by A. K. Koonce
“Of course, Princess. It was nothing. These things,” one more scathing glance my way, “happen.”
He’s stumbling away from us without another word and good fucking riddance for that.
Warm hands push over my chest once more. “Are you okay? You’re pale.” Then she does brush her hand over my cheek. “I’m sorry,” she whispers, and it sounds like tragic romance lacing her words. “I brought you medicine from the infirmary.” She pulls two small glass vials from within the fabric of her gown.
We each swallow down the bland-tasting liquid.
“Are you okay? You haven’t said shit since the binding. Did it even work?” Damien asks, his brows pulled low over his gentle eyes.
It takes me a minute to nod to the two of them. I nod harder, and I force myself to say something. Anything.
“Yeah. I’m fine. And I don’t know if it worked.”
My brother cocks a brow at me skeptically when I continue to avoid Aries’s searching gaze. She’s right in front of me. Touching me. Soothing me.
And I’m doing my best to ignore how intoxicating her touch feels.
“You don’t know? Because my heart feels full. It feels bound, and I honestly hope it never goes back to how it felt before,” Damien says with his eyes locked on her, and in return, she smiles softly to him.
An odd pain slices through my heart. I’m going to be sick.
I’m going to vomit all this fae magic up, and then I’ll be fine.
I fucking have to.
Because the gods will never let me stay here.
Even if my mind, body, and soul belong to her now.
8
Her Demons
Aries
The two of them sleep off their fever in my bed. Not sending them down to the demon sleep quarters has really set off an array of whispering gossip around me.
I don’t care.
I don’t care about anything now. Because they’re all safe. Even Ryke. Even if he isn’t mine.
Now, it’s time for the next step. The one I’ve actually been dreading . . .
I uncurl myself from the white chair in the corner of the bedroom and pull on black jeans and a black tee-shirt: standard Shadow Guard attire. I stare down at my clothes for a long moment before pulling the dagger from the back of my closet.
The same one I brought here the night I snuck into this room to kill him.
Can I really do that to my father? Can I kill the man who raised me and protected me?
He’s cruel, arrogant, and entirely racist.
But he did protect me.
Especially from Nathiale . . .
I shove aside the conflicting emotions inside me and slide the dagger into my black boot. As I stride to the door, an incubus judges me from the corner of the room.
“You’re really going to do it?” he asks quietly.
I nod.
He mirrors the motion.
“Do you want me to come?” Krave’s so serious, it’s alarming.
I shake my head at him, unable to admit in any way what I’m about to do.
He stares at me with white moonlight shining in his eyes. “Be careful, love,” he whispers.
And those words follow me in my mind over and over again as I make my way to the highest tower.
To my father’s bedchamber.
The thick shadows absorb my every move as I walk swiftly up the stairs, past the two guards, past my mother’s room, and finally stand before the enormous curving door.
The coldness of the handle stings against my palm as I turn the knob. I ease the door open without a sound. The sleek red rug silences my steps and my gaze falls on the glossy wooden bedframe at the center of the room.
Candlelight flickers over the faint lines along his closed eyes. His long gray hair is fanned over the pillow, and the white shirt that he wears doesn’t hug his broad shoulders the way his button-downs normally do.
There’s no anger twisting his features. The skin along his face is thin and carves out the bones of his cheeks and brow.
He looks . . . old.
He’s an old man clinging to old ways of life.
He’s my father.
And I’m his daughter, standing with a knife held numbly in my hand. It isn’t a weapon at all any more. It’s just one more thing weighing down my body in this moment.
Right along with all my clashing emotions.
Don’t, Catherine whispers faintly at the back of my mind.
I stay there for a long time. I stay until the candle finally burns out, leaving the large room in total darkness.
And in the darkness, I leave him.
“I heard she hugged him. Her demon. In the middle of the courtyard,” Lady Lissia whispers from behind the back of her hand.
The two ladies-in-waiting make my bed while I linger just outside the door.
I don’t care. Not really.
Why would I care?
“Oh, well, I heard she’s fucking him. She’s always been attracted to monsters, you know? Daddy issues, that one,” Lady Castilla replies with a roll of her deep brown eyes.
My young cousin huffs a sigh at my side before squarely striding past me and right through the open door to my bedroom.
“That’s funny, because I heard it was all none of your business.” Pen folds her arms hard across her chest and looks the two ladies up and down. “If I hear another ill word against the future Queen of Roses, you’ll both be shoveling horse shit for the next five years.” She tips her chin up and both women mumble apologies before scurrying back to work with the large white bed sheet.
Ryke peers at me from the corner of his bruised eye, and we just stand there in stunned silence together.
I cannot believe she said that.
Her long red dress swishes out into the hall where I stand, and she tilts her head at me.
“You don’t have to take care of me, Pen.” My arm brushes against Ryke’s when I pass him by, and that warm feeling of pain and pleasure sears across my flesh.
A tremble races down my spine, but I blink past the pleasant feeling.
