The following is an original work of fiction. Unless otherwise indicated, all the names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents in this book/story are either the product of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Chapter 5
Atop another dais in an equally oversized room, I stood poised just as before, only this time I was masked. As I would be until, well, I didn’t know exactly when.
Looking around the room with a new perspective, the mask not yet uncomfortable, simply different. It didn’t have the effect I imagined.
Having attended several masked balls, I assumed a certain amount of expertise. Ways to hold my head to minimize blind spots in my periphery. How to express myself only through the eyes. Adversely, how to shield my thoughts and emotions. Fortunately, that was something that was taught to me early on anyway. No one needs a royal that could easily be read.
Masquerade masks may not have been as conservative as this mask, but the knowledge that I was able to remove those masks at any time was now a lost privilege never before appreciated.
The edges of the mask hindered my ability more than I expected. But that didn’t stop me from noticing the perfectly poised woman to my left.
Regal confidence lacking arrogance while commanding respect. The queen’s petite stature not doing anything to diminish her presence. The gentle, feminine curves of her face pleasantly watching the room. The hard glint in her eyes the only hint that she should not be underestimated.
Golden hair gathered pristinely at the back of her head leaving the gentle slope of her pointed ears exposed. A simple jeweled circlet resting effortlessly atop her head.
Eildun didn’t have the physical traits marking them immortal the Fae had. Pointed ears, sun-kissed skin, and elongated canines. The latter was usually only seen when the owner wished them to be. But make no mistake, they were there.
Though it was rumored that Fae were originally created with wings, that trait had been absent for thousands of years if they truly had them at all.
But this particular Fae looked absolutely demure. The epitome of what I imagined one would look like. I had yet to have the privilege of meeting Queen Ingenia or even seeing her in person. It might have been seen as rude if she looked over at me just now, but I couldn’t help but stare.
Wearing a dress of green and purple, honoring the colors of both kingdoms. Her poise and mannerisms seemed gentle but not meek. I had heard many things about the queen. Particularly how she stood strong beside her husband, King Basileus Robur. Not a weak consort, but a fortified partner to his reign. Something my father attributed as one of King Baslieus’ weaknesses. And an obstacle to my future ruling.
Next to the queen stood her youngest son. Nearly a full century my elder even though he didn’t look a day over twenty. Prince Injaenus continued to stand with his hands clasped before him as he had during the ceremony.
Unlike with the Fae Queen, this was the second time I had seen the princeling. I hated to admit that he was just as handsome as I remembered. Deep chestnut hair that rivaled the richest trees in the forest inherited from his father. Strong, chiseled features with the soft edge of his mother’s. But his eyes were all his. Not even his older brother shared their likeness, if I remembered correctly.
Right now, those intriguing eyes were trained on me – again. Or still? I wasn’t sure. Nor did I truly want to be sure.
Once my eyes met his, I gasped. The feeling of weightlessness had my breath stalling. A budding tightness formed in my chest, not just from fear. The sensation quickly blossomed into a swarm of butterflies performing aerial acrobatics around my insides. Each one begging to be released with one objective in mind – Prince Injaenus.
Magic, I thought to myself. There was no doubt in my mind that him and his power were responsible for this. From the look on his face, I wasn’t sure he was even aware of what he was doing. Which was unfathomable to me.
Another difference between our races was power. Fae inherently had a great deal. As Eildun, we did have access to a similar well of power, just not as vast. Relying mostly on the use of blood and runes. Our only true saving grace was that Eildun were somewhat immune to much of their magic. Sure, our clothes would burn if Fae threw conjured fire at us, but not our skin. If we did not protect our thoughts, Fae could possibly glean our intentions or emotions behind an action, but never read or control them outright. Our minds and actions would remain our own despite how powerful a Fae was — supposedly.
Humans on the other hand, well, they could learn to use rune magic if they wished. But they would never have access to a well of power as immortals did.
Of course, there was a legend Finneck once told me of humans that naturally wielded Fae-level magic. According to him, they had all been banished to the Dark Island long ago and that was why there were none left in Corianth. I believed that as much as I believed in fire-breathing drakes.
Once again, Khyain’s throat clearing caught my attention, startling me from my thoughts. His voice soaring across the hall announcing my father, King Aesiri Gyphder. Stepping from the dais, the crowd moved, giving their king ample room as he moved toward the center of the room.
“Presenting the Crown Princess Zharralia Gyphder,” Khayin announced.
Descending the three steps, I accepted my father’s outstretched hand. The swarming sensation in my abdomen as he led me to him subsided enough to focus on this moment.
Settling into position, my father nodded. Music floated from the stringed ensemble at the far corner of the room.
As we began to dance, I found I wasn’t as uncomfortable in my father’s arms as I imagined. He had never been a particularly affectionate man. I knew he cared for me as any father would, but his priority had always been his people and kingdom. As it should have been. Especially in time of war.
Once, about a year ago, my father told me that to look at me was to look upon my mother’s face. I reveled in the thought that I physically represented the woman I held no memory. And now he was dancing with me. Looking upon me with pride, gracefully leading me around the room.
A part of me wished this had happened before the mask had been placed so I could feel that gaze upon my face.
