Claiming the Prince: Book One

by Cora Avery

  Kaelan helped Honey off of Anqa, who squawked with worry.

  Gur prowled, nose buried in a narrow animal trail that cut through the thick, sweet-smelling grasses. Magda picked her way over to the trail and found a broad-leafed plant growing on the trampled path. She ripped it free. Her pulse was finally beginning to slow. Once again, she brushed her cheek along Hero’s back. If he hadn’t saved them, they still would’ve been under attack in the mist and probably never would’ve escaped.

  Shaking the dirt from the plant’s roots, she returned to Damion. He stood over Kaelan who was attempting to give Honey water, but she wouldn’t open her mouth.

  “Plantain,” Magda said, holding the plant out to Damion. “Treat her wounds. Give me the manticore bag.”

  He traded the sack for the plant.

  “Kaelan, come on,” she said.

  Kaelan glowered at her. “Honey is—”

  “We have to be off the island before the sun sets.” She notched her chin towards the lolling orb, already too low in the sky. “You don’t want to be Eris’s overnight guest. If you stay the night, you stay for life.”

  “I’ll take care of her,” Damion said, crouching on Honey’s other side.

  Magda wrapped the rope of the sack around her arm and started off, not waiting.

  Another wider trail led down towards the lake, a perfect oval of glassy water. Fragrant lilies of red and pink, orange and purple, swayed in the breeze, wafting faint perfume through the warm air. Frogs and crickets led the symphony of buzzing insects and trilling birds.

  The dark storm of Kaelan’s presence built up behind her, descending upon her, until she finally had to turn to face him.

  “I’m sorry Honey is hurt,” she said.

  He gazed over the top of her head. His jaw clenched.

  Her hand tightened around the rope. “We can’t go in there like this.”

  His eyes fell to her. “Like what?”

  “Unfocused,” she said. “Eris is not like any other creature in the Lands. There is a reason this island is guarded like it is and so difficult to find.”

  “The witch doesn’t like visitors?”

  “Oh, Eris likes visitors very much. I’m sure Eris would love to have more visitors. Many try to reach this island and fail. If it hadn’t been for Hero, we would have failed too.”

  Hero’s tail twitched against her throat.

  “Then why make it so hard—?”

  “The gods made it hard. This is a prison. Eris is its only prisoner. At least, the only one who is forced to live here for an eternity. Many have died attempting to reach this place, but many have also succeeded. Some stayed past sunset or gave into one of Eris’s temptations and became permanent guests. So you will do nothing that I do not tell you to do. No matter what, never lose sight of Eris. Do not look away even for a moment or temptation will arrest you.”

  “Temptation?”

  “Eris will tempt you in whatever way it seems will work best, to distract you long enough so that you stay until sunset. If that happens, then you can never leave. Once I say Eris’s name, don’t look at anything else but the witch. Just like the light. We have to stay focused. We cannot lose sight of why we came here.”

  Grim, he nodded.

  “Let’s go.”

  As they approached the interconnected buildings of Eris’s compound, the trail evened out and led up to a wooden walkway. In one direction a dock, tied to its piling, a wide barge with a crisp white canopy. In the other, a terrace of herringbone brickwork red as blood. At the center a fire burned, roasting meat. A large blond woman draped in a white gown laced with gold turned the spit, filling the air with unctuous meaty scents that did nothing to help Magda’s queasiness.

  Nearby, under a white pavilion, two men were coupling with soft grunts and groans.

  Magda skirted the fire pit and paid no attention to the lovers. She strode straight up the brick steps and through the open veranda doors into a cool, spacious room, well lit thanks to the skylights along the slanted ceiling.

  The heady aroma of sex filled the sunken room.

  At the bottom of the tiers, Magda glimpsed two men pleasuring a woman, who writhed and gasped on the floor. Her black braids splayed out across the white tiles. But Magda only saw them peripherally. Most of her attention was on the opposite side of the room. There, on a cushioned chaise built into the steps, lounged an elegant creature of indeterminate age, sex, and hue. With every moment, Eris’s features altered slightly, hair lightening or darkening, growing or shortening, nose flattening, sharpening, eyes brown, then blue.

