The Princess Must Die (Storm Princess Saga Book 1)

by Jaymin Eve

  “No.”

  I swallow. “Not even if I order you? For your own sake?”

  “No.”

  “Then at least let Elise take a look at you. Elise?”

  She puts on her business face and doesn’t take any nonsense. He’s wearing a loose white shirt and blue pants buttoned at the waist. “Lift,” she orders, gesturing at his shirt.

  I’m not prepared for the sight of his bare chest and stomach. He may as well be sculpted from male perfection, his wide, fully muscled shoulders tapering through his broad chest to his waist, every part of him radiating strength. It’s not the wounds that freeze me, but the memory of his chest against mine, of skin on skin, and… it’s never enough. A little bit of me breaks apart, knowing that I’ll never have that again. He’s broader now, bigger, tougher than he was then, and he carries scars he didn’t have before, and the sight of him makes my heart ache.

  I find his eyes across the room. He hasn’t stopped focusing on me. Terrified that he’ll read my thoughts, I shake myself, concentrating on the present. At least the new wounds across his chest are minor.

  Elise clicks her tongue. “That’s not too bad, I suppose.”

  “It wasn’t all my blood,” he mutters.

  “Turn.”

  He plants his feet, shaking his head, stubbornly refusing, but she lifts her eyebrows. It’s just her and Jordan inside my room so it’s not like my entire Storm Command is watching.

  “Please?” Elise asks.

  Slowly, he swivels and lifts his shirt again. His back has been cleaned, but the wounds are gruesome. I grind my teeth. The other males had found all the gaps in his armor, stabbing and shredding over and over.

  Jordan gasps. “Those cowards.”

  Elise sighs. “Okay, sit and lean forward, please. The healers have done an adequate job but I can do better.”

  For the next ten minutes, she works on his back while he rests his head in his hands, quietly accepting her help. She can’t spellcast his wounds because of the protective spells from the trials, but she’s deft with a needle. Somewhere in the middle, Jordan hands him a pack of ice for his face, which is showing up blue and yellow in places. By the time Elise has finished, I’ve found my way over to my bed, perching on the edge of it. My room is simply furnished with a large bed, a bedside table, and a small table and chairs on the far side, which is where Baelen sits now. Finally, his wounds are neatly stitched and patched to Elise’s satisfaction.

  “Better,” she says.

  Baelen raises his eyes up to her as if seeking permission to stand. I bury a smile. Elise has a way of commanding obedience but somehow manages to do it in a way that isn’t demeaning or offensive.

  I slide off the bed. “Jordan, Elise, I’d like you to leave us now, please.”

  “What?” Elise and Jordan both swing to me at once, the agitation in their rapid glances telling me they thought they heard me wrong.

  “I need you both to leave this room.”

  “I don’t think…” Elise starts, but Jordan is louder.

  “That’s not going to happen.”

  I say, “Please, Jordan. I need you to do this for me.”

  “No,” she says, eyes wide, clearly shocked. “I’m not allowed to leave you alone. I won’t break that rule. I can’t…”

  Her shoulders shake and her face suddenly crumbles. “I always follow the rules. Even if I don’t like it. Even if it breaks my heart…” She struggles to regain her composure, but the floodgates have opened and she can’t hold it in. My order has triggered all her emotions. She presses her hand against her heart. “I follow the rules even if it kills me.”

  “You’re right,” I say. “You always do the right thing. You didn’t speak to Sebastian when you could have all those mornings you saw him. You didn’t object when he offered me his heartstone, even though it broke your heart. You’ve never once made me feel guilty about it or blamed me for it. You have more integrity than the Elven Command. And that’s why I trust you right now.”

  Her eyes brim with tears, her head tipped forward, and shoulders slumped, but she doesn’t budge.

  “I won’t force you to break the rules, Jordan. So this is what I’m going to do instead…” I cross my room so that I’m standing just inside the entrance to my bathroom. “You aren’t breaking any rules now, because this is my bathing room. It’s the only place you’re required to leave me alone.”

