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

Ever

“Prince Ever, whose horns do you prefer? My shining silver ones or Melusina’s that are blackened with use and age?” asks the one-eyed imp stretched across my lap.

Sprawled opposite on a low divan, Raff laughs. “Seven,” he scolds the imp, pointing an unsteady finger at her. “My brother adores each and every set of horns in the kingdom, no matter their condition. Do not make him choose one above the other.”

A grin tugs at my lips as Raff overbalances and tumbles onto the rich-gold swirls of his floor tapestry, three barely dressed courtiers piling on top.

Gulping dandelion wine, I hold the gaze of the girl’s single black eye as she straddles my hips. “My brother is correct, sweet Seven. I have no favorite style of horns. Though your new silver ones suit you well.” At least I think they suit her. Right now, they’re a little out of focus.

Stroking the point of my ear, she leans in, her lips warm and slick as she kisses me. When her mouth opens like she wants to devour me whole, I push her away and sigh, searching for a riot of bright red waves in the mass of limbs and wings writhing in my brother’s chambers.

Finding no such locks, I ask, “Where is Kian?”

“Oh,” trills the imp, all seven colors of the rainbow flickering over her spiked wings, hence her name. “He left nearly an hour ago. He went to speak to the human girl.”

“What?” Suddenly, I’m on my feet, Seven scowling up at me from the floor where she has toppled. “An hour ago, you say?”

“Yes. What of it? Be seated, my prince.” Her black tongue flicks over her lips. “I will be yours tonight.”

“An enticing offer, Seven. Another time perhaps,” I say.

Glass and trinkets crush under my boots as I weave clumsily to the latticed metal doors, drunk on wine and pain and longing. Longing for what exactly, I do not know.

“You’re not leaving already?” complains Raff, removing his attention from a girl decorated in cherry blossoms, her dark scaly wings fanning his face like he’s the emperor of all that is—Rafael, the King of Always.

“I have business with Kian,” I tell him, working to suppress my slur.

“Oh? And what is that precisely?”

Damn. I search my wine-soaked brain for a plausible answer. “I need to discuss mage-control plans for Samhain.” Among other things.

“Surely, that can wait until tomorrow when your heads are clearer.”

“What I must speak about,” which is, of course, the wasp, “simply cannot wait a moment longer.”

“Then I wish you a good tedious night.” Spark screeches and leaps from the curtains onto Raff’s shoulders, baring her teeth at me. Sometimes, the creature has no sense of self-preservation.

Courtiers execute bows from contorted positions as I take my leave, abandoning them to their perversions.

In the hallway that links the five wings of the royal chambers together, a Samhain feast tapestry taunts me from the walls, reminding me that in less than a week, I will have to fight the Merit prince to keep the human at our court.

Rumor has it the Merits have decided I must wear one of their moronic pendants around my neck, and popular vote will determine the outcome of the contest. I can best Temnen at swords, but I don’t know how to make people like me. The thought that I may lose is sickening.

Chest aching, I stride down the hall imagining all the wretched ways Kian might be using the girl.

This minute, he will be in Lara’s room. He will be doing unspeakable things to her. Why? Because he’s always loved to break what is mine.

A massive fluorite staircase winds before me, greens and purples shimmering like a galactic sky as I fly down each step. When I reach the third landing, I catch the trail of the mortal’s scent, and freeze. The air is mine, and the wasp is too. I will find her easily.

Palms up and fingers splayed, I breathe deeply, pivoting slowly until I have her exact location. There. She’s close.

I whirl around two bends, then on the third I nearly knock her over. She’s climbing toward the high fae chambers, carrying a tray of grapes and cheese as though she’s on her way to an assignation with a lover. The silky teal tunic she wears is adorned with feathers far too fine for a servant, so perhaps she is.

Wide green eyes meet mine. Then her chin lifts and shoulders square. “Prince Never, we meet on yet another flight of stairs. Should I be worried this time?”

The effect of the wine makes me smile rather than snarl as I normally would at her impudence. “Where do you go in such a hurry?”

“I ran into your evil friend, Kian, in the kitchens and admitted my terrible state of boredom. He said he’d teach me a game to relieve it.”

“Really?” My pulse quickens. “And what game would that be?”

“I can’t pronounce the name. It sounds like a sneeze and is apparently played a little like chess. He said you faeries go nuts for it.”

“Nuts are not my favorite thing to eat.”

“No, silly. I mean that you guys love it. It’s a board game where a bunch of attackers try to capture the king and—”

“Ah, you speak of hnefatafl. Bearded Norsemen guests brought it to our lands many years ago. You are right, we do favor it. And I am the best player in the kingdom.”

“No, Never. You have the biggest head in the kingdom. That’s all.”

Frowning, I feel around my skull. I don’t think it has increased but imbibing too much wine can cause unfortunate glamors to appear unbidden. It’s possible my head looks twice its usual size.