  “Eris, thank you for seeing us,” Magda said, keeping her gaze fixed on the creature, who most called a witch, but only for lack of a true word. Perhaps once there had been a name for what Eris was, but if so, it was long forgotten.

  “Would you two like to join in?” Eris asked, arching a temporarily dark eyebrow, gesturing to the three on the floor. But Magda didn’t look at them.

  “No, thank you,” Magda said, moving around the top edge of the room, closer to Eris. Kaelan stayed close behind her. She hoped he hadn’t looked away from the witch.

  Eris’s cheeks pulled in. Eyes, currently blue, dropped to the blanket bundle swinging from Magda’s hand.

  “A gift?” Eris asked.

  “Perhaps,” Magda said, shifting away from Kaelan, who had moved closer, putting off too much heat. Had he looked away from Eris?

  Damn it.

  Magda pointed towards the trio. “But first, send them away.”

  Eris sat up, silken white gown flowing over long, graceful limbs. “But I think your friend is enjoying them.”

  “Of course, he is,” Magda said as Kaelan’s hand slid over her waist, his nose pressed against the back of her head. She threw her elbow into his stomach, but he took the blow, caught her arm, and pulled her hard against him.

  “But I’m not,” Magda continued speaking only to Eris.

  She had already lost focus once on this trip and had nearly died for it. She couldn’t fight off Kaelan or push him away, because the moment she looked away from Eris, her own desire would overwhelm her. Then she and Kaelan would spend the rest of their lives trapped on this island. “And I know you would not be so ungracious to your guests,” Magda continued.

  Eris shrugged, eyes rolling, now green.

  Kaelan’s hands wandered up to cup her breasts. The whole of his body pressed against her back, his lips grazing her neck. Ignoring the tremble his touch inspired—the heat up her spine, unfurling across her belly, the shiver over her skin—was growing increasingly difficult. A jolt shot straight through her core, down between her legs, as his fingers traced the hardened peaks beneath her jerkin.

  She should’ve known this would be the tack Eris would use. Of course, they were attracted to each other, being a Prince and a Rae. Drawing that out would’ve been the easiest thing for Eris to do. But Magda hadn’t really known what Eris would try, so it had seemed pointless to warn Kaelan of all the possibilities. Although, she guessed that once it was over, he’d be angry she hadn’t ventured a guess. She was already angry at herself for not anticipating it.

  “If you’re certain that’s what you want,” Eris said. “Or you could give in, Magdalena.” Eris’s nose lifted, teeth setting. “The desire between the two of you is . . . well, I don’t think I’ve encountered a bouquet quite like it. When he takes you, oh, Magdalena . . . I can hear your cries of ecstasy already. They reach the gods.”

  Magda struggled to get her voice to work. Tamping down the host of sounds threatening to escape her while Kaelan kneaded her breasts, his lips burning her throat, his hips moving against her, took all that was left of her concentration. One of his hands slipped along her belly and under her waistband. She wanted to pull away, but also, didn’t. The periphery of her focus grew hazy as his finger broke through the curls into the dampness buried there.

  He let out a soft growl in her ear, biting at her lobe and then at her neck. The emotions pouring off of him
were nothing but desire, need, hunger—relentless, unerring, pure. Working a second finger in, he caught the aching nub between them. She sucked in a sharp breath as a surge of buzzing warmth pushed through her and her back arched against him.

  “Magda, please,” Kaelan was murmuring in her ear, stroking her, faster and deeper, slipping in, pinching, towing her against him. “Let me in. I love you.”

  Suddenly the world came back into sharp focus. She let the manticore sack fall, ripped his hand out of her, shifted her weight into his hip, hooking his ankle, toppling him, and planting a foot on his back. Never once did she take her eyes off of Eris.

  “End it,” she said through the strained tremble of her vocal cords.

  Eris sighed. “All right.”

  With a wave of a graceful hand, the trio on the floor disappeared. Eris fell back against the shiny fabric of the chaise.

  “I don’t know why you resist. My island is a paradise. What more could you want than to spend all of your days in the throes of passion with your love?”

