Claiming the Prince: Book One

by Cora Avery

  Magda dropped her elbow to her knee and her face into her hand. “Damion’s going to love this.” She lowered her hand and gazed down through the calm clear water to the glowing creature drowned in its depths. “I’m sorry we were too late to help you.”

  “You were not late, Ljósálfr. You arrived right on time.”

  The fols’ rippling slowed and then stopped, their glow diminishing, though not going out completely.

  Kaelan cocked his head. “What is Ljósálfr?”

  “I CAN’T,” he said, his brow furrowed.

  “What do you mean you can’t? Are you too tired?”

  He released her hand. “No. It’s not that. It’s something about this place. I can’t travel out of here.”

  She stared at him for a second and then up at the distant glow of daylight. “Shit.”

  “Can you climb it?” he asked.

  The sides were little more than spider roots and soft earth. When she tried to grasp it, clumps came off in her hand.

  “With your knives?” he suggested.

  “I guess I’ll have to try.” She released her knives.

  He pressed back against the other side of the narrow shaft. “Watch those things.”

  She gave him a dry look. “I know what I’m doing.”

  His eyebrow quirked. “Is that why you jumped down here in the first place?”

  “Oh . . . shut up,” she muttered. She glanced down at Hero on her shoulder. “This is your fault, you know.”

  He turned his butt to her cheek, lashing her neck with his tail.

  She stretched up and jammed her knives as deep into the earth as she could. Once they seemed lodged, she tried to heave herself up. The earth buckled and rained down on her. She stumbled back into Kaelan.

  “Yes, I can see you know what you’re doing,” he said as he caught her and then gave her a push upright again.

  She retracted her knives and shrugged the clods of dirt off her chest, brushing away as much as she could.

  She could imagine Endreas’s smirk and what he would’ve said, “I told you to stay clean. I’m not your personal dry cleaner.” Of course, he wouldn’t have said dry cleaner, rather brownie or washer woman. Her heart lurched; bringing back to her attention the ache for him that never really disappeared.

  “What are you thinking about?” Kaelan asked from close behind her.

  She flinched, almost having forgotten he was there. “I was thinking that I need to stop finding myself trapped underground with you.”

  He folded his arms and leaned back. “Now what . . . Mistress?”

  She crossed her arms too, leaning against the opposite side of the passage. “Now you’re going to tell me just how long it was you were strung upside down by gorgon rope, and just how rotten were those apples?”

  His jaw flexed. He looked away.

  “Does it hurt a lot to be hit with a rotten apple?”

  “You’re not funny,” he said.

  “No, I really want to know. It was you, wasn’t it? You really were raised as an imp. You actually looked like one?”

  “Yes,” he said. “I was disguised until I came of age.”

  “The tail and the wings . . . the ears . . . everything?”

  He scowled at her.

  “And the scar. How did you come by that? Pixie skin doesn’t scar easily.”

  “I’ve always had it,” he muttered.

  “I didn’t thank you for healing my scars,” she said, brushing more dirt from her arm. A sharp flare of anger surged through her as she remembered Endreas piercing her skin with iron. “Iron scars are said to be impossible to heal. So, thanks.”

  “Are we going to stay down here and chat all day, or are we going to come up with a plan for escape?”

  “Damion will come,” she said, “eventually.”

  He let out a heavy sigh. “You never answered my question. What does Ljósálfr mean?”

  “I don’t know,” she said.

  “You’re lying,” he said.

  She tensed. “No, I’m not. I don’t know what it means.”

  “But you know something,” he said.

  “You’re reading my emotions,” she said.

  “And you’re reading mine.” He sank further into a brood. “I hate being a Prince.”

  “So you’ve said.” She shifted as the air between them grew itchy and hot. “Look, even if I told you what I know, I’m not sure you would believe me. I don’t quite believe it myself.”

  “Tell me,” he said. “I will know if you’re telling the truth.”

