Cursed Prince (Night Elves Trilogy Book 1)

by C. N. Crawford

  I nodded, drawing back my hand. Then, with a blinding flash of light, the portal vanished.

  “All right,” he said. “Now all you have to do is teleport us to your crystal.”

  I turned to him, wrapping my arms around him, then quietly spoke the word that would save us: “Fara.”

  Chapter 57

  Ali

  I lay on a soft rug before the hearth and breathed in the clean air of Marroc’s home. I couldn’t help but grin as I opened my eyes. Wood crackled in the fireplace, and its warmth wavered over my skin. The soft chairs looked inviting for my exhausted muscles. Through the windows, I could see stars shining against a pitch-black sky.

  I sat up straight and looked at Marroc, smiling broadly. But he was still gripping his stomach, looking like he was in pain.

  “Are you okay?” I asked.

  He nodded. “I’ll be fine.”

  He was supposed to be able to heal fast. I looked down at myself. Marroc’s magical light had cleaned some of the muck away, but I was still desperate to clean myself after the whole Corpse Shore situation.

  Never again. I wanted to scrub myself for days.

  “Marroc, I’m going to take a quick bath, okay? And probably burn these clothes.”

  “I suppose I could tell you where to find new ones.” His deep, velvety voice wrapped around me.

  With the adrenaline leaving my body, it was like all the exhaustion had returned to me at once. “Yes, thanks. I’d rather not walk around naked.”

  “Shame. Anyway, you’ll find some in the wardrobe of the room you first stayed in.” He pointed toward the kitchen. “But as they are my old clothes, they’re unlikely to fit you properly.”

  “I’ll make it work.”

  He nodded, still looking like he was going to be sick from his wound. That was worrying. He usually recovered so quickly.

  I rose and headed for the kitchen. It seemed like ages since I’d first been here, investigating the human contraptions. My gaze snagged on the blender. What I really wanted, before I slaughtered my ancient enemy, was a smoothie…

  I crossed to the stairwell, taking deep breaths of the clean air in Marroc’s home. Never again would I take fresh air for granted. Or not being in the bowel of a monster. These were all things to be grateful for.

  In the bedroom, I opened the wardrobe and picked out one of Marroc’s sweaters—a thin sort of wool that would function as a dress on me. Good enough.

  I carried it with me into the bathroom, the white marble floors inviting. I could really get used to a place like this.

  I started filling the tub with hot water. I’d want it as hot as possible. Steam rose from the tub, and I peeled off my clothes, tossing them on the floor. Well, not quite. Marroc didn’t have any replacement bras or underwear, so I filled the sink with soap and hot water and washed them until they were clean.

  Then I stepped into the marble tub, nearly moaning with pleasure at the deliciously hot water. With a bar of soap in my hands, I started scrubbing hard. My hands, my legs and feet. I dunked my head under the water and washed my hair. I scrubbed every inch of myself, then rinsed it in the hot water.

  My skin had gone pink in the bath, and exhaustion burned through my muscles. I sighed with relief.

  We’d actually succeeded, hadn’t we? At least, as long as Marroc was telling the truth. As long as he could raise Galin for me to torture until I got the answers I needed.

  My muscles burned with fatigue, but I forced myself out of the tub, rivulets of water dripping down my body. I toweled off, drying my hair. My bra and underwear were slightly damp, but it couldn’t be helped. Lastly, I slid into the soft sweater. It skimmed over my hips, down my thighs and to my knees.

  I shoved the vergr stone into my bra and slid the golden ring onto my remaining ring finger.

  Clearly, I didn’t need it anymore, but I’d never had anything that pretty before.

  Freshly cleaned, I hurried back down to the living room, to the warmth of the hearth. Marroc sat in one of his chairs, wearing a new outfit—his damp hair hung over a crisp white shirt, his sleeves rolled up to the elbow. He clutched Loki’s gleaming silver wand.

  But something wasn’t right with him. He was usually so stoic, but I could see the pain etched on his features.

  “You’re not okay,” I said.

  “It’s Nidhogg’s venom. Apparently the one thing I can’t heal from.”

