Spellbound with Sly

by Shelley Munro

  “I won’t.”

  The prince flung off his jacket and shirt and hurried to his en suite. Minutes later, water poured against tiles and the king warbled an off-tune song. Sly grinned. Just as well he was a king. He’d never make a living as a singer.

  The evening passed as slow as dripping honey on a chilly day. A tap-tap-tap at his window claimed his attention. The owl. He opened the window and the bird entered. Loud music and chatter floated up from the courtyard before he refastened the window.

  “My mind is a winter paddock—full of mud and icy slush.” Sly tugged his hair, frustration pressing like a vice around his head. Thump. Thump. Thump. He pressed his temples and rubbed, attempting to will away his brain turmoil.

  Sly closed his eyes, sucked in a huge breath and released it slowly.

  “I remember a place. It’s in a valley and surrounded by hills. I think it is summer because the sun is warm. There are trees and paddocks. Crops in the ground. And stones. There are strange stones on the hill. They remind me of building blocks—lumps of wood and plastic that I played with as a child. It’s almost as if a giant has come along and tossed his building blocks on the ground. Do you think that is my home?” Sly sank onto the end of the bed. “Sometimes I think my mind is clearing and then it goes murky again.” He rubbed his hand over his face. “Crap, I don’t know what is wrong with my mouth but it’s sore. Where is my salve? Ah, there it is.”

  The owl flew to the tub of salve and ferried it to Sly.

  “Thanks.” He gingerly applied the white paste. It tingled, but the ointment helped relieve the dryness.

  “It must be late. I might try to sleep.”

  The owl flew to the upright dresser at the side of the bed.

  Sly laughed. “Bossy thing, aren’t you?” He stripped off his clothes and chuckled as he noted the owl’s wide eyes. “I’m healed. A miracle. I wish I knew how I did it.”

  He slid into bed. “Lights off.”

  The lights went out. Sly’s eyes adjusted quickly to the gloom, and he watched the owl resettle by the bed. Tired, he closed his eyes.

  He dreamed of big black cats. Leopards. They raced through the stony outcrops, chasing each other in a frantic game of hide and seek. Then, a large white ball appeared from somewhere. Other big cats joined the game. Lions and tigers. Spotted leopards. Black leopards. They played in teams, giving no quarter until the air hissed from the ball when a tiger sank in his teeth. Sly chortled, his gruff huh-huh-huh echoed by the others.

  “Sly. Sly.” A sweet, feminine voice woke him. “Sly, move over. I’m cold.”

  “Cinnabar?” he asked, his mind groggy but supplying him a name. At her insistent push, he shifted toward the center of the wide bed. “Yikes, woman. Your feet are cold.”

  She cuddled up to him. “You’re so warm. I’ve missed you.”

  Sly wrapped his arms around her shivering and very naked body. His mind cleared and his body wakened as her breasts flattened against his chest. “I’ve missed you too.” Some of their background, the memories of their past, failed him, but her presence lightened him. He liked her. Kisses. Yes, they’d done this before. Where? Where? Dammit to hell. He should remember more of her. More than a mere name.

  “Where did we meet?”

  Her hand halted his next question, his demand for answers. “We’re together,” she whispered. “Let’s make the most of it. Kiss me.”

  Yes. He wanted her. Craved her touch. Her kisses. Her body. Questions later.

  He rolled without warning, so he loomed over her slight body, imprisoning her within the cage of his arms.

  Cinnabar’s bright blue eyes twinkled at him. “That’s better,” she said, and her shy smile charmed him.

  He lowered his head.

  “Your mouth is better,” she whispered.

  “My mouth?”

  “Yes.”

  She was right. Somehow that fact had slid into brain sludge. He touched his lips to hers. Yeah. A bit tender, but not too painful that he couldn’t get serious.

  Playfully, he nipped her bottom lip. Enjoyed her swift intake of air. The soft moan. His tongue smoothed the spot he’d nibbled. He traced the curve and when she opened for him, he accepted the invitation to explore.

  Her small hands stroked his back, her touch soothing and arousing. Hellfire, she made him want to purr.

  Purr? Where the hell had that come from?

