The Ice Prince
Page 1
Table of Contents
Cover
Table of Contents
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Title Page
Copyright Warning
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
About the Author
Coming Soon
Also by J. C. Owens
J. C. Owens Writing as J. C. McGuire
More M/M Romance from Etopia Press
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Wings 2: Dominion of the Eth
Wishes
Out of the Darkness
The Ice Prince
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The Ascension (Book One)
The Gloaming (Book Two)
The Conquered (Book Three)
The Triumph (Book Four)
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Taken
Wings 2: Dominion of the Eth
Wishes
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Betrayal
Out of the Darkness (To Print)
The Ice Prince (To Print)
The Ice Prince
J.C. Owens
Etopia Press
Copyright Warning
EBooks are not transferable. They cannot be sold, shared, or given away. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is a crime punishable by law. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded to or downloaded from file sharing sites, or distributed in any other way via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the publisher’s permission. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000 (http://www.fbi.gov/ipr/).
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are fictitious or have been used fictitiously, and are not to be construed as real in any way. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales, or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Published By
Etopia Press
1643 Warwick Ave., #124
Warwick, RI 02889
http://www.etopiapress.com
The Ice Prince
Copyright © 2014 by J.C. Owens
ISBN: 978-1-941692-18-9
All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
First Etopia Press electronic publication: August 2014
Chapter One
Aidan sat quietly observing the ruckus from his vantage point near the vast fireplace in the great hall, watching his guardians meet with the newcomers. There had been a sudden influx of new people, a sense of urgency in the air, of anticipation. He knew better than to ask why. He had learned long ago to be submissive and docile, to hold his tongue, to keep his thoughts hidden behind a screen of quiet compliance. The things he was told by his tutors and guardians were never entirely truthful.
But recently, it seemed as though his guardians wanted him better—better with a sword, better with a pistol—as though something were coming, something they wanted him ready for.
Finally, all eyes turned upon Aidan.
He stiffened, realizing with honed instinct that these people had come for him, that his days here were at an end.
All his life he had desired to see what lay beyond the stone walls, but he was terrified of what this meant.
It took all his courage to sit quietly as they approached. Two of the men seemed to be in charge, and their bearing indicated a military position, their cold, merciless demeanor sending a chill down Aidan’s spine.
Then they bowed to him. “My prince,” they murmured, giving a crisp salute that made Aidan’s fingers tighten upon the arms of his chair.
What nonsense was this?
He looked to his guardians in confusion, the four men who had always been in charge of his upbringing. They looked back with him with grim smiles, watching his reaction with cold satisfaction.
“You are Prince Aidan Telan Ameris, my boy. You were deposed and now it is time to take the throne back in your name.” The eldest guardian, Jara, spoke, the smoothness of his tone gave Aidan the shivers, the sudden revelation of his heritage bringing nothing but dread. There was something happening here that held the whisper of political maneuvering. The very lessons they had taught him, now warned him.
He did not react for long moments, only watched them unblinkingly, his vivid green eyes bottomless with his own thoughts. Despite his youth, with those eyes, the long silver hair—such a rare color for the young—he was the image of his father, and a shudder seemed to pass over everyone in the hall.
Then the moment was broken, he lowered his eyes submissively, and they relaxed.
“You are to go with these gentleman and follow whatever they tell you to do. They have your best interests at heart—your highness.” There was a subtle contempt in his guardian’s tone.
Aidan doubted they cared at all about his best interest, but he nodded, trying to subdue his raging thoughts enough to think clearly.
“We will be leaving come first light, your highness. I am General Heratis and this is General Nairat. We will be your protectors and your mentors from this day forth, and we look forward to your cooperation. After all, this is to your benefit to be returned to your birthright, is it not?” The question held weight as they watched his reaction keenly.
Aidan glanced at his guardians once more, then again lowered his eyes.
“As you say, my lord, this is to my benefit. I will do as you wish.” His low voice held only quiet obedience, as always.
The generals smiled in satisfaction.
* * *
Aidan sighed, soft and low, leaning his head on the glass as he watched the scenery pass by the carriage.
For the first two weeks, he had been agog at every sight, every sound and smell, entranced by the strange vistas that passed through his sight. Now he was weary and worn with the travel that never seemed to end. They slept in the carriage, ate in the carriage, Aidan was convinced that it had been up to the generals, he would have peed in the carriage as well.
At least that humiliation was nixed by the sole guardian who had come with them, Jara, who seemed to at least have a practical turn of mind.
