Of Royal Blood: Part One (Courting Magik Series Book 1)

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Of Royal Blood: Part One (Courting Magik Series Book 1) Page 1

by Michele Barrow-Belisle




  Copyright Notice

  Of Royal Blood: Part One Copyright © 2019, Michele Barrow-Belisle

  All rights reserved, including the rights to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form and by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the author at [email protected].

  This book is a work of fiction; all characters, names, places, incidents, and events are the product of the authors imagination and either fictitious or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Cover Design: Captivating Covers and Plots

  Editors: Angela Sanders

  PRAISE FOR THE COURTING MAGIK SERIES:

  ★★★★★

  "A huge fan of Michele Barrow Belisle, love everything about the fantasy and paranormal aspects, go snatch this one up!"

  -NYT Bestselling Author Rachel Van Dyken

  ALSO BY MICHELE BARROW-BELISLE

  Courting Magic Series

  Of Royal Blood Part 1

  Of Royal Blood Part 2

  Of Royal Blood Part 3

  Faerie Song Saga (Currently in development for a motion picture)

  Fire & Ice

  Bittersweet

  Freeze

  Melt

  Burn

  Darkest Light

  Child of Fire Child of Ice

  Entangled Series

  Entangled Night

  Entangled

  Entangled Dreams

  DEDICATION

  To my family and fans:

  Without you, I’d still be telling these stories to myself

  inside my own thoughts.

  Thank you for encouraging me to make them a reality,

  by bringing them out into the world

  to share with all of you.

  OF ROYAL BLOOD: PART ONE

  Some rules are meant to be broken.

  In a world where magik means death, Katriana Stark will risk everything to save her royal charge—even when it means revealing herself as a witch and losing the love of the forbidden prince.

  As tutor to the princess, Kat’s place at court means she’s close to death every day—one misstep, one mistake, one magik mishap away from the wrath of the dark queen. And one unveiled look away from disclosing her feelings for Prince Ethan as well.

  Kat’s not much better at hiding her magik than hiding her feelings. But when demonic forces strike the Royal Palace, and bodies start disappearing into thin air, Kat’s uncontrollable powers are all that can save the lives at stake.

  And as Kat is forced to pay the ultimate price for her deception, she must decide if saving another’s life is worth sacrificing her own. And worth giving up a once in a lifetime love…

  Contents

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  CHAPTER 1

  I’ve always believed in omens.

  Bad ones.

  So when a black bird crashed into the glass door of our shoppe, and fell to the ground, chills chased over my skin.

  Something wicked this way comes. Those were the words I whispered to myself, as I rubbed the goosebumps from my arms.

  A moment later, the door flew open and a guy strolled in, bringing a gust of hot humid air with him, despite the sub-zero temperature.

  He staggered up to the counter, then paused to scan the chalkboard menu behind me.

  “Donuts? That’s all you have here? Do people actually really eat those?”

  Called it. My skin was never wrong. He was wicked, all right. Wicked, and wasted.

  I leaned across the counter to glare at the guy barely managing to stay upright.

  English accent. Dark shades, even though it was nearly midnight. Black jeans, ripped at the knees, T-shirt, trench coat, and a beanie on his head. He smelled of expensive cologne and even more expensive booze. I was tempted to lean over to see his shoes... they probably cost more than our mortgage payment. Not our typical clientele, except for when Britannia's Island fair was on. Like now. When wasted frat boys staggering into the donut shoppe to curb their munchies was all too typical.

  I sighed, eying him closely. No desire for a repeat of the last drunk guy who’d stumbled in. Puked all over the counter…and then all over me.

  His comment had gotten deeper under my skin than I realized. I gestured behind me, answering his asinine alcohol-fueled questions.

  “Obviously it's what people eat when they come here, since this is a donut shoppe." I spoke slowly, which helped when communicating with the exceptionally messed-up. Alcohol nearly seeped from his pores, the smell was so strong. Yeah, this one was beyond wasted.

  "So what kind do you want?”

  “Does it matter?” He gave a careless shrug. “Aren’t they all the same? Like all the rest of these carnival trailers.”

  I frowned. Arrogant, frat boy jackass. Aren't they all the same? Rude. “No, they’re not all the same,” I snapped back, planting a fist on my waist. “We make them from scratch. By hand. Using an old family recipe passed down through multiple generations.”

  Okay, so I embellished that part a little. But it was my late grandmother’s recipe. I indicated to the machine behind me. “And do you see a machine pumping out dollops of batter into a fryer? No. So no, not all the same.”

  My fierce defense of the fried sugary confections my parents had built their life around implied a loyalty I really didn’t share. But it was solidarity always, especially in the face of the arrogant.

  His mouth quirked up at the corner as he watched me. “Whoa. Easy there. Not trying to start anything luv, just trying to get some donuts. And… a grande half-caff soy chai latte. With whip.”

  I blinked. “Are you serious right now?”

  “What? No whip?” he deadpanned, scanning me from head to waist, which is all he could see with the counter separating us. He shook his head. “Nah, you don’t look the type.”

