A Girl Named Calamity

by Danielle Lori

  “You’re wrong. What kind of man would I be if I let you travel alone?”

  “What kind of man would you be if you kept me here?” I retorted.

  “You will hardly be a prisoner.”

  “No, I’m sure I’ll be fed well before I’m tossed around between your men.”

  He smiled mysteriously. “The only sex you’ll have is of the willing variety.” He moved to sit down behind his desk. I imagined he thought I would willingly have sex with him.

  “Sorry to break it to you, but you aren’t my type,” I lied.

  The look he gave me told me he knew I was lying. I imagined he wasn’t used to hearing that. Or no, for that matter.

  “Only time will tell,” he said coolly while watching me.

  “Well, I’m leaving, so we won’t be getting to know each other.”

  He leaned back and rested his feet on his desk. “Go ahead, then.” He nodded his head toward the tent flap. His demeanor was completely relaxed, but there was something in his eyes I didn’t trust. Something dark. He was playing with me, and I didn’t like it. I hated it. Hate and self-preservation never had much in common. Try nothing.

  “Is my freedom a joke to you? You sit behind your desk like a prince and think you can control other people’s lives? Well, you know what? Go to hell.”

  The man looked at me with amusement and interest. “You better hope I offer you protection with that mouth of yours.”

  “I don’t want your protection!” Had he not heard anything I said?

  “Then I’ll have some servants in here to clean you up. You look like you’ve been rolling in mud.”

  Why would he offer me a bath?

  My brow wrinkled. “Why?”

  “Because if you don’t have my protection, then we strip you naked in the middle of camp and sell you to the highest bidder.”

  I faltered, swallowing hard. “That’s disgusting.” Thoughts of how to get out of this situation ran through my mind but were interrupted by an Untouchable entering the tent.

  “Your Highness, may I have a word?” the Untouchable asked.

  ‘His Highness’ watched me with amusement while everything sunk in: he really was a prince. I told a prince to go to hell. That was surely the final nail in the coffin. Fortune telling—check.

  The prince exited the tent, and I grabbed the knife on the floor and stuck it back in my pants.

  I sat down in one of the chairs across from his desk after I’d perused the map that was laid out. My stomach was rolling with uneasiness while I tried to come up with some kind of plan.

  When the prince came back in, I had many questions on my tongue. Questions that would hopefully distract him from what I had said earlier.

  “Why didn’t your touch kill me?”

  “You insult me. I am royalty. Only the working class cannot control their ability.”

  I mulled it around a little bit and wondered why Weston had never mentioned that. I assumed it was because he liked to use as few words as possible.

  I sighed. “What does being under your protection entail?”

  “You will be protected until I can find a protector for you.”

  “A protector?”

  “A husband, I believe they call it in the north. Your fair hair and skin give you away.”

  One last futile effort. “I don’t want to be married, and I don’t want to be under your protection.”

  He shouted in a language I didn’t understand, and a few servants came in carrying towels and soap. When I realized what he was ordering, I jumped to my feet. “I’m not being sold!”

  He narrowed his eyes. “Then I suggest you accept my protection right now.”

  I thought about it for a panicky second. At least he could control his ability; what if I ended up with someone who couldn’t? That was all I needed to think over.

  “Okay,” I grumbled.

  I hated all men.

  “Good choice,” he said before he made the servants leave.

  “I swear if you try to rape me, I will stab you in the heart,” I warned.

  He smiled. “It wouldn’t be rape.”

  I could escape before he tried to hand me over to some man.

  In the meantime, what better place to hide than in an army of Untouchables?

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  SERVICING A PRINCE

  I argued with the women in the tent for more than ten minutes before the prince barged in. “You will take a bath, or I will have two of my men bathe you. Your choice. Decide now,” he ordered.

  I didn’t have my soap, and I was worried about Weston being able to find me. But I doubted he could invade an army of Untouchables, no matter how good he was.