  Sly laughed at himself, his fanciful brain. He’d taken a path into plain weird, dreaming of cats and now purring. She pinched his arse and a rumble escaped him. Heck. Now he even sounded like a cat. And his mind was wandering. Idiot. Bed. Beautiful woman. Willing woman. Hard-on. He had all the ingredients for pleasure and he sank into thoughts.

  Yep. Imbecile.

  He shoved aside his thoughts to kiss her, diving into taste and feel and the roar of blood through his veins. His cock pushed against her belly. Better. Much better. His tongue stroked lazily against hers until the need for air had him parting their mouths.

  He nibbled her neck, pausing at the fleshy part where neck and shoulder met. A strange urge to bite took him, but he ignored the notion and flicked out his tongue to taste the skin on her collarbone. Still sweet. Honey and spices.

  Hurry. Oh, hell. He needed to plunge into her body. A shiver grabbed him, sped the length of his body. No. Stop. Guilt had him hauling his needs to a halt. Make it perfect. Kiss her breasts. Explore her body. Slow is better.

  Sly sucked a pert nipple and gloried in the moan that escaped her. He liked it so much, he did it again. Cinnabar wriggled and parted her legs, driving him to distraction. Fast. Go. Go. Go.

  But something in him—a gentlemanly part, the part that listened and took advice from his big brother… Huh. No! Don’t pull at the thought. Not now.

  He plucked at Cinnabar’s nipple and sucked on the underside of her other breast. Her scent grew musky. Still with the honey and spice undertones, it drove him onward. Make her mine.

  He moved down her body. Stroking. Caressing. Indulging his senses. “You are so pretty,” he whispered.

  “Sly.” She infused the one word with so much emotion.

  Sly understood without checking her expression. She wanted him as much as he craved her. He ran his fingers over the delicate flesh between her legs. Parted her folds. Stroked the silken dampness, drawing a shiver from her.

  “Now,” she demanded. “Please.”

  Yes. Sly guided his shaft to her entrance and pushed a fraction. His cock entered her warmth. Oh, yes. He took his time, invading and retreating, until they both shuddered at the exquisite friction. Exquisite. Hell. A girly word, yet his mind thought it and the description fit. He centered his busy mind. Focus, dammit.

  Sly upped the speed of his thrusts, and Cinnabar clung. She pressed kisses to his neck and urged him onward. The pleasure grew while the blood pooled in his shaft. His balls tightened to a point shy of pain. He plunged into her again, and Cinnabar cried out, the quick spasms of her channel caressing his dick.

  He allowed himself one lazy stroke, and another, before reaching a point of no return. Faster. Faster, he plunged into her until he exploded, his dick contracting with the force of his release, and his mind found a perfect slice of peace.

  “Sly?”

  Aware of his weight on her slighter body, he heaved himself off her. A weak kitten would have more energy. He winked at her. “You’ve done me in.”

  “That was wonderful.”

  Sly squeezed her a little. “Better than that. Exceptional.” That was nothing less than the truth. And he’d make sure they did it again as soon as he had the energy to move.

  Sly rearranged their bodies and tugged Cinnabar against his side. He closed his eyes and drifted at peace for the first time in ages. Cute breathy whistles escaped Cinnabar, heating his shoulder. He’d tease her later. Joe would like her, and so would his other brothers. She’d fit with his family, and they’d treat her with respect, even if she did morph into an owl. Somehow, he’d make everything
right. Somehow.

  The door flew open without warning.

  Sly’s arms tightened around Cinnabar. Every muscle in his body tensed and he opened his eyes as Liam skidded to a halt, gaze fixated on their twined bodies.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “How did you find a woman without leaving my chamber? Who is that?” Liam wavered from side to side and belched.

  A wave of alcoholic fumes drifted to Sly. He wrinkled his nose. “Quiet. You’ll wake her.”

  Cinnabar stirred and the covers drifted lower to reveal a naked shoulder.

  Sly tugged the covers back into place. “Stop ogling.”

  “But how did you get a woman past my guards?”

  “Sit down before you fall down.”

  “Too much sweetwater,” Liam said, not taking his attention from Cinnabar. “My cousin and I had a few. Who is that? One of the maids? If you get one of the staff with child—”

  “It’s not one of the staff,” Sly snapped. “That would be an abuse of my position within your court.” Such as it was.

