Prince by Blood and Bone: A Fantasy Romance of the Black Court (Tales of the Black Court)

by Jessica Aspen

  His eyes shifted away from hers. “His Highness will beat me if I speak of that to you.”

  “Beezel, please! I’ve tried to cure him, but it didn’t work. Now he refuses to let me leave, and my mother and sister could be in trouble. What if they landed outside with the goblins, or all those other things Kian warned me about? I need to find a way to get out of here.” She could barely hold still. She’d waited too long, thinking she’d have Kian’s help if she did. Thinking she needed it. But what if her waiting had been a mistake?

  Beezel’s hand traveled into his pocket. He hesitated, his glance darting to the door and back. Slowly he withdrew his hand, wrapped so tight around something that his knuckles stood out under his thin skin. “I can’t help you miss, but this might.” He spread his four-fingered hand wide. In the center of his palm gleamed a golden locket, on a linked chain.

  Bryanna leaned in, trying to see the odd, foreign words and Celtic knot work engraved into the polished face.

  “It leads to your heart’s desire,” Beezel said.

  But she hardly heard him. She strained to hear something else. Nearly too low, just above the range of her hearing—a tune. Lilting and lively, it called to her, the lustrous gold singing of new beginnings, true loves, and old treasure.

  She wanted it. It sang to her that if she held it, it would help her find whomever she liked. Have everything she’d ever need. Be everything she wanted to be. She leaned closer, and closer in, her hand stretching out and reaching for the prize.

  Just before she touched it, Beezel’s fingers closed, and he snatched it away.

  Anger flashed through her. She could still hear the tiny song, muffled now under the gnome’s hand, and it called her. “Beezel! That’s mine.”

  “Beezel?” Her voice was breathless, urgent, wheedling. Her stretched out hand hovered just beyond Beezel’s clenched fist. “It’s exactly what I need. You’re so smart and generous to think of me. To give it to me.” The last five words came out hard, harder than the marble on the fireplace, harder than honed steel.

  “I’m not sure,” he said, backing away. A bead of sweat formed on his brow. “He’ll kill me if he ever finds out.”

  “He’ll never know,” she said, advancing one careful step at a time. Trying to look soft and innocent she modulated her voice into a soothing, sweet tone. “Please? I need it.”

  She backed him into a corner and eased her hand toward him, one tiny movement at a time. All the while, the heart-song called from behind the prison of his fingers, telling her she and the locket belonged together.

  “Beezel,” she said to the poor thing cowering against the wall. She didn’t care. The locket was hers. “You know this is inevitable.”

  He shook, each reluctant digit tightly bound to the next in a protective fist. She couldn’t figure out why he fought this so hard. He’d been the one to show her the locket in the first place. But then his hand blossomed open. One at a time his fingers sprang free. And she didn’t care anymore.

  The locket lay exposed and gleaming, waiting for her in the center of his palm.

  She looped her own trembling fingers in the chain and held it high. It dangled, glistening and spinning in the air between them. A surge of satisfaction ran from her toes and prickled her scalp. Absently, she walked to the table and held the locket closer to the candlelight, twirling it back and forth, and listening to its song dwindle.

  She shook her head, trying to catch the sound. But it was gone.

  The room came back into focus. The bright candles. Beezel wiping his hand on his chest, stepping away from the wall. He muttered, “I’m sorry.” And smeared his hand again on his tunic, mussing the usually neat fabric.

  She furrowed her brow. “Beezel, is there anything else I should know?”

  He ducked his head. “If His Highness finds it, he will take if from you.”

  “Thank you,” Bryanna said and stuffed the locket down into the cleavage of her dress where it warmed the skin between her breasts. Kian would not be finding it there, not tonight. She wouldn’t let him have it. It was hers, the answer to her prayers.

  Beezel again pulled out the chair and waited for her to take her place. She sat down at the table and settled her gown, the memory of the locket’s song still singing in her head.

  “How does it work?” she asked.

  “When you’re ready, open the locket and think of what you desire. A picture will form inside that will lead you to what you want.”

