by Everly Frost
Storm Princess Saga
The Complete Series
Everly Frost
Jaymin Eve
Contents
Storm Princess 1
Prologue - Baelen Rath
1. Marbella Mercy
2. Baelen Rath
3. Marbella Mercy
4. Marbella Mercy
5. Marbella Mercy
6. Baelen Rath
7. Marbella Mercy
8. Marbella Mercy
9. Baelen Rath
10. Marbella Mercy
11. Marbella Mercy
12. Marbella Mercy
13. Baelen Rath
14. Marbella Mercy
15. Marbella Mercy
16. Marbella Mercy
17. Baelen Rath
18. Grayson Glory
19. Marbella Mercy
20. Marbella Mercy
21. Baelen Rath
22. Marbella Mercy
23. Marbella Mercy
24. Marbella Mercy
25. Marbella Mercy
26. Baelen Rath
27. Marbella Mercy
28. Marbella Mercy
29. Marbella Mercy
30. Marbella Mercy
31. Marbella Mercy
32. Marbella Mercy
33. Baelen Rath
34. Grayson Glory
35. Marbella Mercy
36. Marbella Mercy
37. Marbella Mercy
38. Baelen Rath
39. Marbella Mercy
40. Marbella Mercy
41. Marbella Mercy
42. Marbella Mercy
43. Marbella Mercy
44. Marbella Mercy
45. Baelen Rath
46. Marbella Mercy
47. Marbella Mercy
Epilogue - Grayson Glory
Storm Princess 2
Prologue - Cassian of the Hideaway Clan
1. Marbella Mercy
2. Baelen Rath
3. Marbella Mercy
4. Marbella Mercy
5. Marbella Mercy
6. Marbella Mercy
7. Marbella Mercy
8. Marbella Mercy
9. Marbella Mercy
10. Marbella Mercy
11. Cassian
12. Marbella Mercy
13. Cassian
14. Marbella Mercy
15. Marbella Mercy
16. Marbella Mercy
17. Marbella Mercy
18. Baelen Rath
19. Marbella Mercy
20. Marbella Mercy
21. Marbella Mercy
22. Marbella Mercy
23. Marbella Mercy
24. Marbella Mercy
25. Cassian
26. Marbella Mercy
27. Cassian
28. Marbella Mercy
29. Marbella Mercy
30. Baelen Rath
31. Marbella Mercy
32. Cassian
33. Marbella Mercy
34. Marbella Mercy
35. Marbella Mercy
36. Marbella Mercy
37. Marbella Mercy
38. Cassian
39. Marbella Mercy
40. Marbella Mercy
Epilogue - Cassian
Storm Princess 3
Prologue - Baelen Rath
1. Marbella Mercy
2. Marbella Mercy
3. Marbella Mercy
4. Marbella Mercy
5. Marbella Mercy
6. Marbella Mercy
7. Jasper Grace
8. Marbella Mercy
9. Marbella Mercy
10. Marbella Mercy
11. Marbella Mercy
12. Grayson Glory
13. Marbella Mercy
14. Marbella Mercy
15. Marbella Mercy
16. Grayson Glory
17. Marbella Mercy
18. Marbella Mercy
19. Marbella Mercy
20. Grayson Glory
21. Marbella Mercy
22. Baelen Rath
23. Marbella Mercy
24. Grayson Glory
25. Marbella Mercy
26. Marbella Mercy
27. Marbella Mercy
28. Baelen Rath
29. Marbella Mercy
30. Marbella Mercy
31. Marbella Mercy
32. Marbella Mercy
33. Marbella Mercy
34. Marbella Mercy
35. Marbella Mercy
36. Marbella Mercy
37. Marbella Mercy
38. Marbella Mercy
Epilogue - Alessia Rath
Acknowledgments
Assassin’s Academy
Supernatural Academy
Also by the Authors
About the Authors
Storm Princess 1
The Princess Must Die
The Princess Must Die
Storm Princess Saga
Book One
Everly Frost and Jaymin Eve
Copyright © 2018 by Everly Frost and Jaymin Eve
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the authors except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the authors’ imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, are purely coincidental.
Frost, Everly
Eve, Jaymin
The Princess Must Die
For information on reproducing sections of this book or sales of this book, go to
www.JayminEve.com or www.EverlyFrost.com
[email protected]
[email protected]
For those who tame the storms.
