Broken Princess: A Dark Paranormal Romance (Feline Royals Book 1)

by Alexa B. James

  “Yes, it does,” I said, my voice strong and firm. “When you take the throne, they’ll give you a chance because they don’t have any reason not to trust you. And you’re going to be such a great queen they’ll be clamoring to trade with the ocelots.”

  Camila gave a tremulous smile. “You really think so?”

  “I know so.”

  “And you’ll be my advisor and help me?”

  “Every step of the way.”

  “Promise?”

  “I promise.”

  I couldn’t wait. I was going to be the best damn advisor a queen ever had. Starting with finding a nice husband for Camila who wouldn’t mind that I was basically running things behind the scenes. Being queen was way too much fanfare for me. I liked strategizing and maneuvering, not dressing up in fancy clothes and playing nice.

  “Can I sleep in here with you tonight?” Camila asked.

  As we lay side by side, Camila snoring softly, I stared at the ceiling. We’d be a great pair. I had no doubt that I’d spoken the truth—she would be an amazing queen. With my advice to keep her from falling under the sway of some other unscrupulous advisor, she’d be fine.

  Without my help, Camila would be too dangerous to imagine. Father could push her around until he was a hundred years old, continue to alienate the other clans until they all declared war on us. As the smallest of the Feline Nations, we stood no chance against even one other clan, let alone all of them together. If Father married Camila off to his preferred candidate, she might continue in his footsteps without question, leading us away from alliances and peace and toward the obliteration of our people.

  I could stop that from happening. Camila used to joke that I was her backbone because I made her strong. The truth was, no one could do that. She just wasn’t born to lead. But I could influence her more than anyone on earth—even Father, though he didn’t know it yet.

  Father had groomed her to take his place, hidden her weaknesses, and in his way, loved her despite them. I had simply loved her, weaknesses and all.

  I rolled over, resting my cheek on my hands and watching her sleep. Now that her tears were gone, her delicate beauty shone through. With her blonde hair spread across the pillow and her milky skin, she looked every inch a princess from a fairytale, light and ethereal.

  I looked like the villain, dark and exotic like Mother.

  I pushed the thought away as quickly as it came. Mother’s kidnap and murder by panther rebels was not something I liked to think about. The past couldn’t be changed. Turning my thoughts to the future, I wondered what tomorrow held in store for me. Whatever it was, it wouldn’t be pretty. My mind returned to the promise I’d made Tadeu. Could I slip away and lose my virginity before dancing with some boring diplomat?

  Tadeu. I sat up, a cold shiver racing down my spine. After a moment, I lay back, my heart still hammering. I would have to warn him in the morning.

  At the end of the day, he was right about me. I was a princess. I had a large helping of immunity that he didn’t. Father might call me every name in the book, take away privileges, lock me in my chambers, and order me guarded night and day, making me a prisoner in the castle. But he would never have one of his guards drag me out of bed and slit my throat, leaving me to bleed to death on my own floor. He would never order a whipping for me. He would never even send me away to tend a noble’s farm far from the castle where I couldn’t cause mischief.

  Of course, he could marry me off to a duke or some rich nobleman, but he needed me, so he kept me close. And Camila needed me, so I didn’t argue. I stayed in the palace and enjoyed more freedom than any shifter princess would have had. I stayed, and I waited for Camila to take the throne so that I could marry whomever I chose and rule however I wanted.

  Three

  I was awakened by a soft tapping on the shoulder.

  “Your Grace?” Camila’s maidservant whispered. “I’m sorry to wake you, but the king requests your presence at his noonday meal.”

  “Me?” I asked, rubbing sleep from my eyes. My own maidservant would have yanked me out of the bed by the hair, but Camila must have spared me by sending in her maid.

  “Yes, Your Grace,” she said. “And if I’m to have time to dress you…” Her brows furrowed, she checked the clock on the mantel.

