Storm Princess 3: The Princess Must Reign

by Jaymin Eve

  I scream out my fear that he’s telling the truth. Pain shrieks through our connected hands flowing fast from my body into Grayson’s. He flinches as the force hits him. Power shoots though his arm, straight across his torso, crackling under his skin. It’s the same force that tore Howl to shreds. Cracks appear like spider webs all over Grayson’s chest and up his neck, down his arms. His muscles clench, his forearm and biceps bulging. He grits his teeth as I continue to scream, pouring all of my pain into the contact. Despite it all, he refuses to look away. Even when I drop to my knees, dragging him with me, my scream turning into a wail.

  It has to be a trick. It can’t be real… “I need to see her body.”

  “No.”

  My throat is sore, constricted. “Why not?”

  “I told them to bury her properly.”

  I swallow. “They weren’t going to, were they?”

  “No, they weren’t.”

  I drop my head to my chest, my free hand flopping to my side. “What about my Storm Command.”

  “They haven’t been touched. They’re fine.”

  “Fine is a relative word, Grayson. One version of ‘fine’ is healthy and safe. Another version of ‘fine’ is starving and wounded but not dead.” At this point, I’m not ashamed to beg. “Please let them go.”

  “It’s not up to me. I don’t control that situation.”

  “Then you don’t know that they’re fine.”

  He sighs. Tugs my hand. Pulls me to my feet. I stumble back to my cage, swinging between going into shock and trying to stay alert. I can’t allow myself to become vulnerable in this place. And until I see her body or hear it from someone I trust, I won’t truly believe she’s gone.

  Priscilla waits for us when we get back. As we enter the room, she straightens from a lean against the table, flicking her hair behind her ear, smirking at me.

  “Oh,” she pouts, putting on a sad face. “Is somebody upset?”

  Grayson doesn’t react, taking me to the nearest chair, finally letting me go. He positions himself in a standing position at my side, his tone neutral. “Priscilla?”

  She smiles sweetly. “Yes, Grayson?”

  “Get out.”

  She laughs. “Don’t tell me you feel sorry for her.”

  I may be exhausted and emotionally drained, but I can still access my power. I harness the cold again, wondering if Grayson will stop me this time.

  He must sense it, but to my surprise he doesn’t put up a shield between us. Instead, he narrows his eyes at Priscilla. “You should be more afraid of her.”

  Priscilla is taken back, flicking her fingers at me. “What? Scared of that pitiful, little doll—”

  My eyes widen. Grayson said he never met Howl, but Priscilla must have. She must have told Grayson what Howl called me. My resolve strengthens. My power crackles, but Priscilla is either too proud or too stupid to acknowledge the danger.

  Grayson says, “Leave, Priscilla. Before I let Marbella do what she wants.”

  Her body language changes, becoming instantly threatening. “You’d better not betray me, Grayson.”

  When he doesn’t answer, her frown deepens. “Fine, have your little moment. Just remember who will be there when it’s all over.”

  She stalks from the room, glaring daggers at me. I consider turning her perfect ass to dust but that would rain all sorts of hellfire down on me from the other Elven Commanders and the consequences would be faced by my people: the gargoyles and my ladies. The Elven Command may not be able to hurt me, but they’ve made it clear that they can hurt… kill… the people I care about.

  I shouldn’t have waited to come looking for my ladies. I should have stormed into Erawind as soon as Howl was dead. I should have done… something… anything…

  I jump to my feet and head for the bedroom, closing the door behind me before I crawl into bed and pull the blankets over myself. Grayson lets me go, doesn’t try to stop me, doesn’t even tug on me.

  I close my eyes and let the shock take over.

  That night, after Grayson leans over me to retrieve his pillow and blanket, he leans in slowly, angled to drop a kiss right on my lips.

  I place both my hands on his chest and shove.

  He immediately withdraws, dropping to a sitting position on the edge of the bed. To my astonishment, he grins at me, one eyebrow raised. As always, his chuckle is real. “Good. You were so quiet, I was worried I might have lost you.”

