Vengeful Prince

by Mary E. Twomey

  Lexi smiles with those full lips of his, and my heart aches. His white-blond hair is typical of his fae heritage, yet he’s more stunning and regal than any man has a right to be. How I cried for him when I was taken away. He studies my face, so I glance away. “There. That wasn’t so hard, was it? Tell us about yourself, Fair Hannah.”

  No. My name’s not Hannah, dummy. Lilya. You know my name is Lilya. You called me your Lily-girl. I never stopped being your Lily-girl.

  But Hannah he calls me, so Hannah I’ll be.

  I swallow any semblance of a reaction and don a polite smile. “Not much to tell. I’m fae, but I don’t practice magic. I live in Neutral Territory. I work at the pub.”

  “How long have you lived here, outside of Faveda?”

  Ever since General Klein sent me away to keep me from accidentally killing people. I should lie, but the truth comes out instead. I hate when that happens. “Sixteen years.”

  Prince Alexavier’s eyebrows raise. His hair is expertly cut close to his ears and styled in waves on top. My lavender hair, on the other hand, is assembled in a messy top-knot, making me wish I’d at least combed my curly locks this morning before coming in to work.

  “Sixteen years in Neutral Territory? You’re older than that.” His eyes widen. “So you weren’t born here. But you’ve been here too long to have been sent by the government, if somehow someone lost their mind and sentenced a fae to live in this awful place. How old are you?”

  Jeez, what is this? “Twenty-four.”

  Though Prince Destino’s clearly been freshly beaten, he’s alert and engaged in what I can’t imagine would be an interesting conversation to someone as fancy as him. “You’ve lived here since you were eight years old? Wasn’t that a bit dangerous for your parents to move your family here when you were so young?”

  It was terrifying. I was eight years old when General Klein kicked me out of his family and faked my death for being an accidental mass-murderer. “Father didn’t move here with me. He sent me here when my professors ruled I had no magical ability. No better way to keep the reputation of faes being the best in the kingdom than to send away the low performers. No one minds me being stupid in Neutral Territory. My boss loves that he’s the only business in the entire region that’s got electricity. It’s only scary here to outsiders—Territorials like you, which I am not.”

  Lexi looks like he’s going to be sick. Like this is all some crazy surprise to him that families turn on their young. He knew my father; he shouldn’t be all that shocked. Though, half of me is secretly glad that some precious part of my dear Lexi managed to survive growing calloused over the years.

  “Who are your parents?” Lexi leans forward, concern knitting his blond brows.

  My attitude curves my upper lip. “Seriously?”

  “Seriously, tell me you’re joking.”

  I fix my eyes on him and deliver a deadpanned, “It’s my greatest joy to joke about life in Neutral Territory. Will that be all, your majesties? Have you learned enough about life in the slums for one night? I wouldn’t want to keep you from your peony water and other such luxuries.”

  Lexi fixes Prince Destino with a meaningful stare. “That’s not all. We didn’t come here to learn about the problems no one can fix. We’re here to talk about one very specific problem that we’d love your help addressing.”

  I lean forward, resting my elbows on the table. “Could this night get any weirder? The three princes of the three territories need the help of a barmaid who didn’t even graduate primary school? This, I gotta hear.”

  Prince Destino kicks at the back leg of my chair and turns the whole thing so I’m facing him. His golden eyes are so intense that, for a second, I consider saying yes to whatever it is that tumbles out of his mouth next. Dang, vampires can be intimidating. All coherent speech leaves me when Prince Destino Karamathian reaches out to touch my hand, his eyes piercing straight through me as he says in his proper accent, “Hannah, I need you to marry me.”

  5

  Convincing Hannah

  Alexavier

  Normally I derive great pleasure from watching Des squirm, but this time, I’m worried perhaps I’ve gambled too much on a hand I don’t fully understand. What parent would send their eight-year-old to Neutral Territory without moving there themselves? Might as well just sign her death notice. Though, seeing as this scrappy beauty made it to her twenties, perhaps Salem was right about this one being thick-skinned. I make a note to myself to look up her parents straightaway and see what the circumstances were. That is, if she’ll tell me a dang thing about herself.