  For some reason, that didn’t make her feel any better. Still, she told him: about the Pixies and Elves being the same race, about the Elf King and the Crown being connected, about the prophecy of an Elf Prince who, once joined with the Radiant of the Eastern Cliffs, would bring peace, and finally, about his own prophecy, the one that said he would see war and bloodshed and the Throne bowing to the Crown.

  As she spoke, his face grew taut, his eyes glowing like green stars. The only thing she left out was Endreas. She mentioned nothing about him.

  “You should’ve told me,” he said before the last syllable had left her lips.

  She chafed. “I am telling you.”

  “You should’ve told me sooner. As soon as you knew,” he said, looming in front of her.

  “I—” she started.

  “There’s more,” he cut in, crowding her. “What else are you not telling me?”

  “I’ve told you everything you need to know,” she said, placing her hand to his chest and giving him a firm push back. That slight second of contact allowed a fresh burst of his feelings to race into her: more anger, frustration, fear, grief . . . and hunger. Not for food, but for her.

  No wonder he was so angry about being a Prince. It must’ve been very confusing to be mourning the woman he loved and, at the same time, experiencing such raw, unwanted desire for another.

  She wasn’t offended by the fact that he hated how being around her made him feel. On the contrary, she sympathized. She wished she could turn off the power of their birthright as much for herself as for him. Then perhaps she could’ve viewed Endreas with a clear head.

  She pressed against the tunnel. Still, the hot swell of their instinctual attraction filled the slim space between them, shortening her breath, bringing beads of perspiration to her chest.

  Suddenly, he spun and slammed his fist against earth, spraying more dirt over her.

  Hero shook out his fur. Grit flew into her eye and she cringed. Heavy tears formed to dislodge the debris.

  He half-turned, shoulders falling. “I’m sorry,” he grumbled.

  “For what?”

  “You’re crying,” he said.

  She raked her fingers across the earthen wall. Clumps pelted his chest. “You’d be crying too if you had dirt in your eye.”

  “Oh . . . I thought . . .”

  “That I was crying because you hurt my feelings? Really? I know you haven’t been a Pixie long, so I’ll clue you in. If you hurt a Rae’s feelings, she doesn’t cry. She kills you.”

  “Even a Rae who’s not like the other Raes?”

  “Oh . . . shut up. Where’s Damion?”

  “Right here!” Damion called down.

  She craned her neck back, blinking through the tears. “Thank the gods. Thank you for not listening to me!”

  Against the pale light, he was nothing but a dark silhouette. He chuckled. “Anytime, Mistress.”

  “Please tell me you have a rope!”

  “Nope,” he called down.

  “Don’t worry!” Another silhouette of a head popped up next to his. A voice sing-songed down to them. “I can help you!”

  “He brought Honey?” Kaelan muttered.

  “Here it comes!” Honey called down to them.

  More dirt rained down on them, big balls of it.

  Magda plucked Hero from her shoulder, turning her back to the shower, curling over Hero as they were bombarded.

  Kaelan hud
dled over her, shielding her head as well as his while she sheltered Hero. The simple gesture of kindness abated her annoyance at him.

  Her crying? Over him? Yeah, right.

  For someone who had spent much of his life as an imp, he certainly didn’t lack for ego. Not that she was surprised. He had obviously come of age—when a Pixie turns seventeen—more than a few years ago. He’d had plenty of time being beautiful in that green-eyed, slightly tortured, sexy-scar way. How long could it really take for a Prince to get so full of himself?

  Besides, anyone who smelled like caramel melting on a wood-fired stove in the midst of a cedar forest probably hadn’t had any trouble turning all of the nymphs’ heads.

  As the heat of his breath skimmed across her jaw and her throat like fingers slipping over her skin, her pulse quickened.

  She forgot about the hail of dirt and that they were crouching at the bottom of a hole while Damion and Honey waited above.

  A warm haze spread through her, stripping away her breath. A sudden sensation of rising, gradually accelerating, overwhelmed her. A new ache blossomed deep inside of her—for Kaelan.

  And he was right there, eyes of green fire wide and dilated and full on her. He held himself preternaturally still, like a predator lying in wait to strike.

