by Genia Avers
Before her father died, the empress had been a brilliant leader. Only Annika’s love of her family surpassed her love for the Mydrian people. That Annika had perished with the emperor but her right to rule hadn’t. The Council had appointed her empress, looking to her for leadership, even as Annika sank deeper and deeper into a state of constant agitation. Subena had to convince her mother the treaty was the right thing to do.
Jalakin interceded. “There’s another problem, maybe a bigger problem. Lord Creshin’s hatred for our people grows stronger. Our spies say he has declared war on all aliens. He may decide to attack.”
Subena felt her temper flare again. “We aren’t aliens.”
Annika blinked. “Yes we are. This isn’t our home.”
“Let’s not have this argument again.” Jalakin’s face bore a strained expression. “Aliens or not, we need the Gatslian army to deter Creshin’s army. The crystals are a bonus.”
“Oh, right.” Subena sniffed. “We only need crystals to survive.”
“Our people can survive for a year before our crystals deteriorate.” The empress drew her stature into a regal pose. “You said so yourself.”
“I was wrong.” Subena pressed her fingers against her temples. She hadn’t expected the crystal use to accelerate exponentially.
Jalakin frowned. Mother will never agree to a treaty with Gatsle until our supply is completely exhausted. You have to tell her about your vision.
No.
“You’re doing it again,” Annika hissed. “Bockle help me. How did I raise such rude children?”
Annika hadn’t raised them. She and Jalakin had raised themselves, but Subena was smart enough not to mention that.
“Bena’s had another vision.”
She glared at her brother.
“Oh dear.” The empress’s pale face turned transparent. “I thought you’d outgrown that nonsense.”
Subena fought the bile rising in her throat. Her mother supported the bizarre notion that álfar could return to Earth if they didn’t practice magic. Some foolish ancestor had convinced the council that Mydrians would be accepted on the ancient planet again if they were more like humans. And humans had no magic.
Visions were the worst sort of magic, so Annika tried to pretend they didn’t exist. It was bad enough Subena had to endure the visions. Did she also have to be treated like a freak? By her own mother?
“Tell her what you saw,” Jalakin prompted.
“No.” She and Jal were close but Subena couldn’t make him understand. Enduring a vision meant more than dealing with the pain the future event would bring. In the throes of a prophecy, her body absorbed both the physical and emotional trauma of everyone involved in the event. Even talking about her latest vision brought splintered fragments of the nightmare into her present reality.
“Daughter.” The empress paused to intertwine and release her fingers. “Until now, you’ve not had one of those incidents in…what, ten years?”
Subena’s stomach knotted. Her mother had never acknowledged her visions before.
“Despite your last...vision,” the empress continued, “we could not save your father. I will agree to this treaty for the sake of our people, but I will hear no more talk of false visions.”
The room threatened to smother Subena. She’d tried to tell her mother that her father was dying, but Annika hadn’t listened. Maybe she should’ve tried harder, told someone else. Maybe her father could’ve been saved. She’d lived with guilt for ten long years.
After a decade of pain and grief, her mother had just tossed that vision into her face like soiled laundry. Subena rose, her body rigid and unresponsive. She began to walk, goaded by a need to get away—away from problems, away from visions, away from her mother.
“Bena, come back. Mother’s agreed to the treaty.”
She ignored her brother’s plea and kept moving, one destination in mind. Away.
Her pace didn’t falter until stone granules crunched under her feet and she stared into shimmering water. She surfaced from her daze, understanding why her subconscious had led her to the rocks. The hidden nook in the cliffs would make her feel better. It always did.
Dropping to the ground, she put her head between her hands and refused to think. An act she’d repeated often since her father’s death. To console her conscience, she recalled the only vision that didn’t foretell gloom and destruction. She remembered this vision whenever she grew overwhelmed by her Council responsibilities.
In that vision, a man soothed her hurt and banished her loneliness. She hadn’t seen his face, but he spoke in a voice laced with kindness and something more.
It will be all right.