  “I’m quite serious,” Des assures her, but it’s clear she’s going to need more than that. “Think about it. If we want these terrible prejudices to go away between our races, we have to do something radical.”

  “Something insane, you mean? Why on earth would you want to marry a fae woman? We hate vampires! Aside from that, you don’t even know me!”

  Her reaction is no surprise, but her standing and backing away from us is. I rise, holding up my hands to calm her. “Do you hate vampires? Because if you do, you’re right, this won’t work. But being that you serve vampires in this bar, I’m guessing you think these old prejudices are as ridiculous as we do.”

  She fixes me with big blue eyes that narrow with old hatred I can tell hasn’t been properly buried. It’s me who’s about to pay for her parents sending her here as a small child. “I think fae can be just as big a bane to the world as vampires and shifters. I’ve yet to figure out which is the superior race, because all of you send your rejects and dirty secrets here, where at least we have the sense to hate each other equally.” I can see genuine hurt shining in those pretty eyes.

  Something pings in my chest, which catches me by surprise. I usually don’t feel much of anything anymore, but her raw indignation makes me want to apologize for crimes I’m sure I didn’t commit. I mean, I don’t even know this woman. But there’s something in the way she challenges me, the tone of her voice and curve of her heart-shaped face that strikes me as… familiar? I can’t quite put my finger on it, but I also can’t look away.

  Her voice is sharp with hurt as she points at Des and me. “Coming here and pulling this kind of thing on me is mean. Like I don’t know you’re lying to get me all nervous and fanning myself for you. Finish your drinks and leave. Stinking Territorials.” Her finger jabs in my direction. “I expected more from you.”

  Though I’m used to being blamed for the sins of my father’s shortsighted rule, this one stings.

  Des stands, his face distraught. “Wait! Hannah, I didn’t mean to insult you. It was a genuine offer for marriage!”

  She turns and bumps smack into Salem’s chest. As if the brief touch has the ability to knock loose her true emotions, suddenly the anger in her eyes turns to agony. “Why would you bring them here? Is it funny to you to twist me up like this? I was good to you every time you came in here. Then you bring them in and he… and I… and…” Just when I think Salem’s about to say something to quell her fretting, she shouts, “Stop making me think there’s more for me than this!”

  Salem drinks in her face like a man in love. Because of us, he’s managed to piss off the only woman he’s ever had eyes for. I’m still wrapping my mind around that one. Seven men jumped him days ago, and he couldn’t care less, but this little spitfire yells at him, and he’s running his hands through his gray hair like he wishes he had a comb and something more to offer her. “Ye don’t think I want more for ye than this life?”

  “You’re cruel,” she whispers. “Hope is just plain mean in a place like this.”

  She looks inches away from tears, so I stand and take out my handkerchief, rounding the wooden table to fold it into her palm. “I promise you, this is no joke or false hope. Des has every intention of marrying you. He wants to make a statement to the entire world, showing them there’s no need for this much hatred between the territories. It’s probably not the marriage you’ve always dreamed of. It
would be more of a political partnership. We truly believe this could be the start of something big.” I watch her fist close around the silk. She studies my family crest that’s been embroidered on the edge, tracing the blue and purple threads as if they were brought here to remind her of all she’s lost. My voice quiets to respect the fact that she probably hates anyone from her homeland. “I can understand if maybe it’s a challenge that’s too big. We just want to find a way to end the hatred. Making a statement like this could go a long way.”

  Des hisses as he drops his drink, the red cola spilling all over. “Ah! Oh, that was brilliant. I’m sorry, Hannah.”

  I wince at the sound of the shatter, and the sight of the purified blood drink splattered all over the floor and chair legs. I can’t hold back my irritated sigh. “Honestly, you’ve just proposed marriage. At least pretend you’re offering this woman someone civilized. Think more dashing prince and less clumsy ox.”

  “Sorry. I thought I had a grip on it. I need to get this looked at. It’s really starting to hurt.” Des’ eyes flick to Hannah’s. “Any chance you know of a healer nearby who can be discreet?”

