Storm Princess 3: The Princess Must Reign

by Jaymin Eve

  His hand flexes.

  My body tugs toward him against my will.

  My eyes widen. “I will not be your puppet.”

  His hand flexes again. My power flares. I quickly reattach the lash to my belt so I don’t lose it. I fight the pull of Grayson’s power, digging my heels in.

  His eyes narrow. A purple glow emits around him, coming from his back. The Mercy Heartstone is working overtime trying to move me, but I refuse to budge. Golden light grows around me in response. It’s Prime. It’s my heart power. Of course. I’ve been trying to fight using my strength again, but Prime is my heart, the only power that could fight the pull of the Mercy heart.

  Sweat breaks out on Grayson’s forehead and chest. He growls, “Come here.”

  “There’s that gargoyle again,” I say, hoping I can rattle him even more. “And no, I won’t.”

  He speaks through gritted teeth. “You will come here. If I can’t control you, the Elven Command will seek to kill you. Is that what you want?” He actually looks like he cares. What on earth has changed since I tried to shoot my power through him? He’s morphed from I-will-break-you-Grayson into I-don’t-want-you-to-die-Grayson. What’s going on with this male?

  My head shoots up as lightning crackles in the distance. Thunder rumbles across the sky, a booming vibration approaching fast. It literally shakes the air around us: a sonic boom. I wobble backward, but my heart leaps.

  It’s Baelen. He’s coming for me.

  “The Storm is coming, Grayson. You won’t be able to fight both of us. I suggest you get out of here while you can.”

  I have no idea if it’s true that Baelen and I could defeat him. I’m only now figuring out which power to use against Grayson, and Baelen hasn’t fought him before, but at the very least I need Grayson to doubt his ability to fight us both at once.

  It looks very much like he does doubt himself. The tug that was pulling against my torso disappears. But his new target is worse. His hand shoots out and the sphere containing Liliana and the babies speeds toward him. Inside the sphere, Liliana jolts backward. I don’t have to hear her to know she screamed.

  Grayson shouts, “If I’m going, I’m taking her with me.”

  “No!” My heart-power bursts around me, giving me speed as I race toward him. But this time, I don’t try to defeat his power or use mine against him. It wouldn’t work anyway. Instead, I collide with him, using the force of my momentum to physically shove him aside, breaking his concentration.

  Relief floods me as Liliana’s sphere stops gliding toward Grayson. He loses his balance, slides sideways, but at the last moment, his satisfied eyes meet mine and that’s when I know I made a big mistake.

  He grabs me. “I knew you’d come to me.”

  Lightning crackles behind me. A crimson storm wails down on the cliff and Baelen slams onto the ledge so hard that cracks shatter along the cliff. He is full of rage, more than I’ve ever seen. His eyes meet mine, his lightning streaks across the distance between us, aimed at Grayson, but it’s too late.

  Grayson’s heartbeat thuds against mine.

  One beat.

  Two beats.

  His power flares. Then we’re gone.

  15

  Darkness and light speed past me. My stomach flip-flops and I squeeze my eyes closed, until finally the movement stops. I open my eyes to my new surroundings, finding myself inside the most opulent room I’ve ever seen. Multiple plush seats line the edges, along with an ornate desk and a large dining table, each leg carved in intricate designs and polished to gleaming. Every inch of the wall is covered in wallpaper interlaid with gold—actual gold if I’m not wrong—and the silken curtains are interwoven with gold filigree. The House of Glory controls land that is rich in gold and precious jewels so I’m guessing that’s where I’ve arrived. Even the gargoyle palace is no comparison to this place. The decadence makes me feel a little ill because elves in the minor Houses have nothing.

  I shove Grayson away from me and he doesn’t seem concerned about letting me go this time, spreading his arms wide. “Welcome to the House of Glory. Makes you sick, doesn’t it?”

  I inhale sharply. Is he reading my thoughts? I don’t sense him poking around inside my mind. Either he isn’t listening to my thoughts or he’s very good at masking the mental invasion.

