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

Raff

As usual, Isla’s mouth spews lies, ones that plague me the whole journey to Ithalah, and as the winged beast’s hooves set down in a small clearing on the southern edge of the forest, I find I cannot let it rest.

I ask her again, “You said earlier that the secret Riven mentioned concerns the Merit princess, but I know this is a lie.”

Sighing, she leans her weight back, squashing Spark against my chest. “Okay, if you must know, Mister Nosey, the gossip was about Lidwinia’s plot to escape marriage to this Shade Court guy so she can marry her true love. It doesn’t concern you at all. It’s girls’ stuff.”

Three more lies to add to her growing pile of untruths.

I dismount with Spark clinging to my neck, then pull Isla onto the ground as I survey our surroundings.

Shrouded in darkness, the clearing appears empty, but since my night vision is not what it used to be, I can’t be certain we are alone.

How I wish the moon tonight was larger and brighter. Besides being easier to pick members of my court from the shadows, it would allow me a better view of Isla. Her face painted with spiraling flames, she looks entrancing. Mesmerizing.

And I have no desire to be married to her forever…

Those words I spoke to Riven taunt me now, so close to a lie, so impure a form of truth that pain blinded me as I uttered them. What do I truly feel for this human? Why do I reject her with harsh twists of the truth when I need her—when my kingdom needs her so badly?

Pride. Foolish, wounded pride.

“Raff, look.” Isla points to the horse, Tulpar, who must have leaped silently into the air while our backs were turned and is now flying away, abandoning us to our fate.

An owl hoots in the distance, a mournful sound. I sigh and take Isla’s hand. “Come, let’s move under the cover of the trees while we wait for our rescue party.”

As we take our first steps, a horse neighs and four figures walk out of the forest, moving quickly toward us. My muscles uncoil as the darkness falls away from their bodies, revealing their faces.

The queen has sent Princess Lara’s personal guard, Orlinda, who is the best archer in our land, and three strapping, blue-skinned warriors from her below-mountain tribe, their horses walking beside them.

My own horse, Flame, trots toward me, snorting and whinnying, his white mane trailing behind him like wisps of smoke. I inhale his warm, comforting scent as I rest my forehead against his nose and rub his neck. “I am glad to see you, old friend.”

Spark scrambles up into Flame’s saddle, and my horse bucks three times, snorting like a devil, to make my mire fox screech—an old game they both enjoy.

Orlinda and the guards bow low, armor and weapons clanging. “Your Highness, Lady Isla. Thank the Elements you are safe. We must ride—”

“Wait,” says Isla, shaking my arm and pointing over her shoulder. “Is that Tulpar coming back?”

I peer into the sky. A black-winged shape swoops through the clouds heading downward fast, its strange white lumps and bony projections glistening in the scant moonlight, a smaller bronze bird beside it. That’s not Tulpar…it’s—

“Temnen!” cries Isla. She screams once and tries unsuccessfully to mount Flame as the rest of us draw our weapons. The time to flee has passed, now we must fight or die.

Wind gusts as the beast skids to a landing—part flesh and bone, part mechanical, it is most definitely the Merit prince’s monster. His bird, Olwydd, alights on a nearby branch, a beady-eyed spectator.

Hot steam shoots from the beast’s skeletal nose, and he rears up, shrieking like a soul-stealing sluagh, its front legs paddling. Thick rivulets of red stream down its broad chest as magic thrums through the air. Clearly, Temnen has been using blood magic to strengthen his power!

I send a shaky bolt of fire toward the stallion, but my curse-weakened power is next to useless, and in a flash of green light, every being in the clearing freezes solid, bound by the prince’s dark magic. Everyone except Isla and me.

Fury writhes in my gut, roiling and boiling through my veins. Hate. Revenge. Murder. These notions fill me. These feelings transmute into fire power, the strength to call upon my firebird burgeoning.

“Will they be okay?” asks Isla, her fingers digging into my forearm. “Oh God. Oh God. Tell me what to do, Raff.”

“Draw your sword. Hold it up. Cut the stinking beast to pieces if you can.”

Elas’s potion may have rescued me from near death, but I am still weak, my magic barely functioning, my muscles far from fighting condition, but I need to change and face Temnen beast on beast. It is the only way we will survive.

