by C. A. Szarek
Alana would have to endure the prince alone.
She said her mind-blocking spellword again for good measure. “Very well,” she gritted out, then tightened her jaw to keep the unladylike curse inside her mouth.
“I’m so very happy to see you, and have been looking forward to our visit all morning.” Although Seamus’ words were friendly, there was a gleam in the lousy royal’s eyes that made her heart leap to her throat.
What do you want? She wanted to demand, but instead watched him warily and held her tongue. For now. Alana rubbed her arm, wishing she’d donned a simpler dress.
Like the one she’d worn to the ball, this gown had her shoulders and neck bare, with intricate flowers sewn into the low-cut bodice. It was purple, as she wore little else, but the shade was lilac, one of the few of that hue in her collection.
Lavish gowns had always been her weakness, and Fae maidens weren’t too shy to show some skin—most of the time. Open backs and shoulders, as well as strapless and revealing bodices were the current style.
The prince swept into her rooms and Rannick threw her a sympathetic look as he closed the door.
She wanted to ask him to step inside, but it wasn’t proper. If he was Xander, she could get away with requesting a chaperone, but the man-at-arms’ rank wasn’t high enough to merit it. At least he wouldn’t assume she and the Irish prince were lovers.
Alana shuddered, almost gagged, and tried not to openly glare.
The scoundrel had taken over her favorite chaise, and she considered burning it when he left.
His back was straight, and he had one leg crossed over the other, with one of his hands resting on his top knee. Like the night of the ball, he was dressed elegantly in green, and his doublet brought out the stunning color of his eyes. His wavy hair was bound at the back of his neck, and his trews were striped two hues of green, one light and one dark. They were disgustingly tight, like always.
She smirked at his feminine posture and straightened her shoulders.
“Have a seat, my dear princess. After all, this is your abode. I must say, this is a very nice sitting room.”
Alana ignored the compliment. “Nay. You shan’t being staying long.”
He smiled. It could’ve been a nice gesture, but there was too much smugness in it. Without breaking eye contact, Seamus made himself more comfortable on her lounger. He reclined, lying back and putting his shoulder into the plush upholstery, pitching his powerful chest toward her. Like he was there to stay.
I really need to burn it now.
Apprehension crawled up from her toes. His visit had a purpose, even if he denied it, and it wouldn’t be good.
Xander had told her to find out what the prince wanted from her. Whether or not she wanted to, instinct told her she was about to. Alana inhaled, tapping into her empathic powers and telling herself to be calm. And strong.
No matter how relaxed he appeared, the prince’s sharp eyes betrayed his intentions.
She wouldn’t like whatever he had to say.
“I can’t stop thinking about the ball, and how lovely it was to dance with you, sweet princess.”
“What do you want, Seamus?” she demanded. Impatience got the best of her, but she couldn’t regret her near-shout.
“You.”
Revulsion roiled her gut. “That’s never going to happen.”
He let out a rich peal of laughter that at any other time would’ve been as appealing as his full-dimpled grin.
If he wasn’t who he was. If it wasn’t mocking, too.
“Ah, but that’s where you’re wrong, my dear princess.”
Alana let the shudder of anger pass over her shoulders, down her spine and into her limbs until she could breathe again. Her fingers twitched and she talked herself in to relaxing her tight fists, too. She’d fling magic at him—if it wasn’t for his damn medallion. “I’m not sleeping with you.”
Seamus laughed again. “Oh, Your Highness, I want more than that.”
She swallowed as her rage blanched and her stomach churned with the ensuing fright. “Wh-wh-what?” She hated that she’d shown weakness in front of him, especially when the stutter resulted in a slow evil smile spreading over the Irish prince’s full mouth.
“You’ll have to pay for my silence.”
“With what?” There was no use denying Alex again. Seamus hadn’t believed her at the ball, and he certainly hadn’t changed his mind about her lie now. His laughter had said as much. She just needed to keep him from more knowledge about her laird.
Somehow.