Aidan’s body ached with the unaccustomed lack of exercise, and despite the carriage having beautiful suspension, the constant movement and jarring was wearing on him.
He felt a hand upon his arm, and he tried not to flinch, not to draw away from the unwelcome touch.
General Nairat had made it a point to sit at his side throughout the long journey, and his presence was irksome at best, disturbing at worst. The man was constantly touching him, constantly in Aidan’s space—and the way he looked at him… It was beyond Aidan’s experience but spawned in him an instinctual fear.
This man wanted something from him, something Aidan didn’t understand and couldn’t protect himself against.
The other two men watched it all with glittering eyes and a hint of amusement, as tho
ugh they knew full well what Nairat was doing—and approved.
Aidan knew nothing of this new world he was thrust into, nothing of where he was going or what awaited him there. He had tried in the first few days to ask questions, to gain some insight into what they wanted of him, what it meant to be prince, but they parried his curiosity with bland answers that were mere jumbled nonsense to someone who had no background information. They bowed to him, but there was no respect in their eyes.
It was all for show.
They were escorted by a large contingent of mounted men, so many that often Aidan could not see the landscape for the press of horses and men around the carriage.
They never truly looked at him, only bowed the few times he had been allowed outside the carriage itself.
Their coldness, combined with the amused condemnation of his so-called protectors, gave him very little hope for anything pleasant in the future. Whatever it might mean to be prince, it seemed unlikely that it would bring anything but misery.
Just a continuation of his long imprisonment.
He wanted to curl in on himself as the touch upon his arm, encouraged no doubt by his inability to avoid it, began to stroke up and down his sleeve in a manner that made Aidan shiver in distaste.
“You are tired, your highness. Feel free to use me as a pillow. I will watch over your sleep.”
Aidan turned weary eyes upon him, trying to keep his expression even and calm.
“I thank you, my lord. But there is too much to see to sleep.”
Dark brows rose above cold brown eyes. Nairat’s face, sharp and narrow, made his smile more grimace than any gesture of pleasantry.
“You should gather your strength, my prince. There is much to be done once we reach the borders of Ceratas.”
He leaned a little closer to the man in his curiosity. “That is the name of my country? Ceratas?” He savored the word upon his tongue, as though it awoke something within him, some emotion he had never felt before.
Nairat raised a hand and boldly cupped Aidan’s chin, pleased at the opening to further his suit.
“It is, my prince. And you will rule there, with Heratis, Jara and myself as your mentors.” His thumb worked gently along Aidan’s jaw, his eyes growing hotter at the intimate touch.
Aidan, distracted by the new information, realized too late he should have jerked away immediately.
Nairat crowded closer, using one huge hand to hold Aidan’s thin wrists together when the prince tried to push him away, horror churning within him as his struggles did nothing to deter the man.
Pinned in the corner, Aidan shot a pleading glance across the carriage to his guardian, but Jara merely grinned, heat in his eyes, as he watched the interaction.
Aidan struggled harder, realizing there would be no aid from the other two.
Nairat’s bulk pressed Aidan into the thick seat cushions, and his face lowered, a grin lifting his lips before he placed his mouth over Aidan’s.
He cried out in shock at the intimate contact, trying to twist away. The fingers on his jaw tightened cruelly, and he whimpered with pain as his mouth was forced open, Nairat’s tongue pressing within.
Nairat hummed with pleasure at the taste, exploring every sweet inch of the untried mouth. To know he was the first to take this innocence was heady indeed, and his shaft pulsed with need, demanding he take what was his.
His hand slid into the long, thick, silver hair, a sign of Ceratasian royalty, but so foreign to his own people, holding Aidan immobile while he deepened the kiss, stealing the prince’s very breath.
When he finally pulled back, he watched in satisfaction as Aidan panted for air, his frightened gaze pinned upon his own.
“So sweet,” Nairat whispered, shifting his body so Aidan was pressed along every inch of his arousal.
Aidan bucked in horrified protest, and Nairat groaned at the friction. A growl of need left his lips, and he released Aidan’s hair to unfasten the ornate buttons of the long outer tunic that hid the prince’s glorious body from view. The body he would soon possess…
He snarled when a large hand covered his own, stopping his motions.
“Not here. Wait until tonight. We will stop at Imman fortress. Fewer witnesses.” Heratis jerked his head toward the riders so close by outside. “Anticipation is half the pleasure, Nairat.”
Nairat hesitated, eyes narrowed, then slowly sat up and released the prince, who tried to push himself into the upholstery in a vain effort to escape.