  Cinnabar stirred, her blue eyes opening. She sat up, blearily rubbing her eyes. “I can’t believe I went to sleep.”

  “We have company,” Sly said. “Eyes off!”

  Cinnabar spotted the king, let out a shriek of horror and burrowed beneath the blankets.

  “Cinnabar?” Liam stared at the trembling mound beside Sly. “Iseabal told me she ran off with a group of players.”

  “Princess Iseabal lied,” Sly snapped.

  A muffled protest came from beneath the blankets. Sly scowled at Liam.

  “Cinnabar, come out from under there.” Liam stood abruptly and almost toppled over his own feet. “Damn and blast!”

  “She can’t give you the truth either.”

  “But I’m the king.” Liam hiccupped.

  “A drunk king.” Sly smirked, deciding to tease. “I’m certain you’re seeing mirages.”

  “Not,” Liam said, staring at the mound as if he intended to burn away the covers. “Could use magic.”

  “Don’t,” Sly ordered.

  Liam subsided with a frown. “Maybe I’ll bring my cousin.”

  “No,” Sly said. “I take it he’s as drunk as you.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Turn around.”

  “Why?” Liam demanded.

  “So she can get dressed without you gawking at her.”

  “Didn’t realize she was so pretty.”

  A growl rumbled through Sly, surprising both him and Liam, judging by the king’s rapt goggle. They stared at each other.

  “All right.” Liam meandered toward the double windows. Once there, he held on to the ledge and studied the darkness beyond.

  “Close your eyes,” Sly commanded. “You’re checking out the reflections.”

  “It’s not fair. You have a lady. I don’t have time to indulge myself. Not unless I visit my cousin. Too many gossips. Too many expectations.”

  “That doesn’t mean you can ogle her. Close your eyes.”

  “You’re spoiling my fun.”

  “Too bad.” Once Sly was satisfied Liam wasn’t peeking, he lifted the covers to reveal a trembling Cinnabar. He climbed from bed and scooped up her stained white dress.

  Cinnabar pulled the gown over her head and Sly helped tug it into place.

  “You can look now,” Sly said.

  “It is Cinnabar. Did you return with the winter court?”

  “No, she didn’t.” Sly hated the way Cinnabar huddled against his side, trembling violently.

  “Another mystery,” Liam murmured. “Castle is lousy with ’em.”

  “It’s all right.” Sly stroked Cinnabar’s tangled hair.

  “Why is your gown stained?” Liam asked.

  A moan escaped Cinnabar. Her breaths were short and shallow. Rapid.

  “I won’t let anything happen to you.” Sly caressed her back to offer comfort. She’d want to escape, but Liam blocked the windows. Although pity surged within Sly, he didn’t force Liam to move. If Liam witnessed what happened, he’d have answers to his questions. Even if he couldn’t leave and go home, perhaps there was a way of helping Cinnabar.

  With another moan, Cinnabar stepped away from him. The faint glow Sly had seen before lit her form, and the next instant, she was an owl.

  Liam straightened from his slouch, anger burning through some of his confusion. “Someone cursed Cinnabar!”

  Cinnabar flew from the floor to Sly’s shoulder. Her russet feathers ruffled, and she scrunched up her body, hiding her head against his neck.

  “Who?” Liam asked.

  “Make an intelligent guess,” Sly said.

  “Iseabal.”

  Sly didn’t confirm or deny.

  “My sister lied to my face. Cinnabar has been here the entire time. Another item for my list,” Liam said with a trace of disgust. “Iseabal is at the center of my problems.”

  Cinnabar let out a distressed hoot and lifted off his shoulder. She flew around the chamber as if searching for an exit.

  “Open the window and let her leave.”

  Liam managed to unfasten the latch and stood back to allow Cinnabar’s escape.

  An invisible band tightened around Sly’s chest. She was leaving, would always leave. Shoulders slumped in regret, he turned to face Liam.

  “Have you discovered anything about the shooter?”

  “I’ve learned Calum went missing for a time. It wasn’t his feathering on the arrows, but that means nothing. Iseabal and Katrina remained with the stable lads, so I know it wasn’t either of them.”

  “The culprit might have paid someone to fire the arrow.”

  “My cousin has pointed out this likelihood. He suggested I fabricate a truth spell and order everyone at court—servants and nobility—to undergo questioning.”

