The Stray Prince (Royals Book 2)

by Ella Fields

  “Scars are coveted, I assume, by those who cannot scar?” Even as I voiced the question, Zad’s back, the nicks upon his body, came to mind.

  The king’s eyes were transfixed as though he’d been taken someplace else. “Oh, we can scar, my pretty half-blood. Though it takes great lengths as I’m sure this did.” He made to drag his fingers over my lips, but I pulled back. He grinned, canines gleaming and longer than my own, but not by much. “How?”

  Pain. If I hadn’t already been certain, I now was. He was a sadist, possibly the most fervid I’d ever met.

  I saw little harm in telling him. “A heated poker and a magic-ridding rock.”

  His eyes came alive, the gold circling the black pupil growing thinner. “I’ve heard of these rocks. Tacky,” he said with a cluck of his tongue. “But do tell, how a creature as beautiful and surely as vain as the rumors suggest, tortured the vermin?”

  I lifted my lips, baring a hint of teeth. “I drained them in the market square.”

  He clapped, then rubbed his hands together, and I could’ve sworn if I looked that I’d find his pants tented, even after he’d fucked nearly twenty females. “This is fantastic, truly.”

  “Why?” I dared ask as he rose and stepped casually down the steps. A few lesser faeries had arrived, silent as stray cats, during our little chat, and were plucking up all the feathered mats.

  “Our time together will be most enjoyable.”

  There were specks of blood on some of the mats, and darkness knew what else. My stomach filled with acid.

  “Do make good use of the bathing chamber,” Ryle called from the doorway. “Your presence will be required at dinner.”

  When he was gone, the scent of sex and ire lingering in his wake, I peered at the armrest he’d cut with his fingernail and found it cratered.

  Audra

  Had my mind not been so thoroughly spent, I might’ve screamed when the web-footed faerie entered.

  I finished washing, then slowly pulled myself out of the tub, which had no faucet but had already been filled with creamy, petaled warm water by the time I’d returned to my rooms.

  She curtsied, holding a sizeable cloth in her webbed hands. “Good evening, Lady Audra.”

  Lady. I supposed to her, I was no queen at all, and therefore I should be grateful she’d shown me at least that much respect. But I wasn’t. It was just another thing that ripened the bone-deep hatred this place and its king had stoked to life.

  I plucked the rough cloth from the faerie, drying myself as I watched her mop up splashes of water and drain the tub.

  “Where does the water go?” I asked, thinking there was no plumbing. If they had any, then I had not seen it.

  “Back into the land,” she said.

  I refrained from rolling my eyes. “Who are you?”

  Her violet skin turned a shade darker, and she dipped again. “Apologies, I am not myself today. I am Temika, your lady-in-waiting, if you will.” Straightening, she curled some inky black hair behind her elfin ears as her rose-pink lips lifted into an apologetic smile.

  “The blessing,” I said, handing her the cloth when I was done and then stalking into the bedchamber. My nightgown was gone, and I cursed beneath my breath at the arrangement laid out on the bed, which had now been dressed in velvet black. A few white feathers had escaped, sprinkling over the floor surrounding it.

  “Our king is doing everything he can to ensure our survival.”

  That stilled my hands, which had been unfolding the scraps this faerie called a gown from the bed. “By raping females?”

  She rushed around the bed, her long purple finger—her nails a natural-looking black—pressed to her lips. Green as deep as the tree foliage after a storm shone from her panicked, slanted eyes.

  “Please. The wind has ears, my lady.”

  Of course. Exhaling so hard damp tendrils of hair blew from my face, I shoved my arms into the ivory lace concoction I was expected to wear.

  The lesser Fae rubbed the wall closest to me, and a mirror appeared. Walking to my back, she fastened the ribbon ties, and when she was done, the black bow stood upright, as if I had my own set of small wings.

  Brushing my hands down the jeweled chest, over the layers of soft silk that drooped from my half-exposed breasts to fall around my knees, I found I didn’t hate it.

  “Is it not to your liking?” she asked, a note of worry in the question.