Nairat took several deep breaths, nodding to Heratis to indicate he had himself under control. The three men laughed then, turning their gazes onto the terrified young man huddled in the corner. Their prince.
* * *
The fortress of Imman loomed ahead as they approached. Even the miles that still lay before them could not diminish its size and malignant presence, and Aidan swallowed with difficulty as he watched it grow ever larger.
He tried to ignore the other occupants of the carriage as he returned to watching the scenery outside with blind absorption, attempting to control his own fears. Nairat had not again touched him, but Aidan could feel his gaze like a flame upon his skin, feel the other man’s satisfaction with the way events were transpiring.
What awaited in the fortress was nothing but horror, that much Aidan knew, but the how and why of it remained a terrifying supposition.
He could not understand what had transpired; the kiss, the feeling of helplessness and distaste. Why would another man touch him in such a fashion? It only confirmed what he had already divined. There was no respect for him as prince. Whatever his true purpose might be for them, it was clear that he was merely a pawn in some political game.
He was to be used, and it seemed that Nairat’s advances were simply another level of their control of him.
Aidan had never anticipated rape. Physical abuse he was used to; he even expected it. But this—this was something more again. His strength of will faltered under the mere thought of being forced to have intimate relations with Nairat—and that was clearly what the other man was going to demand.
Aidan clenched his right fist, out of sight of his mentors, desperation rising in his chest. His gaze slid to the door of the carriage, so close and yet so hopelessly far. If he could just get past…
He cast aside the thought as soon as it formed. He was far too practical to give in to such an urge, even in dire need. There were too many men surrounding the carriage…
The carriage gave a savage lurch, even as shouting erupted outside. Aidan grunted as Jara was flung against him from across the seats, an elbow striking his ribs.
The carriage jerked once more, then suddenly turned impossibly sharply—and rolled.
Aidan cried out as his head connected with brutal impact on one of the ornate edges of the seats, and he slid to the downside of the upturned vehicle, barely aware of what was transpiring around him. Glass shattered. Shouts and what sounded like pistol shots echoed through the broken windows. Aidan was dimly cognizant of Nairat and Heratis, the latter with a bloody slice to the side of his jaw, scrambling up and out of the carriage, pistols in hand.
He lay there, stunned, gradually coming round enough to push himself to one elbow, wincing as his hand encountered glass that pierced his palm. Jara lay half on him, frighteningly still. Aidan reached out his bleeding hand and tentatively shook him.
The lack of response spurred him on, fear beginning to tug at his dazed senses.
Managing to sit up, groaning at the pain of his pounding skull, Aidan leaned forward and shook Jara once more. This time the man lolled onto his back with the force of Aidan’s touch, and the angle of his neck and the blankly staring eyes were proof enough of his death.
Aidan snatched his hand back, horrified. It was one thing to read of death in the books of warfare, another entirely to see the demise of one he had known all his life. Aidan had often almost hated him, but to see him dead…
He glanced dazedly at the opening above his head, the tumult ou
tside unabated. Trembling, his legs seeming hardly strong enough to hold his weight, he stood and managed to brace himself on one of the seats and press up through the broken window.
He half fell off the edge. He felt more glass cut his hands, was dimly grateful that his thick tunic protected him from the worst of the sharp edges that still lay in the window frames like jagged teeth. It took every bit of his strength to heave himself out and roll across the top to where the wheels still spun slowly in the breeze. He crouched there, heart hammering, putting up a shaking hand to his face as he felt warmth trickle down his forehead, perilously close to his eye. Blood coated his fingers, and he brushed at his skin, remembering he had struck his head during the accident. His entire body ached, but he could not determine what other injuries might be present.
He pressed against the comforting bulk of the massive carriage, wide eyes taking in the scene before him.
Unidentified riders, wearing blue and gold uniforms, seemed to be attacking the men who had been guarding the carriage, and everywhere there was shouting and blood, men and horses down, brutal engagement of mounted warriors.
Like the textbooks, but so terrifyingly real.
He glanced about, not seeing any sign of Heratis or Nairat. His fingers clenched against the splintered wood of the carriage. He shot a glance to his left, realizing he was only a few strides away from the thick forest they had been passing through.
Escape.
From this situation certainly, but perhaps more, perhaps from everything.
Gathering his will, he crouched, ignoring the pounding pain of his head as he inched forward. No one seemed to see him there, all were centered on the attack itself on the far side of the carriage.
There was nothing to lose.
He ran as he had never run before, expecting any moment to be struck down, but he reached the trees without incident, plunging into their depths with a complete disregard for what might lie before him.