“You seem friendlier than usual.” She laughs. “Are you drunk?”

“Yes. Somewhat.” Which means, yes, quite drunk. I wrap my fingers around her arm and pull until we breathe the same air. “Do not play games with Kian. He is a danger to you.”

“And you’re not?”

“I cannot say for certain.” The feathers trimming her otherwise plain dress come into focus. I can hardly believe what I see—the downy contour feathers of the órga falcons. My falcons. This gown is made for my future bride. It’s a costume she would wear as she reclines in our apartments, listening to entertainments. It’s refined and beautiful, the particular shade of green perfect for the wasp’s rust-colored locks. Who gave it to her?

I tug her draping sleeve. “Where did you get this?”

“From Raff. Isn’t it beautiful?”

“Raff?” I bark, rivaling my dog, Balor, in ferocity.

Uncertainty flickers in her eyes. “Your High Mage gave it to him saying he would know exactly what to do with it. Your brother thought of me instantly, told me I needed something pretty and comfortable to wear when I’m not working. Wasn’t that nice of him?”

“Nice is not the word I’d use.”

What, by the Five Elements, are Ether and Raff up to? If they mean to insult me, then they have failed miserably. I find myself charmed by the human who stands before me looking fragile in soft blue-green hues, highlighted by the silver and gold of my falcons. How did I ever mistake her for a goblin or a troll?

Her green eyes sparkle with amusement, slowing the beat of my heart, soothing the ache in my chest.

Wine sloshes through my skull as I say, “I have a set of hnefatafl in my rooms. I shall teach you the game, and then you won’t get eaten by Kian.”

“Kian doesn’t like to eat people!”

A smile tugs my lips. “I believe he likes eating human girls a lot more than he enjoys playing board games.”

She laughs. “I’d be very interested to see where someone such as you lives,” she says as if I’m some seven-headed sea monster and she can’t imagine what I use for a pillow. “So, because I’m an extremely nosy person, I’ll accept your offer. But what about Kian, shall I—?”

“No. You shan’t.” I start up the steps and say over my shoulder, “Follow me.”

On the journey to my chambers, she walks at a safe distance beside me while I describe the layout of the upper castle, the gruesome details of the tapestries and paintings glowing in the torchlight and begin to think my sanity has abandoned me. Why else would I want to spend time with the wasp in my room? I don’t need new friends, least of all a human one. The sight of her adorned in the feathers of my falcons has bewitched me.

When we enter my parlor, she gazes around through wide eyes.

I try to imagine how she sees my chambers. The three rooms, where I spend most of my time brooding over the ever-present bite of the poison, are connected by carved archways. Flames from the enormous main fireplace glow along black and silver surfaces, the only colors other than the blood-red of my curtains and carpets.

Through an archway, my bed is visible, overflowing with red silk and gray furs. Books and ancient scrolls detailing the history of the black blood curse lie open on wooden tables, divans, and the window seat through which moonlight pools yet more silver onto the floor.

“The color scheme suits you,” she says, picking her way around discarded armor pieces, jeweled scabbards, and boar spears to the arched window frame twined with rough vine branches that grow from deep within the castle’s magic-bound foundations. “But I’m a little surprised by the mess.”

“I’m a hunter, remember. It comforts me to see the tools of my distraction strewn about me.”

“You’re a fae prince. I hardly think you need comforting.”

She peers through the glass into an indigo night, her furrowed brow reflecting in the dark surface. I’m all too familiar with the sight she sees—the phosphorescent gleam of the waterfalls, the distant black line of the forest. Darkness. Loneliness. Eternity.

I wave my hand once and the curtains close, a second time and every candle in the room bursts into life. “Oh!” she yelps loudly, waking Balor who had been snoring on my bed. He barks as he springs down and gambols over to greet the girl.

“Hi, Balor.” Smiling, she strokes his shaggy head, not needing to bend because of his height.

“Be seated,” I tell her, and stride through an archway into my bedchamber. I clear space around the hnefatafl board on the small table situated near the second fire—right next to my bed.

Balor sits erect looking nervously between the girl and me. “Not you, Balor. You can relax wherever you please. If I were you, I would try the hearth.”

He groans and takes my advice, trotting toward the fire before curling his long legs into the furs spread over the slate.

The girl frowns at my bed. “I didn’t think… I don’t—”

“As you can see, my sleeping chamber and parlor are joined, creating a greater sense of space, and I enjoy the view from my pillows. Here is where the game is already set up. Breathe easy. I have no plans to throw your feeble human body onto my bed furs.”

A deep blush spreads over her cheeks, visible even in the flickering orange light. She clears her throat and takes a seat, reaching across the board for a king’s guard, a pointed piece made out of carved bone. “Good. I’m not in the mood to reject you again, Never. I need more friends and fewer enemies in your city.”