  There was also the problem of my silver cuffs that I didn’t want anyone to see. There was no way out of this, and my heart beat quickly while I pushed my long sleeves up. The prince looked at the cuffs with a questioning gaze.

  “I don’t want them stolen,” I said.

  “Are you a witch?” he asked suspiciously.

  I blinked. “Uh . . . no?”

  “Silver means nothing to us here. It’s the witch’s metal. Trust me, no one will touch them. I am assuming it’s not that way in the north?” he asked, and I shook my head. “You will bathe now. We have much to go over, and I will not dine with you looking like that.” He gestured to my body. I bristled a little, about to tell him he would be lucky to dine with me at all, but I bit my tongue.

  He walked out of the tent and left me with six women who all looked at me with disgust. I was the only blond of the group, and they looked at me as though I were a witch. I watched them warily before they all ascended on me like vultures.

  In between undressing me and talking in a language I didn’t understand, I heard words I did understand.

  “She stinks . . .”

  “I don’t believe she isn’t a witch.”

  “How could our prince be attracted to a light-haired woman?” a woman said while she yanked on a lock of my hair.

  “Ow!” I said, clenching my teeth in annoyance.

  They poked and prodded and plucked at me, all while making snippy comments. I snapped at one when she ripped the hair off my leg with too much gusto. Women were almost worse than men. Almost.

  I bathed for a long time before one of the women yanked on my arm and told me the prince wouldn’t like to dine with a woman as wrinkly as her grandmother. I huffed and pulled myself out, eager to get out of this tent full of harpies hoping I wouldn’t walk into anything worse.

  “Hold still,” a woman scolded while she drew black around my eyes, matching the rest of them. And I realized that I was becoming another woman in the prince’s harem. Before I could think more about it, I felt a sharp prick on my arm.

  “Ouch!” I said while I scooted back, and felt the woman doing my makeup draw a line down my face. There was some shouting in a foreign language while I glared at the culprit of the prick.

  “What the hell are you doing?” I asked as I looked at the needle in her hand.

  “You must wear His Highness’s mark.”

  He wanted to brand me like cattle? No, a whore was the appropriate word. “I won’t,” I said.

  She shook her head reproachfully. “You will make him angry.”

  “I don’t care. I’m not wearing his damn brand.”

  The women tittered in between themselves and shook their heads at me. They were all brainwashed. Every one of them. Could they not see they were only the prince’s whores? I would rather be paraded through the camp naked than willingly become one.

  “You should be honored that he chose to protect you,” a woman scolded.

  “I don’t need his protection,” I grumbled. The women reluctantly dropped it. One fixed the black line down my face while another braided red ribbon into my hair, grumbling about how she was supposed to fix up hair that was as short as mine.

  “Stand up,” a woman said. I did with the hope they would give me some clothes. I was beginning to wonder
if the prince would have me dine with him naked. But I relaxed as a woman got some cloth out of a chest. It was red and silky, the same as the rest of the women. I imagined it was red so that someone could see them easily if they decided to escape.

  The cloth was one long strip, and I looked at it with confusion. A woman put it behind my neck and then crisscrossed it in the front to cover my breasts. She brought it behind my back again, and that was where I got lost. She crisscrossed it a couple more times, and I was wearing almost a dress, except for a triangle of my midriff and hips exposed.

  It was a lot more decent than my Sylvian clothes, but I had not a clue how to get the thing off.

  I was more worried the prince knew exactly how.

  One of the women had taken my dagger earlier, and I didn’t have any place to put it anyway. I shouldn’t have been stabbing the prince either, so maybe it was a good thing.

  When I was as polished and clean as I imagined a new toy was, two Untouchables walked on either side of me to escort me to the prince’s tent. I was more than hesitant, being so close to an Untouchable, my history with them too hard to forget.

  I shivered as I walked through the camp, many Untouchable eyes on me. The hair on the back of my neck raised as my body became aware of the heavy stares on my skin.