May you live as gently as a summer rain shower, as powerfully as thunder, as brightly as lightning in a clear sky, and as eternally as the air we breathe.
Prologue - Baelen Rath
Seven years ago
I can’t feel my legs.
Light shifts beyond my eyelids. It’s a soft glow, not sharp or blinding like the final flash of lightning that blasted my senses, turning my world into fire and pain.
I inhale, trying to focus on my breathing as my bedroom comes into focus, blurry at first, awash with sunlight, calm and quiet. My training kicks in and I take inventory of my body: vision impaired, hearing damaged, head throbbing like liquid magma, arms and hands still functional, status of my legs… unknown…
I’m alive. I know that much for sure.
I fist the sheets, blinking at my surroundings, trying to put together the pieces… Marbella’s blue ribbon twisting in a sudden gust of wind… a crack of lightning that split the sky above us… her scream piercing my heart…
Marbella!
I struggle to sit up, pushing with my hands and elbows, confused about the dead weight from my waist down. What’s wrong with my legs?
My father leans over me, his green eyes full of worry, his firm hands on both my shoulders, pressing me back to my pillow. He’s the only one strong enough to restrain me, but still I struggle, fighting him.
His grip tightens. A stern order leaves his lips. “Baelen, be calm.”
Panic spreads like wildfire through me. “Where’s Marbella? Is she okay?”
His jaw clenches. He doesn’t let up on the pressure on my torso. “She’s gone, son.”
“Gone… where?”
“The Storm chose her.”
The Storm…
“No…” I shake my head. “No… the lightning hit but—”
My father squeezes my right shoulder, but this time it’s sharp like a warning. Shapes move at the edge of my room. I force myself to focus, testing my vision, waiting for the figures to become clear. Finally, their features become sharp again.
Several males wait quietly around my room. The one who steps forward wears his golden-blond hair dead straight and tucked behind his ears. His arms shimmer with faint golden tattoos. I recognize him as Gideon Glory, one of the five Elven Commanders. I’ve met all of them. As the last of my line, I have a right to a seat on the Elven Command when I reach age twenty-five—that’s if they don’t force me to lead the army like they forced my father, keeping him at arm’s length and at their beck and call.
Gideon’s voice is deceptively gentle as he asks, “What do you remember, boy?”
The time for calling me a ‘boy’ has long passed, but he does it anyway. It’s just another way for him to reduce my station in the eyes of the onlookers—his entourage, each of them opulently dressed in robes decorated with gold embroidery. Except one who is dressed plainly…
I frown at the male who stands apart from the others. His white-blond hair is shaved short around the back and sides but is long on top, and his eyes are pale olive. He is striking in an overly perfect way and far broader in the chest and shoulders than the other elves. In fact, he could rival me in size and build, which is a rare thing among elves. He ignores the conversation around him, fixating on the open window, head tilted, listening intently to the birds outside my window as if they were more important than Gideon’s questions. One hand shifts at his side, fingertips reaching into the beam of sunlight streaming through the window.
I don’t know him. I’ve seen the other elves in Gideon’s entourage before, but not him. Every now and then, the others glance at him, shuffling as if they don’t want to stand too close to him.
I squint at Gideon, pretending to think, eventually shaking my head. “What did Marbella say?”
“Not much—” my father begins.
Gideon interrupts him with a snap. “Marbella Mercy is riddled with nightmares.” He leans down, his expression pinched as he narrows his eyes at me. “All she does is scream for you, Baelen Rath. It’s a mockery that the Storm chose such a weak princess this time.”
Rage builds inside me that he would talk about Marbella like that, especially when she’s hurting. She is the strongest female I know, the most determined, kind, intelligent… Damn. No. Not the Storm. Please not the Storm…
My father squeezes my shoulder again. It’s amazing how a single touch can carry so many warnings. “Marbella said she dared you to climb the cliff. She said you fell and hit your head. Then the Storm came for her.”
I lower my eyes, frowning at the ivory sheets that cover me all the way to my armpits. A lie is more effective when it’s corroborated by an admission of guilt.
Without looking up, I say, as if I’m ashamed, “She didn’t dare me. I dared her.”
Gideon huffs, waving his hand at my face. “So she is not to blame for this, then?”
