Prince of Never: A Fae Romance (Black Blood Fae Book 1)

Lara

“This time, Lara, you must serve the long table in front of the dais,” says Elowen, the tall fae in charge of the banquet staff.

With one arm, I hug the tray of sweets to my velvet dress, using the other to wipe sweat from my brow. It’s like a furnace back here in the kitchens.

Her eyes drop to my chest. “Do take care or you’ll ruin the fine gown the queen has seen fit to honor you with.”

“What little there is of it,” I counter, pointing at the shocking amount of skin on display between my throat and belly button.

Frowning, she runs her eyes over the mulberry-colored material flowing to my bare feet. The length is fine, but the dress is too revealing—like a Vegas showgirl’s, but sewn with leaves and dewy petals instead of sequins. My boss, Max, would have a heart attack if he saw me serving food in this getup.

I peer through clouds of sweet-smelling steam and bustling staff until I spy a girl holding an identical tray to mine. She’s been serving tables at the back of the Great Hall, far away from the queen and her bizarre-looking guests. “Can’t I work Selene’s table instead? She won’t mind swapping.”

“No, you cannot,” Elowen scolds, pushing me through an arch that leads to a long hallway lined with torches. The passage opens onto the Great Hall where, from the shining dais, the sparkling High Fae preside over their court and entertain their intense-eyed guests—King El Fannon and Prince Temnen of the Court of Merits.

I draw a long breath, reminding myself I’ve managed to survive this extraordinary day so far. Waiting tables is easy.

This afternoon, I coped with being scrubbed, rubbed with scented oils, and then groomed and dressed like a child’s favorite doll. And over the hours of the feast, I’ve since adjusted to the sight of creatures from dreams, all cavorting like feral children who’ve consumed too much sugar. Now, they no longer make my palms sweat.

I’ve even managed to relax under the scrutiny of the Merits, their calculating gazes following my every move. But I still haven’t got used to Ever, lounging beside his mother like an overindulged brat—a vision of cruel beauty dressed in black and silver and crowned with a self-righteous sneer.

Mostly, I’ve tried to ignore him and the flock of fae girls wrapped around his legs, vying for attention as they pass him food and wine, slobbering over his person. It’s obvious what they’ll be helping him with after the banquet. And I hope they have fun. Truly.

As I serve honey-soaked cakes topped with clotted cream and silver-spun candy, it becomes apparent this table is the most unpleasant one in the room. Situated closest to the throne, these fae are nasty, their jokes more cutting and disgusting. It’s difficult to weave my tray through their bony limbs and scaly wings as they poke and flutter around me.

“Give me three more of those,” demands a fae with decaying horns protruding from his forehead. His clawed hand reaches inside my dress, pinching soft flesh, and as I lift my palm to slap his black-toothed mouth, the queen’s voice rises above the cacophony of chatter and music.

“Ah,” she says. “At last, we have a close view of Everend’s human pet. Girl, put your tray down and come show yourself to our guests.” Her white hand rises and the musicians on the stage at the other end of the hall cease playing.

All at once, the courtiers still, the silence shimmering like smoke toward the stars visible through the vaulted glass ceiling.

Slowly, I tip the tray into the lecherous faery’s lap. “Here, take as many as you want.” Unruffled, he laughs, pinching my waist as I pass.

I walk around the long table and then to the front of the dais. Studiously avoiding the mass of silver and gold hair beside the queen, I rest my gaze on Raff.

“Hello, Lara,” he says. “You look very appetizing dressed in finery and decorated with jewels.”

“And clean at last,” says Ever in a mocking tone. Woven through his wild hair, a gold circlet glints from his forehead, a reminder of what he is—a royal pain in the butt.

Self-consciously, I pat the complicated twist of braids and petals and shiny black seeds on my head.

The queen is a glittering snowflake, bright jewels offsetting the paleness of her frigid smile. Raff, seated to her left, is striking in rich reds, smiling warmly, provocatively. Seated to Ever’s right is the queen’s consort, Lord Stavros, and beside him King El Fannon and Prince Temnen, their Merit necklaces flashing endless digits and images in ornate frames.

I curtsy and speak to Raff since he is the only one who has addressed me civilly. “Hello, Prince Rafael. It’s nice to see you again.”

Ever sinks low against the lavish cushions of his chair, knees splaying wide in an arrogant position. With a flick of his hand, the girls around him disperse, melting into the crowd.

The Merit king says to his green-haired son, “Just as you reported, she is polite and charming.”

The queen’s gaze glides down my body, then up again. “Tell us about your home, girl. We wish to hear of its strangeness.”