  “He is not my love,” she said. The shudders of Kaelan’s touch and desire continued to work through her. Under her foot, Kaelan had gone still and silent. She could sense him, coming back to himself. The panic, the humiliation, the anger . . . ate away at that unadulterated hunger that had almost consumed him.

  Eris chortled, head shaking. “Mortals. What can I do for you, Pixie Rae Magdalena of the Eastern Cliffs?”

  Magda took her foot off Kaelan and reached down to retrieve the manticore sack. “Not me. Him.”

  A young man entered, carrying a golden tray with a slender decanter and three goblets.

  He stopped by Magda, holding out the tray. She waved him away, keeping her gaze on Eris.

  “No,” Kaelan growled at the servant who knelt to offer Kaelan a drink. The servant moved on to Eris as Kaelan pushed up, slowly. Magda didn’t look at Kaelan directly, though she could see the fiery flush of his skin and feel the searing waves of fury breaking off of him.

  “And who are you?” Eris asked Kaelan.

  “He’s an Elf Prince,” Magda said for him, afraid of what he might say to Eris in the heat of his rage. “But he’s being hunted by his father.”

  “Ah,” Eris said, taking a goblet from the tray. The servant moved off, out one of the shadowy doors at the back of the room. “The Prince of prophecy.”

  “You know of it?” Magda asked.

  “Certainly,” Eris said. “So few prophecies ever come this close to fruition. Most wither before they’ve even sprouted.”

  “So there’s still a chance it won’t come true?”

  Eris took a sip, lips changing from wide and plum-hued to thin and pink. “Always,” Eris said. “But you didn’t come here to talk about prophecies. What do you want?”

  “I want you to change his appearance, so that anyone who knew him before would not recognize him, but he still must appear a Pixie Prince. The magic must not be detectable or easily broken.”

  “So you wish for him to be permanently altered?”

  “Is there another way?” Magda asked.

  “There are ways more numerous than you can imagine,” Eris said, setting the cup down on the floor and rising. Once standing, height too became relative. From afar, Eris appeared towering, lithe as a willow branch, but moving closer, Eris remained the same height, defying perspective.

  This close, Eris’s hair was slicked back, black, face dramatic and copper skinned, full lipped, light scents of gardenia rolled around the silken flows of robes.

  “It all depends,” Eris purred like a panther. “What do you offer in return?”

  Magda hefted the blanket up. “The venom of the manticore.”

  As Eris’s head cocked, the hair grew long and white, the face aged, darkening even more. “Interesting.” Eris stroked a long finger along a thinning lower lip. “Manticore venom can produce one of the most powerful forgetting potions in this world. Very . . . interesting. How much?”

  “I will give you one.”

  Eris’s lips puckered. “For one, I can turn him into a toad. Or perhaps a rat, like the one on your shoulder.” Eris trailed a finger in front of Kaelan’s face. “You would make a very handsome rat.”

  “Hardly,” Hero muttered.

  Kaelan’s jaw flexed. His gaze never strayed from Eris.

  Oh, now you listen, Magda wanted to snap at him. Another faint shudder passed through her, the ghost of lingering desire.

  “And for two?” Magda asked.

  “For two, I can transform him as you wish, but the effects will not last long. A few weeks at most.”

  A few weeks . . . that might be enough time, but what if it wasn’t? And what would he do after?

  “For three?”

  Eris tapped a finger against a jaw that had grown longer and softer as they spoke. “Tell you what. For three, I will change the small important things, enough to fool even the keenest, and I will give you the means to change them back or not, but only once. For three, plus the ichor-gold glove in your pocket, I will give him the ability to change however he likes, at will, whenever he wants, within the confines of his mass. No bigger, no smaller, but anything he wishes.”

  “I don’t like being spoken of as if I’m not here,” he said.

  Eris’s brows arched. “I can’t change his personality though, sorry.”

  Magda chewed her lip. “What do you think, Kaelan?”

  “Being able to change my appearance at will could be quite useful,” he said.

  She nodded. “You would be safest that way.”

  “But it’s not necessary,” he said. “The glove might prove just as useful. They’re not easy to come by.”