“Someone needs to. Never let them speak like that. One harsh word can feed so many. And those who feed on ugliness only regurgitate that nastiness in tenfold.”
Who is this woman? She was a little girl last time I was at court.
But clearly, she’s learned how this kingdom works while I was off drinking myself stupid.
You can say that again, Catherine whispers.
Another shiver runs through me, but this time, it’s a thing of surprise. I hear her less and less now days. I used to have to shove her away in the worst possible ways, and now . . . it’s like she and I are one and the same.
“Your father wants me to help your image.” She doesn’t even look at me as she says it. Her delicate features are focused straight ahead toward the long dimly-lit hall.
“Gods, of course he does.” I bite my tongue before I say anything more, and it forces us to stay silent as we trail down the glossy staircase.
I stand there at the bottom of the stairs as men haul in bouquets of red roses large enough to crush them beneath their vases. But the dozens of men never stop moving, carrying in vase after vase into the ball room.
“Is the party tonight?” I ask quietly.
She nods, and I find her face turned up, and she’s watching Ryke while he’s looking away.
“Did you really—did you really have sex with your demon?” Her tone is so quiet, it gets swept up in the endless footfalls clattering around us.
I arch an eyebrow at the young girl. She’s eighteen. She’s smart and beautiful.
And now she’s looking at Ryke.
I swallow hard.
He isn’t my mate. It shouldn’t matter.
“I’ve slept with demons before. I’ve slept with lots of men, Penelopia.” I tap my fingers lightly against the roses carved into the sleek wooden banister, but I feel his gaze on me.
I feel his gaze like I’ve felt his possessive hands
on my body.
I don’t know how many times I can swallow back the emotions bubbling up inside me.
“And demons, they . . .” She clears her throat lightly, and whatever it is she wants to ask me, it doesn’t seem to have the nerve to crawl out of her pursed lips. “I’m going to check on the flowers,” she says so loudly, and suddenly I flinch.
Her heels click across the floor fast and hard, and she’s gone in a matter of seconds.
But Ryke lingers.
My lashes lift, and my stomach is a mess of chaos as my eyes meet his. Despite his bruises and scars, he’s so damn handsome when he smiles at me.
“She wanted to know if we’re different,” he says on a low rasp.
That chaos turns to a riot of lust low in my stomach.
I lift my shoulders and shrug at him.
“And are we?” He leans in close, his big hands clamping over the banister and caging me in with the weight of his broad chest pressing against my thin dress.
My fingers slip between us, and I trace every line carved deep into his skin. Every rune and every scar is rough against my fingertips. The hard pounding of his heart is smooth, though. Strong and demanding.
That’s exactly what Ryke is: strong and demanding.
“You were more than different,” I say on a ghost of a whisper.
His head tips low, and his mouth is so close to mine, I can taste the iron on his breath. “How so, Pretty Crow?” A big hand slides low down my back, and the room is empty just long enough, he seems to have the demon balls to travel even lower, with his fingers digging into my ass, so, so close to my sex that I can’t even think straight.
My breath shakes when my lips part to give him exactly what he wants. “You were rough. Demanding and in control, but gentle and sweet, as you fucked me so hard, I can still feel your cock thrusting deep into my pussy if I close my eyes.” My hooded eyes burn lust right into his gaze as we both breathe in those delicious memories of mine.
The groan that growls out of him quiets as he slides his tongue across his lips.
A hardness presses against my lower stomach, and it takes everything in me not to find the nearest closet and repeat that night over and over again until the fading memory becomes my every living reality.
“Ryke! I need you,” a voice calls from far off.
That’s all it takes. He shoves off from the banister, adjusting his cock from over his jeans as he strides right out of the room to go to the woman he’s bound to.
And I’m left breathless and watching him walk away.
9
A Deadly Party
Aries
A gown of pure red is tight and distracting against my breasts. How do I know it’s distracting? Well . . .
“Zav, are you listening to me?” Damien throws his hands in the air from where he stands behind my high backed throne, and I don’t have to look at them to know Zaviar is staring at my chest again.
Krave stands on my right in a surprisingly tailored black suit, and I feel his presence more than I see him. Because my gaze is trained straight ahead on my father, who speaks to the crowd who wear fine dresses and sleek suits. They’re here to drink and dance, and he’s giving a thirty-five-minute speech about the economy.
It’s . . . super exciting, as you can imagine.
“Our weekly auctions have had less than subpar turnouts the last two weeks. Perhaps it is because demons are not as in fashion as they once were, but as I always say, demons are irreplaceable to our society, and we covet the aid they give us.”
The aid they give us. They do everything but wipe my father’s ass most days. Who is he kidding?
“If we do not get our attendance records up, we will have to drop the auctions to once a month, and that will cause all the good ones to be purchased before anyone has a chance. And we don’t want that, do we?” He looks sincerely out at his bored audience. Nods and murmurs of agreement follow, though.
As they always do.
But one thing is clear, things are changing here. Just like with the tight clothing of the human realm that’s now everywhere in our kingdom, perhaps guilt and humanity also has become the new trend in our lives.