The music ended far too quickly. My father released his light hold too soon. Stepping back to give me a slight nod of his head, the only bow he would ever grant anyone other than an ordained deity. That minute gesture, permission, an invitation for others to dance with the newly masked princess.
This was the part I dreaded more than the hours I had spent painstakingly getting that tattoo laid into my skin or listening to Khayin prattle on about gods only knew what. I would happily endure either of those just to forego this carnival.
The first two candidates that presented themselves were sons of some lord or another. Maybe.
Always the same. In the beginning, I have every intention of respectfully giving each of my dance partners my fully attention. It was the least I could have done. That naïve objective quickly faded as it usually had. I don’t know why I continued to care or try. All they wanted to talk about was the mask. At least that was different from trying to lure me into some intimate situation just for bragging rights.
This time they all wanted to know what it felt like to have the mask cover my entire face. What I thought others would think. Under what circumstances I would be allowed to discard it. That question was always uttered low with a smirk and followed by me rolling my eyes.
The only answer I gave pertaining to the mask remained the same. “It feels as magnanimous as the honor itself.”
Leaving it at that, my partners would quickly change the subject to themselves. Mostly spouting their over inflated self-importance hoping to pique my interest. Not only had my father opened the door to a seemingly endless stream of dance partners, but he had officially offered me up to any worthy suitor.
Of course, that meant that everything spewed from their mouths was nothing but a string of exaggerated accomplishments and displays of vanity.
Worthy clearly didn’t mean the same to me as to them.
After what seemed like a never-ending line of the curious and innocuous, I found myself thrust into internal chaos.
Without ceremony, or warning, Prince Injaenus stood opposite me. The sight of him nearly stole my breath from my lungs as he stood bathed in the soft warm ambience of the room. The butterflies had long been drowned and forgotten until he stepped within proximity.
My interactions with the Fae were limited. I couldn’t help but wonder if they all had the same aura of magic that the prince had. Standing only a few feet from me, I could feel the charge of power rolling off him in thick waves. It wasn’t threatening or uncomfortable. Burying my hands into the layers of my skirts, refusing to give into the urge to run my hands through the invisible barrier humming around him.
I hadn’t noticed anything like this the other limited times I have been around Fae. Did it correlate with the strength of their personal power? From the feel of it, Prince Injaenus was very powerful.
Was it because I’ve reached eighteen, when my own glimmer of power would blossom, I would be able to detect such things? If so, visiting Terrennum would not be the best idea until I learned some control.
My whole body seemed to want to sway toward the feeling that vibrated around him. As others passed closely by the Fae prince, they didn’t seem to notice. One courtier brushed a shoulder against him, blushing as she looked over her shoulder in apology. But I didn’t think that was due to his magic.
In truth he was achingly beautiful with an ethereal masculinity that epitomized divine intervention. As if he was sculpted by the gods themselves. His dark gray suit cut perfectly to showcase his physique. Broad shoulders topped a torso that tapered down to a trim waist that was encircled by an elaborate scabbard, empty, as it slung low around his waist. Trousers that fit well enough to hint at the power of his long legs.
The top half of his straight, chestnut hair was knotted back at the crown of his head. The knot peaking out from the thin gold circlet he wore. The stretch of his hair creating a sharp line from his sculpted cheekbones to the gentle slope of his ears. Tanned skin making the irises of his deep eyes seem to glow.
Biting the inside of my cheek, I cursed myself for no doubt staring like a besotted idiot. Instead of being captured by his beauty, I should have been spending the time fabricating a reason to excuse myself from having any interaction with the prince. Since my entire being seemed to want to revel in the feel of his presence, the last thing I wanted to do was touch the man.
There was nothing. My head was an empty space of curiosity. What would it feel like to have his muscles moving under my touch? Is his hair as soft as it looked? Would he show me his elongated canines if I asked? Is he as lonely as I feel?
Shit. My brain was more than useless. It was a hinderance that no doubt would land me in a minefield of trouble.
Bowing deeply at the waist, Prince Injaenus extended a hand toward me. Allowing muscle memory to take over, I curtsied, placing my right into his left while keeping my eyes down.
Biting down on my bottom lip hard enough to nearly taste blood in order to keep from reacting to his touch. A thrum of something akin to lightning shot up my arm. The old scar at my back ached as the sensation flowed across to my other arm.
An equally alarming sensation ignited my skin as he placed his right hand on my lower back. The light fabric of the dress suddenly felt too thin and wispy to be adequate for this situation. Personally, I felt that anything less than battle leathers would be appropriate for this situation.
I didn’t think I would be grateful this early on to have a mask covering my heated face. Unable to stop myself, I lifted my eyes to his only to find his face impassive. Except for one small moment that barely lasted a heartbeat when I placed my left hand on his shoulder. A possible mark of emotion marred his brow. Gone before I could be sure.
The music began. To no surprise, the prince was a skilled dancer. We maintained a certain amount of space between us for the first several turns. Then I began to feel my skirts brush against his legs as we moved. His hand creeping farther around my waist the closer I got. Was I stepping closer to him or was he pulling? There was no reassurance in either option.