  I was startled to see the sun blaring down from above. I’d stayed out until the middle of the night, then talked to Camila even later. Now I’d slept the morning away, and I knew there was something I was supposed to do this morning…

  Camila had gone, probably woken by the first maidservant to come knocking. She was a light sleeper. I was… Well, let’s just say I was lucky that the tornadoes and other natural disasters that rocked the globe on a regular basis had miraculously spared most of our little nation in Central America.

  I yawned and stretched, trying to clear the fog from my brain. “How long have you been tapping on me?” I asked, rubbing my shoulder, which was a bit sore.

  “Oh, not too long.”

  “I could use a toothbrush.”

  “Yes, Your Grace.” She scurried away to fetch my toiletries while I flopped back on the bed.

  “Oh, no, you don’t.”

  I opened my eyes to see Camila, now polished and poised as a princess should be in public. She wore tailored powder-blue slacks, a white blouse, white gloves and hat, and a string of pearls. Pearls adorned the outside rim of her ear as well, an extravagance Father required only of Princess Ocelot herself.

  “You look pretty,” I mumbled through a yawn.

  “Get up,” Camila said, giving my thigh a series of quick slaps with the back of her hand. “I’m not going in there alone.”

  “But it’s your job,” I moaned, pulling a pillow over my face.

  Camila plucked it off. “Don’t make me go alone,” she begged, her resolve melting. “I can’t, Itz. You didn’t see Father last night.”

  My maidservant entered, along with Camila’s, and they shoved a toothbrush in my mouth and a hairbrush through my hair. Things had changed so much since Mother died. I was used to it after all these years, but sometimes, a memory still hit me with stinging force. I could still remember the patient stroke of the hairbrush as she sat behind me, gently working the knots from my hair after a long day of playing outside. I remembered, too, the last time she’d combed my hair. She’d stood behind me at the mirror and told me I was growing up so fast, that soon I’d be a woman, though I was only ten years old at the time.

  I’d asked what was so great about being a woman. I knew one thing for sure—women didn’t run around playing in the woods and shinnying up palm trees in search of forbidden fruit. From what I’d seen, being a woman was nothing but boredom and stuffy political dinners where my mother acted completely different from the warm, loving person I knew in private.

  “You’ll find out soon enough,” Mother had said. She’d given me a wink in the mirror. “I can’t tell you all my secrets just yet.”

  “What secrets?” I’d demanded, trying to turn on the chair.

  She’d straightened me so I was facing the mirror again. “You just worry about enjoying childhood,” she’d said. “That is precious and short. You’ll have your whole life to be a woman.”

  “But what’s the secret?” I’d insisted.

  She’d smiled in the mirror at me, dark eyes like mine but full of sadness. “Power is always a burden and a curse as well as a blessing. Especially for women.”

  “That’s why I’ll always stay with Camila,” I’d said. “I can help her carry the burden.”

  “You’re my brave little warrior,” she’d said, bending to kiss the top of my head. “And it’s good that you want to help your sister. Just don’t forget you have your own burdens and curses to bear.”

  “I’m strong,” I’d said, making a muscle in the mirror to make her laugh.

  “You certainly are,” she’d said, but her eyes had still been sad. “And I’ll be here to help you both with your burdens.” She’d hugged me h
ard, and I’d looped my skinny arms around her neck, trying to squeeze the sadness from her. It had scared me even then, as if I’d somehow known that I’d never see her alive again.

  Camila’s maidservant wrenched the brush through my hair a final time, securing my hair in a braid so tight it made my eyes sting, bringing me back to the present. I shook away the memory of Mother, not wanting to be distracted by gloomy thoughts.

  “Wha’s this brea’fast about?” I asked through a mouthful of foam.

  “I don’t know,” Camila said. “It’s just us and Father.”

  And that can’t be good, her raised brow added. She didn’t dare speak those words aloud in the company of anyone, even a servant.

  “Ugh,” I said. I was a little less subtle about my feelings for our father, and so far, none of the maids had gotten me jailed for it. After all, he wasn’t just the king to me. He was my dad, and all teenage girls probably did a bit of eyerolling where their parents were concerned. Besides, most of the servants liked me—not because of anything I’d done to earn it, but because I was a commoner like them.