  I sat across from him in a soft armchair. “And Loki’s wand? That can’t heal it?”

  “No, I’m afraid not. And if I return my soul to myself in this condition, I’d die quickly.”

  A little bit of panic rose in me. He couldn’t die—then I’d never get to Galin. “What heals a lich? Blood?”

  He gave me a wary look. “Technically the soul, or magic drunk through blood. But I’m not drinking your blood.”

  “Would it work?”

  “Yes, it would work.” He spoke in a deep, soft voice. “But I could lose control and drain you completely.”

  I stood. “Look, Marroc. I have waited my whole life to avenge the Night Elves. I have no other purpose than to free them. And I need you to bring Galin back to life, and you can’t do that if you’re dead. So, you need to drink a little bit of my blood and master control of yourself. And then we need to finish this. Okay?”

  Unsure what to do, I thrust my wrist out before him and pulled up the long sleeve of my sweater dress. I wasn’t about to offer up my neck, because that seemed, frankly, terrifying.

  I saw his eyes blaze with hunger as he looked at the veins in my wrist. Then he grabbed it in his hands and brought it to his mouth.

  I winced as his teeth pierced my skin. At first, his bite was gentle, his lips warm, his tongue gently caressing my skin.

  A chill spread over my hand, and his mouth became hungry, drinking faster. A strangely pleasurable sensation raced up my arm—a tingling warmth that spread into my chest—which disturbed me. His scent of wood smoke and sage wrapped around me.

  When I closed my eyes, I thought of the words North Star, a gleaming light in the night sky. Heat raced through my body, and I became acutely aware of my bare legs, as I was only in a long sweater. Strangely, I didn’t want Marroc to stop.

  But when he did, I felt a slight jolt of horror at what I’d just experienced. He pulled his teeth from my wrist, looking up at me.

  Did I actually enjoy that?

  Bizarre.

  “Did it work?” I asked, tugging down the sleeve of my sweater.

  He nodded, a smile slowly spreading on his lips. “Beautifully. I can return your magic to you soon.”

  It had felt incredible when he was drinking my blood, but now I could hardly move. My body was nearly drained of strength, and I slid down into the armchair, sighing.

  Marroc looked at me with a satisfied smile on his face. “When this is all over, I’m going to set you up in a beautiful home like this one. You can even bring Barthol.”

  I was no longer sure what he was talking about, and I had the sense we were both a little delirious. “You’re going to get my brother and me a house?”

  His smile deepened. “Ah. He’s your brother?”

  I blinked. “What are we talking about?”

  But from the corner of my eye, I saw a dark shape move in one of his windows. Was I hallucinating?

  I turned and spotted the flicker of moth wings. “Marroc?”

  Before he could answer, light flashed, and a spell shattered the glass. Not a hallucination. No, this was definitely real.

  Marroc spun as more windows shattered. He leapt in front of me as High Elf soldiers poured into his atrium.

  “Skalei.” Mentally, I calculated my chances of taking out every one of these High Elves before they killed me.

  My chances were not good.

  The soldiers stalked toward us, wands trained on Marroc’s chest. Curses hummed ominously at the ends of their wands.

  Gorm, King of the High Elves, stepped to the front. His pale hair cascaded
over golden robes, a spindly crown perched on his head.

  “Don’t move,” he said in his stupid tinkling voice.

  “What do you want?” Marroc boomed. He was standing before me, trying to shield me.

  “I see you’ve found your voice again,” said Gorm. “You will come with us.”

  “No,” Marroc said. “I will not.”

  He raised Loki’s wand. But before he could launch into a spell, his living room wall exploded.

  I was thrown out of the chair onto the floor, and I scrambled to stand again. When I did, I saw the towering gray body of a troll.

  “Ghhhrooooarrgh!” It snatched Marroc in its crushing grip and clamped a hand over his mouth, stopping him from uttering the spell.

  Marroc had dropped Levateinn on the floor, the wand gleaming silver.

  “Thank you, Porgor. Now, what have we here?” King Gorm bent down to pick up Levateinn, and his eyes widened. “Now this is quite the prize.”