  I scowl at him. “You never had me.”

  His smile broadens. “There’s the Marbella I know.” He tugs at the edge of the blanket. “Scoot over.”

  Alarm replaces my unhappiness. “What are you doing?”

  “I have a theory…” He nudges the blanket down and slides one leg inside it. “That your diamond stone makes everything colder. Am I right?”

  He’s seriously about to get in to the bed with me. I hustle to the other side as fast as I can. “You might be.”

  He pummels the pillow that I just vacated and hands me the one he took, pulling the blanket no higher than his waist while lying down on his side, facing me. The mattress wobbles as he makes himself comfortable. “So my theory is that even if I roll onto my back and set this bed on fire, your power will stop the flames before they start.”

  He inhales deeply, holding his breath for a moment as if he expects the bed to burst into flames right then. Nothing changes. He exhales. Relaxes. Closes his eyes. Says nothing else.

  I peer at him. He looks far too comfortable where he is. But he hasn’t come any closer. In fact, he’s very close to the edge of that side of the bed. I assess the gap between us. It’s as wide as it can be. But now I can’t decide which direction I should face. Toward him might send the wrong signals, but I don’t exactly want to take my eyes off him.

  Without opening his eyes, he says, “Relax, Marbella. I’m not coming over there. I just don’t want to sleep on the floor anymore.”

  Despite what he says, his upper arm stretches out across the distance, fingertips brushing my shoulder and staying there, the barest connection that I try to ignore as I fall asleep.

  I’m not sure if he wants me to hear him when he murmurs, “If only we weren’t enemies.”

  I dream of the marriage trials, of the compatibility test and the chair of truth. The Elven Commander Pedr Bounty’s grandson, a big brute of an elf, sits opposite me, just like he did after the battle in the arena. I hated him for hurting Baelen. I never wanted to lay eyes on this elf again. My voice echoes back at me as I force him to answer my question: What do you see when you look at me?

  He struggles to get away from me, struggling so hard that sweat drips into his eyes. I see a storm of power and light. I see burning and chaos. I see a girl on a mountain. The wind’s beating at her, lightning’s striking, claws are ripping, but she’s fighting back. I see life and death. I don’t know if you’re the one killing me or saving me.

  I awake with a cry in my throat as echoes of my dream repeat on me… Claws ripping. Burning and chaos. A girl on a mountain.

  War. I can’t stop it from coming. Up until this moment, part of me thought I could find a way to stop the battle. I’d planned to take the fight to the elves, infiltrate Erawind, kill the Elven Commanders myself, and keep my people safe. But now… now…

  My eyes fly open as the horror of my nightmare fades. Grayson watches me from the other side of the bed. Just as he promised, he hasn’t moved from that position.

  He says, “I want to ask if you’re okay. You were obviously having a nightmare. But somehow I don’t think you’ll tell me what it was about.”

  He’s right. Because he is at the center of it. He is my greatest fear for my people.

  Without answering him, I slide my legs over my side of the bed, preparing to get up.

  He gives a resolute sigh at my silence and flops onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. But his eyes shoot wide as he realizes that his back just connected with the bedding. “Oh fu—”

  Heat blasts
across the room at the same time as the bed blazes, fire lighting up beneath Grayson. I’m only halfway off the other side. I roll back, slap my hand against his chest, and throw my power through him.

  As a chill replaces the heat, the fire sizzles and dies. Smoke curls around Grayson’s frame. He looks shocked. Grabs my hand. Lifts up off the bed to check the damage to the mattress beneath him. “Uh… thank you.”

  Not something I ever expected him to say to me. I shove away from him, roll off the bed, and head to the bathroom. He kept his word about staying on his side of the bed. He will keep his word about standing at the head of the elven army when it attacks my friends.

  As the day wears on, Grayson’s mood shifts from quiet to brooding. He seems to remember that he is living in a bubble and that bubble is about to burst. Or at least open up for a while, because today is the celebration and he has agreed to let Baelen see me. The closer the afternoon gets, the more on edge Grayson becomes. By the afternoon, he is in a dark mood that worries me, his responses to me clipped and sharp to the point where I stop saying anything.

