My eyes widened. “What’s all this?”
“I promised you a celebration ball to remember,” Lark said.
“As though I could ever forget the day you became mine.”
“You’re just as much mine.”
“Yeah, that’s how this marriage thing works.” I laughed. Such a foreign sound on my lips. Around Lark, it felt easy. Natural.
Applause thundered as the fire juggler balanced a torch on his chin. No one was doing much dancing anymore. It was just Lark and me, holding on to one another, swaying. I wondered if Lark was bored, if he would pull away to get in on the fire act. He probably couldn’t help himself. But he just kept staring at me, holding on.
“Don’t you want to watch your performers?” I asked.
“I’d rather watch you.”
I squeezed his shoulder. I enjoyed being wooed by Lark even after we’d spoken our vows and mixed blood.
The music changed. The tempo turned upbeat, and several of the performers sang. A slender male with shaggy red-and-gold-highlighted hair made his way to us, playing a cittern. His attention was entirely on his instrument, as though he was strumming while strolling along a forest path for his own pleasure. A young woman with a messy head of dirty blonde curls joined him with her tambourine. Their musical friends joined them, forming two lines along the dance floor. It was as though they were serenading us. But not directly. They looked like revelers who had stumbled into the palace, then decided to stick around and enjoy themselves. Their energetic chorus filled me with something I couldn’t quite describe. It was a feeling without explanation. They kept repeating two words. Then the lyrics took off.
I squinted at Lark. “This isn’t a faerie song.”
He smiled sheepishly. “It’s from the mortal world. ‘Ho Hey’ from a musical group called The Lumineers.”
“That’s an odd name, but I like it.”
I released Lark’s neck and swayed my shoulders to the beat of the song. Lark’s grin widened. His elf cousin joined us with her date and bobbed her head, mouthing the words of the chorus. Kenzie grabbed Easton Olaro by the hand and brought him over. Then Lark’s twin brothers jogged to our little group and began calling out “Hey! Ho!” with the singers, stomping their loafers over the floor.
My cheeks hurt from smiling. Again, I had the feeling I was no longer inside my own body but looking down on someone else’s life. Like I was dreaming. Like this wasn’t real.
It struck me that I might spend the rest of my days feeling this way.
And that was just fine by me.
###
The Royal Conquest Heirs continues with The Dark Pretender. Continue reading the first chapter of Alok and Fraya's heart wrenching second chance romance. For more laughs, be sure to read The Golden Prince Bloopers following the sample.
THE DARK PRETENDER EXCERPT
PROLOGUE
Alok
A kingdom of my own.
For a fraction of a moment, a glorified future was within my grasp. I’d held a jeweled crown of Dahlquist in my hands. I was about to take control of the castle.
Just as quickly, I lost it all.
But the worst thing was losing her.
CHAPTER ONE
Alok
Ice crystallized each windowpane in Hailshadow Manor’s chilly front parlor. The wind outside blew falling snow into swirls of white curling ribbon that spooled into the snowdrifts blocking the main road.
Oreal sat straight-backed on a stiff navy sofa with her sister-in-law, Lady Yasmine, drinking beetberry wine from chilled glasses. Both women were tall and thin with sharp features like icicles. Oreal, whom I couldn’t bring myself to call Mother, was six foot three, like me, with hair black as night. While the women gulped their wine, my twin sister and I huddled in front of the hearth, taking in what pockets of warmth the dying embers offered.
Lady Yasmine tipped her glass back, narrowing her eyes at us over the rim. “Look at them shivering like rabbits.” She sneered.
Oreal’s upper lip curled, her face as pale and cold as the snow outside. “They have their father’s blood.”
“A grave disappointment to you, my dear. Such a shame you got stuck with two Elmray spawn.”
Oreal nodded. “Utterly useless, both of them.”
The harpies knocked back more beetberry wine. It was a specialty in Frostweather—bitter and cold like everything else in this Sky-forsaken kingdom.
“My brother was kind to take them in. I would not have allowed Dahlquist dirt into my home.”
Rage burned up my spine. Suddenly, I was no longer chilled. Anger was a constant companion at Hailshadow, always simmering beneath the surface of my mind, ready to flare up and burst out of me like the geysers in Swampia.
My sister stepped closer to me. Whereas Oreal was all sharp edges and reedy hair, Reyna was soft curves and silken black locks. The press of her shoulder begged me not to act out. We had nowhere else to go. No one to take us in. Reyna had lived at Hailshadow all her life. She’d hardened herself to Oreal and our blackguard of a stepfather, Bhevac. Schooled herself to appear obedient. If Reyna wasn’t leaning against me, I’d storm over to Lady Yasmine, grab the glass from her bony fingers, and smash it against the wall.