“Um…” I begin as Ever yawns, and then watches me through heavy-lidded eyes, a cat bored by the tediousness of its prey.

What should I tell them? The truth is a good place to start, I suppose. “In my city, striking beauty and ugliness coexist side by side. Glass skyscrapers housing people who live like royalty butt up against hovels and the homeless. The rich person is as unhappy as the poor one, but everyone has art and music and technology to divert them from their pain and—”

Ever coughs and it turns into a spluttering laugh. He wipes wine from his splendid, petulant mouth. “Yes, yes. How fascinating. What an enthralling tale you weave.”

The queen’s head swivels to him, slowly, like an owl on a branch considering its competition for the mice in the grass. I would not want her to look at me that way.

Ever ignores her and leans toward Prince Temnen. “How is your sister, Lidwinia?” he asks, his expression mild.

“Her statistics are on the rise.” Temnen’s antennae bend and quiver, his orange eyes glinting with pride. “She is almost more popular than Mother.”

A crooked smirk plays across the Prince of Air’s lips. “Wonderful,” he drawls. “Give her my best regards.”

What a suck-up. Or perhaps a sarcastic ass. I’m not sure which.

“You two were always close,” says Temnen as Ever’s gaze of hard steel settles on me.

A flash of silver skims down my body, then back to my face. “Yes,” he agrees with Temnen, eyes locked on mine.

The Queen of Five watches Ever. The Merit King watches me.

I dip a curtsy and take a step backward, hoping the queen will take the hint and allow me to return to my duties.

Long chestnut curls bounce as the king grips his son’s shoulder, red sparks swirling through his black irises. “You are right, we should acquire this human for our pet. She is a ceann a thugann athrú—a change bringer, like the one who came from the human realm many years ago to gift us with the seeds of The Merits. Queen Varenus, our court has many uses for one such as her.”

In a fluid movement, he steps from the dais and flounces right up to me. “What technologies have you brought from your world?”

I open my mouth and take a breath to answer.

“Be seated,” Ever commands. “You won’t find this one of use. The gifts she brings are all you see. A plain face, a body like a lumpy sack of oats, and perhaps even full of curses. Indeed, she possesses no charm or devices from her world to entrance you with. I would not recommend her.”

El Fannon’s eyes sharpen like a hawk’s. “She may be cursed, you say? How so?”

Ever pushes lazily out of his chair, steps onto the marble floor, and then circles me, his cloak brushing my calf. “Regard closely her skin,” he tells the king as his tapered fingers gesture over the length of my lumpy form. “Note the sallow color, the spotty blemishes.”

“Hmm…” El Fannon squints. “Yes, she is speckled like a forest hen.”

“Haven’t your High Mages warned of visitors bearing such flaws?”

“We have heard of no such tidings in our land. And you are certain she brings no gifts from her world?”

“None whatsoever. She is an inconvenience to our court, a passing amusement, nothing more.”

Kian appears suddenly at Ever’s side, his voice ringing loudly as he says, “Oh, I beg to differ. Raff speaks highly of her songs. Apparently, she has a voice to rival the sea witches.”

“How delightful!” Queen Varenus claps and black butterflies burst from between her fingers, swooping around her hair. “What shall your pet sing to entertain our royal guests, Everend? A murder ballad? No, not festive enough. Perhaps a spring song?”

Ever’s eyes dart wildly between the Merit king and his mother. “I doubt she knows any tunes worthy of us. I have been told the cities she comes from play music that needs amplification, machines to even achieve it. How pathetic.”

El Fannon appears intrigued by this notion.

Ever continues, “And when they gather in groups to hear this, it damages their hearing permanently. What foolishness—”

“Oh, that’s not entirely true,” I say, stepping forward. I’m not sure why he’s in a panic, but I hope to push him further into it. “Yes, there is music such as Prince Everend describes. Lots of different types actually, but one of the most popular is rock music. We humans love it.”

Gasps and titters and the words rock music, rock music, rock music echo through the Great Hall.

“My singing teacher is Irish, and he’s taught me many ancient songs. If you like, I would be honored to sing one for you.”

“Lara,” begins Ever, and the queen silences him with a swift finger pressed to her lips.

“Wonderful. Something to make us smile, then,” she suggests. “King El Fannon, Prince Everend, return to your seats and the performance shall commence.”

With graceful movements, El Fannon and Ever take their places. Kian disappears like a phantom.

Now what shall I sing?

A song to soften their hearts—if they’ve got them. What would a faery like to hear?

