King of Always: A Fae Romance (Black Blood Fae Book 2)

Isla

The first thing that hits me as I enter the castle’s kitchen, is the mouth-watering smell wafting from massive pots on the wood-fired stovetop that runs the full length of a white-washed wall. Inside the pots is my favorite dish, a delicious French stew made of garlic, fish, vegetables, and herbs.

The second thing is Riven’s hard body as he skids to a stop and slams into me, his crystal coat buttons stabbing me in the back of the head.

“Ow!” I scowl at him over my shoulder. “What were you running for? This isn’t a race.”

“I’m sorry. You disappeared in the stairwell, and I wanted to catch up. You are very fast for a human.”

Grinning to myself, I give my rock-hard thighs a mental pat and quickly scan my surroundings. Mesmerizing me, steam curls in odd shapes toward the high, vaulted ceiling. But other than cooking equipment, several scarred wooden benches and tables, and bunches of fragrant herbs hanging from pale beams, the room is empty.

Riven nudges my ribs. “Stop gawking like a dryad attending court for the first time. You need to act quickly and infuse the food with emotion. And when the servants return shortly, you must strive to look blissfully happy, just as any girl coming to supervise the preparations for her betrothal to a prince would.”

Riven mustn’t know too many girls if he assumes we all want to marry princes. So far, I’ve met four of them, and honestly, they seem like hard work.

“Yes sir, I’ll get right on it.” It’s difficult to pry my eyes from the steam above the bench that, weirdly, is starting to resemble a mire fox, growing from thumb-size to life-size before my eyes. The steam-beast winks at me and promptly turns into a flesh-and-blood creature, part monkey, part fox with silky red fur and pointy white ears. Spark!

“Good Goddess, what is that?” says Riven as Spark drops to the floor with a thud, then scrambles toward us and climbs up my body, screeching as she clings to my neck.

“I think it’s Raff’s mire fox. Unless your land happens to have them as well?” My heart flips then pounds erratically. This is bad. I cover Spark’s mouth with my palm. “Be quiet, you little terror. How did you manage to morph out of the cooking steam?”

“The Elemental’s water mage would most definitely hold the power to send her through it,” Riven suggests.

Spark leaps from my arms into Riven’s, squealing in his face.

“Yes, yes. I understand your point, furry creature. Rafael is fine. But if you do not cease your shrieking, you will ruin our plans to help him.” He glances at me. “Go now, Isla. Do your work. And you, little complainer, must hide beneath my cloak. You shall see the fire prince soon. I promise.”

Blinking adorably, Spark nods and allows herself to be tucked under black velvet lined with white fur.

I head over to the pots and commence stirring. As the sorrow of missing home flows through my veins and trickles over my skin into the stew, I force my mind to wallow in nightmares made of murder and grief, and the persistent hauntings of vengeful spirits, tortured souls, and ever-hungry ghosts. Cold terror drips from my fingers, the kind that chills a person to their bones and freezes every muscle, so all they can do is stare.

Stare and weep.

Right now, I’d like to thank my ex, Sam, for all the Saturday nights he made me watch horror movies. Not the gory slasher types, but the ones filled with the kind of psychological terror that makes a grown person want to sleep with the lights on for two whole weeks after seeing them.

Chatter and footsteps sound in the hallway, and then the kitchen staff enter, three green-skinned hob goblins and the head cook, a tall elf called Estel with baby-pink hair coiled into a towering bun. At first glance, she seems far too graceful to be slaving over hot stoves, but then I notice the dead chickens she has hanging from her hands and the proud expression she wears that tells me she strangled them herself.

“Ah, the cooks have returned,” says Riven, stepping forward. “Good evening, ladies. May I compliment you on the stargazer pie? It was divine.”

I wouldn’t call those cute, little fish heads that were peeking through the pastry divine. Gross might be a better description.

“Pardon us for intruding,” says Riven. “Lady Isla wished to cast her love and best wishes for her marriage into the dish, her favorite meal, that you are so very kindly preparing for her tonight.”

True. Bouillabaisse is my favorite dish.

“Betrothal wish-casting is a tradition in my home city.” Definitely not true. I give them a wave and let a bland smile settle on my face as I keep flitting between pots, stirring and stirring.

The hob goblins curtsy, and Estel inclines her head. “Welcome, Lady Isla. We are honored to have you visit our kitchen.”

