Alex rolls his eyes at me. “Yes, that’s exactly what I said. You’re so dramatic, Des. Honestly.” Then he cuffs my shoulder, his blue eyes glinting in the lamplight. “And I haven’t given up hope that one day your great-grandfather will retire and hand the throne to you. You’re a far sight better than Harris and Melinda.”
I cast him a dubious look. “I think you’re underestimating the ‘immortal’ part of my genetic makeup.” I don a primary school teacher’s cadence just to make him roll his eyes. “You see, Alexavier, when a vampire comes of age and drinks the blood of a young colt, he or she becomes immortal and stops aging. I’m never going to inherit the throne because dear old great-grandfather has no interest in ever giving up his power. I’m a lame duck royal, just as my father and mum are. Prince the First Harris and Princess the First Melinda, parents of Prince the Second Destino: both useless branches of the monarchy. King Ronin will never give up his power. Most days, I’m just there for the tea.”
“Thank you for explaining the complexities of life, oh wise one.” Alex’s Faveda non-accent always makes his sarcasm sound harsh. He folds his arms over his chest. “I just meant that we need a different approach. One that involves fewer broken limbs of the royal families.” His eyes flick to Salem. “This is an effort to make peace.”
Salem avoids our eyes, running his fingers through his chin-length gray hair like he’s worried about his own problems. I know he won’t talk to us about them until they’re so out of control, there’s no way we can help. Trying to get him to open up is wasted effort, though we’re here, just in case he ever decides he can’t shoulder the weight of an entire broken province with only his brother as backup. I can’t imagine having to wrangle an entire territory of shapeshifters. They’re a bunch of wild animals half the time. Vampires at least have social gatherings and know how to enjoy the finer things in life every now and then. Salem would argue we enjoy ourselves too much, getting carried away with blood drinking and parties. Then again, Salem doesn’t believe in fun, so trying to explain our ways to him is like speaking in a foreign language he has no interest in learning.
My arm is killing me. What I wouldn’t give for a plumapple—a fruit that only grows in Jacoba. Not even the fae can grow them. A plumapple speeds along the healing process and even gives you clearer thoughts. Both of those things sound splendid right about now. “What do you suggest, Alex? Because I’m all for trying our cross-territory walks again, but this time armed.”
“That defeats the whole purpose. We’re trying to promote peace. That’s a harder sell when the message is delivered with a knife. We need to go bigger. If the people are going to resist everything we do, then let’s shove something huge in their faces.”
I’ve missed them horribly. Just a few minutes back together, and I already feel more optimistic, like this constant problem might be something we can actually tackle. “Something big, eh? Like what?”
Alexavier’s eyes dart to me and then to Salem, and I can tell he’s been working on a solution to this ever since Salem got jumped last week. He’s a plotter. I’m the doer, Alex is the planner, and Salem is… well, he’s good at fighting. We help each other out when something requires more than one of us can do on our own. When Alex and Salem lock eyes, there’s some sort of conspiring I can see has already transpired. They’ve got a plan, and I can tell it’s something they’ve teamed up on to talk me into, which means I’m going to hate it.
“No,” I rule before Alex can spell out his newest idea. “Whatever that look is, I can already tell it’s going to be a dreadful idea.”
Alex raises his nose. “For your information, I happen to be sitting on a perfect idea that barely even involves you.” Then he crosses over to Salem, takes the canteen off his belt and refills it for him with fresh water that pours from his palms. I’m glad he looks after Salem while their land is in the middle of a drought.
“Doesn’t involve me? Brilliant. Let’s hear it.”
Alex stretches his arm out to lean against the cave wall, fixing me with a stare that makes me nervous. I’m still smarting from his last “sure thing.” “Brother—”
I hang my head. “Oh, shite. Anytime you start out with ‘brother’ I know it’s going to be something I don’t like.”
Alex isn’t willing to be deterred tonight. That’s even worse. When he’s set on what he thinks is the perfect plan, there can be no deviations, no pauses. Whatever it is, I can already see myself agreeing, despite my better judgment. I hand him back his cloak.