  I pace the bedroom floor as he dresses in the bathroom. A box rests on the bed. It contains the dress I’m supposed to wear but I haven’t opened it because I’m trying to delay whatever cleavage-revealing butt-exposing horror awaits me. My experiences of having my clothing chosen for me haven’t gone so well in the past. I heave a sigh as I recall burning dresses with Gilda and Carmen. They needed space in the days before I was captured so I hardly saw them. I miss them. I also miss my Storm Command. Grayson told me that they aren’t being held here. I believe him about that, but not so much about his assertion that they’re fine.

  He emerges from the bathroom, blond hair slicked back, golden runes glowing across his chest. He’s wearing black pants that hug his hips and accentuate his thighs.

  I remove the lid from the box and gather the dress into my arms before hurrying to the bathroom and nudging the door closed with my foot. The bone lash hangs on a hook on the wall. I’ve studied the tip many times, trying to decide if it would be powerful enough to rip the stones out of Grayson’s back. I have to break the tether between him and every single piece. The connection between Baelen and me was a visible thread of deep magic. I don’t know what Grayson’s tether will look like and I’m terrified of what will happen if it doesn’t break or if I only break some of it.

  I drag on the dress, trying not to pay too much attention to it. The corset is made up of an inner skin-colored body suit that pushes up my breasts and makes them look larger, and it’s overlaid with fine white embroidery while the small waistline is decorated with flowers, dropping to a full white skirt. It’s definitely cleavage-enhancing but thankfully not butt-exposing.

  I freeze as I catch sight of myself in the mirror. My wavy auburn hair falls free to my waist, contrasting with the dress like a summer sunset. As I position my tiara on my head, I realize that for the first time, I look like a Queen.

  That is… a Queen in a wedding dress.

  I close my eyes, fighting sudden fear. Grayson is looking for Baelen’s breaking point. Parading me in a wedding dress is Grayson’s way of showing Baelen what he can’t have. It’s the first step in tearing Baelen down. I shudder as I wonder how far Grayson will go today.

  19

  It’s half a day’s travel to the arena from Glory land so everyone else left this morning, but Grayson transports me there instantly so there’s no risk that we’ll be intercepted on the way. He steadies me until the dizzying blur stops and I can focus again.

  The arena hasn’t changed since the last time I was here: a dais at one end and seating in the upper balconies—empty this time. About forty elves, male and female, are drinking at the tables lining the edges while others dance to the string quartet playing on the dais. The arena is decorated like a fairytale with golden lanterns and flickering candlelight. Everything sparkles.

  A dancing couple sways past as I edge out of Grayson’s grip. The female’s eyes meet mine for a second, but I recognize her: Reisha!

  I quickly scan the faces of the other females around me, recognizing each member of my Storm Command. They all wear long-sleeved dresses but when they move, their sleeves ride up and their wrists appear, revealing raw skin and bruises from shackles. Their eyes are dark-ringed, their hair lank, and makeup doesn’t quite cover the bruises on their necks and faces. They paste smiles on their faces as they dance and pretend to drink. They need food more than alcohol judging by their thin frames. Each of them has a male partner who is clearly military. Just as I feared, my ladies are not so fine after all.

  Grayson leans into me. “I hope you can see that there’s a lot at stake if Baelen tries anything today.”

  I spin to him, pushing back against his shoulders. “Let them go, Grayson. They don’t deserve this.”

  He is deadpan. “I can’t.”

  “Please!”

  He pauses. “I will let one of them go if you kiss me right now.”

  “Reisha,” I say without hesitation. “Promise me you’ll send her back with Baelen.”

  “I promise.” He gives me a slow smile. “But you’d better move fast because your window of opportunity is closing.”