  Twenty minutes later, I’d been stuffed into a stiff, belted lilac pantsuit and a matching hat. I always looked ridiculous in the formal clothes I had to wear to see my father, like I was trying way too hard to look like a princess. Or copying Camila, who looked effortlessly classy and comfortable in designer wear. I preferred sweats and no bra, but hey, the king was still a king, dad or not.

  I clomped down the hall in my nude pumps, following Camila’s prim, slender stride.

  “Why do you walk like that?” she asked.

  “You know I feel awkward in this shit,” I said, gesturing at my costume.

  She sighed and tucked a strand of hair back into my braid. “If they were a pair of six-inch black heels, you’d be strutting around like you were born in them.”

  “Your point is?”

  “Actually, you’d probably be rocking them on a dancefloor with a bunch of commoners in a trashy dive until the sun came up.”

  “Again, your point?”

  “Never mind,” she said. “Sorry, I’m being critical. You know I can’t take it when someone is mad at me.”

  “You mean when Father is mad at you.”

  “Yes,” she squeaked.

  “Don’t worry, I’ll go in first,” I said. “He can yell at me and then—shit.”

  “What now?”

  “I was supposed to warn Tadeu that Father was pissed at him. Think you can distract him while I run out to the stable?”

  “What? No,” Camila said, her eyes widening in alarm. She gripped my arm, her satin gloves damp already. “We can’t be late, too. He’ll have us beheaded.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Calm down. He won’t have us beheaded. Well, not you, anyway. Me…” I shrugged and gave her a grin, hoping to calm her nerves. I could see her pulse fluttering like a trapped moth against her throat, which was beginning to turn red as it always did when she was anxious.

  “Please don’t leave me,” she whispered, still clutching my arm like she was afraid I’d run off to join the servant children and wage war against the city children while she was stuck learning dead languages from a stuffy old tutor with nose hair and narcolepsy who gave her the fright of her life when he fell asleep during a lesson and she thought he’d died. She’d had nightmares for weeks.

  I sighed and took Camila by the shoulders. “If His Majesty was going to behead one of his daughters, he would have done it a long time ago, and it would have been me,” I said. “I really need to…”

  I broke off when tears pooled in her pale blue eyes. When my shoulders slumped in defeat, she drew out a handkerchief and dabbed her tears away. Taking a deep breath, she gave me a tremulous smile. “Is my makeup okay?”

  “Fine,” I said, plodding after her into the private dining room used only by royals and their closest advisors and lovers. “He’s probably already had Tadeu whipped, anyway.”

  The moment the guard closed the door behind us, Camila ran to father and dropped to one knee beside him. “Oh, Father, I’m so sorry about last night.”

  “Yes, yes, get up,” he said magnanimously. And though she didn’t see it, I saw the slight curl of disgust tug at his lip as he drew his hand away from her.

  She stood and smiled meekly, taking the seat the servant pulled out for her. I took the one beside her, facing our father.

  “Serve us and leave,” Father ordered as fresh orange juice was poured into our chilled flutes. “This is a family matter.”

  Once our plates were full, the servants retired, one of them casting me a sympathetic glance. She’d been a playmate of mine before Father had her confined to the kitchen every moment of the day.

  “I’m sure you realize what a rare opportunity this is,” Father said. “Having the king of another nation visit our little kingdom.”

  Yeah, we knew it was rare. Not because our kingdom was small but because father had a lot of enemies.

  He shifted his juice glass to the other side of his plate. “While his procession is here, I want to talk to you about your coronation.”

  My sister paled, and I fought the urge to reach out and take her hand. It was better to let her reach for me when she needed, so as not to make her appear weak.

  “Okay,” she said, her voice faint. She pulled off her gloves, and I caught the trembling in her slender fingers.

  “You’ll be expected to take your tour of the Feline Nations before the coronation,” Father went on. “Which gives you nine months to visit the other kingdoms and find a mate. You might start considering your options at tonight’s banquet.”