She could still see wayward locks of dark hair that danced in the breeze and beckoned her fingers to skip through his thick mane. In the vision, her hero pulled her head to his chest—a magnificent chest it was. A tattoo in the shape of a diamond embellished the wide expanse of sculpted perfection. He stood so tall that her ear rested against his heart; the beat calmed her weary soul.
Thump, thump, thump. Lilting, lyrical music swirled around her, massaging tense muscles. Hands that knew no boundaries touched her in secret places. His fingers stroked her breasts, bringing fire and passion to her stoic, responsible life.
She opened her eyes, for once finding no relief in the recollection. Taslin, the one she believed she’d marry, bore no such mark. Nor did any Gatslian. She’d scrutinized every male chest during the Festival of Bockle, hoping to find her dream lover among the tunic-less elves as they paraded down the Mydrian main street.
Her vision was false. She’d never possess her fantasy lover.
Alton’s death and the impending treaty had stolen her one escape. Fate had intervened and exiled her to the backward lands of Gatsle with its wayward prince—a creature most unlike her imaginary lover. Maybe her mother was right. Maybe death was better.
Chapter Two
“Keep your damn mistress, but you will marry Empress Annika’s daughter.”
Kamber, the eldest son and heir of King Rothart, stormed from the palace, his father’s command ringing in his ears like echoes from a never-ending nightmare. He picked up a stick and hurled it toward a tree. The wood splintered into fragments, along with all hope for his future. He’d done everything possible to convince his father to sell the quartz to Mydrias and forget the treaty. It wasn’t as if Gatslians would ever use the damn rocky glass.
Of course, the king refused. “I don’t need their damn money.” Rothart growled.
Why Gatsle needed a treaty with the Mydrians puzzled Kamber. His country didn’t need anything from the arrogant foreigners, but his father did nothing unless he directly profited.
Despite Kamber’s counterarguments and his mother’s pleas, or maybe because of them, the king insisted on a treaty and dispatched a special envoy to Mydrias. The Mydrians balked at the terms, but they needed crystals. They would eventually sign the treaty. No matter what the price.
“I should just leave,” he grumbled and headed toward the stables.
“Kam, wait.”
He kept walking, wishing his younger brother hadn’t come running after him. “Go back inside, Ronan,” he yelled over his shoulder. He’d never leave the purple hills of Gatsle, but his sibling spoiled his temporary fantasy. The country might not need him—his father had heirs to spare—but his brothers did. Without his intervention, Barkley, the next in line, would crumble under the king’s tutelage and lord only knew what would happen to Ronan.
“Let me go with you.” Ronan reached the stall just as Kamber put a halter over his equestor. He reached for the saddle but decided he didn’t need it.
He ruffled his brother’s hair, knowing it would annoy Ronan. If the lad wanted to acquire a taste for ale, he didn’t intend to support the cause. “I need you to look after Mother. You know how Dad gets when he’s angry at me. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“I reached the age of adulthood more than two years ago, Kam. Stop treating me like a lad i
n school britches and tell me where you’re going.” Ronan’s tone held both censure and envy.
“Would you prefer I hang around and punch dear old Dad in the face?”
“Might be fun.” Ronan grinned impishly. “Come on, let me go with you.”
“No.” Kamber frowned to hide his smile.
Ronan’s grin faded. “Fine, then.” His tone made it clear it was anything but fine.
Kamber wished he could stay and quell Ronan’s worries, but given his own foul mood, he wasn’t fit company for an impressionable youth. “I’ll be late. Keep out of Rothart’s way.”
Without bothering to saddle his steed, Kamber threw his leg over Pollo’s back and pressed his knee against the creature’s side. Pollo bolted. They raced until the bluestone walls of the village pub came into view, the ride-for-death pace in perfect unison with the anger surging through his body.
He jumped off Pollo and landed lightly on the ground. Tomorrow could be dealt with when it came. Tonight, he intended to get rip-roaring drunk.
“Greetings.” The owner knew him but did not use his title, thus maintaining the illusion that he was an ordinary patron.
Two mugs of his favorite ale arrived at the rough-hewn table before he settled on a reed stool. He kicked at the straw covering the dirt floor to make sure nothing crawled beneath it. He downed the contents of the first mug and reached for the second.