Pushing Isla behind me, I clench my eyes and fists, begging the phoenix to not forsake me. “By flesh, bone, wing, and fire—”

“Raff! Hurry up! Please. We’re running out of time.”

My breath heaves in and out, growing hotter, burning my lungs. “The Five gives life. The Five changes all. Lig é a dhéanamh.”

I tense each muscle, beg every god I can think of in all the seven realms, but nothing happens.

Not.

One.

Thing.

Happens.

I do not change or send fire from my palms in violent purple plumes. I am wrecked. A wholly inadequate, useless Elemental fae and an even more worthless Prince of Five. Regardless, I will not let Temnen have my fire queen—he’ll have to kill me first.

My only option is to goad him to fight me sword on sword. Flesh on flesh. Bone on bone.

“Temnen, you quivering sack of entrails,” I yell. “You have long been a coward, and now you hide in the sinews of your metal beast, content to squash your enemies like insects. Is this a worthy act of a Merit prince? How would your statistics fare if your court could see you now?”

His head cants to the side, body going as still as he has rendered the Elemental warriors around us.

The wet grass beneath my boots smells like home as I stalk toward the creature. “Long ago, when we roamed together in packs of children at festivals, we would always seek out the weakest creatures in attendance or of the surrounding forests. Do you remember?”

He paws the ground, blowing steam through his gaping nostrils.

“My brother Rain wished to lecture these unfortunate beings, Riven to study them, Ever to save them, me to play amusing games with them…and you…all you wanted was to maim and torture and abuse. But only the ones who couldn’t fight back, of course. The sickly. The powerless. Your fights are not battles, Temnen. They are atrocities.”

Roaring like a passel of stuck hogs, he gallops past us, knocking Isla to the ground. She quickly scrambles to her feet.

I whirl toward the beast, casting my arm back at the human. “See? You illustrate my point perfectly. Strike the weakest. Do you even know how to fight fairly?”

When he is a good distance away, he spins around and gallops for us once again, a black shadow gathering dust clouds and speed. Gripped tightly in two hands, I hold my sword high, ready to cut through the horse’s neck, but Temnen changes back into his fae form as he moves, metal striking metal as his blade clashes with mine briefly before he ranges past us.

Then he turns and marches forward, his red-rimmed eyes full of evil intent and fixed on Isla. He snarls, shaking his head in a manner meant to instill terror in her heart. “Did you think your novice elemental food magic would restrain me long? You foolish girl! You lying, deceitful, pathetic human child. I will take you back to court, hang you in my chamber of terrors, and keep you alive forevermore. My wretched pet. My hateful toy. You will—”

In three long steps I am on the Merit, my sword arcing through the night sky, his rising to meet it, those foul eyes still locked hard on Isla.

“Can you not speak?” he asks her. “Do you have nothing to say for yourself?” With brutal force, his sword strikes twice across my shoulder guard, and I stumble backward, leaving him free to hunt Isla.

Her thin sword raised, she trembles as the Merit advances. “How did you find us?” she asks, likely hoping to distract him by prompting him to brag about his cleverness—his favorite occupation.

“As I have previously told you, Olwydd is a master tracker. He can locate anything, in any realm, even the lowest riffraff.”

Unable to bear his petty games, I taunt him back. “Come, Temnen, what joy is to be had in conquering a human who has never had a sword lesson in her life?” That will change if we leave this clearing alive. “Are you a warrior or a flea-bitten cat chasing a barn mouse? I can use a sword. Fight me!”

“With pleasure.” He runs at me, and I hold my ground, stepping swiftly aside at the last moment. His body spinning back, his blade slices through a gap in my vambrace. I kick him off balance, then advance, slashing and pushing him to retreat.

He lowers his sword, calls Isla’s name so I look behind me, steps forward and punches my face. Galaxies spin. I wipe blood from my nose and lunge, then, muscles screaming, thrust my sword with all my might. Lift. Hack. Lift. Hack.

Olwydd flies above us screeching and flapping.

Clang. Clang. Clang.

Our elven steel blades spark, but no matter how I try, I—the supposed Prince of Fire—cannot muster a flicker of fire magic. Nothing.