Alex straightens as he refastens it, his shoulders rolling back with indignation. “As I was saying. Brother, are your parents still pressuring you to get married? I know Prince the First Harris and the lovely Princess the First Melinda have big plans for a royal baby from you, our very own Prince the Second Destino.”
A knot twists in my stomach. “Why are we talking about this? I come here to get away from that kind of conversation. Yes, they’re still putting out ultimatums. If I don’t find a wife, they’ll take away my horse. If I don’t find a wife, they’ll cut off my funds from the treasury. Blah, blah, blah. As if it’s all so simple. As if something like marriage matters when our territories are constantly at odds.”
Salem snorts. “It’s exactly tha simple to find a bride. What’s the big deal?”
“The big deal? Have you met my mother? I don’t want a marriage like that. She’s always breathing down father’s neck, judging every little thing he does. Father’s no better, controlling and petty as he is. And as corny as it sounds, getting married for love is nothing to sneeze at. I don’t have time to see my best mates more than once a month. I hardly have time to meet a woman and fall in love.” I rub the nape of my neck. “Why are we talking about this? Me getting married doesn’t stop our territories from fighting.”
“Would you settle for getting married out of a love of your country?” Alexavier’s voice is calm. “You’ve already broken your arm for Drexdenberg. How about your heart?”
I freeze, unsure what he’s talking about. When I cast over to Salem to commiserate on what a chore it is to plan with someone who relishes being too clever for us normal folk to figure out, I notice that Salem isn’t the least bit surprised or confused. My mouth draws to the side. “Absolutely not.” Which, of course, Alex sees as the first step to getting his way.
Light dances in Alexavier’s eyes, as it always does when he’s excited about something foolish. “If you took a wife, she would be instant royalty. She’d stand to inherit the crown with you, if old King Ronin ever gave it up. She’d be granted protection from the army, and she’d be revered by Drexdenberg.”
“Sure. She’d also be hounded by the public, and everything she did would be under constant scrutiny. Plus, she’d have to live in the palace with good old Harris and Melinda, which is no small hardship.”
Alexavier waves away my naysaying. “What might happen if you married a woman from, say, my territory?”
“That’s your plan?” I scoff. “I thought you were serious.”
“Oh, brother, I am.”
My eyebrows shoot up as I try to reason out his words. “It would be anarchy. They would never accept her.”
Salem interjects from the mouth of the cave. “Maybe she’s thicker skinned than most.”
“It would be suicide!”
Alexavier holds up his finger. “Ah, but you’re forgetting she’d instantly have to be protected as a member of the royal family.”
I run my hand over my face. “You honestly expect an army of vampires to protect a fae woman? Mister Des and Missus… Fairy?”
Alex clucks his tongue. “I assume the wedding announcements would use your proper name, Prince the Second Destino.” He pauses for my grimace. My full name is so pretentious. Like I’m supposed to be the destiny of the people. Alexavier waves off my concerns. “I expect they’ll follow the rules, as even you reckless vampires are capable of doing.”
I let out a nervous laugh at all the valid points Alex is getting in.
“You have someone in mind? A woman from your territory who wouldn’t mind being publicly hated? Constantly looking over her shoulder for attacks? And not just my people, but yours would loathe her as well for betraying her own.”
“Not from my homeland. A fae from Neutral Territory.”
I roll my eyes. “Hilarious. I’m not marrying a criminal or someone too dreadful to fit into society. Everyone knows that ‘Neutral Territory’ is a nice way of saying ‘Reject City’. Besides, the fae don’t send their outcasts to Neutral Territory. It’s beneath them.”
“It’s the only place where people live in relative peace, because none of them want anything to do with the territory they came from. And there is one fae who lives in Neutral Territory, actually. Salem suggested her, but I’ve not met her yet. If we want a woman for you, a fae who wouldn’t mind being loathed by her kin, she’s the one, since her kin have already cast her out.” Alexavier turns to Salem. “I think he’s ready to meet his new bride.”
