The Stray Prince (Royals Book 2)

by Ella Fields

  I’d never been one to worry over the opinions of sheep until I’d come to realize that those loyal to me were so much more than that.

  “Lord,” I said when Zad didn’t respond.

  Tension still oozed from him like a hovering storm cloud, but his tone was casual, bored even. “Until we’ve nailed the reason for what is happening, if I deem it necessary, then it is.”

  His choice of words didn’t go unnoticed, but before I could argue, he continued, “You are the heart of this kingdom, this continent, and more importantly...” He stopped outside the dining room a little way from the guards stationed at the doors. Cupping my cheeks, eyes boring into mine, he whispered, “You are my heart, and though I and many others know you’re more than capable of taking care of yourself, darkness only knows what could’ve happened to you during any of these...” He halted, swallowing. “Instances.”

  Instances. The word tugged my brows low, and he smoothed them with his thumbs, then tilted my head back for a swift brush of his lips over mine before steering me into the dining room.

  I wanted to scream at him, knowing he meant well, but not caring to be treated like some prized jewel when I could indeed fend for myself.

  But I couldn’t. I couldn’t protest because that thing, that insidious crawling thing that haunted, reminded me I wasn’t in control. This wasn’t something I could control, not unless I planned to never sleep again.

  My pesky lord was right. I couldn’t threaten, torture, and kill something I could not see.

  Zad froze in the doorway, that tension heightening tenfold when Truin turned from the far window. Steaming plates of fish stew, soups, and dishes laden with fruit sprawled across the table.

  Across it, she curtsied, her milky brown eyes filled with concern as they beheld me. “My queen, I heard what happened.”

  Zad growled, releasing me to turn on Mintale as he entered the room behind us.

  Mintale sputtered, his hands in the air, and skirted around the male who seemed ready to tear him limb from limb. “I didn’t send for her, my lord. I-I swear.”

  The outburst, his anger, shocked me. “Zadicus,” I hissed, regaining some much-needed ice. “Leave him be.”

  Mintale headed for my chair, but Zad beat him to it and flicked his hand to the door, dismissing him. Mintale wasn’t his to dismiss, and he knew it, but he was angered to the point of not caring.

  Mintale looked from the snarling male to me, and I sighed, nodding.

  He left the room, and I took my seat, waiting until Zad had draped a napkin over my lap and taken his own before I said, “Truin, sit.”

  Zad snatched a piece of bread, tearing it in half with a savageness that caused most of it to fall into crumbs on his plate.

  Truin seated herself beside me, her nerves evident in the way she kept her hands in her lap and her shoulders pulled right back.

  With a calm I did not feel, I reached for the stew, but Zad grabbed it first. I lifted a brow. “What does it matter if Mintale called for Truin?”

  So focused, so tense I wondered if his teeth might crack, he filled my bowl, then reached for more bread to butter.

  “Zadicus,” I said, my quiet tone giving away my waning patience.

  He set the small plate before me, then steepled his hands beneath his chin. I could almost hear his teeth grinding. Finally, he exhaled, then muttered, “It matters for reasons I cannot yet disclose.”

  My brows jumped, and I tilted my head. “You dance around the truth.”

  He refused to look at me, and I noticed Truin eye him with a hefty amount of shock and skepticism. She opened her mouth to ask him something, by the looks of it, but the lord of the east rose swiftly, almost slamming his chair into the wall.

  He righted it, dipping as he crossed to me to press his mouth to my forehead. “Apologies, my queen. I’ll leave you to enjoy lunch with your friend.” He was marching out of the room before I could even think to ask him what in the darkness had taken hold of him.

  Truin watched the doors sway closed, then reached for some soup. “Is it just me, or does your lord seem to be getting more... territorial?”

  “Like a beast you cannot train,” I muttered, irritated by his actions and the many questions sailing through my mind.

  Truin laughed, the sound tinkling like rain over a windowpane. Rolling some bread, she dipped it into the creamy broth. “He was indeed dancing around the truth.”