As I fight, under my breath I pray to the gods, to blessed Dana for strength, for fury and might, but it seems they have all abandoned me. I have naught to rely on but my muscles, tendons, and bones, all straining near to breaking point. And if they fail me, as sure as night becomes day, we are done for.

But not before I break.

I turn and pump my limbs hard, running across the clearing in the opposite direction of Temnen.

“Who is the coward now, Rafael?” he yells. “Run little prince. If you try hard, perhaps you can make it all the way back to your mother.”

As I pass Isla, I hiss, “Follow me.” Wonderful girl that she is, without question, she turns and falls in step, jogging alongside me.

“Is this what we’re trying? Running away?”

“You are. I’m not.” I whip around and face Temnen.

Emanating fury, he stands in the distance, arms crossed over his black metal chest plate, no doubt preparing to change into his creature. To finish us off.

This is my final hope. I put every scrap of energy, every breath, every wish and desire for Isla to live—to live, to love, to be happy—into my effort, my speed, running at the Merit faster than I’ve ever moved in my life.

His sword is raised, and as his boot leaves the ground ready to bolt forward and meet me in the center of the clearing, I count four heartbeats than launch my body into the air, sword raised like a demon slayer.

A long battle cry leaves my mouth as we meet mid-air, my strength borne of a desperate fury. We clash, we tumble, and by some miracle, I land on my feet before Temnen does.

I strike as he leaps up and blocks my blade. I step back, then feint, and he lunges forward, leaving an opening for me to plunge my sword in. I aim for the lungs, but he trips me, and I merely stab his side as I fall to the ground again.

“Olwydd, ionsáigh!” the Merit yells. “Now!”

And then the bird is on me, its metal beak gouging at my skull as I roll and cover my eyes, struggling to get up, to save Isla. Damn Temnen! He has always been a cheater.

Isla yells a string of unfamiliar curse words while slicing her blade over the prince’s leathers again and again.

A coward like his master, Olwydd squawks off into the trees, and while the Merit tries to wrestle Isla away without killing her or freezing her solid, I get to my feet, collect my sword and raise it high.

He wants to take her alive, and he most definitely wants to make her watch him kill me. But Isla seems determined not to let that happen.

“How’s that caress, Boyfriend?” Isla says as she stabs through a tear in his armor, wounding his other side. “Rough enough for you?”

His sword clashing with mine, he roars in pain, the air shimmying as he thrusts one arm high, the palm outstretched, and manifests an accursed chain. I leap into blackness, slashing at the metal as it spirals downward, then wraps around my chest, binding my arms to my side.

Twisting and turning wildly, I flex my muscles, magic churning in my gut, but the little I manage to conjure is barely enough to sneeze with let alone break the links.

I’m sorry Isla. I’m so sorry.

Dread hammering through my veins, I look at Spark and Flame, Orlinda and the three warriors, all staring vacantly ahead like grotesque statues. Is this how it ends? Will this be my last memory of them all, of Isla fighting, as I descend to the underworld for eternity?

Isla roars, a surprisingly guttural sound, and fire leaps down her arms, then her blade, and she lunges and slices at Temnen’s chest.

He looks down, laughing. “Your little cuts are foreplay, mortal. They thrill and excite me. Time to surrender quietly until we return to my chambers. Look at your prince, chained like a felon, bleeding like a Blood Sun sacrifice. Hm.” He taps his chin in an infuriating manner. “Now that’s an appealing idea. Should I kill him now or save him for grander, more gratifying torments?”

Gaze dropping, Isla flinches and points her blade at something on the ground. On the grass lies a Merit pendant, flashing and sputtering weakly from within its ornate frame. “I may not have struck a fatal blow, Temnen, but look at your pendant. Do you think it’ll be okay?

He screeches like a thwarted child. “You foul, dung-faced human hag! I’ll crush your bones one by one. I will skin you alive.” Isla’s sword hand moves closer to the pendant. “I shall—wait, human! Noooo!”

Flames shoot from the tip of her blade, enveloping and then burning the pendant until there’s nothing left but a melted puddle of darkness on the grass.

Shaking and shuddering as he stares at it, Temnen doesn’t move to strike us down. He’s using all his energy to change!

“Isla, run,” I command as her shoulders heave, tears streaming over her face. “Run,” I repeat. “I beg you. Do it now.”

