Of Blood and Deceit

by Rachel A. Collett

  Of Blood and Deceit

  The Blood Descent Series

  Rachel A. Collett

  Copyright © 2019 by Rachel Collett

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole, or in part, in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without written permission of the author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Cover design by © Jennifer Zemanek/Seedlings Design Studio. www.seedlingsonline.com

  Published by Rachel Collett

  www.rachelcollett.com

  To my husband, Dan:

  you are my real-life, dark and brooding love interest,

  and you always will be.

  Contents

  1. Royal Prisoner

  2. Lady Anna

  3. Runaway

  4. Demon Daughter

  5. The King

  6. Assessment

  7. Dungeons

  8. Cyris

  9. Scars

  10. Unwanted Guest

  11. Morning Visitor

  12. Magical Training

  13. The Farmer

  14. A Falcry

  15. First Harvest

  16. Melora

  17. Setback

  18. Replacements

  19. A King’s Challenge

  20. Taken

  21. Rescued

  22. Wraith Tales

  23. Arriving Home

  24. Confrontation

  25. Preparations

  26. An Arrangement

  27. Proposal

  28. Practice

  29. Death of a Maid

  30. Theia

  31. New Regime

  Sneak Peek

  Chapter 1

  About the Author

  Also by Rachel A. Collett

  Royal Prisoner

  Rusted cuffs bit into the flesh of my ankles, shooting sharp pains up bruised legs. My heart pounded and my head throbbed as I shuffled down the cell corridor in a red, shapeless prison gown. Red signified female, though I hardly felt like one anymore.

  Once a week. Just once a week, we could escape our hell on earth and breathe the air outside of the piss-saturated, rat-infested walls of our confinement. Ten cells a day were given their freedom for an hour. That was what the king of Anolyn granted, which was kind compared to what my uncle would have allowed.

  I paced my steps and thoughts, hiding my excitement from the guards who unshackled the manacles from my bare feet. The cement stairs were ice cold. As we climbed in single file, the wind blew through the cracks of the prison doors. Then they were thrown wide. Light poured in, blinding me.

  Water fell from a bloated sky. The wind chilled my wet skin, and goosebumps shivered down my back, but I didn’t care. The rain was a blessing. It was the only shower I had had since being captured by Riaan’s men. I lifted my face to the heavens of Anolyn, letting it wash away months of dirt and grime.

  An automatic grunt bubbled from my lips as Lucan shoved past to go sulk in the corner of the arena with the other prisoners, his broad shoulders and large biceps too big for the prison garb given to him. A mop of dishwater blond hair hung down his pale face. Under the protection of a large oak, he scowled at me. Another reason why I was thankful for the rain. He would leave me alone for once.

  Retracing the muddied circle entrenched in the ground from countless other prisoners, I walked my laps alone, lifting my shackled hands as high in front of me as I could to stretch sore muscles. I almost looked tan, but it was only dirt that darkened my skin.

  This was my tenth walk, my first given to me after healing from a severe beating by an overzealous guard upon my arrival. In his defense, I deserved it. He would never regrow the ear that now rotted in the dense soil of Varian Forest.

  It had been approximately three months since my capture, and I was nowhere nearer to escape. Not that I was trying. Riaan’s prison was luxury compared to what awaited me when my uncle reclaimed me. Death came to those who he deemed a traitor—and I was a traitor.

  I rolled my neck, feeling the tight strain of my skin and the burn mark from my uncle. The scar stretched from just beneath my ear to right above my collarbone—a reminder of a past treachery, and only one of many. Blood or not, he did not tolerate dissidence.

  The sound of hooves arrested my attention as a man on his horse cantered into the arena. The prison guard whistled—a signal that our recess was over early. My shoulders hunched as I walked back, the muddy ground squishing between my toes. The rain grew heavier. By the time the last man entered the prison doors, I couldn’t see a foot in front of my face.

  Which was why I ran headlong into the horse’s ass… and his black steed.

  Letting out a surprised curse, I pushed away, but kept my head down.

  The man brushed at the watery filth left behind on the sleeve of his black uniform and tsked. “That’s not very becoming of a lady.”

  My face burned, but I swallowed my sarcastic reply. I had never been a lady. Born as a girl, I was already thought weak. Second-rate. Seventeen years of fighting proved I was anything but. Now I accepted the truth that I was a woman, but a lady? No.

  That station only came with additional costs. Costs I was unwilling to pay. But if I wanted to remain hidden, I needed to pretend for the time being.

  “Nothing?” His deep voice was gruff and unnervingly calm. I didn’t like it. His very presence radiated authority. His eyes bore through my face as he stood silently watching me, waiting for me to say something imprudent—to fall into some unknown trap.

  I mumbled my apologies and prayed to be excused. Rain dripped from my dirt-crusted hairline, down my face, and onto my soiled feet, but still the man stayed where he was. The mud coated his once nicely polished boots and I fought the growing temptation to look up. Enlightenment could sometimes be deadly.