  I lifted the bowl to my lips, suddenly too starved to worry over decency. “I know.”

  We ate in silence for stretched minutes, the guards at the doors staring at the walls, the red and gray tapestry and drapes unmoving. Even the heat had quit rising from the food before us. A glance out the window showed clear skies, unmarred by snowflakes, drizzle, or wind.

  Everything was too still, eerily so, as though one breath could cause a violent storm to roll in before we were ready for it.

  Staring at them, I wondered if the guards questioned the same over the unnatural silence or if I was the only one who sensed it. Then, for what felt like the first time, I wondered what they thought about when they pretended to be a part of the furnishings.

  “So the dreams.” Truin snatched my attention back to the stone table. “You woke in the middle of the bay?”

  I nodded, dragging a chunk of buttered bread through the dregs in my bowl. “I’d made a path of ice.” Shadowed claws tickled my nape and feathered over my spine as I thought back to what I remembered. “A road, almost. Really, it would be rather impressive.” I chewed and swallowed. “Of course, if it weren’t for the absurdity and all.”

  She didn’t smile. “You’ve done this before?”

  “Not to that extreme.”

  “What do you remember?” she asked. “Of the dreams?”

  “Not much, just...” Struggling to find the right words to describe it while wondering if I could, I settled on, “Just this sense of urgency. I had to hurry. To where”—I lifted my shoulders—“I’ve no idea.”

  “Sleepwalking,” Truin said, thinking on it a moment. “It’s quite common. But to wield magic while you sleep? Not so much. Especially of that magnitude. Magic wakes the mind too much. And that you’ve never been prone to such a thing before...”

  “My father,” I said, his dark eyes penetrating my thoughts, the malice ever-present within them. “Did he ever—”

  “No,” she said, reminiscent of Zadicus. “Not that I’m aware.” Her hand reached for mine, and I lifted my eyes from my bowl to hers. They were smiling now. “Audra, you are not in danger of losing grip of yourself. Most certainly not at twenty-one summers of age.”

  I nodded. “Then when?” I pulled my hand free, my tone dripping with cold. “Do not placate me with riddles or lies. I am his blood, and he is mine. I am no fool. It’s not a matter of if but when.”

  Undeterred by the hostility in my tone, Truin smiled in full and laid her head upon her hand. “You are his blood, but you are also your mother’s blood.” A blond brow rose. “Perhaps more so given the breaking of your father’s curse upon Beldine.”

  The name of that place alone triggered something inside me. Sharp, blood-soaked, and loud, it shouted. But I didn’t know what it was saying, and I didn’t deign to give it much attention.

  We’d heard nothing of the creatures who resided upon our neighboring continent, the one I’d almost died to reveal to the world once more. That fact was both unnerving and a relief. The former because it was not like the Fae to leave transgressions unpunished, especially one of that severity. And it was a relief because although no one had ever dared to war with the Fae—with Beldine—we still knew the result would not be favorable.

  Meaning, every single one of us would likely die.

  No. Thinking, dwelling on that day I’d lain bleeding out into the sea upon the soft sand to free the hidden realm, and of the consequences that had yet to come knocking, was of no use. I wouldn’t agonize over what should happen. That would do none of us any good, and it might just bring th
ose fears to fruition.

  “What else could it be?” I said, feeling no ease, only a growing sense of foreboding. “Has someone hexed me?”

  Truin sniffed the air as if she could scent such a thing. It would not surprise me if she could. Magic was easier sensed by those who wielded it. “No, or else I’d have surely known when I arrived. Besides, no one could ever get close enough to you to try.”

  That wasn’t exactly true, and we both knew it. Even if it was a somewhat enjoyable and necessary pastime, I had no energy for needling the staff and sniffing out rats.

  “Let me inquire about the matter with Gretelle. I’m sure she’s bound to have heard of this before.”

  Gretelle, an aging witch, was the head of Truin’s coven. If anyone knew something, it would be her. I longed to ask the crone myself to keep this locked up, but after this morning, I was beginning to see it was too late for that. In any case, I trusted Truin. She was not only under my employ but also a friend who’d earned that trust.