  Hungry.

  “Whatever you’re thinking, Magda” he said in a strangled rasp, “you have to stop.”

  Her gaze fixed on the flushed hue of his lips. “I’m not—”

  Before she could quell her Rae instincts, Kaelan’s mouth dove to hers.

  He tasted better than he smelled, like warm salted caramel. He pulled at her, devouring her, with his mouth and then his hands. They dropped from their shielding position to grasp the back of her head.

  His tongue plunged between her lips.

  Hero wriggled from her grasp . . .

  Her hands caught on Kaelan’s tunic, clutching the fabric tightly, craving the touch of his skin underneath.

  Images unfurled in her head of his naked body against hers, down in the dirt, in this dank hole, it didn’t matter. Just so long as she could taste him, so long as she kept on soaring, so long as she could feel the searing heat of him all over—inside and out.

  His hand slipped from her head, down the curve of her back. The other caught briefly on the top of her shirt and then slid over the swell of her breast, coaxing the peak with his fingers.

  He was a Prince and she was a Rae. And in that moment, as her thigh pressed against the thick ridge straining against his trousers and the heat built inside of her—her own hunger—she didn’t know anything else.

  And then a hard clump of dirt crashed onto her head.

  The soaring halted and she fell, snapping out of the spell of her primal Rae instincts.

  Kaelan ripped away, breathless and wide-eyed.

  The dirt-shower ended.

  “Magda.” His voice was ragged. He backed away, covering his mouth like he might throw up.

  With the need for him still thrumming through her, the salty sweetness still on her tongue, she could barely breathe, let alone speak.

  He glanced upwards.

  Along the shaft of the passage, a root ladder had formed. But that wasn’t what he was looking at, she knew. He feared that Honey had seen. That she’d find out.

  Clearing her throat, Magda straightened her shoulders and caught his gaze.

  “It was just an accident,” she stated firmly. “It didn’t mean anything. We’ll be more careful in future. Won’t we, Prince?”

  Hero clamored back onto her shoulder.

  Without another word, she started climbing the root ladder—not bothering to test if it would hold her first—fast as she could.

  “No,” Damion said again.

  “I cannot vie for Radiant without the Enneahedron,” she said, still slumped on the ground in the shadow of Ouda’s dead tree.

  “Of course you can,” he said.

  “But then I’ll have no choice but to fight Lavana.”

  Damion scowled down at her. “And you don’t think you can win?”

  That’s exactly what she thought, but she wasn’t about to admit it.

  “And what if I do have to fight her?” she asked. “How will that go without the family’s support?”

  “Mine will support you,” he said. “So will your side.”

  “Are you sure about that?”

  He crossed his arms over his chest.

  Honey had scooped up Hero and was cooing at him like he was a baby. Apparently, the part of her that thought rats were disgusting had been taken by Ouda.

  Kaelan paced the circumference of the hollow, keeping his distance—thankfully.

  “If I have the Enneahedron,” she persisted, “there’s less of a chance I’ll have to fight.”

  And die.

  “And what if she’s already Radiant?” Damion argued. “What if you were right? If the Crown is ill, if she is dying, then Lavana might be able to convince her to close the challenge window early.”

  “Which is exactly why I need it. If Lavana manages to convince the Crown to name her Radiant before the year is up, I can still rightfully challenge her, but I have no chance without the Enneahedron. I lost to Alanna and Lavana defeated her. You know how that will look.”

  Damion was shaking his head, but finally he threw up his hands. “And how would we reach the King’s islands? It would take us weeks and we could be killed attempting to cross the gulf. I don’t know why you trusted the Enneahedron to that walking little piece of—”

  “I can help you,” Honey said.

  “No, thank you, Honey. That’s all right,” Magda said wearily.

  “If you need to travel quickly, I know a way,” she said.

  “Honey . . .” Kaelan approached her with a hand out, the way he might greet a skittish horse. “Why don’t we go back? Leave these two to make their plans.”