“For what?” I’m genuinely confused now. If he’d gestured at my legs, it would have made more sense. At the back of my mind, a fierce storm of my own emotions is growing. If I can’t feel my legs… if I can’t use my legs…
Shock is threatening to destroy me. A roar of pain and loss grows inside my chest. If the storm chose Marbella, then I’ve lost her. I’ve… lost her….
I refuse to let my feelings show. I am a Rath. I’m trained to step back from every situation, view my options, consider the most strategic response, and deliver it with deadly precision—
Gideon gives me a cold smile. “Take a look in the mirror, boy. That’s if you can walk to one.”
Fuck precision. All I want to do is smash Gideon Glory’s smug face right now.
Without another word, he saunters from the room, taking his entourage with him. The male with the short hair follows but pauses in the doorway, dropping the emotionless mask he was wearing to study me with an expression I have difficulty reading. It’s not pity because pity would be insulting and there’s nothing offensive about the look he’s giving me. It’s not arrogance or mockery, either; it’s not even coldly clinical.
He checks for Gideon, waiting a beat for the hallway to clear ahead of him before he says, “You will walk again.” He nods as if he’s certain. “If you want to.”
Giving my father a respectful nod, he turns to follow the others. My father lets him go.
Frowning but keeping my voice low, I ask, “Who was that?”
My father presses his lips together. I don’t think he’s going to answer me, but then he says, “Someone who knows what it’s like to live in a cage.”
For a long time after that, Dad sits in silence on the edge of the bed as we both listen for the sound of horses and the clatter of carriages down the wide cobbled path that tells us our unwelcome visitors have gone.
“Baelen?” Dad finally asks, worry flooding his expression. “Can you feel your legs?”
For the first time, I notice how gray his hair looks, how drawn his face, as if he aged overnight. Yesterday was Marbella’s eighteenth birthday. I was supposed to leave for military school today. Now… everything is uncertain.
I shake my head, whispering, “No, sir. I can’t.”
He drops his head to my shoulder. The enormity of my situation threatens to burst out of me, but I control my responses. I control myself the same way I control my actions in a fight, the same way I control my choices in every step of my life, because rage—ruthless rage, the kind that’s part of my bloodline—can only lead to destruction.
“What really happened, Baelen?”
“I can’t…”
I can’t tell him. If Marbella is gone, then I can’t trust anyone with the truth, except maybe the most important part. “She’s everything to me.”
My father draws back, gripping my shoulders again. “You have to forget about her now—”
“No.”
“Baelen—”
“No!” I drag myself to a sitting position, using only my arms, pulling my legs with me as I try to get out of the bed.
He releases me. I’m even taller than my ancestors—warriors all of them, male and female alike. I’m strong, every muscle in my body honed from years of brutal training, but I have never used my position or my strength to hurt anyone.
Now I shove him away from me. “You can tell me what to do in every other aspect of my life. I will do my duty to my House, be the warrior I’m supposed to be, burn my drawings, defend the border until I die. I’ll even walk again—just watch me. But you will not tell me who to love.”
Tears glisten in his eyes, shocking me. The only time he cried was the day my mother and baby sister died. A fat tear drips down his cheek as he swallows, his shoulders sunk low.
“Marbella Mercy is the Storm Princess now,” he says. “She’s out of your reach, Baelen. At least… until she turns twenty-five. Then, if you still love her, be prepared to fight to the death if you want to be with her.”
I level my gaze with his. “If that’s what it takes, that’s what I’ll do.”
1. Marbella Mercy
Now
The first crackles of lightning scatter across my skin as the perfect storm swirls above me. It’s been building since yesterday—from the moment I last subdued it.
The Storm Vault is so high that normally I can’t see the eye of the storm, but this one is growing so fast that the dark center is an expanding mass before my eyes.
It’s coming for me.
The Vault is constructed of thick stone, hundreds of feet high and wide, and lined with about a million protective spells. There’s only one way in and one way out—through an anteroom that leads to another airtight room. There are three sealed doors between me and the rest of Erawind.
I don’t kid myself. It’s not the doors or the spells that keep the storm under control.
It’s me.
I call the powerful force to me, coaxing
it down, ignoring the intense fear that rises inside me.
Curse my survival instincts. If I listened to them, I’d run as far and fast as I could away from this place. But there’s no escape from my daily task.