  So I nodded, images of that face, of Zad’s face, shrouded in night and shadow, floated amongst words I did not wish to say. But perhaps, I had to. Perhaps, keeping the strange, impossible occurrence of the handful of times I’d seen that face when it couldn’t have possibly been him to myself was not wise.

  I opened my mouth, prepared to word my foggy experiences carefully, when a booming knock chased my courage away.

  The doors opened a moment later, Mintale bowing as he entered. Eyes darting around the room in search of my bristly lord, his shoulders fell slightly when he found he was no longer here. “Excuse me, majesty,” he said, hustling over to where we sat. “We’ve just received a letter from the king.”

  I eyed the offered letter as though it offended me, and it did. Greatly.

  For although Raiden and myself had found some type of tenuous truce, I had no desire to cater to the alliance we’d formed, the unlikely friendship that’d blossomed since Inkerbine, right now.

  Sighing, I snatched it, and Mintale stepped back.

  Truin watched me tear it open, pretending to busy herself with some sliced melon.

  I scanned it, and with a groan, I scrunched the letter into a ball and tossed it over my shoulder.

  “He plans to visit then,” Mintale guessed.

  Truin contained a laugh, a snort escaping.

  “Indeed,” I drawled. “In a month.” I’d seen the troublesome male more times than I’d have liked over the past seven months.

  Every other month, he’d make his excuses to situate himself in my home and ruffle Zad’s feathers. He never stayed longer than a week, and his presence was reassuring for the citizens, a reminder of our changing ways. We’d cover any business dealings we had during the first few days of his arrival, and I’d inevitably hope doing so would keep his visits brief. Yet it mattered not. Ever the entitled, spoiled prince turned king, he would forever do as he wished and outstay his welcome.

  Mintale hovered, and I eventually wrested enough control of myself to declare, “Write him for me.”

  “Of course, your majesty.” Making to leave, he paused. “Uh, should I say all is fine?”

  I lifted my brows. “What else is there to say?”

  His jowls swayed as he nodded emphatically and hurried away, pulling the doors closed behind him.

  “You know,” Truin said, licking melon from her fingers. “You could always visit him.”

  My upper lip peeled back, and she laughed.

  Zad returned right after dinner, snow falling from his cloak and melting upon the furred rugs in my bedchamber. He removed it, slung the heavy velvet black over a hook outside the bathing room, and then kicked off his knee-high black boots.

  I remained where I was, seated on the windowsill, the dying fire reflected in the glass.

  “You’ve eaten?” he asked.

  “I have.” I fixed my gaze back upon the graying city streets outside as ice fluttered over them, and the bleak wintered mountains beyond. “Have you?” I supposed that was my way of asking him where he’d been, as we both knew I’d never deign to appear the besotted female worrying over his whereabouts and demanding he tell me what he’d been up to.

  “I’ll get something in a little while,” he said absently, striding to me. Cool fingers slid under my chin, tilting it up until our eyes locked. “I met with Kash.” I waited for him to elaborate. “I wanted to see what he might know.”

  Tearing my chin free, I dropped my forehead to the glass. “What would possess you to think the obnoxious faerie would care enough to know anything?”

  I heard him sigh. Wrenched from my perch, I withheld a squeak. He stole it for himself and lowered me sideways over his lap. “He does not hate you.”

  I scoffed and attempted to wriggle free, but his arms tightened, and I didn’t really want to be free. I liked the irritating male and his knowing eyes far too much. “I care not if he hates me. Such things have never bothered me before.” And that was the brutal truth, regardless of the affair Kash’d had with my mother and what she’d felt for him before her demise.

  “Audra,” Zad said, so soft that I gave him my complete attention as if he hadn’t already had it.

  As he tucked tendrils of hair behind my ear, those amber eyes swam with a magic I’d never dared hope to attain before now. Affection. “Audra of the caged, beautifully fierce heart.”

  “Quiet,” I said, but it was too low, too insincere, and his smile only grew.