Salem gives a solitary nod, and suddenly my palms are sweating. “What? No way! No fae would ever marry a vampire. And don’t I get a say in this?”
Alex postures. “A say? Sure. You get a say in uniting the nations, Destino. You get a say in how our legacies play out. We can either wait for the mess to be handed down to us when it’s far too late to fix anything, or we can fight for change right now. So what say you, Des?”
It feels like I’m back at the castle, being interrogated by Melinda after rejecting yet another of the women she’s selected for me to date. I always agree to one date to pacify my perpetually unsatisfied mum, but that’s the most I entertain the notion of ever settling down. It’s just not for me. Every vampire woman would loathe my best mates because they’re of a different race. I don’t need that rubbish in my life.
But looking down at my broken arm, I know that things are only getting worse. The territory wars are so dreadful; Salem’s people had to build a wall to keep the vampires and fae out of shapeshifter territory. Even with that barrier, there are still altercations.
I fix my eyes on the craggy ceiling of the cave. “This is a terrible idea.”
Salem speaks up, which he only does when he’s got something big to say. “It’s the only plan we’ve got, so let’s go with it. Ye just have to convince her.”
My voice goes high-pitched in time with my eyes bugging. “What? I’m barely convinced, and you’re expecting me to sway some poor woman? What makes you think I’ll even like her?”
Salem shrugs, his chin-length mostly gray hair falling away from his face. “Because I’m in love with her, tha’s how I know. She’s perfect.” Then, before Alex or I can voice our shock, Salem jerks his chin to the entrance of the cave. “Let’s go before her shift ends.”
Salem’s in love? Since when?
Alexavier’s eyes are wide. “I had no idea. Salem, you want Des to marry the woman you’re in love with? That makes no sense.”
Salem doesn’t bother to look at us, but turns toward the exit as the wind picks up, whistling through the cave. “She’d never marry me. But I don’t want her unprotected in Neutral Territory anymore. It’s getting rougher in her neighborhood. This is my way of getting her out. Plus, ye need a bride who has thick skin and can stand up to your family and the whole of Drexdenberg. She’s the one for tha. Tough as they come without sacrificing kindness.”
Then, in true Salem fashion, he starts making his way down the mountain without another word. He knows I have plenty of arguments and questions, but he also knows this is the only way to make a big enough statement so the world knows that the next generation isn’t going to put up with this racist rubbish any longer.
Though I truly don’t want to meet my future fae bride, the prospect of Salem being in love with anyone is so shocking that my feet carry me toward the precipice, out in to the unknown.
3
A Vampire, a Shifter and a Fae Walk into a Bar
Hannah
My smile is faked, and I’m pretty sure that though Lou is completely drunk, even he can spot the charade. “We’re closing up soon, boys. Time to pay the piper.” I thwack the bill down on the table, giving them a hearty laugh to match the volume of their protests.
“Don’t be like tha, Hannah. We’re your best customers. Jole was just getting to the good part of his story.”
“The one where he was drunk and he fell into a puddle of his own puke? You told that one last night, Jole,” I tsk him, waggling my finger as if these dirty old men are little boys. That would certainly be an improvement.
Jole is three sheets to the wind, and has no idea which shape is the real me and which is the double as he tries to blink me into focus. Silly vampire, thinks he can drink all the alcohol he likes because he’s immortal. “Not that one. It’s a new story. Shh. Don’t spoil the ending. I don’t even get piss-drunk in this one.”
“So it’s a fictional tale, then? I’m at the very edge of my seat. Can you tell it while you get out your wallets, gentlemen? I’d hate for you to forget to pay down your tab, like you did yesterday.”
Jole blows a raspberry in my direction, flinging spittle too close for comfort. “Yeah, yeah. You’re strict, Hannah. I’ll take two more of your ugly cookies while we’re settling up. Had some saucy dreams last night after I ate one.”