Slowly, Temnen’s head lifts, tracking toward her, his body shuddering violently.

“Isla, he’s changing. He will destroy you. Run!”

While Temnen’s body is locked in the transformation, she has one brief chance to flee. My only hope is that she can make it to the forest—to my forest—where there are beings, long asleep, who will wake to her cries for mercy and respond with aid.

As Temnen’s eyes roll back in his head, wind gusts suddenly from above, sending our hair flying behind us like wild kelpies’ manes.

Isla laughs. “Look. It’s Rothlo!”

“What?” Rothlo is a spider, and Isla has lost her mind, understandable given her current predicament.

“Oh, my God, Raff, look!”

Riding a giant spider with two sets of whirling translucent wings, Lidwinia lands in the space between us and the still-transforming Temnen.

That creature she rides is little Rothlo?

She slides off the beast in one smooth move and in three steps, is at Temnen’s side. His mouth gapes wide. The sight of her shocks him from the change, his body convulsing and warping—leathery skin, bleached-white bone, then flailing limbs.

Her eyes brightly glowing orange orbs, she turns to us. “Isla, I saw what you did to his pendant. Raise your fury and let it flame. Burn him. Burn him now.”

Isla shudders beside me. Flames lick down her arm, tendrils curling around her fingers.

The Merit Prince laughs, a terrible sound that makes the earth quake beneath my boots. “A firefly could do more damage than that mortal’s childish, incompetent tricks, Sister.”

Arms splayed wide, Isla marches forward.

Lidwinia snarls. “He keeps creatures hanging in his chambers, paralyzed but conscious for as long as possible, some for years, so he can eat them slowly, piece by piece.”

My fists clench, every muscle strung tight as I watch Isla break into a run, an explosion of color bursting around her body and shimmering like an aurora.

Chest laboring, Lidwinia continues stoking Isla’s rage. “This is the gruesome end he plans for Rafael. And for you as well, should your popularity wane. Take your revenge. Take it now!”

Flames shoot from Isla’s palms as she lifts them, thrusting them in front of her chest.

Leaning on one elbow, Temnen laughs. Isla’s body flashes blue, green, red, then she yells, hurling small fireballs at the prince as she bears down on him. One hits its target, setting the grotesque black skin and bone protruding from his chest alight, melting the smirk from his face.

Temnen howls and writhes, claws reaching for Isla, who stands over him panting, watching the flames envelop him. Those flames will not burn long. Isla’s magic is too new and untrained.

I curse the chains binding me to the spot, a mere spectator when I would give almost anything to be a player. To finish off the Merit Prince.

“You dragon-breathed, traitorous little bitch,” Temnen growls, his voice a bubbling crackle. “I am going to—”

“Shut up and die,” says Lidwinia with one kick sending him sprawling onto his back, his charred flesh sizzling. She shoves a boot in his chest and plunges her long blade into his heart. More dark magic has been used to so easily pierce through the layers of his armor, but this time, like Temnen’s howl of pain, it is beautiful to witness.

Lidwinia twists the blade. “This is for my favorite nursemaid who you tortured to death when Mother took me to visit the Shade Court when I was seven.”

Temnen groans as the sword is dragged out, and then pushed deeper into his chest. “This is for my second nursemaid, the river elf who you terrified into running away after Mother’s death when I needed her most.”

A squelching sound curls my lip as the blade is withdrawn and plunged deep for the third time. “And this is for every creature you bullied and betrayed and maimed and killed, and most of all it is for Riven, for every hate-filled look, word and move you made against him, your own brother and future king.” She leans onto the sword hilt. “Take that you worm-headed cretin!”

Temnen, silent and unmoving, makes no comment.

A dark smile slides over Lidwinia’s face. “Sorry, Brother Dear, but it looks like you won’t be attending Riven’s coronation,” she says, releasing the sword, leaving it wobbling from Temnen’s chest. “I’m sure you had something nasty planned to ruin the day. Can’t do much when you’re dead though, can you?” She circles his body and spits on the ground beside his head. “That was nice work before, Isla.”

Chest heaving, the princess glances up at me, wiping hair from her face. “Hello Rafael,” she says far too gaily. “That felt wonderful, finally giving Temnen what he has long deserved.”