Frigid bitch. Even exiled, I was still a prince of Dahlquist.
Lady Yasmine made a slurping sound as she finished off her wine before snapping at the nearest attendant to refill her glass. An unsmiling male dressed in black left his post beside the doorway to pour her a full glass.
“Top off Lady Oreal while you’re at it,” she instructed. “Where are you scampering off to?” she snapped when I started toward the door. “Your mother has not given you permission to leave.”
More likely they’d have nothing left to entertain them if I wasn’t around to insult. “Very well, since you find my presence so agreeable, I shall grace you with my continued company,” I said mockingly.
“Don’t get smart with me, boy.” Lady Yasmine narrowed her eyes.
“Go then,” Oreal said, waving me off. “I already have to see you more than I care to.”
I didn’t have to be told twice. Head lifted, I swept out as though I were lord of the manor.
Once I reached my chamber, I picked up a carved chair with clawed feet and launched it at the wall with enough force for it to crack. I snatched it back up and smashed it again and again until it resembled kindling more than furniture. Looking down at the splintered wood felt like a preview of my life. How many more insults could I take before I broke apart? The only thing that kept me sane was sneaking away to the elven realm with my sister whenever Oreal and Bhevac left Hailshadow on holiday. As the children of a deceased king, my sister and I had the power to create portals.
In the elven realm, we were treated with reverence. We were Fae royalty, welcomed by all the high elves to their house parties and fetes. An open invitation issued for whenever we found time to drag ourselves away from our “charmed” life in Faerie.
It didn’t matter that we brought little coin. The high elves were happy to feed and entertain us. Having a Fae prince and princess in attendance was the real prize.
I flexed my fingers, wanting nothing more than to leave this wasteland behind once and for all.
Oreal had issued a severe warning that if she ever caught us portaling out of Frostweather, we shouldn’t bother returning. As if I wanted to return to this frozen cesspit. But Reyna had pointed out on numerous occasions that our status in the elven realm would crumble apart faster than a dry snowball if we were known as refugees turned out by our own mother. It was one thing to spend a weekend, or even a week, at a house party; it was quite another to beg asylum. We were both too proud for that. And forget travel in Faerie. Oreal was fond of reminding me that King Liri had issued orders to kill me on sight with a hefty reward awaiting any who delivered him my head.
I walked up to my vanity, gripping the edge of the dark table. My black hair hung over my forehead, prickling my eyes. It looked a mess—li
ke me. Lulu would have offered to trim it. She’d ask if she could add highlights.
I didn’t want to think of my adoptive mother and the love she’d given me. I hated how I’d left her at Dahlquist Castle without a goodbye. I’d betrayed the one female who’d loved me unconditionally. I blamed Oreal for abandoning me at the Fable Festival in Dahlquist when I was seven with orders to infiltrate the castle, free my uncle Malon from the dungeons, and steal back my crown. I blamed Uncle Malon for turning out to be a wretch, just like my mother. I blamed Lark Elmray for messing up my plans. But mostly, I blamed myself for going along with any of it in the first place. I’d had a happy home. An adoptive mother who loved me. An elf girlfriend who had made me happier than I’d ever dreamed. I’d been prepared to give up all my mother’s plans for Fraya Keasandoral—until Lark humiliated me in front of her. He’d forced my hand. I couldn’t let her think I was some low-life servant. She deserved better. She deserved a prince, just like her mother’s first mate, Cirrus Elmray. Granted, it was all a bit messed up, but when it came to Fraya, my feelings had been as strong and sound as pure gold.
I thought back to the first time I met Fraya.
I was twelve years old, my lower lip trembling as Lark made fun of the purple highlights Lulu had applied to the top of my head.
“I should start calling you grape head or eggplant.” Lark had laughed. When I squinted at him in confusion, he sighed and informed me that an eggplant was a type of vegetable in the mortal realm. “Not that you’d know,” he said in a haughty tone.
He was always flaunting his world travels, especially when his cousin Fraya was visiting. Such a prick. He wouldn’t have been so smug if he’d known we were family, but that was a secret I was sworn to keep until the timing was right. I couldn’t wait to put the blond jerk face back in his place.
Instead, I stormed out before I lost my cool and spoiled everything.
Fraya found me in the nursery on the window seat, arms wrapped around my knees. On the grounds below, Reed and Ronin, Lark’s six-year-old twin brothers (my first cousins!), chased one another while their nannies watched.
On noticing Fraya’s arrival, I turned my attention back to the window. She joined me on the ledge, brushing right up against my back. I kept still, hardly breathing. Unlike Lark, she never put on airs. She was dressed in cobalt leggings, a cream blouse, a black leather waist cincher, and knee-high boots. Smooth, sunny blonde hair reached practically to Fraya’s waist. I always felt tongue-tied around the beautiful elf.