“Your hand.”
“Nay. Not if you were the last Fae Prince in all the lands. I’d marry a gelded human before I’d wed you.”
He didn’t bat an eye at her hard fast refusal or the insult. “I don’t require your heart, or even your body, beyond consummation, and perhaps once or twice for an heir. I need your signature on the sealed agreement. Then when your father passes on, I’ll be the king of Scotland and Ireland’s Fae Realms. As agreed in our marriage contract, of course.”
Alana blinked.
Ambition?
The womanizing scoundrel had this kind of ambition? As scheming as Seamus could be, she’d never seen that coming. Not to mention, her father wasn’t an old man by Fae standards. He probably had one hundred years left, if not more.
Was the Irish prince willing to wait for his dual throne, or did he have nefarious plans?
Alana wasn’t overly fond of her father, but he was her king, and the rightful ruler of the Scottish Fae. He was a decent king, and the people respected—if feared—him. And she was supposed to be queen after him.
Seamus had chased her for years, but she’d always assumed it was for the mere physical conquest, so he could brag he’d been with her. Even more so if he’d taken her maidenhead. It wasn’t uncommon for him to vocalize the noble lovers he’d had, and of course, he flaunted his skill between the sheets.
She tried not to gag.
Alex’s blue eyes popped into her head. She quickly reinforced her mind-block spell again. Her heart skipped, then cantered.
Why was it when the word marriage danced by her thoughts, the human laird came to mind?
That was more than just forbidden. It was…unthinkable.
Impossible.
Despite the same supposedly happening in his family history. Princess Sima had gotten her man. She’d been lucky, hadn’t she?
Stop thinking about him.
Alex’s smile disobeyed, appearing as real as it had yesterday on the beaches of Skye. She ached for him and prayed to the Goddess Seamus wouldn’t discover it.
“I won’t do it.” Alana crossed her arms and looked down her nose at the stupid prince.
Another slow malicious smile spread over his too-full lips.
She swallowed.
Why does he look so pleased?
She tried to brace herself for anything he could possibly say next.
“Alex MacLeod.”
It took everything within her to not reveal her shock. She stood her ground five feet from her enemy and tried to hold herself together. Project even more calm over her form. She plead to the Goddess he hadn’t just picked up her thoughts, despite her spell being repeated thrice. “I’ve already told you—”
“Laird of his clan.” He continued as if she’d not spoken. “Lives in a castle called Dunvegan, on what’s called the Isle of Skye. I believe the humans call the islands the Hebrides. The Western Isles? He’s a tad young for you, though.” Seamus tsked and waggled his finger.
Her heart stopped.
Do. Not. React.
“My, my.” The Irish bastard rose from her chaise and took two steps toward her, but Alana slid backwards. “What’s wrong, Princess? Why’ve you gone so pale? I didn’t figure out your little secret, did I?” His eyes went wide and he put his hand to his chest, as if he was sincerely apologizing. Or playing innocent.
She considered retching on his fancy shoes.
Where was Xander when s
he needed him?
When she still couldn’t muster words, Seamus covered his mouth with a hand in mock-surprise. “Oh, I suppose I did figure it out!” He stepped forward again, and she barely dodged him this time.
Tremors started in Alana’s shoulders, and she sucked her cheek in and bit down. What she said next would make or break this situation.
Too bad she didn’t have a clue what to say.
Her heart dipped low and stayed there; she couldn’t stop shaking.
The prince backed her up to the wall next to her sleeping room’s door. His big body blocked her in, and he slid his arms on either side of her, planting his palms flat on either side of her head, but he didn’t touch her.
Yet.
His eyes vowed he would.
“Oh, my dear princess, you smell so good.” He inhaled with exaggeration, leaning in and leering. “You don’t have to say a word about the human, Your Highness. I can read you like a book, even though your mind is like a vault right now. Just know, if I don’t get what I want, I shall go to King Fillan with what I’ve discovered.”