  “Baelen will find me! You won’t stand a chance against both of us.”

  Grayson remains calm. “Baelen Rath won’t find you here. Nobody will. This entire house and its grounds are cloaked from the outside world. It’s impossible to detect by spellcasting, sorcery, deep magic, whatever you try. All anyone sees is a dense forest at the edge of Glory land.”

  He smiles, but there’s no humor in it. An edge of threat bleeds back into the glint of power in his eyes. “This is your golden cage, Marbella.”

  I stalk around the room, using my survey of the surroundings to buy time to consider my situation. Grayson Glory is a natural-born sorcerer and that alone makes him a match for my power. But on top of that, he has tethered himself to my House’s heartstone. Elven heartstones aren’t weapons so he can’t use it to hurt me, but so far he has used it in surprising ways—like dragging me around with him. Importantly, he’s using it to create a protective force around himself so that it cancels out my strength. Worse, he’s embedded the pieces of the heartstone into his body, making it nearly impossible to break the tether without cutting the stones out of him.

  And if all of that wasn’t bad enough, he’s also tethered himself to the Rath heartstone and embedded that too. The only positive is that Baelen’s storm power isn’t heartstone power so the Rath heartstone shouldn’t be able to counteract it.

  But if the Rath stone can’t protect Grayson from the storm, then why has he tethered himself to it? What benefit does the Rath Heartstone give him? Especially since it’s probably the main reason he can’t sleep on his back at night.

  Grayson watches my every movement as I pretend to study the furniture. “I had every intention of capturing you in a containment sphere like your gargoyle friends and bringing you straight to the prison.”

  My ears perk up at the mention of a prison—the grounds of a cloaked place like this would be ideal for the Elven Command to conceal my Storm Command. I may be desperate to find silver linings about my current situation, but if Elise and Reisha are imprisoned here then I have to find out where and figure out a plan to get us all out.

  I fold my arms across my chest and fake a casual tone. “But you brought me to this room instead. What changed your mind?”

  He closes the distance at a prowl but takes his time, calculating each move, keeping it slow as he reaches for my hand, his palm closing around mine. I flinch backward, not because the contact hurt, rather because of the sheer fact that it doesn’t. My arm is stiff—I’m deciding whether or not to fight back—but he patiently draws my palm toward his chest at the exact same angle that I shot my power into him earlier.

  He explains, “You touched me.”

  I squeeze my eyes shut. “To kill you,” I clarify, since he seems to need clarification right now.

  His voice lowers to a soft growl. “But you touched me.”

  I crack open one eye, then the other, and enunciate each word just in case he didn’t hear me the first time. “To kill you.”

  His perfectly sculpted lips draw up into a smile, one corner hitched higher than the other, not quite in a smirk, but definitely in a silent challenge.

  I take a deep breath, trying to remain patient. “Okay, then. Why is touching you so special?”

  “Because nobody can.”

  I eye him with increasing alarm. Fear of the unknown shouldn’t be a thing for me anymore but, well, it is. I purse my lips for a moment, trying to decide which question to ask first. Finally, I settle for the simplest one. “Why not?”

  “Because I kill what I touch.”

  My focus flies to my palm, which remains resting against his chest. “I’m not dead.”

  “You are more
powerful than anyone I’ve ever encountered. The fact that you’re alive tells me that.”

  I have no idea how I’m supposed to respond to that. I’m still processing his revelation that I should be grateful to be alive. “If you kill everything you touch then how… I never heard of you… Not that I heard much… but nobody mentioned…”

  “What you’re trying to ask is why nobody knows about me?” He doesn’t release me. His hand continues to rest over mine, pressing my palm against his skin. His touch softens but not enough that I can easily slide my hand away. “Like I said, this place is a cage. I grew up here. Gideon Glory took it upon himself to become my guardian. He created these grounds for me and kept my power a secret. Not hard because everyone who was at my birth died.”