“Lark’s just jealous because you look cool and you were getting all the attention.” She spoke with sweet confidence. “I love how it looks. It’s stylish and bold. Not everyone is brave enough to pull it off.”
She shocked me by running her fingers through my hair. My scalp buzzed beneath her touch. Tingles traveled down my neck. I wanted to lean in to her, but I was afraid she’d stop if I made the slightest movement. On the next stroke, she scraped her nails gently along my scalp. It felt like she was pulling me apart one thread at a time, exposing feelings and sensations I couldn’t keep up with—not when she continued touching me so brazenly.
“I bet blue highlights would look striking with your black hair,” Fraya said as she pulled her hands away and folded them in her lap.
Afraid my voice would sound raspy, I gave a nod. Blood pounded in my ears. My heartbeat thumped in warning against my ribs. What was this feeling? It was like a stomachache and celebration all wrapped together in one jumbled mess.
After that, I asked Lulu for blue highlights. Fraya didn’t see them right away. When she next visited Dahlquist Castle, she was fourteen and I was thirteen. I was ready that time. I’d asked Manga, the flirty eldest daughter of the head cook, for instructions on kissing. She’d agreed, saying we both needed the practice—me more than her. She had her sights set on one of the younger royal guards. We were both determined to make ourselves irresistible.
The next time Fraya touched my hair, I kissed her. And in that moment, my heart claimed hers. Naively, I’d believed we were destined for one another. Fated.
Now, I was the last male Fraya would ever choose.
My focus returned to the present. Coal-black eyes glowered back at me in the mirror. There wasn’t a trace of color in my midnight locks. My lips no longer knew how to smile. My heart no longer had the capacity to love.
But still, that dark Elmray obsession, embedded deep in my DNA, vowed to make Fraya mine.
I hadn’t moved on, even though she had, years ago. I’d never move on. Never give up. Never get over her.
And if I ever had even the smallest chance with her again, I wouldn’t relent until our heartlines were sliced open, our blood was mixed, and we were bound together as forever mates.
I caught my reflection in the mirror—my head shaking at my insanity.
I had a better chance of storming Dahlquist Castle and stealing the crown off King Liri’s head than I did of winning over Fraya Keasandoral. I’d blown my chances at the crown and with her. And still, I couldn’t let go.
###
Continue reading THE DARK PRETENDER
BLOOPERS
I swear I was a goner the moment I heard his voice. There was something magnificent and breathtaking taking about his arrogance.
(“Breathtaking taking” . . .Crispin really stole Lark’s breath. Double-time.)
Lark wasn’t expecting me my attack.
(Pretty sure this was originally “Lark wasn’t expecting me to attack.)
“His attention was to harm, not kill.”
(Which is why he was paying attention.)
“Are there expenses we could cut in the castle to lesson the burden on Dahlquist’s citizens?” I asked, thinking of the extravagant party my aunt had just thrown.
(Lark’s family could use a “lesson” in budgeting to “lessen” the cost to citizens.)
Door jam.
(Hmm. Never tried that flavor before.)
“Crispin Maglen, who knew you were such a bleeding heart?” I ran a hand through his chair.
(Have a seat while I touch your hair.)
“Lark Elmray was a scratch that needed itching.”
(An itch that needed scratching. Let’s just switch those around, shall we?)
It’s the spiders I’m more worried about as I lead the way through overhanging brush and trees with drooping branches that seem to want to steal my cloak.
(One of many places where I slipped into present tense. This is the hazard of writing a book in past tense while reading a bunch of books written in present. Arg! Whole paragraphs had to be re-worded. Good times.)
The basilisk was on the phone and headed in the same direction as the hoofprints.
(“Hello? Basilisk here. Could we video chat? I’d like to look you in the eyes.” Mwa-ha,ha.)
“Hi, I’m Kenzie. Crispin’s brother.”
(Did Kenzie have a sex change operation? Okay, for this one I was drinking wine. I mean, it’s a wedding celebration. Hey! Getting into the vibe of the scene. And, fun fact, this scene was written the evening of Halloween 2019.)
“Crispin Maglen, earl of Ashcraw, tonight I claim you as my one true mate, my first and my only to project and cherish from now until the end.”
(No need to “project” through dreamscapes any longer. You guys are a mated couple now. Congratulations!)
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Slaying, Magic Making, Running Wild, AND RULING THE WORLD!
Discover your next fantasy fix with these riveting paranormal romance titles by Nikki Jefford:
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SPELLBOUND TRILOGY
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
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