  “No, they’re not,” she admitted, “which is probably why Eris is willing to give you such a great power in exchange for it.”

  “Oh, he’s right,” Eris said, lip curling. “It is aggravating being spoken of as if I weren’t here.”

  “You can’t give up everything,” Kaelan said. “Didn’t Damion say you’d need some of the venom when you reach the Spire?”

  She nodded. “To buy provisions and favor at court. The elders will expect tribute, or they might choose to side with Lavana, which could lead to a duel, even though I have the Enneahedron.”

  Eris’s head cocked, inspecting Magda with eyes deepening to violet.

  “It’s a test of greed,” Kaelan said. “I don’t need to change my appearance at will, only once. Everyone already thinks I’m dead. To ask for more is unnecessary.”

  “Yet, you seemed so cupidinous a moment ago,” Eris said to him. “Ravenous. But I see you’re more interested in gluttony of the flesh. And just imagine, you could be a different man every night and who would know? Sorry, you don’t have the capacity to change gender. That requires a certain transcendence of the soul which, I’m afraid, you don’t possess, little Elf Prince.”

  “Can we be done with this, please?” Kaelan asked, nostrils flaring as he glared at the witch.

  Magda watched Eris, but her mind was elsewhere. Was it a test of greed? Or something else? Perhaps it wasn’t a test at all. With Eris, it seemed more like a dare.

  Yes, money was useful. She would need it. But money could be gained by many means. What Eris was offering Kaelan was much rarer. Changing Kaelan’s appearance only once might be sufficient, but what if he was found out again? The thought of him dying . . . of that cold hollowness consuming her again . . .

  He would never really be safe so long as underneath he remained, as Eris put it, the Prince of prophecy.

  “All right,” she said, tossing the sack down beside the pooling ivory folds of Eris’s gown.

  “Prudence in the face of love,” Eris said in a tone of disappointment. “How very—”

  Magda tossed the glove down on top of the sack too. “Do it.”

  Eris smiled an alluring cat smile.

  Kaelan grabbed her arm. “Magda—”

  “You’ll be safer this way,” she told him, still keeping her
gaze fixed on the witch.

  “You know,” Eris said in a conversational manner, pulling what appeared to be a hen’s egg, slightly bluish in color, from the gown’s folds. “I thought that when you came here, Magdalena, you might be searching for some way to remove those pieces of stray heart you’ve picked up. Messy business that.”

  Confusion passed over Kaelan’s face.

  “Wait—” Magda started.

  Egg tucked in palm, Eris cracked it against Kaelan’s forehead—releasing not yolk, but a blue-tinged mist—and then gripped his head between both hands.

  “Oh, it’s too late now,” Eris said. “I know you don’t have anything else of interest. Unless you’d be willing to give over those pieces to me once I extracted them . . .”

  Kaelan’s eyes remained open, but went blank. The mist twined around him, rippling, as though he were submerging under cloudy water.

  “Is that possible?” Magda asked as the mist began to tendril around her, making her eyes heavy and her thoughts sluggish.

  “But you wouldn’t do that, would you?” Eris said. “No . . . But maybe . . . you’ll change your mind. You know where I am if you do.”

  Magda struggled to stay focused. “You can take the heart away . . .?”

  Eris began to speak. The arcane words wove drunkenly through Magda’s head, dizzying her, sweeping her away, until she was lost in the mist.

  “MAGDA!” DAMION SHOOK HER. “Can you hear me?”

  She groaned, blinking through the ghosts of bluish mist haunting her vision and clouding her mind.

  Where was she? What had happened—?

  She bolted upright. Damion jerked back.

  “Kaelan?” she asked.

  “Here,” he said from behind her.

  She twisted, rising with Damion’s help. Hero perched on Kaelan’s shoulder, munching on a hunk of bread.

  They were back on the hillside overlooking Eris’s compound. The burning belly of the sun lolled against the treetops.

  Her head continued to swirl, as though she’d had too much to drink. Damion’s grip tightened on her arm, keeping her steady.

  “The Prince tells me you gave up everything we had,” Damion grumbled.