  “I’m just used to... far grander ensembles.”

  Temika fussed with the fluffy chiffon banding over my shoulders. “In your land, you are a queen, so I would assume so.”

  “Your queens do not wear this?”

  “They wear whatever they so desire, and it shows.” She hummed, a smile in her childlike voice. “You shall see for yourself at the feast.”

  True, and I suppose I hadn’t the time nor the inclination the night before. “What are the other queens doing here? And why are there three and one king?”

  Her pause and careful tone held some reluctance as she explained, “It has been this way for as long as anyone can remember, my lady. But it is not wise for me to educate you on things when the king might wish to do so himself.”

  I figured as much, and I knew what would likely happen to her should he catch wind she’d been supplying me with information. Still, I had to ask again, “Why are they here?”

  “They await the act,” she said, in a simple way that implied she would not elaborate any further.

  “The act?” I repeated, wondering what type of ridiculousness that would be. Surely, I’d be involved.

  She gestured for me to sit in a wicker chair and then began selecting pieces of my hair to braid. I watched her deft fingers in the mirror, unseeing, and then noticed the rouge and powders supplied on the bureau.

  At my request, Temika handed me the rouge, continuing with my hair as I declared I’d paint my lips. I smiled as I opened the pot and dipped the slim brush in. It’d been mere days, but I missed it, as well as many other things I chose to shove to the back of my mind.

  I had to if I were to endure and see this through.

  “Is it true that you have found your mate in our prince?” she asked, her voice whisper-soft as though it were a juicy secret even though it wasn’t.

  “Indeed,” I said, my hand trembling a little as the brush glided over my bottom lip.

  Her lips pursed, then flattened, then pursed again as though she wished to ask more. I encouraged it. To indulge her might serve in her indulging me. “Ask.”

  She smiled at my hair, her voice even softer as she tied off the end of a tiny braid ghosting across my hairline and pinned it behind my ear. “It’s just that I, well... I cannot believe he’s here. The true heir, home at last.”

  The pot fell from my hands to the tiled floor, crashing into pieces.

  Temika gasped and rushed to clean it up while I sat there, my lips smudged, my heart trying to evict itself from my chest to quit with this ever-evolving abuse already.

  “I am so sorry, Lady Audra,” she hurried out, her fingers stained from cleaning up the rouge. “I spoke out of turn.”

  “Stop it,” I snapped, shooing her to her feet to pick up the brush.

  She tossed the broken pot into a tiny brass cylinder upon the bureau, her hands shaking.

  I fixed the mess I’d made of my lips. “I told you to say what was on your mind. I just...” I had to be honest, for maybe it might work in my favor, and if I were being honest with myself, I was desperate to fucking unload this disaster onto someone else. “I didn’t know.”

  “That he is here?” She stood there a moment, her tiny, near non-existent nose scrunching, and then her eyes popped. “You did not know Prince Zadicus was the true heir to our realm?”

  “Both.” I rolled my eyes, handing her the brush as I stood. “I knew he was an heir, but I am no faerie. I do not know of your customs and whose right it is to rule.” I straightened my dress. “Evidently.”

  “Of course,” Temika muttered, di
sappearing into the bathing room with the lip brush.

  She returned as I was tucking my feet into ivory slippers. Adorned with little bows at the pointed toes, they fit my feet like plush gloves.

  “I’m sorry,” she said again, and I almost growled at her for the repetitive use of the stupid word. “The shock of all this then...” She toed the ground with her bare foot, her eyes filled with sympathy. “It must be extremely difficult.”

  I nodded. Staring down at my slippers, I found the compassion I’d wanted to be more of an annoyance. Nevertheless, it infused my spine with much-needed steel, and I marched for the invisible door.

  Before I could walk out, Temika murmured, soft as melting butter beneath the sun, “He will join us soon, and everything will be just as it should be once more.”

  I was beginning to fear just what that might mean.

  The feast was held in the throne room again, and my chest grew tight with anticipation as I took each step down the winding stairs. With every sconce lit, the serpentine curls of wisteria that noosed around the railing were revealed, and as I laid my hand upon it, needing something to steady myself, it moved.