  “Hold on,” Damion said. “You are coming with us, yes?

  Kaelan’s eyes darkened. “No.”

  Magda let her head fall back. She should’ve predicted this.

  “I’d like to go,” Honey said. “I’d love an adventure.”

  “You’re not invited,” Damion said to her. Then he turned back to Kaelan. “And you have to come.”

  Kaelan scowled. “No, I don’t.”

  Magda pushed up to her feet. “Well, if he’s not coming, then we definitely need the Enneahedron. Otherwise, I have no leverage against Lavana at all.”

  Damion held up his hands between her and Kaelan. “Have we all gone mad?” He faced her fully. “Sailing to the Elf King’s Realms is certain death.” He spun and pointed at Honey. “You are a nymph and no use to anyone.” He moved her aside and seized the front of Kaelan’s tunic. “And you are a fool and a coward.”

  Kaelan’s face contorted. His fist slammed against Damion’s jaw. Magda was sure it hurt the Prince more than it did the warrior. Damion plowed into Kaelan, knocking him onto his back.

  Honey sidestepped away from them, a serene expression on her face as Damion and Kaelan rolled across the hard-packed earth. Magda sighed, dropped down again, and sprawled out on her back, her eyes begging for sleep.

  “I can help, you know,” Honey said. “I am friends with a roc.”

  Magda sat up. “Say that again?”

  “A roc. It’s a very large bird—”

  Magda held up her hand, stopping Honey. “I know what it is. I just . . . you’re friends with a roc? Don’t they eat people?”

  “Oh, yes,” Honey said with a bright smile. “But I am sure she won’t eat you if I ask her not to.”

  Pushing up to her feet, Magda barked, “Damion, enough!”

  Damion shoved away from Kaelan, who had been turning blue under the pressure of Damion’s forearm against his throat. Kaelan glowered after Damion, rubbing his neck.

  “Kaelan,” Magda said. “What is this about a roc?”

  His gaze flicked up to her and then quickly away. It would be very difficult for
them to pretend that nothing had happened in Ouda’s tree if he continued to act as though something had happened. Of course, the situation wasn’t helped by the fact that she was still picking up on stray feelings of lust wafting off of him.

  But that sort of thing was par for the course between Raes and Princes. Although she had to admit she was receiving his emotions more easily than she had with any other Prince, even Endreas, even Cae, who she’d been close to as a child and had been expected to claim—before his death. But her connection to Kaelan had probably sprung from when he’d healed her and saved her life. That was bound to create a bond between anyone. As for the rest, it had just been an accident. She’d forgotten how hard it was to resist the pull of her instincts, both with Kaelan and Endreas. She wouldn’t make the same mistake again.

  “Honey raised the roc,” Kaelan said, licking a bit of blood off his lip from a small cut there.

  “Yes.” Honey clasped her hands at her breasts. “My sweet Anqa. I found her egg about to be eaten by a cockatrice.”

  “A cockatrice?” Damion sneered. “You have those bird-beasts in this forest?”

  “No longer. The last was slain some years ago by the centaurs,” Kaelan said as he stood. “But you have not heard from her in years,” he said to Honey.

  “But she will come if I call,” Honey stated.

  Kaelan straightened out his tunic and approached Honey. She gazed at him in the same pleasantly blank way that she looked at Magda and Damion.

  “You don’t need to help them,” he said tightly.

  Damion crossed his arms over his chest, harrumphing.

  “Oh, but I want to,” Honey said. “I want to go with them.”

  “Why?” Kaelan asked.

  Honey twined her hair around her finger, head cocked, as if listening to a far-off sound.

  Magda stepped closer, not failing to notice that Kaelan stepped back.

  “Honey,” she said, “where we are going, our journey . . . it’s dangerous. I can’t vouch for your safety.”

  “Oh, but you will protect me,” Honey said as if she were an oracle and knew for sure. Except oracles couldn’t see their own futures, and no future was certain anyway. “The trees told me.”

  Now it was Magda’s turn to step back. “The trees?”