  “Sir.” A panicked guard rushed from the prison doors, grabbing me roughly by the arm.

  Despite the pain, relief flooded through me. I was happily ready to be dragged back to my cell.

  “Bring her to my office,” the man said.

  The guard stuttered, surprised. “Sir?

  “Now.” Then he spun on his heel and led his horse away to the stables. He vanished through the downpour.

  My heart dropped.

  “What did you do?”

  Before I could respond to the infuriated guard, he knocked me to the ground with a solid backhand to the face. Shock and then anger surged, but within seconds, two guards rushed me and I had barely enough time to block my face from a kick—missing the one to my side. The air knocked from me, my lungs seized in pain, then another blow to my head—

  I came to when my legs crumpled on a hard floor. Wet, weak and annoyed, I allowed the cold of the concrete to seep into my skin, glad to feel something other than my throbbing body. I pushed my hands against the ground, rising partway.

  At first hazy, my gaze darted about an expansive and impeccably clean room. A huge stone fireplace blazed, warm and alive. A window was cracked open to allow a small breeze from outside, although the rain still poured in sheets.

  The smell of freshly baked bread wafted through the air, seizing almost every sense. A crystal goblet, a smaller wooden cup, and a platter with half a loaf of steaming bread teased from the top of an ornate wooden desk that faced the door. My stomach growled pitifully, but I forced myself to ignor
e the irritating hunger.

  Masses of papers and folders littered the top of the desk. Books were scattered about the room, stacked upon the floor and lined within rows of a private library. The owner of this receiving room was important. Advisor to the king? The king’s commander?

  “What is this?” His voice was instantly recognizable and so were his boots now cleaned from the mud.

  I inhaled a ragged breath as the guards gripped my arms and dragged me to my feet. I swayed on the spot but managed to stay upright.

  Three guards stood at attention behind me. The one from the prison spoke. “The prisoner, sir.”

  Clean and dry in new black pants and a white shirt unbuttoned at the top, the man with the impossibly deep voice finished drying his thick black hair cropped tight on the sides, then tossed the towel to the ground. He ran his fingers through the tresses, calming the damp mess.

  I cursed beneath my breath.

  The King’s brother. Prince Castiel Anouk of Anolyn, known for his cunning in battle. I had yet to face the renowned warrior. Something within warned me that I never wanted to.

  The room went silent. His piercing blue eyes scanned my appearance, then that of the guards. “It’s Lieutenant Scores, correct?”

  Scores nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  The prince scrutinized each guard from top to bottom. “I don’t see a mark upon anyone else. Did she attack you?”

  Scores’s head twitched. “No, sir.”

  He crossed his arms over his chest. “She must have attacked someone. Why else would you have beaten her to a pulp?”

  The two other guards gawked at each other, their faces pale.

  “You—you requested the prisoner be brought to you,” Scores said.

  Another moment of silence, then, “And so you beat her?”

  “I thought she had offended—”

  Quicker than lightning, the prince thrust forward his hand. The lieutenant, as if seized by the throat, lifted into the air, although no physical contact was made. Power radiated the room, and I cringed.

  A magician. A hiss issued from my lips as magic pulsed through the air. I took an automatic step back, my adrenaline firing, but could not look away. How much could he sense?

  Muscles rippled in his jaw. Anger infused the prince’s words. “If I’d been offended, I wouldn’t need someone like you to do my dirty work for me, would I?”

  Then the energy released, and Scores crashed to the ground. He wrapped a hand around his neck and coughed, his voice rasped. “No, sir. Forgive me, sir.”

  The prince whipped around. “Captain!”

  Not even a second passed before the large oak door opened. The man—if you could call him that—must have been listening from outside, awaiting his orders. A beast of hulking muscles and ink, he entered the room, making the space a little too crowded. I instinctively took another step back.

  A magician and a giant.

  He smirked, catching the movement. His eyes pinned me to the spot, stopping any further retreat. Blood drew to my cheeks. Shaved close on the sides and back like his prince, his blond hair pulled tight into a pony-tail, exposing a high forehead and severely cut jawline. A tattoo crawled down the side of his neck and disappeared beneath his black, leather jerkin.

  “Yes, sir,” the giant said. His voice rumbled within his throat.

  “Mikael, Lieutenant Scores is relieved from duty.”

  Scores stuttered. “But—but, sir!”

  “Make sure he’s reassigned somewhere far away, with no option for promotion. Find an appropriate replacement among your men. And send for Sameen.”

  Mikael stifled a laughed. “Yes, sir. Come with me, Scores.”

  Scores’s mouth opened and closed like a fish, the blood draining from his face.

  “You’re all dismissed,” the prince said, his tone an icy warning.

  Bowing, Scores and his men trailed after Mikael.

  The prince considered me from across the room, then walked to his desk, giving me the ability to study him unabashed. He was young. Probably no more than twenty. And he was handsome. No, that was the wrong word. He was breathtaking—which meant only one thing: he was dangerous.