  Gently clasping the side of my face, he brought my forehead to his. “To think everyone despises you is not only a lie unworthy of your thoughts but it is also an insult to the many thousands who don’t.”

  My eyes closed, and I sagged against him, my head falling to his shoulder.

  Like a second skin, a much-needed blanket against the glacial chill nestled inside my bones, his arms folded around me and held me so close I could feel our hearts’ synchronized beats. “I’m tired.”

  Zad was quiet for a long moment, his fingers running through my hair, tickling my back. “Sleep. I’ve no plans to leave you, and I will rest tomorrow.”

  I knew better than to argue. My eyelids drifted apart, snow dusting the frigid air outside. And then a figure moved into view, a black brimmed hat tipped low over his face, and looked up.

  Feeling me tense, Zad did too. “What? What’s wrong?”

  But I couldn’t answer. My tongue felt glued to the back of my teeth, and no matter how hard I tried, it wouldn’t budge.

  Zad stood, still holding me in his arms, and glanced out the window.

  If he saw the same thing I did, if he saw the strange being that so closely resembled himself, he didn’t say. Knowing that he hadn’t seen a thing, a splash of disappointment curdled inside my chest.

  That was impossible when it was but a figment of my unraveling mind.

  I wondered if that was why I hadn’t been able to tell him everything—who it was I saw. It was one thing to consider telling Truin. She would not have me under lock and guard for all eternity like the spooked, rigid male holding me.

  Said male trudged to the bed, laid me down, then marched back to the window and pulled the drapes closed. He then moved to the other window and did the same.

  I said nothing—couldn’t—even though closing them was something I rarely allowed.

  Sleep came for me, and for the first time in weeks, I welcomed it.

  Lying in the dark, I watched the lord of the east dress, the shadowed sinew of his shoulders and arms bunching as he pulled on his cream shirt followed by a charcoal buttoned vest.

  He kept a small collection of clothing in my dressing room, and I’d taken some of my own to his estate the last time we’d visited. Sharing space with someone else in such a seemingly permanent way had taken some time to get used to, but not as long as I’d have thought.

  It was as if he was always meant to hang his finest shirts and cloaks next to mine, to rest his sword and daggers next to and atop the bureau, and to leave his boots by the foot of my be
d.

  All those things were made easier to acclimate to when his body aligned itself with mine, for that was the part that had always come with an ease I’d ignored for too long. So much so that watching him prepare to leave filled me with something that alarmed more than it provoked fear.

  Panic.

  I detested it. In a way, I wanted to detest him for the existence of something I never thought I’d feel, that I never wanted to feel again, regarding a male.

  But he was mine, and I was his, and with a coupling as bone-deep as ours, I knew that intensity was normal. That this entity inside, clutching at my heart and pulling it toward my stomach, was something I had to bear.

  For as long as we both shall live.

  “You should head to breakfast,” Zad said, and I blinked, removing my eyes from his perfect, firm backside as he pulled his charcoal pants over it. Ever the royal, he never failed to dress the part unless in battle.

  “You’re not going to tell me to sleep?” I looked at the windows, but they’d been sealed.

  He followed my gaze, but he did not move to open the drapes as he strapped on his weapons. The ting of his sword sliding inside its sheath a moment later caused my chest to quake, rattling my next breath.

  “Ask me,” he said, stomping into his boots.

  I threw off the warmth of the bedding and walked past him instead.

  He cornered me in my dressing room, and I turned, stark naked, willing myself to stand still.

  His eyes shined with humor but soon darkened with lust as he took his time. One booted foot thumped to the floor, followed by another, and my breath hitched when they stopped.

  Standing right before me, he seemed larger somehow, dressed and with his hair tied at his nape while I stood naked, my hair tangled from sleep. “Audra,” he said, too gentle, dangerously so. “Ask me where I’m going.”

  “Why?” I said, pulling my shoulders back.

  It served in lifting my breasts higher, and his gaze fell upon them momentarily, his chest rising and falling in a harsh wave. “Because you want to.”