  “The bathing room? Seriously?” She stares at me. Then she covers her mouth with a laugh-sob, swiping at her tears with her other hand. “Oh, Princess…”

  She glances at Baelen, who hovers nearby and is definitely as concerned about my intentions as Jordan is. He shakes his head, this great beast of a male looking like he doesn’t want to step in the wrong direction in case he breaks something. “I don’t think this is a good idea.”

  Baelen’s disquiet seems to have the opposite effect on Jordan. She appears to make a decision. “Okay, then.”

  Elise wraps her arms around Jordan’s shoulders and together they leave my bedroom, nudging the door closed behind them.

  I signal Baelen to step inside. “Commander Rath, if you will?”

  I’m not sure if he’ll follow me, but he crosses the distance with a worried frown on his face. I don’t take any chances. As Baelen clears the door to the bathroom, I close it and press up against it.

  He dwarfs the small space. The bath is full of water. There’s nowhere to sit. He can’t seem to decide where he should stand. If I were him, I wouldn’t know either.

  The same frown wrinkles his forehead, but he keeps his voice gentle as he says, “Show me, Marbella.”

  My hair drapes across the front of my robe, obscuring the damage that lies beneath. I draw it across my neck out of the way and slide the top of the robe across one shoulder, revealing the bruises.

  Baelen suddenly vibrates with tension, his Rath heritage surfacing. “I should have killed him. I will kill him.”

  “I didn’t ask you in here to show you this or to encourage you to seek revenge,” I say.

  He pauses, comes back to me, tilts his head, questioning.

  I run my eyes across his high cheekbones and the single unruly patch of hair at the side, the curve of his lips, and the cut of his jaw. He is hard and unyielding, never falling even when the other champions came at him with everything they had, but I remember when his lips weren’t pressed in such angry lines. I remember when they were soft and gentle, planting kisses against my throat.

  My breath hitches. I try to breathe normally as I take a step forward. He takes a step back, just like he should, except that he’s slow and reluctant.

  I say, “I need you to do something for me now that we’re alone.”

  His eyes light up and for a second I imagine the light of his heartstone burning inside him. He doesn’t take his eyes off me, running his gaze from my long hair draped across my shoulder, along the arch of my neck, down to the curve at my waist. The edge of my robe splits open at the bottom as I take another step forward, the material falling on either side of my thigh.

  He takes another step backward, but there’s nowhere to go now that he’s hard up against the wall.

  My heart thumps. I lift my arm. “I need you to take my hand.”

  14

  “Marbella.” He closes the distance between us, but right when he’s about to touch my outstretched hand, he stops, caution flooding his features. “Why?”

  I can’t ignore the question in his eyes. “The Elven Command has been spinning a lie for centuries that a Storm Princess’s husband can share her power to help her in the Vault. It’s not true. It never has been. Except that now they believe it is true for me. They believe that the first male I choose to touch will inherit the power of the Storm.”

  “That’s why they came after you today, isn’t it?”

  “In the arena today, Garrett Glory told me he was ordered to take my power by force. I can’t let that happen. I won’t let them try again. I’m not even sure th
at I believe them, but if it’s going to happen, then it has to be my choice.”

  He studies the floor. “You want me to touch you so that someone else doesn’t.”

  I stop before I say “yes.” I can’t let him misunderstand me. I clear my throat. “When you bound yourself to me, and then you told me it was so you could tell me secrets, I felt the same way you feel now.”

  He remains pinned in place. “Which is?”

  “Like you cut my heart into pieces.”

  His eyes widen but I hurry on. “So I’m going to tell you right away… even though it scares me… I’m not asking you to take my hand so that I can get the better of the Elven Command or to beat them. I’m asking you because…”

  I take a deep breath, exhale, swallow against the dryness in my mouth, suddenly terrified, trying to calm my nerves. I focus on a point on his broad shoulders, not sure if I can find my voice if I look him in the eyes.

  “I’m asking you as me. Not as the Princess. But as me, Marbella Mercy. I’m asking you to take my hand because I want you to. Because it’s what I want.”