  Grayson exhales a long breath. “He did try to give me a normal life. He used cloaking spells on me so that my touch wasn’t always deadly. That was how I could be fed and cared for as a baby. I can create my own cloaking spells now, so that I can mingle with others, but everything I touch feels…”

  “Wooden,” I say for him. I’d lived for seven years not being allowed to touch anything. When I needed to train with my Storm Command in preparation for the marriage trials, Elise used a cloaking spell on me so I wouldn’t hurt my ladies when I fought them. But touching them while I was cloaked was like touching wood. There was no life in that contact, no warmth or softness. I can’t imagine a life of never knowing what another living creature feels like except to watch it die at my touch.

  Grayson continues. “When I was older, Gideon sent me to elven academy. I pretended to be normal. But word got out about my mother and the fact that I was part gargoyle so… I didn’t enjoy the academy very much.”

  I remember the boys in the major Houses pushing me around. But that was when I had no power to fight back. “You didn’t use your gift against them?”

  Surprise flickers in his eyes. “It’s interesting that you call sorcery a gift.”

  “Sorcery gained through murder is an abomination—to kill others to make yourself powerful is nothing short of true evil—but to be born with it... You can choose what you do with it.”

  His hand strokes mine. “To answer your question: no. I didn’t hurt them. A sorcerer’s greatest power is secrecy.” It’s his turn to shrug, his broad shoulders lifting and falling, making his muscles tighten and relax beneath my palm. “Of course… if someone suddenly becomes ill and dies, it has nothing to do with me.”

  I shudder, but sudden anger flares inside me. “Did you create the curse that killed the last Storm Princess?” My beautiful friend, Mai Reverie who was the Storm Princess before me, was killed by an intricate web of spells that had been made to look like the Storm. It was her death that gave the Elven Command the power they needed to create the curse that would force my husband to kill me. That curse died with Gideon Glory.

  Grayson is unfazed by my accusation. “That wasn’t me. I had nothing to do with you or Baelen Rath until I took Gideon’s place on the Elven Command a month ago. Which is why I was surprised to discover that you are far from the ugly female Gideon described to me.” His gaze travels up to my tiara. He abruptly changes the subject. “The emerald stone flares more often than the others. Why is that?”

  I’m wary of answering his question and giving him too much information about my heartstones, but it wouldn’t take him much to find out the answer for himself. “That’s Virtuous. She was a powerful healer; also very compassionate toward others. Empathetic. Kind. That is my power to heal and to perceive other’s feelings.”

  Grayson asks, “So it keeps you alive but it also senses my emotions?”

  If I was wary before, I’m even more so now. “Something like that.”

  The pressure of his palm over mine eases, becoming even softer than before, but not letting me go. As I consider whether it’s time to fight myself free, he reaches for my other hand. Again, he keeps his movements unhurried, measured, watching me while I watch him. At the last moment, he snatches hold of my free wrist, an abrupt change of pace. His hand closes fully around my lower arm, wrapping his fingers and thumb across the delicate bones. His grip is firm, verging on painful.

  He snarls, “Does it tell you what I’m feeling now?”

  I don’t need Senturi’s Sight or even Virtuous to perceive Grayson’s emotions. “Anger. Vengeance.” I swallow. Oddly, I feel curious instead of afraid because there’s a deeper emotion forming the foundation of his wrath: pain. “You’re angry at me about something. Something that… hurt you.”

  I’m not sure what it could be. My inner voice quietly asks me a more important question: why haven’t I pummeled this guy yet? What’s stopping me? Is it Virtuous and all her empathy about Grayson’s childhood? My healing power must be working overtime since Grayson hasn’t stopped touching me, so it’s probably messing with my emotions. Bethany warned me not to draw on Virtuous too much. I can’t think why else I’d stand here and let Grayson grab me like this…

  I stiffen, but it feels like an afterthought, something I do because I’m supposed to. Why am I not more afraid right now? Why am I still standing here?

  His lips part and his expression changes. So does his grip. He trails his thumb across the end of my sleeve, pushing the material down to expose the sensitive inner skin of my arm. He doesn’t stop there, gently dragging his hand all the way back up to my wrist, lightly circling my skin with the pad of his thumb.