“Your Majesty,” says a hunched-over cook, pointing at Riven’s cloak and the wriggling lump that is Spark. “You are possessed by a demon. Shall I call for the High Mage?”

We all stare, the cooks whispering and giggling.

Riven’s eyes glow an unearthly blue, and the staff’s expressions turn vacant, their gazes clouding over. He’s using some kind of magic on them.

“No need to involve Draírdon,” he says in a calm, deep voice. “What you see moving beneath my cloak is an abhorrent creature, a magical experiment gone awry. I hide it to spare you the alarming sight.”

His words are a stretch, but true enough—the mire fox’s bad behavior can be quite shocking.

Riven clears his throat. “Look instead at the lovely princess-to-be, brimming with anticipation for her coming wedding and so full of emotion.”

While the cooks smile coyly, probably imagining me frolicking in Temnen’s bed, I grin back, continuing to stir the pots and fill them with dark horrors.

Striding over to the stove, Riven says to the servants, “Lady Isla has brought a special ingredient to add to the meal, a present for her esteemed lover.”

What is he up to?

Delving into a pocket, he withdraws a tiny, silk-wrapped parcel. “It is precious spun gold.” He opens it, holding it out for the cooks to see. Impressed, they ohh and ahh appreciatively.

He places the golden threads on my palm, and I hold them for a few moments, my eyes closed reverently. Then I sprinkle a little into each pot, holding a strong image in my mind of the entire court frozen with grief.

Clunking the spoon against the last pot, I meet Riven’s intense gaze. “There,” I say. “That ought to do it. It looks perfect. Is the second course nearly ready, Estel?”

“Yes,” she replies. “We are about to serve it.”

The three hob goblins scatter to the various ovens and benches, piling platters with all manner of interesting finger food.

Riven leans close to the tall elf. “Thank you, Estel. May I remind you that Lady Isla’s betrothal wishes are a surprise, and they must remain so. If any of your staff’s tongues prove loose, I shall be happy to point them out to Draírdon at the next Blood Sun ceremony.”

She blanches and drops a quick curtsy. “Oh, no, Prince Riven, we would not breathe a word. Who are we to meddle in true love’s games?”

Ugh. Barf. I lift my brow innocently, a sweet smile on my face. “Thank you, Estel, for recreating my special recipe for the occasion. I can’t wait for everyone to try it.”

“We will return to the hall.” Riven gives them a rare grin. “Ladies.” Then, with his arm on my shoulder, he herds me through the door.

“Did it work?” he hisses as soon as we’re in the passageway.

“I don’t know. It’s not a spell, more like a…freaky accident that nearly always seems to work. When I was back home and it happened, I didn’t even realize I was doing it. Since I’ve been here, I’ve tried experimenting on the castle guards. As long as I concentrate hard enough, it doesn’t fail.”

“Good.” He pulls a sleeping Spark out from under his cloak. “And you, little fox-ears, you must wait here and hide in the shadows. I promise we will collect you on the way to release Rafael.” Placing her on the floor, he asks, “Can you be quiet? If you believe it is beyond you, I must use a druid spell to keep you mute and still.”

Spark squeaks, shaking her furry little head hard.

“Isla, you must rejoin the festivities before my brother comes looking for you. I will follow in a little while.”

Plucking nervously at the black jewels sewn into blood-red slashes in my gown, I grimace.

“Go. It will be fine. Like any nightmare, this will end, and before long you, and Rafael will be returned to your families.”

But first, I have to make it through the main course without slapping Temnen’s lecherous-weasel face. It’ll be a challenge.

The second course goes well, and immediately after it, I waltz before all the court with my supposed fiancé. The dance leaves bruises blooming on my skin and my pride. Everything about it is horrible and wrong and so very different to my first dance in Faery the night I met Raff.

It seems like another lifetime ago, but I can easily recall each detail—the way my skirt wrapped around our legs, binding us together, Raff’s wolf-like gaze, arrogant and intense, his skin-tingling embrace as we whirled around the Great Hall, wildfire trailing in our wake.

Trumpets blare as Temnen leads me off the dance floor and back onto the dais. As I walk around the high table, servants crisscross the hall, serving the bouillabaisse. Excitement and fear spike in my blood, making my mouth dry, my pulse pound. I fix my eyes on the stars sparkling through the glass behind the throne and take my seat between Lidwinia and Temnen.