Something about themselves, no doubt.

The perfect song pops into my mind.

The Fairy Boy—a mother’s tale of longing for her precious child who was stolen away by the fairy king to live forever as the pride of their processions. I’ll add grit and liven it up, draw it out. Flatter the vain, preening courtiers.

Palms trembling against the soft velvet at my thighs, I close my eyes.

A hush descends.

I draw breath.

And I sing.

The pound of my pulse becomes a metronome, keeping beat, holding time.

As always, I become lost in the song, heart soaring along with my voice. The faeries hang on every note. The air itself seems to thrum with joy. Then with a whoosh, suddenly my gown lifts, the hem dancing around my knees. It surprises me into opening my eyes. Who’s doing this?

On the faces of the fae, frowns have widened into grins—well, except for Ever. He’s not smiling. Far from it. Our gazes catch. His mouth is a grim line. Blue fire, not liquid silver, burns in his eyes.

Still I sing, and the Merits inch forward in gilded chairs, their heads nodding along. Then, even more shocking than my dress moving of its own accord, my hair takes flight. It glides around my waist, my chest, a bright halo weaving around my head.

Ever is frozen in place, listening and watching, a horrified expression on his face. He doesn’t move a muscle until the last note melts away. Then his white knuckles loosen over the órga falcon heads carved into the chair’s armrests, and he visibly exhales as though he’s been holding his breath.

A tense silence hovers, and I can’t unlock my gaze from his.

“Bravo,” says Queen Varenus in a brittle, spell-breaking voice as she claps. This time, silver moths explode from between her hands, and the court joins her applause, cheers erupting. “Kian was correct. You do possess a special talent.”

Ever does not clap. Ever doesn’t cheer. Mouth set into a plush sulk, all he does is stare.

As though waking from a trance, the Merit prince stands and bows first to Varenus, then to Ever. “Thus, it is decided,” he crows loudly, metal chinking as he moves. “Despite the flaws you spoke of, Prince Everend, we will be glad to take her off your hands. She will sing to us whenever we grow bored and somber, and at other times teach us of this rock music that requires machines to be heard. With the human’s assistance, we will learn to replicate it.”

Temnen steps forward, takes my hand, and flourishes a kiss upon it.

“No,” says Ever. “We’re not prepared to release her yet.”

“But,” says Temnen, his antennae quivering, “you called her an inconvenience. Surely you would be glad to—”

Lord Stavros stands, a regal vision in red and black. “The prince is correct. We have use of the human at the Samhain feast. Think on what you’re willing to offer for her, and we shall decide then.”

“Ah,” booms El Fannon. “Let us settle her fate on the outcome of a contest. We must ride on the morrow to the sea witches. But, if you agree, Queen Varenus, when we return in two weeks at Samhain, my son will challenge yours. The winner will gain permanent ownership of the human.”

The queen draws back in her shining throne, long silver sleeves sweeping the floor. “I had thought to negotiate treaty terms with you for her ownership.”

“Yes, Mother.” Ever grips her arm. “We can commence talks at the feast.”

Varenus glares at him. “No. We will not bargain or trade. I do so love a battle. Let us decide the girl’s fate with swords. Both princes are highly skilled, and the competition will be the highlight of our Samhain revelry.”

King El Fannon stands and bows low to the queen. “Since you chose the weapons, Your Majesty, let us decide the rules.”

“They will be fair and equal?” she queries, patting Lord Stavros’s hand, clearly unconcerned if the rules are fair or not. Does she care so little for her son and heir?

“Indeed, Your Majesty. They will be as equitable as the night sky.”

These strange words seem to satisfy her because she smiles brightly.

This is a terrible outcome. Singing was stupid. I shouldn’t have given the Merits another reason to think I’d make a nice trinket. I’m an idiot.

I make a quick curtsy, hoping to scurry back to the safety of the kitchens. Even though Elowen’s guards had searched me for poisons and weapons like a common criminal at the beginning of the evening, I’m more comfortable with the servants than I am out here, under the gazes of these blood-thirsty royals.

Raff and the advisers chat amiably. Ever looks fascinated by the contents of his goblet, and the queen picks up a crystal bell, the sound clear and crisp as it chimes and silences all talk.

“Before we dismiss our popular human, we shall play a game.”

“Mother,” says Ever. “You must not—”

“Be quiet.” Her silver eyes gleam as she looks over the members of her court. “Humans can lie. Fae cannot. I will ask questions, and if I guess which of your answers is a lie, then you must admit it. And if I guess the lie correctly, I will grant you a boon. One wish, any wish of your choosing, not including leaving our court, of course.”