The pull to be immersed in his power had abated because I was there. Enveloped in not just his light embrace, but the potent feel of his power. My head swam momentarily as I took a deep breath and got a lungful of crisp air of the mountains capped with snow. I nearly closed my eyes as I took another greedy inhale. Pulling that scent to me, detecting complex layers. The moister rich grasses of a meadow in those mountains, the sun beaming on my face. Feeling its warmth filling me with such grace and comfort.
Pressure built in my chest and head.
Holding my breath. Opening my eyes I hadn’t even realized were closed. Unable to smell the sumptuousness wafting from him, the tightness in my chest relaxed slightly. But my head. I met his narrowed eyes.
No fucking way, I thought as I slammed down my mental shields.
The power to read another’s mind was a mythically rare talent. A power the Eildun should, by all accounts, have been immune. But the ability to read emotions was not so rare. In fact, it was simple. Because of that, I had been taught early on how to shield. Emotions coupled with context were as accurate as discovering a vague outline of someone’s inner thoughts. For a royal to be read with such ease would have severe consequences.
Having felt Injaenus’ power level, I wasn’t completely confident I would be able to keep him out of my mind if he was determined enough.
Unlike at the beginning of our dance, the small show of emotion on his face didn’t quickly disappear. With his hand at my back, I was certain the prince had been able to detect the small change in my demeanor as I shamefully began to fall into the presence that was the Fae prince.
My lungs began to seize. Too scared to take anything more than a shallow breath. Injaenus’ hand flexed at my lower back. His fingers curling around my waist brushing against bare skin where the dress split at the hips. The electric feeling that shot through my arms when we first touched was nothing compared to this. Every nerve woke with a spark. My skin felt alive and ready to explode in every direction if it didn’t get what it needed. But I had no idea what would satisfy it.
Searching for something, anything, my hand around his shoulder grasped to hold him tightly. Stepping closer into the prince, my eyes level with his chest, I could feel his face angled down toward me. Daring to look up, the edges of his mouth twitched as if he were fighting a smile.
Feeling my skin warm beneath my mask once more, I brought my gaze back to his chest but felt my own mouth threaten a smile. I had expected to see a stoic expression topping his royal façade. The small gesture of lightness helped me relax into his hold. Allowing him to take the weight of my hand in his. Leaning slightly.
My chest thrumming comfortably. That’s what this was – comfortable. A feeling I would worry about later. Right now, I let my left arm slide more securely around his shoulder now that I no longer needed to grip him so tightly. My hand found a loose section of his hair that brushed his shoulders. Damn it, it was as soft and thick as it looked.
A sense of peace washed over me as his arms firmly supported our glide around the room. My head leaning dangerously close to his chest as my neck was losing the battle to support it. The pressure inside it may have been gone, but it suddenly felt very heavy as a bout of lightheadedness washed over me. There had been a few similar episodes the last few days. Quickly blaming it on all my body had gone through to prepare for tonight.
My steps faltered. Wrapping his arm around my waist, Injaenus stopped our dance to steady my wobble. Both my hands found his hard chest. The only things keeping me from fully pressing my body into his.
The sensation began in my palms. A soft sting that soon traveled down my arms to continue the entire length of my body. Curling my toes. Loftiness in my head threatened the stability of my legs further.
Yup, touch is bad, I concluded with some finality. Certain it gave his magic a bolster the more I touched him.
“Are you alright, Zahrra?” Injaenus’ soft, concerned voice came out deep, washing down over my face as if the mask were no longer there. His words barely a whisper since we were close, so close. The heat of his body penetrating mine as if that too was naked. The sides of the mask and movement of my dress was the only confirmation that I was not laid completely bare to this man.
“Zahrra?” he inquired again in the same canter.
Wait. What did he just call me? And did he use that voice on everyone?
It caressed. Drew me in closer to his chest. Seemed there was more to fear from the Fae than just their treacherous power. The fear had more to do with the chill running down my spine at the pure purr of his voice. The sound of my familiar name uttered in his rich cadence was the most dangerous of all.
Warmth reignited in my chest before spreading back over my limbs. I wanted nothing more than to put space between us, breaking the hold his power had on me. But the soft gray fabric that covered his chest felt as thick as one single, sheer, layer from my skirts. Muscles shifting to accommodate my position stilled, cementing his hold. Pausing, feeling the rise and fall of each breath. Just beyond, the beating of his heart.
Armor, for the both of us. That was what we needed.
My eyes left the expanse of his chest, traveling across his shoulders, up along his smooth neck to a defined jaw. Full lips bowed up softly as he smiled down at me.
Shaking my head, trying to clear every thought. Pushing against the wall of muscle, I stepped back. A small tinge of disappointment as he allowed space to grow between us. The searing heat of the hand that remained against my waist kept me still.
Leaning forward, his smile morphing into a satisfied smirk. “That mask can only hide so much, Princess,” he whispered in a dulcetly, smooth voice that promised something dark and delicious.
Before my stalled brain could think of anything other than ass as a reply, he completely released his hold. Stepping back far enough to offer me another deep bow. Leaving me open to the next partner without so much as a glance back.