She pats my hand and leans close to whisper, “Keep smiling, Isla, not much longer now. Look, Riven and Meerade are excusing themselves.”

Face a solemn mask, the silver prince bows to King El Fannon who’s too busy scratching his cat behind the ears to do more than nod at his son’s departure.

Temnen chats to Draírdon on his right. His bird is perched on the back of his lavish chair and peers around their heads to ogle me with its sinister black eyes.

“Thank you for everything, Lidwinia,” I say in a low voice, squeezing her hand. “I don’t want to say goodbye to you. I wish you could come with us.”

“I will miss you too. The cruelty of this land weighs heavily on my heart, but I know everything will change when Riven rules. And he will need someone by his side who loves him and who will help to keep him sane. This will be my role. My duty.”

The tip of her black tongue darts out as she smiles, arching an eyebrow at the technomancer. “And look at those beautiful wings—I could never leave Elas. Who would protect him from all the wicked ladies of the court?”

“Will the king let you marry him one day? His statistics are pretty high.”

She laughs bitterly. “No. Father will never allow it. My husband must be of royal blood. Just like Riven, I am doomed to live a life of sorrow. My brother pines for something or someone that he believes he shall never have. I wish he would share the burden and confide in me.”

The image from the well of he and Merri together appears in my mind, their gazes locked, hands entwined like vines of ivy.

Lidwinia notices my frown and says, “We shall see each other again soon, Isla. I’m certain of it.”

“As long as I’m not chained to the wall in the Black Tower when it happens, I hope we do. Can you thank Elas for me? I couldn’t have survived my time here without both of you. I’m so grateful for your friendship.”

Looking like a warrior queen in an emerald and black outfit made of alternating plates of hard leather and metal, she smooths her spiked green hair. “And I for yours.”

“Nice outfit,” I say. “More appropriate for a battle than a fake engagement feast, though.”

She shrugs. “I am prepared for all possible outcomes.”

That makes me spurt wine back into my goblet. What does she think is going to happen tonight?

Aquamarine bowls brimming with fragrant stew are placed in front of us. Temnen leans over his and wrinkles his nose.

I pat his hand. “This is my betrothal gift to you, Temnen. It’s my favorite dish—bouillabaisse. May it make your dreams a reality. I hope you like it.”

He regards me with a cool gaze. “I am not fond of fish, but for you, my little innovator, I will try it.”

Thank the powers that be in this screwed up land! I breathe a soft sigh, closing my eyes for two heartbeats.

Picking up a jewel encrusted spoon, Temnen’s mouth twists cruelly. “And in return, on the night of our wedding, you will be privy to my favorite dish. Picture this: I will open the doors to my hidden chamber, take you below, and introduce you to the sweet treats I have strung up there, basting slowly. Painfully alive and all the more tasty for it.” He pauses to lick his lips. “And if you do not please me as a wife, perhaps you shall join them.”

Yuck.

And did he just threaten to eat me?

My tightly braided hair, threaded with gold and ebony silk and black diamonds, pulls at my temples as I smile serenely at Temnen, which only increases my headache.

The bird dips his beak into the bowl, pecking at some fish.

“Olwydd likes to taste my food first. He checks for poison and flavors of ill intent.”

Oh crap!

Copper feathers ruffle then smooth, and Olwydd stares ahead, composed and calm. Either my fledgling magic has failed, or the bird has no fears to haunt him.

Temnen nods, and I hold my breath as he slurps a big mouthful of stew.

Please work. Please work.

Beside me, Lidwinia pretends to eat, and I can’t bear to watch. I stare blankly at the burning braziers, swaying palm fronds, and the glistening waters of the Blood Sun fountain, all blurring together like a foggy dream. A nightmare enfolding.

And all around me courtiers gulp down my stew of sorrow, their eyes slitted with laughter.

My hand shakes as I grasp my spoon, a loud splutter sounding beside me. Temnen! His head is bowed, the long antennae flopping limply over his brow. Tears track down his face, and his sharp black nails dig into the female heads carved into his armrests, their mouths open in gruesome, silent forever-screams.

Standing quickly, I squeeze his shoulder, fixing a mask of fake concern on my face. “Temnen, what’s wrong with you?”

He coughs and croaks as his fingers tear at his throat, eyes wide with terror. For a morbid moment, I wonder what kind of visions he sees, then quickly shove the thought away. I don’t want to know what frightens monsters.