  I withdrew my hand, blinking at the trembling plant. It shivered, as though my touch had awakened it, then stretched and stilled.

  Temika left me at the foot of the stairs, and the sconces came to life in the soil-scented passageway dotted with guards. Light and laughter exploded from the throne room, throwing shadows across the walls to greet me. My steps slowed as my heart pounded hard.

  He was here. For although the Fae could not lie, I hadn’t known what Temika’s version of here had meant. Now, though, I could sense it, sense him, as if a coil of slithering, sparking lightning had banded itself around my waist. It tugged, and it vibrated, the hum comforting even if I wanted to tear his stupidly handsome head from his shoulders for all his carefully hidden deception.

  Only, when I reached the glowing doorway, the giant oak doors with carved wings thrown open against the walls, the feeling dissipated.

  The revelry paused for all of a fractured heartbeat, eyes skittering from the returned tables to take me in. They soon bobbed away, uninterested, in search of entertainment with their own ilk.

  “Ravishing,” Ryle purred, shadow evaporating into smoky tendrils as he appeared before me.

  Curious and wanting to hide and smother my thorn-stabbing disappointment, I eyed his black ensemble, taking note of his armored torso. The metal rippled beneath the dripping candle loaded chandeliers as though he’d tried to conceal the fact he wore protective clothing. Mahogany tufts erupted from the neck, matching that of the gauzy material fluttering down his arms. His pants were leather, tight, and his boots, black with giant silver buckles. “How did you do that?”

  He cocked his head, taking a calculated step closer. I stared at his jaw, unwilling to crane my neck back to meet his eyes. It was clean-shaven, smooth and square but lacking the savage definition of his brother’s. Was he older? Younger? I wasn’t sure it mattered, or if he was who I should be asking. I tucked the curiosity away.

  “Sweeping?” he said. My eyes lifted then, and I felt my brows pull. With a rough chuckle, he offered his hand. “With an object of importance in hand from the place of which you wish to be transported, you can sweep into the void and land there.”

  I was surprised he’d answered, and in such a way that I could understand—for the most part. That explained how he’d brought me here. The strange dreams, though... My guess was they were his attempt to lure me away from Zad or perhaps just another game. “No riddles or malice tonight?”

  His hand waited. “Sit, eat. I have a few guests who’d like to see you.” I ignored his proffered hand and reached for my skirts. Remembering too late there was little to hold, I shook my hair from my shoulders and made my way to my seat.

  Chatter and eating continued, even as Ryle slumped into his seat. He did not reach for his food. He slouched, an arm bent upon the side of the oak chair, and his eyes on a steaming tray of what appeared to be salted jellyfish.

  He held no interest in the disgusting-looking food, of that I was sure. Apples, large and red, sat nestled alongside the fat globes of purple grapes. I avoided the fruit, not wanting to chance that when I returned home, my own would taste like soot in comparison.

  I decided on some chicken, withholding a moan as I sliced through a juicy breast, herbs dancing over my tongue.

  “Wine?” Ryle said, still seeming every inch the bored king as he watched me.

  “I’m no fool,” I said, dabbing my mouth with the corner of a blood-red napkin.

  He barked out a laugh. “You think I’d go to such lengths to bring you here, only to poison you?”

  “It is not poison I’m concerned about.” Not entirely, anyway.

  He leaned forward, arms upon the thick oak of the table, hands clasping together around his empty plate. “Winter queen, please drink some wine.”

  I reached for it, not sure why I was even doing so. Then I blinked, and the compulsion faded, leaving a bitter whiff of smoke in its wake. “Asshole king,” I said, sneering his way. “Water will do just fine.”

  Silence descended.

  His grin morphed into something sinister, but after a moment of holding my gaze, mine daring him to send me back to my rooms, it fell, and everyone resumed conversation and eating once more.

  A glass of water was poured by a female seated next to me. I thanked her, tried to catch a look at her face, but her gold hair spilled down the side of it, concealing whoever she might be.