  The last time she’d used fae magic, she’d ended up here. She sighed and decided maybe tonight she’d have a glass of wine. She’d been avoiding it, afraid to let down her guard in this strange place, but the worst had happened and Goddess knew she had enough worries to drink herself into oblivion. She picked up the sparkling crystal decanter, and poured.

  “Am I too late to join you, my lady?”

  She and Beezel jumped. The heavy decanter tipped. Wine spilled, the liquid staining the white table cloth the color of dried blood. Her cheeks flushed with guilt.

  Kian stood framed in the open door, dressed in a black tuxedo with a white bow tie, his golden brown hair pulled back into a short queue, his face a curious mixture of caution and excitement.

  “You’re…normal,” she said.

  “I am.” He nodded. “The sun went down, and so did my shape. It seems the spell wasn’t quite the loss we thought it was.”

  Heat rushed in and out of her skin, and she wasn’t sure which terrifying emotion was the cause. Exultation at her spell’s near success. Lust for this handsome man who had pleasured her over and over the night before. Or fear that she might not want to leave.

  Kian stepped fully into the dining room. The rich scent of venison reminded him he hadn’t eaten all day and the sight of his lovely witch in her low-cut gown reminded him he had been given a second chance to make up years of isolation. “I’m pleased you chose to come to dinner,” he said. “I was afraid you might not, after today’s events.”

  Bryanna’s wide-eyed expression shifted to slightly guilty and her flush deepened. Her hand rose to her neck and hesitated. She stroked the hollow of her throat, dropped it to her side, and glanced away.

  He stilled.

  Looking everywhere but directly into his eyes, she said, “Of course you can come in. Have a seat.”

  He quirked an eyebrow at being invited to sit at his own table, but perhaps she took the role of hostess for him. That pleased him. He crossed to the far end of the table. Each long and easy stride working his muscles the way they were supposed to work—smooth, without the hunched spinal bend he’d been forced to accommodate for too long.

  “Beezel.” Kian hid his amusement as the jumpy gnome twitched at his name. “I want to sit next to our guest. Please bring the rest of my place setting.” He gathered his plate and water glass and carried them to the seat next to Bryanna.

  Beezel rushed to the end of the table scooping up clattering silverware and in his haste nearly tipping over the crystal wine goblet.

  Kian arched his brow. “Surprised to see me, Beezel?”

  “Yes, Your Highness.”

  He snorted. “Me, too.” The sight of his own face in the mirror elated him in ways he never thought he would experience again. He sat down, laying the glass and plate on the table, brushing Bryanna’s skirt with his knees. The delicate scent of spiced roses teased his nostrils and he clenched his fist under the table cloth. Despite the satisfaction he’d achieved the night before, he wanted her again.

  And again. In fact, the way he desired her he wasn’t sure a hundred years would satiate his appetite.

  Beezel stepped forward to pour him a glass of wine.

  He took the decanter and waved the gnome away. “We’ll serve ourselves, Beezel. You’re dismissed.”

  “But Sire…”

  “Now.” Kian hardened his voice, and the already pasty gnome blanched. Darting an almost imperceptible look at Bryanna, Beezel bowed and left, closing the doors behind him.

  �
�That was cruel,” Bryanna said. Still not looking at him, she unfolded her napkin on her lap.

  “Perhaps, but he’s the queen’s spy, not mine.” Kian frowned at the closed door. “Something’s off with him. He already knows too many dangerous things. I don’t need him sabotaging our plans for tonight.”

  “Plans?” She picked up her glass and sipped her wine. Her soft lips pressed on the hard glass and the sight of the muscles in her throat working as she swallowed, shot through him.

  He starved for her, as if he hadn’t satisfied both of them the night before at all. He had to get his mind on other things besides the silk of her skin, the warm taste of her flesh, and the lust riding hot under his skin. “The moon is still full,” he said, swallowing. “We must try again. Who knows how long this will last.” He waved at his body.

  She appeared engrossed in uncovering a dish of hot rolls.