Placing his hands behind his head, Kamber peered into the darkened corners, hoping none of the locals recognized him. The strength of the ale would render the heartiest of customers too drunk to recognize their own shadows. He intended to join them.
He chugged the contents of the second mug and made eye contact with the pub owner. “Another,” he demanded.
Kamber savored the dark, dank atmosphere. Inside the shoddy alehouse, he could mingle with commoners and forget his responsibilities as heir to the throne of a country with the most powerful army on Lanatus. In the pub, his definition of self did not include being the son of the world’s biggest ass.
Despite his intentions, he succumbed to self-pity. Why not? Years spent observing his parents’ marriage made him vow he would never become trapped in a loveless union, yet the same noose tightened around his neck. Tomorrow, he’d leave for a land he’d never seen and wed a bride he could never love. Reports on his future wife painted her as the ice princess from Hell who considered him to be an inferior animal. It didn’t matter—he would be faithful anyway. His father might sacrifice his honor and sate his lust outside the bonds of matrimony, but Kamber would never become the cheating oaf that Rothart was.
The pub owner arrived with more ale. Kamber poured the drink down his throat, finishing half of the contents before he met the owner’s stare over the rim of the mug.
“Perhaps the prince would like something to eat?” the owner asked.
The proprietor had used his title. The faux pas emphasized the foolishness of getting drunk without any of his cronies around to cover his back. “Just another drink.”
The owner nodded and hurried away. Kamber ran his fingers through his thick hair before he finished off the ale. So what if he fell into a drunken stupor? Being murdered by ruffians seemed infinitely preferable to the fate awaiting him. He spotted a couple kissing in a dark corner and his mood sank lower.
He wiped the foam from his mouth with the back of his hand. He should leave.
Before he could stand, he felt the blade of a knife pressed against his back. His body froze. He remained immobile, trying to clear the ale-induced fuzz from his head so he could react.
He dropped to his knees with a speed that belied his size and flung the stool at the assailant. At the same time, his left hand reached for his dagger. The move should have worked, but the attacker anticipated his response and stepped aside. Kamber found himself in a chokehold.
He steeled for another maneuver, but the arm around his throat held firm and cold metal pressed against his throat. Kamber braced for the worst. “What do you want?”
A deep chuckle, one that had mocked him for most of his years, resounded softly in his ear. “You’re getting slow, Princey.”
The arm shoved him aside and Kamber fell to the littered floor. He glared up at a giant, nearly seven feet tall.
“Damn you, Remmy. You only bested me because I’m drunk.”
“Precisely my point, laddie.” Remington settled his bulk on the bench, signaling to the pub owner to bring more ale. “What the hell are you doing, alone and intoxicated in a joint known for its shady clientele?”
Kamber shrugged. Holding onto the edge of the table, he pulled his unsteady body erect, long enough to right his stool, and then slouched onto it.
“Ah, let me guess,” the big guy scoffed. “Our prince is feeling sorry for himself. After all, he has to marry a beautiful, intelligent creature who’s rumored to have the body of a goddess. Poor you.”
“Beautiful?” He snorted. “Wherever did you hear that?”
“I have my sources. They say the lady’s hair shimmers like the Sun-Star and her eyes are as blue as the Lanatus Sea. And her body…” Remington waggled his brows. “I wouldn’t be surprised if the God of the Mountain came down to steal her from your marriage bed.”
“You’re full of it.” His old pal exaggerated to make him feel better. Remington had been cheering him up and getting him out of jams for as long as Kamber could remember. First as his mentor. Then, once he reached adulthood, as his friend. However much he might wish it, there was nothing Remington could do to help him out of this mess. Kamber felt well and truly trapped.
“’Tis true,” Remington murmured between sips. “Her lips are rumored to be so perfect, men get tongue-tied in her presence. My cousin’s a spy in Mydrias and swears Subena’s the most beautiful female on the entire planet.”
“That explains it,” Kamber moaned. “Your family thinks pollywogs are beautiful. I’ll bet she has round ears.”