  He leans in, angling his body toward me. “What about now?”

  I shiver, confusion flooding me. For a moment it felt exactly like Baelen was touching me, not Grayson, right down to the soft scrape of Baelen’s calloused palms.

  I say, “Now you don’t hate me at all.”

  He releases my other hand—the one that was pressed against his chest—running his fingers along that arm, stroking up to my shoulder, grazing his fingertips along my neck, brushing gently against my cheek, tucking my hair behind my ear, gently stroking my neck again…

  Baelen’s hands… Baelen’s fingertips…

  Sensation shoots through my spine and all the way to my toes, turning my bones into liquid. Confusion is a storm inside me as Grayson pulls me closer, much closer, guiding my hips to his, one hand caressing my lower back while his other—the one that was playing with my hair—lightly runs across my eyelashes.

  “Close your eyes,” he says. “Tell me what you feel.”

  I allow my eyelids to droop as he presses his palm across them, keeping them closed. His breath whispers across my cheek. His lips follow. I inhale and my head fills with Baelen’s scent, the touch of his lips against the corner of my mouth, the press of his body against mine. All of this male pressed up against me. All of it is Baelen. My heart rate increases and so does my breathing. I can’t control my body’s response as need rages through me.

  Grayson’s exhale teases my bottom lip, not quite connecting but far too close. “Tell me.”

  I can only form one confused word. “Baelen.”

  I sense Grayson smile, but the sudden space between our lips is unbearable. Without thinking, I pull him closer to me, reaching for his shoulders. I want to kiss him. I want to press my lips against his, to drown in the taste of Baelen’s mouth, losing myself to his touch, to his fingers tangling in my hair and the shivers racing down my spine.

  Now my inner voice shouts, Stop! He isn’t Baelen.

  Grayson whispers, “What about now?”

  I’m shaking. Shaking so hard. But I suddenly realize that I don’t need to tell him. Grayson knows exactly what I’m feeling.

  I wrench his hand away from my eyes so I can see him again. For a second—the smallest moment—his true reaction is open to me: he is watching my lips and he is not in control. He leans toward me for a moment as if the sudden distance between us is painful. Then a mask drops over his face, over his whole body. He is calculating and measured again. He assesses my reaction, studying my face. I want nothing more than to hide my response, take back my hands gripping his shoul
ders, take back the way I pressed into him, stop it instantly, but it’s not possible. Baelen’s impact on me is a storm I can’t control, what I feel for him goes beyond physical. It’s emotional and mental and I can’t turn that off cold, not like Grayson has. But what really scares me is not the way Grayson hides his emotions so quickly behind an aloof mask.

  It’s the crimson glow that fills the air around us, a glow that’s coming from the Rath Heartstone in his back. What terrifies me is the fact that Grayson was drawing on the Rath Heartstone while he was holding me. Baelen used that stone to bind himself to me for life, promising to love, protect, and honor me until the end of time. Until his death. It contains every emotion of love, need, protectiveness, and worst of all, the soul-searing desire that Baelen feels for me and me alone.

  It contains everything Grayson needs to control me.

  16

  Now I know why Grayson embedded the Rath Heartstone in his body. I wrench backward and he lets me go. My legs are jelly. I stumble like a new foal, reaching for the nearest chair so I can drop into it. I grip the armrest, focus every bit of my rage into it, and stare at my hands as they slowly turn white.

  I nearly kissed him, nearly betrayed everything I feel for Baelen. Angry tears burn behind my eyes, but I will not shed them. I will not let him see what his sorcery has done to me.

  Grayson says nothing. Does nothing. Observing me with no emotion at all.

  My voice is like sandpaper in my throat. “What happens now?”

  “Now you stay here. With me.”

  “For how long?”

  He doesn’t move. He may as well be made of stone. “As long as it takes for the Elven Command to take control of Erador.”

  “Why do they want to attack the gargoyles? Is it for revenge because of what the Storm did?”