  I don’t question his motives. Reisha’s life is in my hands. If I can free her and get her out of this hell, it’s worth any humiliation. I step into the circle of his arms and draw his face down to mine, determined to make it the briefest kiss in the history of Erawind. I prepare myself for the overwhelming scent and taste of Baelen and the dizzying impact that it will have on my body. What I’m not prepared for is that Grayson stops me in that position before our lips can meet. One of his hands sweeps into my hair to cradle the back of my head and control my movement. His other arm curls around my waist to draw our hips together while halting our mouths a mere breath apart.

  He whispers, “One day, you will kiss me because you want to. But for now, you’ve done enough.”

  He withdraws, taking a deep breath. Then the mask falls over his feelings again. His emotional shield is perfect and flawless and I know that the person he was yesterday when he told me he was sorry about Elise—that person is gone.

  The emotionless Grayson is the one to be feared.

  He says, “You have perfect timing.”

  A hush has fallen over the room.

  I look up, knowing what I’ll see, prepared for how it will break my heart.

  Baelen is frozen in the doorway, shock radiating out from him in waves. Every muscle in his body is bunched, ready for attack. Lightning curls around his fists, torso, and face, accentuating the cut of his jaw and the bristles growing there. He’s growing another beard and it makes me want to cry.

  Don’t break, Baelen. Please don’t break.

  His presence is like an explosion inside of me. I can’t dim my feelings no matter how much I try. Everything inside of me wants to run to him. A burning glow at the corner of my eye tells me that Baelen’s presence and my response to him is having a major impact on the Rath Heartstone; so much that Grayson winces with pain. He rolls his shoulders, trying to shake it off. He reaches for me without seeming to realize it, pulling me tight into his side. He might use the heartstones to control me, but I’m certain that at this moment in time, the Rath stone is controlling him. He wants me in his arms as badly as Baelen does.

  A quick glance around the room tells me that my ladies are in mortal danger, many with daggers held at their backs. Their determined expressions tell me that despite their exhaustion, they want to fight back. But we all know that Grayson controls this situation and things could go bad very quickly.

  Baelen is watching me closely enough to follow my gaze. As the situation becomes apparent to him, he relaxes. He knows I can’t make any choices for myself right now. It makes my heart break even more knowing how much he trusts me. His lightning dims but it must be taking every bit of his self-control not to tear Grayson apart.

  Whatever happens, I can’t let Baelen touch Grayson or Baelen will die.


  Baelen steps to the side, revealing the gargoyle with him. Indira glides into the light. I’d expected to see Llion or Roar, maybe even Senturi, but I’m glad it’s her. A Grievous gargoyle is exactly what is needed on this mission, especially a ferocious female like Indira.

  Like Baelen, Indira wears light armor and a smattering of weapons. Her gorgeous wings catch the light as she crosses the distance ahead of Baelen, a strikingly confident form who catches the eye of every male in the room. She is even more beautiful than the last time I saw her, the glow in her cheeks reminding me that she’s pregnant.

  Even Grayson is transfixed. “Who is that?”

  I reply, “Her name is Grievous Indira. She is one of the most fearsome females I’ve ever fought.” Then I decide to drop a little bombshell. “She was Howl’s sister.”

  He is visibly taken back. “But she fights with you now?”

  My response is a warning to Grayson about trust, but I’m not sure if he will hear it. “That’s how much Howl hurt everyone around him during his quest for power.”

  Indira stops directly in front of Grayson. “I expected a little more hospitality,” she says, holding out her hand while Baelen takes his time joining her.

  He’s assessing every part of the room and its occupants. Priscilla’s presence at one of the tables makes him narrow his eyes. He will be able to sense her sorcery. She takes on a casual pose, remaining where she is for now. If the way Grayson is holding me bothers her, she’s hiding it. But her response to Baelen is unmistakable despite her casual posture: she’s afraid of him.

  “I thought there would be dancing.” Indira bats her eyelashes at Grayson. Her goal is clear—give Baelen and me space. She shrugs in my direction. “It’s not like Marbella is going anywhere.”

  She reaches for his hand but at the last minute my senses go haywire. He isn’t cloaked! I can’t let her die. Not her—and not the babies she’s carrying.

  “Indira, don’t touch him!”