mark your territory that way?”
The King of Shifters suddenly laughed against my palm, his fierce shifter accent muffled behind my hand. “You started reading the book.”
“Do you actually do that? Leave scat lying about?” I questioned incredulously, and then I quickly removed my hand from his mouth and waved my fingers in the air. “Never mind. I really do not wish to know if you get the shits when you like a new piece of land.”
His top lip lifted in a silent snarl, his nose crinkling with it.
“I can see this is a touchy subject for you, Your Royal Highness, but you don’t have to be so shitty about it.”
King Athon’s curt snarl was aloud this time.
I couldn’t tell if he was amused or not. Dangerous terrain.
I snorted hard and patted his chest, deciding to focus on a different issue, lest his claws start to show. “I won’t mess with your crown while I’m up there. I promise.” This time. “So let me up.”
“The Fae are fucking cruel,” King Athon grumbled as he bent and placed one of his knees on the ground. He held still while I walked behind him and straddled his shoulders—even when my fingers dug into his hair, causing his crown to lean to the side. He grabbed my thighs and stood, holding my hips steady when I started moving to place my feet on his shoulders. He rumbled quietly, “Try not to fall up there, elf. If you scream, you’re going to wake up everyone.”
“I am being careful.” I lifted my arms out from my sides and gradually stood up straight. I peered around the room with my eyes wide in wonder—my attention stalling on the ceiling. “Oh my Fae. This is most definitely a different angle.”
King Athon suddenly stilled, his grip tightening on my ankles. His nose twitched, his nostrils flaring. The King of Shifters inhaled deeply, his muscled chest expanding with it.
He hissed one word, “Shit.”
I jerked my head down to him. “What’s wrong?”
“This…is interesting,” Bishop Marzel rumbled dubiously, his voice coming from the direction of the doorway. “My king, what in the realm are you two doing?”
I didn’t move, keeping my head down, my hair hiding my face—as if that would fucking help right now. But it was all I could think of, so I did it with vigor, holding my breath like I wasn’t even there.
An elven princess high in the air…
Standing atop the King of Shifters’ shoulders…
Wearing our pajamas, barely dressed…
In the middle of the night… Without my father around…
And pretending like I didn’t exist at this moment in time.
It was a sound plan.
King Athon sighed heavily and finally turned his head to look at his friend. He stated studiously, “We’re working, Bishop. It’s nothing to concern yourself over.”
“I see…” Bishop stated profoundly.
I sucked in a large lungful of air. And went still again.
I had this invisibility act down like a professional.
I might as well be Grandmother Isabella right now.
No one could see me.
“And how are you, Princess Trixie?” Bishop asked, mighty amused by the sound of it. “Are you having a splendid working day?”
To Fairy and back with this situation.
The Fae hated King Athon and me. They had to.
I flipped my hair out of my face to peer into his solid honey-brown eyes, demanding an answer. “What in the Fairy are you doing here so late?”
Bishop flicked his finger at the shifter king. “I answer to him, not you, Your Highness.” He smirked, full of condescension. “And damn, you certainly are high right now. How’s the view from my king’s shoulders? And does your king know where you are right now?”
“Enough, Bishop,” King Athon reprimanded briskly. “Go to my bedchamber. I’ll be there shortly.”
His friend shook his head and turned around, commenting over his shoulder as he walked away, “This is ballsy, even for you. Her father could walk in at any moment, so watch your back.”
My attention flicked downward, toward my tricky soul mate. I whispered sharply, “Why is he here? Going to your bedchamber?”
The King of Shifters snarled impatiently, “Before our quest began, I asked him to bring Axel here. I planned ahead, unlike your king.”
“I suppose that does make sense. But keep him out of your bed, just in case I get twitchy.” I turned my attention to the caster desk, ignoring the tiger’s vicious growl. “Be quiet while I look at this. It’ll take a few minutes to figure out what I’m seeing.”
Crypts and Crimes (Trixie Towers Book 3) Page 2