  My mouth fell open a little. I had to shut it quick to hold back the string of profanities I was about to let loose. I didn’t need this. Not tonight. Not when all I’d wanted to do was curl up at home and feel sorry for myself over missing out on yet another teaching job. But instead, my sister Justina conned me into first, babysitting Lincoln, and then into taking her midnight shift, so she could go out with Tim, or Todd, or Tony…whichever guy it was in her revolving alphabet of hookups. So drunken beanie guy wasn’t making my already pissy mood any better.

  Mom wandered out from the back, because she had a sixth sense radar for when I was screwing up. This place was her baby, and she was a fierce momma bear. Justina and I were only half-joking when we called the shoppe her favorite child.

  “Look, we’re closing soon,” I said with snark. “Do you want do-nuts or not?”

  “I’ll take a dozen. Donut girl’s choice. And, I’m kind of in a hurry, so…” He tapped on his gold watch.

  I literally felt the vein in my forehead start to throb. And despite the fact that this drunken idiot couldn’t possibly know how insulting I found that statement, I lost it.

  “No problem.” I nodded, seething. “You can have whatever you like, and as much as you like.” Then I made a deliberate point of looking
at my watch. “Oh, look, it’s my break time, so you’ll just have to hang on for those.” I untied my apron from the back, whipped it on the counter, and stormed off, feeling both the guy and my mother’s glare on my back.

  I paced in the back corner, massaging my throbbing temples. Who the hell did this guy think he was? I mean, seriously, how high was he that he couldn't tell the difference between a donut trailer and a proper café?

  My mother's singsong voice drifted from the counter, fussing and fawning, trying to smooth things over as she always did. That was her thing. She was a fixer. Always fixing my sister’s messes and eventually Dad’s before he passed. I loved her for it, but right now, knowing she was fixing mine, only added to my headache. Especially since I was in the right here. When I overheard her offer him free coffee for life, it was all I could take. I actually felt something snap inside my brain.

  Air. I need some air.

  I headed for the back door but stopped at the shrill calling of my name.

  “Katriana. Get back here this instant, young lady.”

  How was it that even at twenty-two her “Mom” voice still had that paralyzing effect?

  “What is it? Does the inebriated jerk need me to milk a cow for his coffee?”

  She limped over and grabbed hold of my arm. “If he did, you’d good and well fetch it for him, and quick, I might add.”

  I frowned. She’d lost her mind. She’d been pulling a lot of late nights with the Idyllwild Fair’s extended schedule, and they were finally catching up to her. The Royal family had decided on a whim it should operate year-round. Of course, it wasn’t their lives being upended with the decision. No, they had servants and staff catering to them. And we were all their dancing poodles forced to perform on command. No wonder my mother was losing it.

  My hands planted firmly on my hips. “Um, I’m fairly certain we’d do no such thing. In fact, I’d go so far as to say hell would be freezing over before—”

  “You would do it, Kat, and anything else he asked," she warned, her expression graver than I’d seen in a long time. Her voice lowered as she glanced behind her. “Because to disobey his request is considered an act of treason.”

  “Ha.” Okay, she had snapped. “Mum, I’m an adult, and I get that you hold to that arcane notion of the customer always being right, but I don’t have to bow to some drunken frat boy, too stoned off his ass to realize he’s at a donut truck and not the palace.

  “You do if that frat boy happens to be the crowned Prince of Britannia.”

  My jaw dropped. “The what?” I leaned past her to steal a better look at the guy still standing at the counter. Okay, sure he was tall, like the prince, but lots of guys were tall. His clothing was clearly good quality. And while the beanie and shades and scruffy jaw hid a lot of his face, I could still see that he was also attractive, like the prince, but... “No.” I shook my head, squinting and dismissing the possibility with all of my strength. “No way.”

  “Yes way,” she snapped back. “Now get back out there and demonstrate the courtesy our company is known for.

  “Company?” I scoffed, but then quickly stopped myself. Yeah, I was pissed, but not with her, and I didn’t want to say anything unkind. But it made my heart hurt to hear her call it that. A company, with such pride and dignity in her voice. We were a laughing stock. A joke. I’d spent my entire life with jokes about how carnival folk like us were so poor we used the donut grease to wash our hair. My sister was tough and got into countless fights defending me, until one day, she went too far and got herself expelled. Since then, Justina, or Tina as we call her, had made going too far, her life’s work.

  This grease box was no more than a long, rectangular, metal trailer, with a deep fryer, four rusty tables with stools, and endless hours of blistering hot work. For a brief period after my parents bought it, it was even their home. They slept together in a single cot in the back for a full year until my sister was born. Now we lived in an even smaller trailer down the road. The Idyllwild Fair was the only home I’d ever known. No, this wasn’t a company. It was a greasy hell hole, and I hated it.