  He drank from a crystal goblet. The skin of his throat and hands were favorably tanned, unlike so many of the nobles of my kingdom. Eira’s harsh climates kept most indoors. Even those with dark skin paled in the lack of sun. His gaze found mine before I could lower my eyes to my hands. Did he expect me to speak? I clamped my mouth even tighter.

  He set his cup down with a clank. Then, producing a knife from the holster at his belt, he sliced a chunk of bread from the loaf, but he did not eat. “Please,” he said, gesturing to a chair on the other side of his desk. I did not move until he put away his blade.

  The prince noticed.

  Even though my legs shook with fatigue I wavered, wary to sit across from a being that was both a prince and a magician. I perched at the edge of my seat, ready to make my escape if necessary. My gaze flashed to the cracked window.

  Prince Castiel’s head tipped to one side as he inspected me, curiosity brimming in those strange blue eyes.

  Unexpectedly conscious of my appearance, I pawed at my dark hair, but gave up when my fingers caught in a tangled, greasy mess. I peered down at my ragged prison gown, bruised ankles, and dirty, black-encrusted toenails.

  “You must be hungry,” he said, gesturing to the bread. “Go ahead.”

  I didn’t wait for another invitation. I snatched the cut piece and took a bite. The king of Anolyn didn’t starve his prisoners like Eira’s did, but this wasn’t stale or full of weevils, and my taste buds zinged to the mouthwatering flavor. For the briefest moment, I wondered if I should be worried it was poisoned, but the next bite smothered the fear. It was the best tasting thing I had ever had and well worth dying for.

  “Careful,” the prince cautioned. “You don’t want to make yourself sick.”

  I swallowed, chewing slower.

  Again, he watched me, waiting until I finished the last bite. My eyes dropped to the remaining loaf, but he pulled the plate out of reach. “You can have the rest later.” He leaned back, resting his chin on steepled fingers. “You’ve created quite a stir as of late, did you know that?”

  My head shot up and my heart quickened, but I didn’t answer.

  One eyebrow raised. “We’ve been waiting for some time for you to make your move, but three months and… absolutely nothing.” He sighed again, then picked up a folder from his desk, searching through the contents. “You’ve only ever been seen in battle, so you were almost unrecognizable without your usual attire.”

  My voice rasped. “Please, Your Highness—”

  “So, you know who I am?” He picked up another folder and thumbed past a few pages. Heat rose to my face as I speculated just what condemning documents he was searching through.

  I swallowed. “Of course. All your loyal subjects do. You are Prince Castiel Anouk of Anolyn.”

  “And so that is who you are? A loyal subject?”

  “Of course, Your Highness.”

  He paused, stroking the line of his sharp chin with his fingers. “That’s an interesting lie. But I’m pleased you know who I am. It makes things a lot easier.” His eyes narrowed as he considered me. “I couldn’t believe it at first. The Scourge of Men right here in my very own home. I wonder if you think I should be honored.”

  I barely contained my surprise. “There is no such person, and even if there was, that title is not mine.”

  His tone was like ice. “Why did you attack a soldier?

  “He attacked me.”

  “You failed to provide any sort of identification.”

  “I didn’t know I needed any.” I could feel his fingers tighten around my throat like a vise, but knew it was just my imagination.

  His fist slammed on the top of his desk. I hid a responding jolt, my insides lurching.

  “Anyone traveling outside of their community where they will not be recognized must have
the proper paperwork.” His face softened. A smile tipped one side of his mouth. “But it’s alright. That has been rectified.”

  He selected a page from his folder then lightly tossed it away. It fluttered to the table top in front of me and I froze.

  My mouth opened, but nothing came out.

  “There’s your paperwork.” He smiled. “Now that we both know each other, you can stop the charade, Your Highness.”

  I licked my dry lips. “My lord, please,”

  “Princess Ilianna Drakara, daughter to the fallen Prince Toma, and the only living relative to King Johan Drakara. You have been offered as a mate to my brother, which is why he sent us this lovely depiction of you to persuade him into matrimony, along with lists describing your many attributes.” One brow ticked high on a smooth forehead. “I must say I was impressed to hear you are such a fine dancer on top of being a fearless warrior.”

  My face flushed an even deeper shade of red. It took everything I had not to grab the papers from his hands.

  “Despite the months of grime, your likeness is uncanny. I have to say: your eyes are much more unsettling in person.” He gestured to the picture. “They’re almost transparent. Perhaps silver. Even still, I assume you resemble your mother more. Besides the hair color, I see nothing of Toma or Johan in you, although, not much is known of the woman who bore you.”

  My mouth clamped shut with an audible click. My mother was a peasant woman. Unworthy of a prince, she sufficed as a mistress and Toma had taken her to his bed. Unfortunately, she soon became pregnant, then died giving birth to me. After my father’s death, my uncle took me under his wing, but he never let me forget my lineage.