Behind me, the bronze bird squawks miserably, and in front of me, is chaos. Squeals and howls and monstrous cries rip through the air, prickling my skin.

I rub slow circles over Temnen’s back. “Let me find Riven. He’ll know how to help you.” He doesn’t even glance up as I leave the dais and descend the stairs one quick but careful step at a time. Black. Red. Black. Red. Black. Red. And so on.

Now, to meet a silver prince and rescue a fiery one.

As I weave through tables of sorrow-stricken fae and stride across the dance floor, a million horrible thoughts of all the ways this plan could go wrong whir through my mind.

Picking up speed, I smooth the flame-colored tulle of my elaborate dress. The leather corset and metal shoulder pads Lidwinia stuffed me into earlier constrict my breathing, adding a layer of claustrophobic panic on top of the already considerable stress of an escape attempt. An attempt that could so easily fail.

Breathe. Just breathe.

As arranged, in the torch-lit narrow passage behind the kitchen, I find Riven, Spark clinging to his back like a frightened child hoping to be piggybacked to safety. Except we’re heading in the opposite direction—toward untold danger.

“Come, let us move quickly. Someone waits patiently for us at the entrance the servants use to bring market supplies into the castle.”

Meerade perched on his shoulder, says, “Fire Queen. Fire Queen,” and pecks rudely at the mire fox’s fingers.

Maybe she thinks Spark is Raff’s fated mate. The idea amuses me greatly and fixes a stupid grin on my face as I rush headlong into peril. I must look insane. For daring to think I can beat the Merits with nothing but bowls of fish stew, I’m sure I am.

Riven leads us down several winding hallways and three sets of crumbling staircases before cracking open a thick metal door into a courtyard that’s surrounded by high vine-covered walls. While I wait for my eyes to adjust to the darkness, I listen to the near-constant clank and grind of the Merit factories, lights from the courtiers’ apartment towers twinkling in the distance. Then I hear a snort and a whinny at the same time as Riven steps close. Don’t tell me he turns into a horse too!

“This is Tulpar,” he says, and a blood-red horse with black wings similar to a bat’s, but much larger and covered in metal scales, morphs out of the shadows. “She will deliver us to the tower quickly.”

“Hello,” I say, waving at the beast.

Without warning, Riven throws me into the saddle, then leaps up behind me. With a click of the prince’s tongue and a loud screech from Spark, we’re airborne and flying high, Meerade traveling beside us and a bright moon watching us flee.

When we land on the spiked bridge near the Black Tower’s entrance, Riven dismounts and tells Tulpar and Meerade, “Please wait for us here. We won’t be long.”

He lifts me to stand beside him. “I’m sorry, Isla, but we must transfer to reach Rafael’s cell with speed. It will not be pleasant for you. And Spark, you disobedient creature, you must come with us.”

He shifts Spark around to his chest and draws me into a tight embrace. The ground shakes, and I lose consciousness, waking in the foyer in front of Raff’s cell, my head pounding and stomach churning.

“Crap,” I say. “I wish that got easier with practice.”

The guard is out cold on the floor, his limbs spread wide as if he’s fallen asleep while making snow angels. “Is he dead?”

“No. Thanks to Elas he still lives.” Riven grabs the torch to the left of the door, and we enter Raff’s cell.

There’s a rustle in the dark, then a moan.

I kick Raff’s boot. “Wake up! How can you sleep at a time like this?”

Spark releases a blood-curdling screech and scampers over to the fire prince. She climbs his body and smacks his shocked face, the sound echoing against the stone walls.

Raff shakes her by the shoulders. “You little beast! How dare you follow me to this terrible land. Do you want to die? Tell me whose magic caused this and your words will sign their death warrant.”

Spark replies with angry chirruping noises.

“Undine? I will burn every strand of her flowing blue hair. Then I will—”

Spark throws her arms around Raff’s neck and peppers his throat and face with little mire fox kisses, making him laugh. It’s a wonderful sound, and the adorable sight of them melts my heart.

“I was awake, Isla.” Raff’s gaze flicks toward me. “I leaned on my injured arm, that is why I made a sound. Perhaps it is broken.”

“Broken?” Riven and I say.

“It seems your guards are very brave when an Elemental is straining at his chains and unable to reach them.”

Unlocking the wrist and ankle shackles, Riven says, “Do not worry. They will be held accountable for their abuse.”