  He reached for her hand, but she pulled away. “I’m sorry if I scared you this morning.” He thought he’d have his work cut out for him tonight, but she was cold, much colder than he’d expected. Somehow he’d thought she’d be just as elated as he was at the reappearance of his true form. After all, she was the reason he had his shape, even if it wasn’t permanent.

  “You didn’t scare me.”

  He passed her the sauced venison, and she served herself, keeping her eyes far from his gaze.

  For the first time, worry sneaked past the excitement of being again a man. Worry that, between his temper tantrum and the violence of his nature, he’d broken something fragile between them, something he hadn’t known existed until this moment when he became aware it might be lost.

  “Really?” He pretended nonchalance, shook his head, and served himself some meat. “I would have thought breaking everything in your room and yelling at you about the goblins would have been enough for anyone.” He dished out carrots and some indeterminate salad and offered them over to her.

  She filled her plate. “I’m more scared that you’re breaking your vow.”

  “What?”

  “You said if I tried to fix you, you’d set me free and help me find my family.” She raised accusing green eyes, and he recoiled at the vehemence in their depths. “You lied.”

  “Fae don’t lie.” He was flabbergasted at her assumption.

  “Well, either you lied or you’re going back on your word.”

  “Neither.”

  “I worked the spell, I tried, and now you refuse to let me go.”

  “You didn’t try hard enough. Look at me.” He touched his face, spread out his hands with their miraculous fingers out between them. “We’re so close!”

  Her fork clattered onto her plate. “I did my best. You have your shape back.”

  “Only part-time. Only at night. All day, I was a miserable beast. And I don’t know if this werewolf spell will last past the full moon.” He worked at controlling the rising panic in his voice. “I still can’t access my Gift. And without my magic, I can’t break free of this prison.” He reached for her hand and worked at quieting his frustration and fear. “I can’t help you find your family.”

  She snatched her fingers away. “But you could let me go! Even if you don’t help me find them, just letting me go would be enough for me to say you had completed your side of the bargain.”

  “First of all, I’m under no obligation to let you go until you’ve tried your best. I’m still tied into this spell, therefore, you have not really tried.” He knew his temper made him sound arrogant. He knew he needed to win her cooperation if he stood a chance of becoming himself all of the time.

  He blew out a breath.

  “I know you can do it, Bryanna, I have faith in you.” He stared into her eyes, willing her to feel his support, to take it in and feed her confidence. But she only shook her head. He tried again.“Second, you have no idea if your family is even out there and no way to find them. Without me, you’d be wasting your time.” He leaned in, his face so close to hers he could make out small patterns in her ivy green irises. “Thirdly, if I let you out to the surface, you won’t last an hour. Goblins wouldn’t be your only problem. There are things out there that would eat you between heartbeats.”

  Her nostrils flared as she took in short, trembling breaths, but she didn’t retreat. Instead, she stared him down. Face to face. Nose to nose. Her mouth too, too close to his.

  “What things?” she demanded. “You’re just trying to scare me into staying.” Her pupils dilated, and her voice shook. And he knew he was wearing her down.

  “The White Queen’s warriors,” he said, her fear tracing along his nerves. “Jabberwocks, stigmas, trolls.”

  “My mother and sister are out there all alone, and you think telling me that it’s unsafe will convince me to stay? Give me a weapon and let me find them.”

  “You don’t even know where they are.”

  “I’ll scry for them.”

  “Not here, not in this forest. You could walk right past them and never know they were there.”

  “I don’t care. You promised.”

  “I promised, and I’ll deliver.” He leaned in closer and touched her leg. She flinched. Disappointed, he withdrew his hand. “I’ll deliver, but not until you fulfill your end of the bargain, truly try to reverse this spell, and are successful.”

  “I tried to tell you my Gift wouldn't be enough.” Her voice dropped to a broken whisper. “It’s never been enough. You should let me go.” She was inches away, her cheeks flushed, and her emotions high.