  Just like that, Hannah beelines to his side. “What’s the problem? You’ve got a black eye and some scrapes, but that’s not the worst of it?”

  Des’ neck shrinks as he rolls up his sleeve. “My arm’s a tiny bit broken. Ribs might be bruised, too.”

  Her eyebrow raises, and I can’t help but find the motion cute. “How exactly does one break one’s arm ‘a tiny bit’? May I?” She waits for him to offer up his injury for perusal before she lightly touches the troubling bump in the middle of his forearm. It looks worse than it did in the cave, now that there’s light shining on the bruising. She makes a sympathetic face when Des winces at her tender touch, and in that small exchange, I can tell this is going to work.

  It has to work.

  Most women shrink to giggles or switch to full-on flirtation when they meet any one of us. But she’s shouted at Salem and is less than impressed by me.

  All that matters is that she gets along with Des.

  She fusses over his arm like anyone would who’s got kindness buried in their soul that extends beyond their own race. “Let’s get your cloak back on. I’ll take you to someone who can help. Just let me clean up the mess first.”

  Des dips his chin sheepishly. “I really am sorry about that. I feel quite foolish, proposing and then making a horrid mess.”

  “Don’t worry about it. It’s my job.”

  I try to cover my smile when she refastens the loose strings of his cloak around his neck, as if he’s a child who can’t manage the feat. It’s sweet. She’s sweet. Beneath the anger, secrets and outright lies, she’s delicate and gracious as she flips his hood up.

  Salem’s already tending to the glass shards, though the look on his face isn’t his usual impassive frown. He looks as though he hates himself. The second she yelled at him, his whole demeanor turned mousy, which I’ll admit, I never thought I’d see on the commander of the shifter army and Prince of Jacoba. Though, watching a shifter clean up after a vampire in a fae-run bar is a sight I’m enjoying immensely.

  Before I know it, I’m helping mop up, wondering when exactly I decided cleaning was the thing I should be doing. She’s making a sling out of old rags and securing Des’ arm to his chest so he doesn’t injure it further, tsking him when he reaches for my drink. Adjusting his hood again, she blinks up at him, looking truly innocent as she whispers with a twinge of sadness in her big eyes, “Please.”

  She doesn’t lecture him on his penchant for binge drinking, as I’ve tried on too many occasions with zero results. She leans in, and I watch with curiosity as Des inhales the top of her head. His lashes flutter shut, and his shoulders drop. I wonder just how incredible she smells.

  If she can curb Des’ insatiable appetite for alcohol, I’ll give her the biggest wedding present money can buy.

  Des sets down the drink. “I suppose four shots is enough for the night.”

  Salem picked the right girl, for sure.

  Des is accident prone and downright foolish at times. He needs someone who can look after him, which she doesn’t need to be asked to do. Kindness pours out of her whenever she takes breaks from yelling at us. It’s endearing.

  If Des minds that the left side of her face is marked up, he doesn’t show it. Though, Salem could’ve at least warned us. Scarred as she is, her pretty pink lips are pursed as she fusses over Des, which I can tell he very much enjoys. She’s beautiful, and stands out like any fae woman would in a dump like this. I’m grateful Salem suggested her, so we can get her out of this hole.

  Though, we’re not exactly promising her safety, taking her into a land where she’ll be instantly hated and watched.

  “Prince Alexavier, you can put the mop back into the closet. I’ll clean up the rest later. Prince Salem, thank you for picking up the glass. Did you…” She sucks in her breath at the sight of a few pinpricks of blood on Salem’s palm. “You did! You cut yourself.” Her tone has the note of panic, as if he’s severed a finger or something. “Sit down. Let me look at it.”