  “I heard you refused my brand?” was the first thing the prince said when I entered his tent. He wore loose white pants with at least two daggers that I could see fashioned into them. And a thin white sleeveless shirt that was slim fitted, and I could see his defined abs through it. No wonder the women didn’t want to leave. I’d still choose freedom over a man who was nice to look at any day. Though . . . I might miss it.

  “You already have six women in your harem. Do you really need more?” I asked, trying to derail him from the conversation he wanted to have.

  “Do I need more? Probably not. But do I want more?” he asked with a smile and a heavy perusal over me, and I knew the answer to that question. I stood in silence, not knowing what to say with a flush on my skin.

  “I want you to go back to your tent and let the women brand you.”

  Dammit.

  “I’m not going to be marked like cattle.”

  “You aren’t cattle, but you are mine and will wear my mark,” he said calmly.

  “I will not,” I retorted. He might have believed he owned me, but I wouldn’t let him permanently mark me.

  He raised a brow. “Shall we strip you down and drag you through the camp, then?”

  The flush covering my skin had morphed into an angry heat. Did I let him draw on me or strip me naked? I was assuming he would strip me naked regardless, although it was unknown to me how many eyes would get to see me.

  I stood tense while he sat behind his desk, relaxed, watching me. I might have ended up with an Untouchable who could kill me if he touched me. At least with the prince, I didn’t have to worry about that.

  “I choose neither,” I tried.

  He laughed. “Unfortunately, that is not an option.” A man entered the tent and said something I couldn’t understand. The prince sat up straighter before he looked at me with interest.

  I wondered about his reaction, but I was too focused on my current problem to try and understand him.

  “Are there other options?” I asked.

  “What?”

  “Are there other options besides the brand and being paraded through camp?”

  He was leaning back in his chair while he appeared to be thinking about it. I had hopeful eyes until he smiled darkly. Then the hope in my eyes dimmed.

  “You can come sit on my lap and kiss me like you mean it.”

  My first kiss had been stolen from me by a Latent and my second would be taken by a stuck-up prince?

  Nervousness settled in my stomach. “No thank you.”

  “You have three seconds to choose. A kiss or a brand? If it’s the kiss, make it a good one.”

  My thoughts raced through my mind. What made a kiss a good one, anyway? A kiss wasn’t a permanent thing. And it seemed the logical decision to make.

  “One.”

  My heart fluttered. The kiss I had with the Latent was far from bad. Would it be the same with a prince?”

  “Two.”

  I was over to him before he could say three. I leaned down hesitantly, brushed my lips against his, and tried to pull away. I jumped out of my skin when he grabbed both of my thighs and lifted me, so I was straddling him. My dress was pulled tight, and I was worried it was going to rip, but my thoughts were cut off when he grabbed the back of my neck and pressed his lips against mine.

  They were smooth and soft. Heat traveled through my body at every slow kiss and lick he made until I slowly melted against him. His hand slid from my nape to my backside, pulling me tightly against him when he knew I wasn’t going to pull away.

  His tongue slid into my mouth and brought a hazy wave of pleasure with it. I grabbed a fistful of his hair and slid my tongue in between his lips. With the heat of his hands on my ass, he rocked me against him, and I moaned while my tongue met his again.

  “If you wanted to fuck an Untouchable, you should have told me. There were quite a few that wanted the honor before I slit their throats.”

  I froze.

  That voice. It had my heart pound in fear, but also had my blood flowing hot in excitement.

  I saw the prince’s lips tip up, and it took me awhile before I realized I had been set up. He’d known Weston was in the camp. And for some reason wanted him to see this. I knew this because the prince’s hands got a lot more firm on my ass. I sighed. I was tired of being a pawn to men.

  “He made me do it,” I said.

  Weston laughed coldly. “It sure looks like it.”