  Oh no.

  Chapter 58

  Marroc

  I knew where I was before I even opened my eyes. The stone beneath my back was as hard as I remembered, the scent of filth just as vile, and the warm body of a tiny rodent curled up at my feet confirmed it. I was in my cell in the Citadel, with my pet rat Gormie.

  I sat up, my eyes adjusting to the darkness. I blinked slowly. There was something new. The bars I’d previously broken had been replaced with a thicker, heavier set. And, as if that wasn’t enough, my hands were clamped in giant iron manacles. Escaping this time would not be so easy.

  I peered into the cell across from me, hoping to see Ali’s sleeping form, but it was empty.

  “Fuck,” I said under my breath.

  I stood and paced the length of my cell, my arms bound behind my back. An intense rage, and a desperate need to get to Ali, was overtaking me. I no longer cared about my soul at this point; I only wanted to make sure she was safe.

  At least my wound was healed now, thanks to Ali’s blood. Gods, she had tasted sublime.

  It had taken every ounce of my self-control not to drain her completely.

  I returned to the familiar stone bench. Thick smoke gathered at my feet as the curse smoldered deep within my core.

  Where would Ali be now? The question seared my brain, and fate be damned, I wished I’d never gotten her mixed up in this. I should have set her free, gotten the wand myself, and found her later.

  Whatever was happening now, King Gorm certainly wouldn’t be treating her to a manicure and clay face mask. He’d want to torture her, extract all the information he could. Worse, Ali was a Night Elf. She was supposed to be banished to the Shadow Caverns. Her very presence in Midgard was enough for a death sentence. And if they learned she was an assassin…

  Cold rage slid through me, and I imagined ripping open the king’s throat before I savaged his entire family.

  And then there was Levateinn. The king now possessed Loki’s wand, and he had the power of the gods in his grasp. He’d be nearly impossible to defeat.

  I should have never set this sequence of events in motion. I shouldn’t have used my magic to call Ali to me.

  I stood and rested my head against the iron bars. Trapped in the cell, there was nothing I could do.

  I frowned as an idea came to me. Actually, there was one thing I could do. I could access the astral plane.

  I sat on my stone bench. Closing my eyes, I focused my inner eye on the ethereal realm. Without my soul, I couldn’t traverse it, but I could still gaze upon its vast expanse. I could look for my mate again.

  Where is Ali?

  As I searched, the curse kindled, a low, throbbing pain in my stomach. I ignored the pain and scanned the astral plane, searching for Ali. I could see the souls of the castle guards stationed at the gates, the High Elves in their chambers, even a few humans as they walked Boston’s icy streets.

  In the distance, a pair of souls glowed, so close together they might have been one—it was Ali’s and my souls together, shimmering faintly. Thank gods she was alive.

  Heat began to fill my veins, but I gritted my teeth and pushed forward.

  Horror slid through my bones. I knew exactly where she was. By the edge of the Well of Wyrd.

  “Marroc?”

  I opened my eyes to find a High Elf standing before the cell bars, her pale hair tumbling over a golden gown.

  “Welcome home,” she said with a smug smile. “We missed you.”

  Pure panic was claiming my mind now. “Revna. I want you to know that if you harm a hair on Ali’s head, I will find a way out of here and personally destroy everyone in your family. I will make it hurt. And after I kill you all, I will take over the kingdom myself.”

  Her face paled, and her jaw dropped open. “You can speak?”

  “Apparently. What are you doing with Ali?”

  “I want the ring back.”

  A plan started to form in my mind. “The Night Elf has it,” I said. “Why don’t you ask her for it?”

  Revna crossed her arms, pouting. “The king won’t let me anywhere near her.”

  I was about to tell her she could find Ali by the Well of Wyrd. This, at least, would stop her from being thrown into it, and it would buy me a little time to get to her. I’d have said anything to forestall what was surely Ali’s imminent demise.

  But before Revna could reply, a group of guards burst in.

  “Step aside, princess,” shouted a burly guard. “The king wishes to see the prisoner.” Already, he was at the front of my cell, unlocking it.