  Spice and roses, and something hot and female, rose between them. He tightened his hands into fists, his nails digging into his palms, and struggled with his anger and the sudden rising fear that she would abandon him to his fate. He held on to his control by the skin of his teeth. Her anger, her passion, and her heat held him prisoner until she moved back.

  He let out a breath, unclenched his fist, and casually reached for his glass. Being careful not to snap the fragile stem, he took a large swallow, letting the acidic flavor of the deep red wine steal away the bitterness in his throat. He needed her to cure him, but that wasn’t the worst of it. The worst was the thought of her leaving had him restless, and anxious, and desperate to make her stay.

  Desperate enough to try anything.

  “Get up.” He threw his napkin on the table and stood, shoving back his chair.

  Bryanna stared at him, suspicion wrinkling her brows. “Why?”

  “I have something to show you.” He picked up the closest candelabra and headed for the door.

  She didn’t move.

  “Are you coming, or not?” He tossed the words over his shoulder as if he didn’t care, when in fact, he had just discovered he cared enormously.

  Once out of the room, he turned down the hallway in the direction of the bed chambers. A grim smile played on his lips as he heard the clatter of her chair and the shushing of her skirts behind him. The knot of tension in his back eased into merely an ache.

  “Where are we going?”

  Her breathlessness tightened his balls, and he walked faster. “You’ll see.”

  He hadn’t wanted to show her this, but he could see no other way to move her in the direction of his needs. The full moon only lasted three nights. One had wasted away, and another was in the process of wasting. The sooner he had her cooperation, the better. Fix his curse, seal it with sex, and then, after another night sunk deep in the pleasure of her body, he’d be able to let her go.

  They passed her wrecked chamber and the new one that Beezel had moved her into this afternoon. Down the hall and up another one leading to a narrow red door nearly hidden in a corner and covered with writings in old Galentian. He opened the door. A waft of chilly, damp air imbued with the scent of magic blew out of the stairs, brushing his face and reminding him why he didn’t want to go this way.

  Bryanna caught up to him, edging closer to his side. She looked down into the passage and the cramped stairs that curved into the bedrock.

  He wanted to
ask her to try again, wanted her cooperation without taking this next step, but he could see by the wariness in her face and the way she stayed just out of his reach, that she wouldn’t cooperate. He needed to win her trust back. If he’d ever had it.

  “Stay close.” He held the lantern high, and they descended into the oldest, dankest part of Cairngloss.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  The deeper Kian descended into the old portion of the warren, the colder it became. Thick layers of dark magic lay heavy in the air, adding their own weight and a supernatural chill.

  Behind him on the slick stairs Bryanna’s teeth chattered together. “W-w-what’s t-t-that in the air? Is it m-m-magic?” she asked.

  “Don’t open your Gift,” he commanded, abruptly aware of the danger of bringing a human witch down here without any warning or preparation. It was almost enough to make him tell her to turn around, but he’d come this far, he’d bring her the rest of the way. “This isn’t a good place for witches, nor most of the fae,” he said instead.

  “Why?” She kept her voice low, as if she knew what waited below, something hostile, maybe even something evil. If that were so, she wasn’t wrong.

  He didn’t answer. They’d reached the bottom. He touched a candle to the torch in the sconce at the base of the stairs and it flared. Flickers of light danced into the gloom, igniting sparkles of iridescent white in the limestone pillars and walls.

  Bryanna descended the last stair. “It’s beautiful.” But her voice lacked conviction. He wanted to grab her hand and flee back up the stairs to the safety of his rooms, instead he lit another torch. They were here. He would see it through.

  “Don’t touch anything,” he said. She snatched back her hand that had strayed too close to one of the glittering white pillars.

  He led the way towards the center of the room, lighting torches as they went. The reflections from the sparkling mineral deposits gave the chamber the illusion of being lit up as bright as a faery party. The cavern was huge, ten times the size of his mother’s largest reception room at court, the heavy roof supported by glistening white stalactites grown so large they reached the floor. But the weight of the dark magic that lived here belied the party atmosphere. What should have been light and pretty, instead had the somber air of a funeral.