Frowning, Raff’s eyes scan my body as he scrambles to his feet, Spark clinging to his neck. “Look at you!” He points at the flames painted on my eyelids, the orange and red layers of tulle and silk frothing around my legs. “They’ve dressed you like a fire queen to celebrate your betrothal to a Merit frog prince. They insult us both.”

Legs braced wide, he cradles the mire fox against his bare chest, leather pants molding to his muscular thighs. He wears knee-high boots and a cocky twist to his lush lips. The vision makes my mouth water. Stupid, stupid saliva glands.

Ready to sass him, I take a breath, my attention sliding to Riven who’s pulling leather armor from a bag, followed by a sword, a dagger, and a belt, which he throws to Raff. “Put these on quickly, Rafael. And, Isla, take this sword. It’s light. And you should unfasten the skirt that so displeases your Lord of Fire. Without it, you will be better able to fight if necessary.”

“Raff’s not my lord of anything.”

Riven’s blue eyes glow, a smile tilting his lips. “As you say, but still, when you return to your land, you two should marry as soon as possible. The druid’s well tells me the Queen of Five is not long for this world, and your marriage will restore his powers.”

Raff starts at this news but remains silent.

“Pity I’m not interested in him. I deserve better than a conceited fae prince for a life partner.”

Raff’s molten wolf eyes freeze over. “And I have no desire to be married to a human forever either. But duty must be done, and Isla must grow up and accept the fate she has been chosen for.”

This is exactly the attitude that douses the attraction that burns between us, quelling the flames as my heart fills with ashes. He doesn’t give a fig about me. All he cares about is halting the curse, saving his land. He may be the most gorgeous looking creature imaginable, but he can take his colossal-sized ego and go suck a barn-full of eggs.

I don’t need the Prince of Fire in my life. As long as I’ve got my family and my amazing oven, I’ll be fine.

With violent movements, I tear the skirt off, revealing the leather leggings beneath it. “I may have been chosen, Raff, but there’s nothing you can do to make me accept it.”

Raff stares at me in my outfit of buckled leathers and the sword belted at my hips, and I find myself doing the same to him. I note we’re both dressed for battle rather than a speedy flight into Ithalah Forest, and that worries me more than the disturbing fact that I find him so attractive.

“Good, you are ready,” says Riven, giving us a once over. “To get back to the bridge, I can transfer with the mire fox and one other person. Rafael is still weak. Go now, Isla. You must descend the stairs as quickly as you can. See you outside.”

Without another word, I snatch the torch, leap over the sleeping guard, and race down the winding stairwell, my body scraping against the ancient stone walls all the way to the bottom.

As I burst through the exit, Tulpar snorts and paws at the earth, Raff and Spark already in the saddle. Riven takes my arm, steering me over, then places me in front of Raff. Despite his earlier insults, I take great comfort in the feel of his big, solid body behind me.

“You must leave before Temnen recovers from your magic. Tulpar knows the place in the forest where you will meet your people. All you need to do is hold on and not fall off.”

Riven grips my arm. “What you have learned, Isla, you must keep to yourself. Please do not meddle in the fates of others.”

“Of course,” I reply. “Thank you for everything. I hope your family doesn’t find out you helped us.”

“Even so, I will be fine. Goodbye, Isla, Prince Rafael. I hope we never see each other again.”

Err…same…I think?

“You have my deepest gratitude for taking care of her and also for helping us escape.” Raff’s deep voice rumbles over my head. “Queen Varenus will no doubt be speaking to your father. Henceforth, I imagine the Merits’ safe passage through our land to visit the sea witches this year will have been rescinded.”

“At the very least,” says Riven, bowing.

Raff nudges the horse, and she springs into the night sky, dust-colored clouds rising around us as we begin our flight to freedom.

Freedom! It’s hard to believe this is happening. Could it really be this easy?

The wind blows our hair around like ribbons in a wild maypole dance, dark mixing with light, carrying Raff’s words along with it. “What was the Merit prince referring to when he spoke of a secret you had learned, something that could change the fates’ of others?”

Crap.

“It’s about Lidwinia and the king’s plans for her to marry some fae from the Shade Court. Forget about it.”

Closing my eyes, I lift my face to the wind, its caress soothing away my guilt. Lying is bad, but not when revealing the truth could do greater damage.

That’s what I’m telling myself, anyway.