  Salem dumps the glass shards into the bin and obeys her without blinking. “I’m alright,” he offers, but she’s not hearing a word. He’s stock-still, his back rigid in the chair as her fingers ghost over his palm. He’s obedient and pliable under her care while she examines the cuts. I want to rib him for needing such fawning over, but I can’t bring myself to take this moment away from Salem. For all the bravery and borderline stoicism he exhibits while fighting for his people, it’s clear by his frozen form and uneven breathing that he’s a scared schoolboy with a crush. Give him an army charging against him, and he’s cool and collected. Present him with the woman he loves, and he’s terrified. He’s enormous compared to her slender form, but it’s clear she’s the one in charge. He’ll move however she wishes.

  “Let me get my tweezers. Hold on.” She takes a few steps away and then turns with that bossy look tightening her features. Man, she’s cute, and she has no idea Salem is smitten with her. “Don’t go looking for more glass to pick up. I’ll get the rest.”

  Salem nods, mentally gluing himself to the chair. I tease him about it but he ignores me completely, his eyes fixed on the door she disappears through. When she comes back, she pulls out a seat before him and plops down without grace.

  We’ll have to work on that.

  Salem doesn’t look at the tweezers while she works, but focuses on the top of her head, inhaling deeply every now and then as if he’s been hoping for the chance to fill his lungs with her. Fae women do smell a great deal better than shifters, so I can’t fault him there. Jacoba’s in the middle of a water shortage, so bathing isn’t a priority. Though I do feel a little protective, being that Hannah and I are of the same race. I step closer, watching her work with meticulous fingers. No one gets close to Salem; he won’t allow it. Yet she’s inches away from being held by the man most people are shrewd enough to fear.

  When she finishes, she spills some litra over his hand to disinfect it and wraps it in a cloth. “You don’t have a cloak, do you.” She casts around. “I guess there’s no hiding you, then. We’ll take the back alleys. Put your cloak on, Alexavier. Hood up,” she reminds me, making her way toward the exit.

  The way she says my name is different. It feels… I don’t know. Not familiar exactly, but it’s casual in a way no one is except the guys. Everyone always uses my formal title.

  I do as she says as she turns off the light switch. I reach for the lantern by the exit, but she snatches it off the hook and lights it before I can touch the thing. “Keep your heads down as much as you can, alright? Prince Salem’s used to certain parts of Neutral Territory, but you two aren’t. The goal is to hoof it to my place without being made. Something tells me Prince Destino won’t be all that useful in a fight if anyone with a vendetta against, well, any one of you three realizes who you are.”

  “Hey!” Des frowns at the slight, t
hough she’s not knocking him. She’s being pragmatic. “Your place?” Des asks, grunting as he moves forward. “Am I to meet your parents?”

  Hannah floats over to him, alerted by the sound of his discomfort. The smile he gives her as she checks his arm and then pulls his cloak closed gives me hope that this might work. Des likes her enough not to jerk away completely. Hannah’s managed to put him at ease in the short time we’ve visited her bar.

  “The woman who took me in when I was a child is a healer, though good luck getting her to admit that to you. Don’t call her that. She’ll slam the door in your face.” She reaches for the door but turns around to us. “And don’t you dare mention your asinine marriage proposal. I’m still processing.”

  I snigger but Salem frowns. “Ye don’t have your coat. It’s raining out.”

  Her chin raises with a prideful defiance that’s so adorable, I can’t look away. “I happen to like the rain.”

  At least I know what her blatant lies look like.

  She doesn’t own a coat.

  Why doesn’t she own a coat?

  Des and I are untying our cloaks to drape around her dainty shoulders, but Salem beats us to it. He unbuttons his green military shirt, revealing his black undershirt, and threads her arms through. She’s swimming in the garment, but her eyes are laughing at the scandal. “Oh, if Father could see me now. His only daughter wearing the shifter commander’s military uniform. He’d…” Then her mouth slams shut and a veil of coldness creeps over her features.

  I need to know who her parents are.

  “It smells,” Salem says like an oaf. “Ye know, because I’m a shifter.”

  Her defiance takes a sweet turn as she presses her nose into the collar, inhaling like it’s the most delightful scent. I can firmly say that it’s not. “Mm. Nothing better.” Then she rewards Salem with a meek, “Thank you,” and brushes his rough knuckles with the tip of her finger before she throws open the door and leads us out into the night.