Remington chuckled. “Her hair will cover her ears.”
Kamber snorted. “If Subena’s anything like her brother, she’s both ugly and arrogant.”
His friend laughed. “Mayhap you would not think Jalakin so ugly were you a female.”
“Acquiring a taste for men, are we, Remmy?”
Remington slammed his mug down with enough force to shake the sturdy wooden table. “Prince or no, I can easily crack your skull, so watch your mouth.” Kamber ignored the idle threat. Remmy alone understood how he felt about the sanctity of marriage.
“It’s the cold fish image that bothers me most, Remmy. I hear she’ll freeze my wanger off if I try to bed her. I’m not keen to think the only female I’ll have in my bed from now on doesn’t want to be there.”
Remington shrugged, but his eyes gave him away. His friend couldn’t deny that Subena’s most flattering descriptions conveyed the coldness of her personality.
“Perhaps she only needs the right male to thaw her, lad.”
“Thaw her?” Kamber exhaled loudly. “She’s a virgin in a land of sexual liberation. If she isn’t thawed by now, I’ll need an ice pick to part her legs.”
“Ah, come on now, lad. I’m sure your wanger’s a tad bigger than an ice pick.”
Kamber ignored Remmy’s chuckles and pulled the wedding ring that had once belonged to his grandmother from his pocket. He tried to focus his eyes as he twisted it between his thumb and forefinger. As a young prince, he’d expected to give the heirloom to the bride of his choice. Not only must he give up any hope of finding love, it seemed he would have to give up sex as well.
“I’ll wager it will take more than a mere mortal to melt her ice.” Kamber snarled. “No matter how big the pick.” He flicked his grandmother’s ring again. Instead of spinning, the band of emeralds flew from the table. Kamber chugged his ale, making no effort to retrieve the heirloom. He’d find the ring later.
Remington widened his eyes before he howled with laughter. “If she needs a big pick, then perhaps I’d better marry her.”
/> When the chortling stopped, his long-time friend frowned. “I really thought we’d found a way out of the marriage when I convinced your father to insist that your future bride be a virgin. The álfar are not known for their restraint. Who’d have believed a twenty-three year old virgin existed in Mydrias?”
“It wouldn’t have mattered, Remmy. If Subena hadn’t been a virgin, my father would have waived the clause. I don’t know why, but he’s wanted an alliance with Mydrias for as long as I can remember. I doubt he expected a virgin.”
In his heart, Kamber believed Mydrians to be no more promiscuous than Gatslians. The snooty people of Mydrias would never dream of anything as insidious as a virginity clause for royalty. Come to think on it, their empress had been elected so the country probably didn’t even believe in royalty. That might be their one redeeming quality.
Remington clapped him on the back. “Look at the bright side, laddie. At least you’ll finally be rid of Rekita.”
Kamber groaned. His paramour wouldn’t take kindly to his impending nuptials. Correction. Former paramour.
Remington’s scowl returned. “Lord help us, lad. You haven’t told her yet, have ye?” Remington banged his tankard on the table and shook his head. “You won’t have to worry about a frozen wanger. Rekita will fillet it.”
Kamber pulled at the roots of his hair, remembering her reaction when she’d found him with the farm girl. Rekita’d screamed and cursed like a possessed banshee. If Remmy hadn’t yelled, “Duck!” the knife she’d hurled would’ve sliced through his shoulder blade. Kamber had lunged for her, ready to strangle her beautiful neck, but her tears stopped him. The damn female used tears more effectively than his best archers used arrows. To calm her hysteria, he’d whispered endearments—that’d been a mistake. Resuming the relationship had proved to be an even bigger mistake.
He felt no regrets about using his pending marriage as an excuse to be free of Rekita. None. He deserved something for sacrificing his freedom, even if he should have kiboshed the liaison with the wild thing months ago.
Kamber glanced at the barmaid leaning over him; she bowed lower than necessary to pour Remmy’s drink. Her smile left little doubt she’d be a willing participant in anything Kamber desired. He wished that just once he could inspire respect as easily as he could lust. Tonight, however, lust would do.