Alana clenched her jaw as his threat—no, promise—washed over her. She was more worried about his proximity at the moment. “Step back, or I shall scream.”
Seamus smiled. “I like screamers. Surely you’ve heard how the courtiers praise me.” He pitched his hips into her, and an erection was evident.
She stilled and swallowed again. He wouldn’t—
“Step away from the princess, Your Highness.” The voice was a hard order.
Alana gasped and did her best to peer around her captor. Her gaze collided with Xander’s and he had his hand on the hilt of his broadsword.
Seamus froze, but still wore a smile.
She slunk away from him when he released her, but she stayed against the wall, so it would hold her up. She had to resist the urge to dart behind her cousin and grip his waist.
Cower. Hide.
He could not, but she wished Xander could run him through.
“I’m sorry, Sir Xander, I think you misunderstand.”
“I don’t think I do, Your Highness.” Although her cousin’s voice was even, the honorific was more of a sneer.
“I was given leave by King Fillan to visit my betrothed.”
Xander’s eyes shot to her when she didn’t immediately protest. Both his eyebrows shot high. “I was unaware—”
Alana cleared her throat. “There’s nothing to be aware of. I’ve refused Prince Seamus.”
Seamus reached to caress her cheek, but she yanked away. “Oh, you will relent, my dear sweet princess. I’ve no doubt about that. Then we can continue what we started here.”
Her cousin narrowed his eyes. His sword inched up, as if he’d pull it, instead of securing it wholly within the scabbard. “You should leave, Your Highness.” Again, Xander’s tone was close to forbidden for addressing a royal, but Alana would shout praise at her cousin before she’d ever chide him.
He could curse at Seamus aloud and she’d cheer him on.
The Irish prince didn’t argue. Perhaps he felt her protector would harm him.
Plus, if she reported his untoward behavior, Seamus could be punished, despite her father’s fondness of him. No man could put their hands—or bodies—on a woman who didn’t wish it, especially the Crown Princess. He risked falling out of the king’s favor.
But…he had the knowledge of Alex to hang over her head.
Alana couldn’t say a word.
He was smart enough to know that.
She wished she could order her cousin to geld him.
When the prince sauntered out of her sitting room and the door shut, she slid to the shiny marble floor, unable to come away from the wall. Her bottom hit with a thump that wobbled her even more.
Xander rushed to her, and pulled her to her feet. “What did he do to you?”
She swallowed again—couldn’t speak.
“Alana.” Her cousin shook her shoulders.
She collapsed against his chest and wrapped her arms around his neck. The sob bubbled up and she couldn’t stop it. She could feel the tremors of his wings. His concern washed over her magic, making her limbs tingle.
“Alana.” Now her cousin’s deep voice held alarm, but he squeezed her against him.
Alana lifted her head and met his eyes, but her vision blurred. “He…he… Nothing.” She hiccupped. “Trapped me against the wall. Didn’t even try to kiss me, but he was aroused.”
Xander blew out a breath. He scowled and muttered something about relieving the prince of his bollocks. It would’ve made her smile any other time. “Why, by the Goddess, would he ever think you’d agree to marry him?”
She crushed her eyes shut and fought through big shuddering breaths. “Because he knows everything, Xander. Everything about Alex.”
Chapter Eleven
“So, I suppose now we know what he wants.” Xander’s gaze was grave, and he flexed his powerful jaw. His wings quivered with barely contained ire, catching the light and bouncing off the different colors. Irritation rolled off him, and he ignored her gesture to sit in the overstuffed chair across from her.
Alana shuddered. “Me.”
“Nay.” He tugged on his braid, and threw it over his shoulder. “I will never allow it.”
“I will never allow it, but he said he will take the knowledge of Alex to my father if I do not sign a betrothal contract. He told me he wants to rule Scotland and Ireland.”
“Does he plan to assassinate your father?” Her cousin cocked his head to one side.
She blinked. “I contemplated that.”
He scoffed. “Seamus isn’t smart enough to accomplish that.”