“This is not a good game,” the golden-haired prince says, his expression unfathomable.

“Now, Ever, do not be a bore,” the queen scolds before turning to me. “Would you like a boon, child?”

“I’m not sure what one is,” I reply.

She laughs. “A boon is a gift. A favor. And who among us does not like receiving those?”

The crowd titters.

“Well, not all gifts are welcome,” I say.

“Indeed.” Her silver brow rises. “Oh, methinks you are quite honest for a human and not as stupid as my son would wish. Let us proceed. I shall ask the first question.” She considers me a moment, long nail tapping the razor’s edge of her cheekbone. “Tell me, do you find my son Everend pleasing to look at?”

My pulse races. Ever’s eyelids lower to half-mast. “All fae are beautiful, Your Highness.”

“So, then, your answer is yes?”

I nod. “It is.”

“You speak truthfully. He is indeed as beautiful as the bleakest winter sky. But does the cruelty in his fine eyes attract you above all others of our kind?”

I concentrate on her every word. The answer is no. I can live without his cruelty.

“No. It doesn’t.”

“A truth again, I think,” the queen says as the court titters behind their hands.

Ever tilts his head against the bejeweled chair, his barbed crown slipping to a rakish angle as he regards me coldly.

Varenus’s white lips lift, and she beckons me forward with a regal hand. “Come closer, child, so I may see your blush.”

I shuffle three steps forward.

“Answer me this: have you not desired Prince Everend above all other men, fae or no? Have you allowed yourself even once to dream of tasting his lush kiss, his cold-blooded strength, if only for one night?”

The entire room holds its breath. In another world, clocks tick time away—second by second. Hearts beat like trapped wings—fluttering and scrabbling. Fingernails dig deep into soft palms—over and over.

If she guesses my lie, I’m rewarded. But I’d rather not have the boon if it means I must reveal the truth in front of Ever, that he’s unfortunately the most magnificent man I’ve ever laid eyes on.

I steel my voice. “No, Your Majesty, I haven’t desired Prince Everend above all others.”

“Ah! There it is, a lie upon your breath.”

Laughter erupts. I glance to the side where vines strangle green columns. I feel them tightening around my throat.

The heat of my tormentor’s metallic gaze on me, I stand motionless and blush. I cannot look at him for fear of what I’ll see in his face. Scorn. His hatred burning darkly.

“Well, what have you to say for yourself, Lara of the human world? Have I guessed correctly?”

“About what, Your Highness?”

She laughs. “Come now, we made a bargain, and if you want your boon, then you must admit to your lie. So, confess—did you employ your human talent and answer my question with an untruth?”

“I can ask for anything, except to leave?”

“You may.”

“Yes,” I whisper, because I badly want the boon I’m about to request. For the moss elves. And because it’s the last thing he would ever grant me.

“Yes what, mortal?” the queen demands.

“I lied. It’s true. I have desired Prince Everend above all others of your kind.” I hope she’s too pleased with herself right now to notice the extra words slipped into my admission.

“Yes, of course, you have,” the queen says smugly.

Through my lowered lashes, I see Ever’s black boots scrape the floor as he shifts in his chair. Fidgeting. Uncomfortable.

“I enjoyed this game very much. Mayhap we will play again soon. So then, what favor will you ask of me?”

This time, I lift my gaze. When I speak the words, I want to see his face. My eyes lock with stony silver ones, and I say, “Queen Varenus, providing it doesn’t affect my work with Magret, I ask only that you’ll allow me to wander beyond the garden walls whenever I wish to do so.”

Wine swills from Ever’s goblet as he jerks upright in his seat. “Mother, surely you don’t mean to give her unrestrained freedom to roam about the kingdom—”

“Silence, Everend. If she disappears into the forest and is eaten by the deevs, what will it matter to you? No harm can come of allowing the girl free rein. Your boon is granted, Lara. As clear as the words you spoke, so shall they be set in stone and none, including my son, may rescind them.”

A clattering sounds on the vaulted glass ceiling, leaves, twigs, and branches falling. Only I look up. The dry heat of a desert wind scorches the tips of my hair. My throat lines with dust. I won’t look at him. I know what I’ll see burning in his gaze—pure fury.

The queen gives Ever a slow, lingering look, then turns to me. “You are dismissed from duties. Return now to your room and do not think to leave it until dawn’s first light.”

I curtsy, and then flee through a racket of screeches and howls, scrambling and stumbling like the devil himself is after me.

Maybe—soon—he will be.