  Camila’s icy fingers gripped mine. “You want me to marry the jaguar king?”

  “Of course not,” Father said. “He has his own kingdom to rule.”

  “Not to mention he’s three times her age,” I muttered. Father frowned at me. I wasn’t there to speak and offer opinions. I was there to support Camila, to wait until I was spoken to. And considering that Father preferred his lovers at the ripe age of Not Yet Legal, he probably saw nothing wrong with binding one of us to a sixty-year-old.

  “There are other options in his court,” Father said. “The shaman is a powerful man who has pushed for our alliance. If the amulet chooses him, we will be in a position to restore trade relations with them. And of course it is advantageous for you to know the man it chooses, at least peripherally.”

  Camila's fingers gave an involuntary tremor. “The shaman? That brute?”

  “Oh, Camila,” Father said, his voice tender even as his eyes remained hard. “You can’t remain a little girl forever. One day you will have to marry a man, and there are worse ones than the jaguar shaman.”

  Camila shuddered, this time her whole body wracked with it. She dropped her eyes but kept her back straight. “Yes, Father.”

  I wondered what uncouth thing this brute had said at the dinner last night to make her tremble so hard, and I cursed myself for not being there to shield her. I’d make sure to intervene if he tried to talk to her tonight—and maybe give him a tiny piece of my mind for upsetting my sister that way.

  “Very good,” Father said. “As you know, you must gain the amulet from each clan on your tour as a show of faith between nations.”

  I barely kept my snort inside. Good faith between nations? He must be kidding. Father had pretty much cut ties with all the other nations during the ten years of natural disasters and planetary upheaval when the shit hit the fan for supernaturals all over the world. Besides joining the newly formed International Council of Feline Nations, he hadn’t reached out to help anyone—except himself.

  “You’re talking about my Amulet Tour,” Camila whispered, bringing my mind to the present. “When I have to collect the mating amulets.”

  The fucking amulets. I stifled the urge to laugh. I remembered finding out about the ocelot amulet and telling Tadeu. We’d laughed our asses off about it for weeks. Each clan had an amulet with something sacred to their mating ritual
s and traditions or that governed their choosing of mates. Since I was human, it didn’t pertain to my life at all, which was why I could laugh at it. I knew it was sacred and nothing at all to joke about, but it had seemed hilarious when we were ten.

  It still seemed a little funny to me, though I recognized that my humor was tinged with resentment. It didn’t apply to me because I was ordinary. I didn’t get mating rituals or even to choose a mate. I’d fuck and marry like any other human on the planet.

  “Can you manage that?” Father asked, his eyes moving back and forth between me and Camila. My stomach tightened with dread. I had seen that look before. I knew what was coming. He was going to ask me for something that was beneath Camila.

  “Yes, Father,” Camila said, her voice resigned. It wasn’t really an option. She’d told me the basics when she found out about them, when we were kids. Every heir to the throne had to get all eight amulets together before they began their reign. When all the amulets were together, some divine feline god would show the heir’s fated mate. That part had excited dreamy Camila as a child. I’d been more interested in the journey to get the amulets. It had sounded like an adventure. Now it sounded more like political strategy.

  “Each clan has different rules about who holds the amulet,” Father said. “For some, it is royalty, either the king or the heir. For some, it is passed down through each generation of a family of Keepers. And for some courts, like the jaguars, it is held by an important advisor.”

  Camila crossed her arms over her chest. “Like the shaman?”

  I patted her thigh under the table. This was where I came in. “How do we get it?”

  “That’s where the games begin,” Father said.

  Camila shrank beside me. “Games? What sort of games?”

  “Games of strategy and power,” he said. “Games of chance and those that measure your worth. The clans don’t simply hand over an amulet if you ask politely. You have to prove yourself to them, seduce it from them.”

  “Seduce?” Camila squeaked.

  “Not literally,” Father said, then smiled coldly. “Though at times, it can be achieved that way. It does hold secrets to the mating rituals of the clan.”