  I finally look up and the agony on his face shakes me to the core.

  “Marbella, if I take your hand right now…” He turns away from me, staring at the water. Particles of ice still float on the surface, quickly melting. Deep concentration hijacks his posture and it’s like a wall shoots up between us.

  Without looking at me, he asks, “Do you remember…”

  “Yes.”

  The corner of his mouth tugs up but only for a moment. “Then you know that I can’t take your hand.”

  He angles around me, maneuvering against the bath, bumping into the mirror, making sure he follows the widest path to avoid coming anywhere near me. I can’t do anything to stop him. He’s going to leave and I don’t want him to, but I have no choice.

  I let my arm swing down by my side.

  He stops beside me. “I don’t want your hand, Marbella. I want all of you.”

  Shivers run to my toes. The distance between us is agonizing. He’s hurt and I’m hurt, but I’d collide with him in two seconds if he gave me any indication that’s what he wanted.

  He says, “The only way I can have a life with you is if I win. If I touch you now, I’ll forfeit the trials and I’ll never have another chance.”

  I don’t think before I speak. “No, you don’t understand. I can’t let you win.”

  His sudden confusion crashes over me. I’ve given him every reason to believe that I want him to win. I can’t tell him that the protocols will only end in death: either he will try to kill me or I’ll have to kill him first.

  I whisper. “I can’t let anyone win.”

  “Why?” He searches my face, seeking an answer to explain my declaration. “Something’s wrong. Tell me what it is.”

  All the things I want to say rush into my head. The protocols are cursed. If I win, everyone lives. If I don’t, my husband will kill me and the Storm will be unleashed—unless I kill him first. And if it’s you… Baelen... I won’t be able to do it.

  I can’t tell him any of that because knowing about the curse will kill him. I scrunch my hands into the material at my sides, suddenly shocked to realize that my sash has slipped its knot and by tugging on it… I’ve made it worse.

  I stop moving but it’s too late. The sash gives way. The material drops gently to my sides. The only thing keeping it from sliding apart completely is because it’s caught on the inner curve of my breasts. I try not to breathe or move. Even the slightest movement will be my undoing.

  Baelen freezes, but he doesn’t take his eyes from my face.

  Damn. His self-control is absolute. It always was. The memory of his younger voice rips through me… May I have your permission?

  My shoulders sink. I ignore my robe and all the skin I’m revealing. It’s all ugly bruises anyway. “I can’t explain. I wish I could.”

  “Then…” He sidesteps me, swings the door open, but pauses in the doorway, filling it with his big body. He’s suddenly frozen there, half-turned, the black thread from the new stitches showing through his white shirt like crisscrossing tracks across his back. One hand flexes against the door frame.

  Please stay. I take the chance to give it one last try. I swallow my pride, knowing that I’m not above begging. But only this once. “Please, Baelen, take my hand. I’ll never ask you for anything else. Just this. Please.”

  “No.”

  Stubborn male!

  I inhale a scream of frustration. There aren’t enough glares in the world to hurl at his disappearing back. Even if his back is so broken that it breaks my heart to see it. My bedroom door clicks and then he’s gone.

  I’ve had enough. I’ve been grabbed at, beaten up, accosted, pushed around, backed into a corner, and every male except the one I want is trying to get his hands on me. Literally.

  Stupid trials! I catch sight of myself in the mirror. I look far too small without my storm suit or my armor on. Far too vulnerable.

  Stupid mirror, stupid bruises, stupid bath, stupid robe… I scream. “Stupid self-control!”

  I rip off the robe, hurl it to the floor, and stomp on it. Not a great idea when my body’s still sore and aching. The impact shudders through my calf and up my thigh. “Ouch.”

  I drop to the floor, dragging the robe around me as Jordan races into the room. She takes one look at me curled up on the floor and goes into attack mode.

  “What did he do?” She looks fit to run after him and pummel him herself.