“Is he actually dead?” asks Isla, her voice shaking. “Did we kill him?”

“Yes. Thank the Merits.” Lidwinia rises, wiping her blade on the grass. She flicks her thumb over her shoulder. “Look what has happened. With his death, your people are released from their thrall and now moving toward us, and you, Rafael, are bound no more.”

I glance down and find the chains coiled at my feet, intense relief flooding me. Isla has survived. We will make it home.

Flame trots over looking none the worse for being briefly turned to stone. Spark, who sits in his saddle, is whimpering like a lost moss elf babe. Arms outstretched, she drops onto Isla’s chest and is enveloped in a tight cuddle.

Orlinda and the men gather around. Thankfully, I remember their names—Marlin, Nerina, and Osprey—and we check that everyone is well.

“Holy crap!” says Isla, interrupting our relieved laughter. “What are you guys doing just standing there? We’ve got to get out of here right now! Won’t the king be coming after us? This will definitely start that war you’ve all been trying to avoid. Let’s not be the first casualties if we can help it.”

Eye’s calm and serious, Lidwinia walks to Isla. “I will do everything I can to avoid war between our courts. Despite your worthy assistance, it was I who killed Temnen in the end. You did not. Elemental fae did not. You have nothing to fear.”

“No, Lidwinia, don’t go back there. They might lock you in a cell forever. Come with us. Please,” begs Isla.

“It is alright.” Her palms brace Isla’s shoulders. “You forget that Riven will soon be king. Do not fret, dear Isla. All will be well. But I’m afraid we must say our second goodbye for the night.”

“You saved our lives. How did you know we needed help?” asks Isla.

“There were many members of the court on whom the sorrow spell did not last long. Temnen was unfortunately one of them. I followed him when he left the hall with Olwydd, both clearly on a mission to murder.”

I grasp her gore-splattered hand. “Thank you, Princess. I am forever in your debt. Name your reward and you shall have it.”

She smiles. “Peace, Rafael. That will do nicely.”

The ladies embrace, then Lidwinia vaults into her saddle, whistling for Olwydd to join her. I lift Temnen’s body onto Rothlo who caresses me with her rough, hairy legs, emerald eyes sweeping over my body in a strangely lewd way. This is a surprising time for a gigantic arachnid to engage in flirting. Winning battles can have unusual effects on fae creatures.

We mount our steeds, Flame nickering happily, and Isla leans back against my chest, a traumatized Spark already sleeping in her lap.

“Rest,” I say, smoothing Isla’s hair with my palm. “You should sleep as well. The journey home will be uneventful. We are safe now.”

She yawns loudly. “You know, I can’t wait to get home to the human world because then I’ll never have to see you again.”

Shock tightens my gut. “Why do you not want to see me again? What have I done wrong?”

“Just because we both nearly died tonight, don’t think I’ve forgotten how you told me to grow up and pretty much admitted that you don’t care one bit about me. And despite that, you still think I’ll agree to a loveless marriage. I’m not the simpering idiot you seem to think I am. And, also, you haven’t even thanked me for risking my life to get you out of that cell. We weren’t friends before you went into that tower, and your little speech when Riven and I broke you out has reminded me exactly why. You’re an arrogant ass. From now on, I think it’s best if we stay away from each other.”

I am an ass? And when did I say I do not care about her? I sift through memories of our escape and still, I cannot recall it. Baffled and weary, I hold my tongue, then click it so violently that Flame takes off at a canter, most likely wondering who is chasing after us.

After a few moments pass, I say, “Thank you…for breaking me out of the tower.” Somehow, my tone doesn’t sound very grateful even though I am immensely so.

I am forever in her debt when where I want to be, is in her heart. Right now, I am glad to be alive, but beyond frustrated.

Mortals are baffling creatures.

I give up trying to win this thorny girl over.

The curse rumbles inside me. Rightly so, it says. She is dispensable. Inconsequential. A thorn in your side to be plucked out and stood on, crushed beneath the heel of your boot.

The poison is right.

Who needs a human curse breaker anyway?

Her small hand grips my forearm as we gallop through the trees, a dark shiver tracing my spine.

Me, unfortunately, I need her.

And the entire Kingdom of Five does as well.

The poison is filth.

The poison lies.