  A lover, I was guessing, if she sat this close to the king during a feast with other royal folk. She wore two thick golden cuffs around each wrist, but I couldn’t make out what the engravings on them meant.

  “Where is he?” I said, scenting and then draining the water with as much grace as possible. I was beyond parched, but I did not let on. There was something different about it, though nothing that caused alarm. If anything, it seemed cleaner or fresher than any water I’d drunk before.

  “Your beloved?” Ryle plucked up his goblet of wine. He knew exactly who I was referring to, and so I merely waited. He rolled his eyes, annoyed at my reluctance to spar with him. “He is here, but you already know that.”

  “Where is here, exactly?” I pressed, growing frustrated with the games.

  A clang of cutlery, and then a male across and a little ways down the table cleared his throat. Looking that way, I almost choked and set my goblet down with a thump. “Adran.”

  His white-blond hair had grown longer, his cheeks more gaunt, but his eyes still held that dancing humor he was always so fond of carrying. “Cousin.”

  I could feel Ryle’s eyes bouncing back and forth between us—entertained at last.

  “I thought you’d have been sea serpent bait many months ago.”

  “Oh, he was,” Ryle interjected and gnashed his teeth when my eyes shot his way. “No being, royal or otherwise, sets foot on this sacred land without my knowledge, and when I learned just who this delicious morsel of tainted blood was...” He sat back, spreading his hands. “Well, a very helpful guest did he make.”

  “Helpful?” I said, looking back at my cousin.

  He held my gaze with steely focus. No remorse, only cold-blooded survival in his eyes. I knew what he was saying without saying a word. There was no need to wonder nor ask why... I did what I must, and you left me no other choice.

  I had tossed him out like rotten food, leaving him for the wild things to collect. But he’d betrayed me in a way that had almost resulted in my death, and now, he’d done so again. “You’ll find I cannot be so lenient this time, cousin.”

  “Should we ever make it home,” he said, voice low even though many could likely hear as their senses were far better than our own, “I’d expect nothing less.”

  I licked grease from my teeth, then rinsed my mouth with more water, saying to the king, “How helpful was he?”

  “One cannot steal into someone’s dreams without
knowing, to some degree, who they are. Though I’d love to watch you torture the young lad.” His tone was bland, and he waved the subject away with a flick of his ring-bedecked fingers. “It matters not right now. Let us dance.”

  I didn’t have time to refuse.

  My chair vanished, and strong arms captured my waist, twisting me away and then releasing. A smooth hand caught mine before I flew into the few standing guests, tugging me back to that armored chest.

  My hands splayed against it. The violent trussing of fiddles and the wild beating of drums erupted, the strain of a lone flute trying to keep up. “Ryle,” I started, but I was swung away from him again, and I spun, faster and faster than before. Faster than anyone with a beating heart should ever spin.

  The world became a blur of music-entwined rainbows, and I was but dust bouncing across them, my arms not my own as they swam around me, desperately trying to keep me afloat.

  I was brought back to the world with a violent crash—to that hard, cold chest. My heart galloped so hard that each beat physically hurt, and my eyes sang with tears. Not from fear, but from the whirlwind I was being forced upon.

  “Stop,” I said, clutching at the ruffled fabric of his collar as laughter entered my ringing ears. I didn’t have the opportunity to see if the guests laughed at me. Like a toy, I was thrust back into the bright, stomach-snatching yet oddly addicting pirouette of sensation, the sound of the king’s laughter the only tether to what was real.

  I was sweating, panting, and unsure of how much time had passed when I collided with him again and felt the brush of cool lips upon my brow. I shook against him, not wanting to touch him, but knowing if I didn’t hold on, I’d fall—drip into a puddle on the floor to be stomped on by all the dancing guests in the cavernous room.

  Yet I knew I had to let go if I was to ever make it stop.

  He pushed. I clung.

  “Your royal greatness.”

  Ryle paused, his hand coiled tight around my waist, squeezing with the urge to continue playing with me.