I chew on my lower lip, swallowing all the things I’d like to say, but can’t if I want to be tipped well. “Whatever you like.” I trot back to the kitchen and put two of my famous ugly cookies on a plate for him. It’s not the sugar they crave but the green eevana leaves I mix into the butter I use to bake them with. The eevana does funky things to the batter, making otherwise round cookies turn out blobby and gooey in parts. But the customers don’t eat them for the look or the taste. They love the mind-altering dreams the eevana grants them. In a bleak place like Neutral Territory, it’s the one bit of mercy I feel no guilt in spreading around to anyone with two coins to spare. Sure, eevana falls under the fae’s list of poisons, but my clientele doesn’t much care about the details. They trust me not to kill them with my fae mojo, and I use my knack for creating poisons to their benefit. Besides, a few wild dreams here and there never hurt anybody.
I glide back out onto the floor toward my last table of the night, pausing at the bar to greet the shifter cat who just finished his plate of cream and bourbon. “Goodnight, Fillmore. See you tomorrow.” The brown striped feline hops down and scampers out into the night. I move toward Jole, Lou and the guys, and set the plate of ugly cookies in the middle.
“Ah, you’re too fast, Hannah. I’m still finding my wallet,” Lou lies, patting his pockets.
I pull out a chair, turn it around and straddle it, giving him a flash of my thigh holster that displays my dagger in plain sight. I temper it with the sweetest smile I can muster and make sure my voice drips with sugar. “Then I think I’ll just take a break and wait right here while you find it. Wouldn’t want my ugly cookies to go straight to your head and make you forget how much you owe me.”
The bell over the door jingles, but Jole reaches out and smacks my butt when I stand to tell whoever it is that we’re clearly closing. Rage flares up in me, which is never a good thing. I need to be cheery and agreeable to make good tips. I need to smile. I need to laugh at their drunken jokes.
But I don’t need to let anyone put their hands on me.
I snatch at Jole’s hand and slam it palm-up on the table, twisting his arm so he has to contort in his seat. Before I can quiet my fury, I’m reaching for the knife I keep in my thigh holster “for no reason.” I barely take the time to aim, but the knife plunges just where I want it—between two of his fingers. His laughter stops, but his friends hoot and clap at the action.
Smile. People tip you if you smile.
A syrupy expression curves the corners of my mouth. I’m sure I look more deranged than pleasant. “I trust you want to keep this hand?”
He whines and cusses me out while the rest of his buddies laugh. Sheep, all of them. When on
e of them behaves poorly, it gives them all license to act like perverts.
Lou winks at me while his friend squirms, like me getting groped at work is all part of the fun. “There’s more where tha came from, Hannah.” At my glower, he shrugs. Because of the meager population of women who’ve been banished to Neutral Territory, the vampires and shifters occasionally lower their standards and look my way.
There’s a blur of motion coming towards us, and before I can protest, Jole is being lifted out of his seat. “Did I see ye touch Hannah?” The familiar low growl sends a shiver up my spine. Prince Salem Butcher always sounds like he gargles with nails.
My mouth falls open at the sight that I admit I look forward to seeing once a month. But not like this. This is the worst. I don’t want him to know the drunkards paw at me like I’m not a person. “Prince Salem, put him down. I can handle him.”
Prince Salem’s sneer is directed at Jole, but I feel a pang of fear whenever his wrath is kindled, even though it’s never been aimed at me. “I’ll put him down for ye.” In the next breath, Prince Salem drags Jole to the exit, past his two cloaked and hooded guards, and throws the drunkard out of the bar with a hearty thrust. I’m guessing tonight’s going to end up with Jole lying in a puddle of his own puke, which is to say, business as usual. It’ll make for a rousing story tomorrow night, I’m sure.
I run past the prince’s two cloaked guards and out into the light sprinkling of rain that’s turning the ground into slightly slippery mud. Prince Salem towers over Jole as my best customer’s friends scatter. “Wait!” I cry. I’ll bet the handsome prince no doubt assumes I’m one of those girls who gets off on being degraded and swoons for perverts who smack young women’s backsides, since I protested him getting involved. I’m not. I’m a girl who doesn’t work for free, and insists on being paid. Jole is passed clean out, and doesn’t miss his wallet one bit when I slide it from his pocket.
Vengeful Prince Page 2