  I noticed I still had a fistful of the prince’s hair, and I quickly dropped it. Guilt ate at me. And I had no reason to feel that way. Relief had filled me at hearing Weston’s voice and knowing for sure he wasn’t dead. And he was my damn captor. I was so misguided.

  A combination of feelings that I shouldn’t have had had me doing something I shouldn’t have.

  I was just trying to prove a point. Show them both I could do what I wanted. Show myself I didn’t have to feel guilty for kissing someone. I grabbed the prince’s hair again and pressed my lips against his. I felt the warmth of his lips for only a second before there was a blur of motion and I was held against Weston’s body.

  My back was to his front, and I watched the prince laugh. “Your woman claims she is not yours.”

  “It’s a game we play. Keeps it interesting,” Weston said, and his deep voice rumbled against my back. It was really hard to protest anything with him pressed against me. I didn’t fight the hold; it would be pointless with his tight grip around my waist. And men’s games were exhausting.

  There was some tense silence before things got serious fast.

  “You walk right into my camp, what makes you think I won’t kill you?” the prince said with venom.

  “Don’t forget I let you live, Maxim. Yet here you are, building an army, for what?”

  Maxim’s shoulders tensed. “My plans were none of your business a long time ago!”

  There was apparently history between these two. And not the pleasant kind. I felt a little cheap now that I knew Maxim only kissed me to get a rise out of Weston. Then I thought about it, and no, I didn’t; it was nice, regardless.

  “Is this the girl?” Maxim gestured to me. I felt Weston tense against me, and I needed to know what they were talking about. How would Maxim know anything about me?

  “Ah, I see. You have not told her, and it appears she won’t like it,” Maxim continued.

  “Told me wha—”

  Weston’s arm tightened. “Say another fucking word and I will finish what I should have done a long time ago,” he told Maxim.

  The prince shot out of his chair. “You think you still can?”

  “Weston . . .” I said nervously when he pushed me to the side. They were going to kill e
ach other, and I would be left surrounded by Untouchables. I watched them stand in front of each other, only inches apart. They were the same height and similarly built, but couldn’t Maxim kill Weston with one touch? Was Weston mad?

  I realized he was when he said, “Shall we find out?”

  My nervousness settled in my stomach when I thought I would have to watch Weston die in front of my eyes. They stared at each other for another moment before Maxim spoke.

  “Take the girl and get out of my camp, before I decide to keep her. She sure knows how to use her tongue.”

  Okay, now I felt cheap.

  Weston’s arm blurred in an arc and Maxim’s head whipped around. The motion was so quick, I would have missed it if I blinked. Weston spoke in a language I didn’t understand, and Maxim looked at him with hatred and a bloody lip. I took a deep breath when Maxim let Weston walk away; he grabbed my arm and pulled me toward the door.

  I heard Maxim’s voice behind me. “When he is done using you, come find me.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  LUST AND MAGES

  I never had a man in my life before. My grandfather died before I was born and I never knew my father.

  I was a bastard and had been looked upon as such until I was old enough that men started noticing my classic looks more suited for a blue-blood than peasant stock, and decided the nature of my birth could be overlooked.

  I’d never been interested in any man until I started to see the appeal in a pair of green eyes.

  Maybe it was the fact that men were a new thing to me that made me feel the way I did. Made me feel safe, when I was only a means to an end. I realized I was as brainwashed as the women in Maxim’s harem.

  My brain knew it; my body just didn’t understand.

  Weston might not have had a hum, but one thrummed through me at his closeness and his rough hand wrapped around my arm.

  My skin tingled at his side brushing mine as he walked beside me. He walked me right out of an Untouchable army, and my body wanted to thank him in a carnal way, while my mind knew this was one prison to another. One that would destroy Alyria.

  I looked up at him, seeing that he was already watching me. And most likely hearing every one of my thoughts. I didn’t care. I’d been used to the lack of privacy a long time ago.