Less and less do I see leashes on the demons in our kingdoms. They walk side by side with their handlers ever since someone a few days ago asked why Princess Aries doesn’t leash her demons.
“Because they are not animals,” I had replied curtly.
And then my father cut that discussion immediately.
“I won’t keep you from the festivities. My daughter is home. The future Queen of Roses is with us once more. Let us celebrate!”
And just like that, no one mentions the young Prince who once sat where I sit now.
My gaze instinctively pans to my mother with that thought. She still hasn’t said a word to me. What is there to say? I’m sorry? I’m sorry I killed your only son and made your life more miserable than it already was?
A heavy sigh pushes from my lungs and just lightly, Krave’s long tattooed fingers skim against my outer hand.
Old music of soft-stringed instruments sways its melody through the high-domed ballroom. The entrance door is just to the left of the royal platform, and my attention keeps pulling there, as if I could just leave here and never look back.
But I can’t. So instead, I listen to the melody. The song whisks across my skin and through my body as I listen to the man’s soft song of heartbreak and love.
It’s definitely a trendy little topic of our lives now, isn’t it?
We’re seated just above everyone else on the platform, and its pretentious, but it makes for good spying at this level. Men and women dance across the shining white floor, but my gaze follows my father as he chats with his newest advisor. He’s a younger man. The man smiling and nodding along with my father isn’t the elder fae I remember hobbling along in my childhood.
The top of Nille’s head bobs past my table, and I have to call out to the rushing goblin to get him to pause for even a second.
“Who is that man?” I motion discreetly to the blonde fae man at my father’s side.
Nille’s big eyes shift to the two of them. “Johnn Rarely. He’s been the King’s advisor for two years now. Only had his trust for one, of course.” Nille shakes his big head at the man as he carries on past me to my mother’s side.
He’s young. That’s the only thing about him that I keep thinking about.
He isn’t old, and he doesn’t harbor old ways of thinking.
I keep stewing on how Johnn Rarely can fit into my life and my plans when a rasping tone whispers in my ear like sex smothered in honey, “Stop suffocating on politics and dance with me, Ari,” Krave says as he hovers near my side but keeps a nice, respectable distance between a handler and her demon.
My heart answers before my lips ever part with a breathless response.
His fingers slide into mine, and I stand. He guides me down the stairs and through the parting crowd, who watch us with far too much interest. If Krave were a fae—hell, if Krave were a goblin, he’d be getting less notice right now. But they stare at him, gawking openly, as he gracefully takes my hands and positions them with too much space between us.
Because they’re watching him.
And I fucking hate them all for it.
My hands push over his smooth black suit that matches his eyes, and I press myself nice and close against his chest as my hands slide through his soft inky hair.
“That’s better,” I whisper along his cheek.
A taunting smile carves his lips and the way his beautiful dark eyes are shining down on me, I can tell he agrees. He’s always made me crazy in the worst and best possible way.
I’m just starting to wonder if I’ve always done the same for him.
His shining black shoes glide over the floor as if he’s danced this dance a thousand times. Almost as if . . . he’s a royal gentleman.
If Krave stayed in the Torch, who would he be? I bet he’d have women, a few of them pawing a
ll over him. Friends—I know he’d have friends. I’ve met Phoenix and the others, and I know they would take care of him. But instead, he’s had a life of servitude. A life of cruelty.
“Why did you come here to the fae realm, Krave?” When the words gasp out of my mouth like a whispered accusation, his brows pull together as if it’s the most obvious thing in all the realms.
My heart’s pounding hard as if it, too, knows, and I’m the only stupid fool left wondering.
His head dips low, his smooth cheek brushing along mine before his mouth grazes over the outer shell of my ear in the most intimate way.
“Because my soul knew that my mate was here.”
A shiver slides down my spine so fast, it takes over my entire body in a hard tremble that I can’t hide.
My chin lifts, and he meets my searching gaze with a look of pure sincerity.
Long black fingers leave from my hip, and soon, he’s tracing the curve of my jaw. And more shivers follow in the wake of that sweet, igniting touch.
“I came wandering into this little fae castle to find what my heart knew belonged to it. And I found your dear old daddy instead. The King beat me with a fire poker for breaking into his ill-guarded home. I told him he needed better security on the west wing, but did he listen to me?” His head shakes slightly with a roll of his big eyes. Before a seriousness overtakes his hauntingly handsome features. “He broke my hand.” His fingers shake just slightly along my cheek. “I refused to leave, though. And the moment he said your name, the moment he whispered the sweetest words I’d never heard, I knew.” The intent way his eyes are locked on mine demands me to be closer. My chest is pressed hard against his, and I have absolutely no idea how he’s still leading us around the shining ballroom with how little space I’m giving him. “He lifted the metal rod high above his head, and I didn’t flinch as the words Aries Sinclaire echoed through my brain over and over again.” Smoke slips from his fingertip, and just faintly, the furious face of my father can be seen in the sheer inky colors of his magic.