  Normally, I would have put up a fight, wet the floor with the guard’s blood, but that wouldn’t get me to Ali any faster. My best guess was that they wanted to throw us into the Well of Wyrd together.

  I turned back to Revna as he led me away. “Princess,” I called, “if you want your golden ring, you’d better make sure nothing happens to Ali.”

  As we started to climb the stairs to the amphitheater, frustration ripped through me. We were moving far too slowly, and panic was still searing my brain. What if we didn’t get there in time? I had to expedite this.

  I whirled to the guard closest to me and sank my teeth into his neck. With the power of his soul flowing into me, I ripped free from the manacles. I tore into the throat of another guard, reveling in the power that flowed into me from his blood.

  Within moments, the stairwell was drenched in carnage, and I could hear Revna’s screams fading as she ran away.

  Now, imbued with the strength of two more souls, power flooded me. I surged up the stairs at the speed of lightning.

  After racing up the stairs, covered in blood, I launched myself onto the roof of the Citadel. Snowflakes drifted down from a steel-gray sky in the amphitheater that encircled the Well of Wyrd.

  Today, the seats were empty. On the dais overlooking the well, King Gorm stood, dressed in his usual golden robes. In his right hand, Levateinn shimmered. And that was where my power met its limits—because even with these souls in my body, I was no match for the wand.

  Ali stood next to him swaying slightly. Her arms were bound tightly behind her. She looked completely drained of energy. Fear stole my breath. I’d do anything to get her out of this, even if it meant giving up my life.

  “Where are your subjects?” I shouted to the king with all the confidence I could muster. I was still moving quickly, rushing down the steps toward them, desperate to be near Ali. “I thought your subjects were into spectacles,” I went on, hoping to stall him. “That’s what you have planned, isn’t it? More tossing of bodies into your sacrificial pit. But you’ll need an audience.”

  “I see you are soaked in the blood of my guards,” Gorm said. “How charming. Unfortunately, it’s just a small group of us today. Come down and speak with me.”

  I shrugged, feigning nonchalance. More slowly, I began to make my way toward the king. As I walked down the steps, my mind worked frantically. What’s his game plan? Is this an execution? A negotiation? Or something else entirely?
/>   Maybe a direct approach would work best. I had reached the stone platform that overlooked the well, and I stalked closer until I was only a few feet from Ali and the king. “What do you want?”

  “Stop where you are!” Gorm commanded.

  Ali stood perilously close to the edge, only inches from the king. I fought the urge to run to her, knowing that any sudden moments would result in him shoving her into the well.

  King Gorm held up my ring. “It’s time you were made whole again.”

  That was unexpected. What was his game plan?

  He raised Levateinn to point at my chest. The wand shimmered with magic.

  Like Revna, King Gorm didn’t appear to realize that my soul was no longer contained within the gold circlet. This attempt to join the ring to me would be pointless, and I had no idea why he wanted to do it in the first place.

  But it was buying us time, and time was what we needed.

  The king began to chant. Magic unspooled from the end of the wand in silver sheets. They enveloped me, and a metallic taste filled my mouth. King Gorm chanted louder, holding up my ring.

  “Fara ond!” he shouted as he finished the incantation. The metallic magic tightened.

  Nothing happened.

  Visibly frustrated, King Gorm waved the wand a few more times. “It’s not bloody working!” he shouted, his face red. “Where is it?”

  “What?”

  “Tell me where it is!” The king stepped closer and pressed Levateinn against my chest as though he might run me through. “Where have you hidden your soul?”

  “I don’t know,” I lied. “It’s been a thousand years. I believe it’s lost. But I can help you find it, if you let us both live.”

  “No!” shouted King Gorm. “You lie! You know where it is now. You will tell me.”

  I looked to the edges of the amphitheater, where guards now raised their wands. Killing hexes hummed at their tips, ready to end Ali’s life. I’d have to bluff.

  “You and I both know hexes are useless against me. As a lich, I am indestructible. Throw us back in the prison cells, let us live, and I will help you find my soul.”