“We can’t be confident he wouldn’t try. He discovered every detail about Alex. He either had to go himself, or send someone to the Human Realm.” Alana’s heart ached for her human laird.
A trip to see him just tripled—if not more—in risk.
Perhaps I won’t ever see him again.
“He didn’t go himself. He’s not been absent from Court. He’s been so far up your father’s arse, vying for favors, the king’s throat has to itch.”
She managed a small laugh, but didn’t say anything. Couldn’t stop thinking of the man she craved in another realm.
“Stop thinking about Alex MacLeod. You have a tragedy to avert. He only complicates it.”
Alana scowled. “First of all, get out of my head. Secondly, how can you read my mind? I said my mind-block spell.”
Xander smirked. “I can’t read your thoughts right now. I wagered correctly, is all. Your expression told me everything I needed to know. You need to get a hold of that. If I can read you, so can other people, despite your mind being closed. You probably handed information to Seamus without meaning to.” He tapped his forehead and relented on the seat, perching on the arm of the chair. He flexed his wings.
Heat rushed her cheeks and she fidgeted on the sofa. Alana wouldn’t point out that the stupid prince had remarked about reading her, mentioning when she’d gone pale.
She sat in her cousin’s normal place because she couldn’t bring herself to sit on her chaise. Maybe wouldn’t ever sit on it again.
I should burn it.
Her cousin’s slight mirth melted into a scowl.
“What is it?” she asked.
“Speaking of thoughts, I did not like what your laird was thinking about you yesterday.”
She straightened. “What was he thinking?” Her stomach somersaulted. Alana told herself not to look eager, but her body pitched on the edge of the plush cushion beneath her.
“He wants you, Alana. With an intensity that scares me.”
Of course, it wasn’t a surprised he wanted her. He’d told her as much, and she wanted him, too.
She’d felt his arousal yesterday, as well as when they’d first kissed up on the ridge. Her need equaled his, but she wasn’t about to confess that to her protector. She swallowed. “I told you we’re fated, cousin.”
&n
bsp; Xander’s mouth set in a hard line. “Doomed, is what you are.”
“I know.” She closed her eyes. Her voice broke with a half-sob. “If we weren’t before, we certainly are now.” Her heart churned in her gut. That realization lanced like a physical injury.
“You being with the laird was always doomed, Alana.” This was said softly, as if his volume could soften the blow of his words.
It didn’t work; just made her ache more. She fought the urge to rock on the sofa and clutch her stomach.
“I hate that I don’t dislike the laird.”
“You don’t?” Alana swiped her cheeks and pinned her cousin with a stare. She sat back into the plushness of her seat, missing her chaise. She needed the distractions from her agony, but she didn’t want to be too hopeful.
Her cousin’s approval now wouldn’t fix the problem.
He sighed and cast his eyes to the ceiling. “I saw other things in his mind. He doesn’t have a clue how to guard his thoughts. He’s a good, honorable man. Loves his family and his clan, and wants to do right by them, even though he’s overwhelmed by responsibility. He hasn’t been the laird for more than a few months. Alex MacLeod is very young, Your Highness.”
The honorific was a chide, but she ignored it and nodded. “I know how old he is. I don’t care, and neither does fate.”
Her cousin flexed his jaw, but didn’t respond. He looked away, as if he had to gather his thoughts.
Alana had never been able to read minds, but she wished she could at the moment, to tell what he was thinking. Xander was usually frank with her, but was there something he wasn’t saying right now?
It didn’t really matter; nothing could distract her from the human laird.
Alex.
She wanted to dissolve into a pile of sobs. “What in Five Hells am I supposed to do?”
He didn’t flinch at her harsh, unladylike language. “For the safety of all involved, for now, I think you have to tell Seamus what he wants to hear.”
Alana gasped. “You mean—”
Xander leveled her with a serious violet stare. “Aye. Tell the bastard you’ll marry him.”
* * * *
The claymore slammed into his, and it took too long for Alex to regroup. He was about to fall on his arse.