  I peered over at the prince and scowled. “Well, I honestly don’t care who he is.” I let my voice rise just above a whisper. “No one speaks to me like that.” I almost wished my sister was here to put him in his place. She’d managed to survive telling off the queen. Oh sure, she’d lost her money, her reputation, and her freedom, but she’d walked away with her life, so that accounted for a lot. Despite her notoriously bad decisions, she had the courage of superheroes.

  “Get moving,” Mum nudged me, “before he has us cited for breaking the Royal Rules.”

  I folded my arms, jutted my chin, and planted my feet. What I lacked in courage I made up for in stubbornness. A fact my mother knew well because, I took after her.

  Mother sighed. “Honey…” Her voice softened a little.

  That made me nervous. It meant something bad was coming. Something really bad.

  “Listen to me,” she cooed manipulatively, “He’s here. The Prince of Britannia is in our shoppe. Do you think that has ever happened before?”

  I was still unclear why it had to happen at all. This wasn’t our first meeting. When my sister worked at the Palace, I’d run into Prince Ethan on a few occasions when I’d tagged along with Dad to pick her up after her shift. One occasion in particular came vividly to mind—when I caught the prince with some blonde up against the wall in the servant’s wing. That was five years ago. He wouldn’t have remembered me, but memories of that night were etched into my brain. Because it had all felt so visceral to me, as if I was the one he’d been with, instead of her. My face flushed with heat as I tried to tune back into what my mother was saying.

  “And I don’t need to tell you how difficult things have been since your father…” Her voice trailed, but then rallied.

  Always a show of strength. Grieving was for the weak. How often had that been drilled into my head.

  “We need to bend over backward to appease him, so he’ll return to the castle with glowing recommendations and possibly bring all of his royal friends with him.

  I groaned. Oh, god, kill me now. That was the last thing I needed… more of his spoiled pampered drunken friends showing up to torture me. I peered at him again. He really was striking. The way he carried himself, his cocky self-assurance that bordered on smug but didn’t quite cross the line. He really could be the prince.

  He lifted his gaze and caught me staring at him. Our eyes tangled, and I felt an electric shock zap through me as my gaze snagged on his ever-blue ones for a moment, holding there, before looking away.

  Panicked, I tried to duck behind a half wall, but my foot slipped in the grease and I went down. Hard.

  My mother sighed, shaking her head. “Honestly, Kat, you’re being ridiculous.”

  I climbed back to my feet, blaming him for not only ruining my night but my favorite jeans, too.

  Swiping my hands on my thighs, I said, “You know what, I don’t think it’s actually him. Princes don’t eat donuts, Mum.” A last-ditch attempt at refuting her claims.

  “They do. He does. And you’re going to serve him.” She gave me a shove, the kind that left no further room for debate. “You will show some deference and you will atone for your rude behavior, or so help me god, Katriana Ivy Stark—”

  “Okay.” I bit out the word, stealing another look at my nemesis. Cause that’s what he was to me now and had no chance of ever being anything but.

  I straightened, tucked my hair behind my ear, and made my way back to the counter. An apology, that was what I’d been ordered to give…but the words stuck in my throat. Instead, I asked him, “Do you know what you want?”

  He pulled off the shades, then eyed me up and down. “I think I do. But why don’t you surprise me?”

  My tummy took a slow dive. Oh, yeah. He was the prince all right. There was no one on this side of the free world who hadn’t gotten lost in the magazine covers of those incredibly bluer
than blue eyes of his. I’d walked out on countless debates over whether they were azure or turquoise, whether his hair was raven or onyx. Whether he preferred vanilla or kink…good girls or bad. Based on his half-naked antics in the press lately, I’d say bad was a safe bet. The rest I couldn’t care less about. In fact, none of it held any interest to me, but my mother’s company was on the line, which meant so was my sanity if I messed this up, so…

  I swallowed. “I—um, I need to apologize for my abrupt behavior earlier.” My gaze dropped to the floor, praying a crevasse would open up and swallow me whole. No such luck, though I could have sworn I heard something crack beneath my feet. “I didn’t mean to be so curt. Been a long night.”

  “No. Hey, I’m the one who should be apologizing,” he said, flashing the grin, the one that melted the panties off of at least a dozen starlets, debutants, and countesses, according to TMZ.

  I rolled my eyes. So sincere. I unfolded a box and lined it with parchment, then collected an assortment of donuts, not really paying much attention to which. I counted ‘til I reached twelve. Then added another… that was for my mother. She’d said be nice. A free donut for the sexy royal rebel. That was nice, wasn’t it? I handed him the box. And offered a plastic smile to go with it. “Thanks, come again.”

  He handed me a large bill. Enough for a few baker’s dozen. “Honestly,” he said, setting his box on the counter, “let me compensate you for your trouble, luv.” He pulled out a thick wallet and laid down three hundred quid more.

  I backed up a step. Then another. That was more than I made in a month working here. Just what the hell was he expecting for that massive sum of money? He could have purchased a year’s worth of donuts. I watched him slide the bills across the counter toward me.

  “For you. With my apologies.” Another smile.

  I stiffened, then, with very precise movements, I leaned forward and slid the money back toward him with one finger.

 

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