  “Nothing. He didn’t do anything.” I rest my head against the edge of the bath, pushing my hair out of my eyes, pretending I don’t have tears in them. “Nothing at all.”

  15

  Because I’d stayed in the Storm Vault for two days straight, it doesn’t need subduing that afternoon, so I remain hidden away in my bedroom after Baelen leaves—even eating in there before finally collapsing into a deep sleep that night.

  But even in my dreams, I can’t get away from him. His voice invades my sleep in the dark of night and I toss and turn, trying to ignore the ache in my chest. Finally, the early morning glow from the skylight wakes me before I want to be awake. Jordan bustles around me, folding blankets and pushing clothing into my closet much too noisily.

  She pauses when she sees I’m awake. “How are you feeling?”

  “It’s not the bruises that hurt.”

  Okay, so I said that out loud. Not what I intended but I’ll have to live with it. I locate my spare pillow wrapped in the sheets beside me and pull it into a hug. She keeps shooting glances at me and it makes me feel like I missed something… Now that I think of it, the foggy memories of Baelen’s voice in the night seem a little too real in the light of day…

  I pluck at my sheets, not wanting to sound too concerned. “I had a dream that Commander Rath was here in the middle of the night. Was that a dream or…?”

  “He was here.”

  I sit bolt upright. “What?”

  “He was completely intoxicated so we sent him away.”

  Baelen was drunk? That was a first.

  “Don’t worry, we sent someone to fetch your brother to take him away. We weren’t sure if Commander Rath would make it home safely otherwise.”

  “I’m… stunned. What did he say?”

  She perches on the end of my bed. She hasn’t put her boots on, which means she wasn’t really trying to wake me up. Every time she flexes her toes, they enter a shaft of light shining from the ceiling. Even her feet move with purpose.

  “He ah… said a lot of things. Mostly about killing Rhydian Valor and everyone associated with him. But he also kept repeating something about a lavender cloak and a blue ribbon? He kept saying that the wind stole the ribbon—that it took everything. Does that mean anything to you?”

  I slide back under the covers, pulling them up around my neck. My heartbeat increases as I remember his younger fingers looping through the blue ribbon I used to wear in my hair, sliding through my braid, loose
ning it, letting it fall over my shoulders…

  “The ribbon was the only nice thing I owned,” I say. “It was pale, like the color of blue ice. Which is ironic, considering what I became.”

  Jordan slides from the base of the bed to the floor in front of me, crossing her legs and picking at the hem of her pants leg. “When Sebastian handed you his heartstone, I dealt with it by focusing on you and my duty to protect you. I pushed everything else out of my mind. You need to do the same thing now. Your life depends on these protocols and they’re getting more dangerous. You need to empty your mind and focus.”

  She rises, always graceful, and brushes herself off. “It’s a new day.”

  “I’m lucky to have you.” I loosen my hold on the pillow, letting it go, sliding my feet to the floor and planting them firmly on it. The Elven Command has stopped following the traditional sequence of protocols, but at some point they have to have a compatibility test. Sebastian Splendor will be eliminated then and my friend’s heart can mend.

  “It’s a new day,” I murmur. “Let’s start it with a walk. It’s time to make some changes.”

  Baelen wouldn’t approve but I wear a simple, loose dress when I leave my quarters. I can’t bear anything pressing against my skin, not even the strap that would help me carry a wooden staff. To compensate, my ladies are armed to the teeth: full body armor, swords, daggers, bows and arrows. They even wear matching headpieces and smear red dust across their eyes to make themselves look fierce. Jordan, in particular, is ferocious. She’s the tallest of them, carrying red-feathered arrows and weapons with blood-red handles.

  My destination is the armory. To avoid the majority of elves, we take the less busy path along the river. It doesn’t take more than a glance from my warriors for passersby to get out of the way.

  Halfway along the river, an object sails over my ladies’ heads. With lightning reflexes, Jordan snatches it out of the air, crushing it. Oddly, she doesn’t look worried. We don’t stop and I trust my warriors to be on the alert, but Jordan falls back and opens her fist to show me what she caught.