  “Can you do that?”

  “Yes, but it will cost me in power. It will take time to recover, and anyone with power of their own can challenge me. If they win, I’ll lose my place within the court.”

  “Do you trust your cousin? If he had your back, now would be the time to conduct the questioning.”

  Liam rubbed his chest as if it ached. “At this point, I don’t care if I lose my power. It would allow me to follow my love of farming, to live a normal life.”

  “You’ll make a decent and fair king, Liam.” Sly sensed this with every fathom of his gut. “The everyday people—the servants, the farmers, the weavers, those with minimal magic—they need you to champion them.”

  Liam heaved a sigh, weighty with defeat. “As much as I wish it, I can’t walk away.” He straightened and threw back his shoulders, his royal blood never more obvious. “You’re right. I don’t have to follow tradition. I can change things. Give the normal man a better life. Give the nobility a better sense of purpose. And all that starts with a truth spell.” His eyes blazed with a tinge of red as he focused on Sly. “You will help me.”

  “Yes,” Sly agreed. “For as long as I can.”

  Liam nodded. “We bury my father on the morrow. The following day, I will conduct the truth spell. I ask that you and my cousin keep an eye on proceedings while my power is at low ebb. You will be acting king while my cousin provides the juice should you require magic.”

  “Won’t your sisters and the rest of the nobility grumble about that?”

  “Yes.” Liam’s grin held mischief. “You’ll like my cousin. I’ll introduce you in the morn. Meantime, I need to decide how to deal with Iseabal. She must reverse the spell on Cinnabar. Do you know why Iseabal cursed her?”

  “Yes.”

  Liam’s glance was shrewd. “Let me guess. The stain on Cinnabar’s dress tells an interesting tale.” Liam yawned so wide his jaw cracked. “Gratafire, I’m exhausted. I forgot to request a trundle bed.”

  “Your bed is big,” Sly said. “As long as you don’t try to cuddle me, we’re good.”

  Liam snorted. He sat on the edge of his bed and attempted to remove his boots.

&
nbsp; “Hopeless. Let me.” Sly tugged off the boots and indicated Liam should stand. He pulled off his jacket. “You can do the rest. Remember, no cuddling.”

  The next morn came all too soon. Sly moaned and stood to stretch.

  “Liam, it’s time to get up.”

  Liam groaned.

  “I’m going back to my chamber.”

  “Ask one of my guards to escort you.”

  Sly shrugged. “Okay.”

  Liam rolled to a sitting position and groaned. “I knew I shouldn’t have drank so much sweetwater. Don’t eat or drink anything. Not a thing until you’re in the salon with me. We’ll eat from the same dishes. I need your head clear to take over for me temporarily.”

  Liam hadn’t arrived when Sly walked into the salon, fully dressed in a clean suit and starving. His stomach rumbled the instant he smelled the scent of wild boar slices.

  “Sly, come and join us,” Iseabal said. An order.

  Sly stilled, not wanting to go near the woman.

  Liam’s Aunt Jasper and her friend Beatrice were sitting nearby with a young man. His skin was a pale blue. Sly ignored Iseabal and let his curiosity drive his footsteps in that direction.

  “Ah, Sly. Have you met Calvin, the winter king?” Aunt Jasper asked. “Take a seat, lad. Eat with us. Calvin, this is Sly, Iseabal’s betrothed.”

  Golden eyes regarded him from an almost pretty pale blue face. Sharp cheekbones. Long eyelashes. A pair of dark blue horns that swept back from his temples in a graceful curl. “You hail from Ione Island. Your family runs the Middlemarch Resort, correct? I believe my cousin and her friends visited you recently. They had an enjoyable time and hope to return in the future.”

  “You know Sly?” Liam appeared behind him.

  “Not personally, but my cousin showed me some of her souvenirs. Photos, I believe you call them,” Calvin said.

  Liam pushed Sly into the empty seat and gestured at another empty one nearby. It scooted over the floor by itself and Liam sat.

  “Calvin, please don’t mention to Iseabal that you know of Sly. Not to anyone else, either. I’ll explain when we’re in private. Sly.” Liam clicked his fingers in front of Sly’s face. “Pull it together, man. Iseabal is watching.”