Again? When was this rejection she speaks of? I remember it not. If I’d decided to seduce her, the deed would already be done.

Pouring wine for her and water for myself, I explain the rules. They’re simple but require careful strategy in order to triumph. Pointing at the king in the center of the checkered board surrounded by his protectors, I say, “For our first game, you will defend the king and I will attack.”

“Hang on, why do you get twice as many pieces than me?”

“Don’t worry. The king’s men have the advantage, and I need to get four men around your king to capture him, rather than the usual two required to seize your other pieces.”

“So, to win, all I have to do is get the king to any of the four corners of the board?”

I nod.

“My pieces are light-colored, yours are dark. This will be easy.”

I smile. “The attacker moves first.”

“That’s you,” she says.

“Yes.” The engraved rune buzzing under my fingers, I move my piece and begin the assault.

“So, if my guys can move exactly like the rooks in chess, then I’m going to do this.” She starts boldly and without fear, immediately exposing her first man to easy capture. But if she were experienced, this would be a fine opening.

Now I must choose whether to take her quickly or slowly. It’s a difficult decision.

“Good move,” I say, reaching for my next piece, her clean scent sharpening my addled thoughts. “Your troops are expendable. Sacrifice them and think of ways you can move the king through the fastest route to victory. It’s the only thing that matters in this game.”

Inwardly, I roll my eyes at my words. Kings. Sacrifice. Winning at any cost. This is my Mother’s life, and if she has her way, it will soon be mine.

Other than the crackle of the fire, silence pervades the room as we play. For a beginner, her careful moves of measured risk aren’t too bad and tell me a lot about the way she thinks.

Skin glowing in the firelight, she picks up a silver and emerald goblet, waving it in the air. “I have questions and they’re not about hnefatafl.”

The wine has clearly taken effect. “Oh?” I say, affecting a disinterested voice as I watch muscles ripple along her throat as she drinks.

She huffs a breath. “So, can I ask them?”

“You can ask, and I may even answer.” Despite my harsh words, my lips curve, a small electric pulse buzzing over my skin.

She glances at my hound asleep on the hearth. “You speak to Balor and Jinn as though they understand you. Can they answer back?”

A laugh chokes out of me. “No. But they’re fae creatures, so they do comprehend most things, sometimes even my thoughts.”

I capture her third piece, laying it next to the board.

She grimaces. “What have humans done to deserve your low opinion?”

“You may turn out to be an exception, Lara, but your people remind me of the fodden, Unseelie creatures who are content to live underground and wait for prey to pass by so they can drag them under the earth. Motivated only by their hunger, they’re too stupid to better their lot. Their cruelty is base and unthinking.”

“That’s harsh. Most humans do actually strive to improve things and not just for themselves. And what about your kind? Is cruelty justifiable just because the fae are open about it? Because you rarely bother to hide it?”

“I think perhaps, yes.”

“That’s rubbish. And what about the Merits? Like humans, they’ve gone mad for technology and social approval. Are they as dumb as the fodden, too?”

“Without a doubt.” With a smirk, I surround her king, slipping my fourth man into place. “The Merits ignore nature while clambering to be popular, and meanwhile their land dies around them. So stupid.”

She raises a brow, then whips the king off the board and holds it to her chest. “And I suppose you’re better than all of us because you don’t care what anyone thinks about you?”

“Yes. I won,” I say, “Return the king.”

“Never,” she says, grinning like a fierce child at battle play. “Tell me something about the curse or about what it’s like to have the poison in your veins, and then I might give him back.”

Raking fingers through my hair, I release a long breath, the chair creaking as I lean back heavily against it. “The curse began with Prince Gadriel over four hundred years ago, and I am the thirteenth Black Blood heir. Some heirs’ lives are short, some long. Some find their fated mate and she reverses the poison. Then they become king, dooming their oldest son to repeat the same fate, and on it goes.”

“How will you know who your mate is? Does she already live here in your court?”

“No. She is a stranger to me. But it has been foretold I’ll find her underneath the Crystalline Oak, which is where I journey to each month at full moon. Each queen bears a different mark, a symbol, so I will know her when she comes. Even so, some heirs did not find their mate in time, or rejected her and the poison killed them. If I have a choice, that is my preference.”

“To die?”

“Death is preferable than chaining my sons and grandsons to Aer’s selfish whims forever. As you can tell,” I nod at the king concealed in her fist, “I don’t like losing.”

“So, what will you do with your queen when she arrives? Marry her immediately?”

“No.” Slowly I meet her gaze. “I’ll kill her.”

Disappointment clear on her face, she shakes her head and rises slowly. The chair scrapes. The candle flames gutter.

“I think I’ll leave you to your murderous thoughts, then,” she says, the gold in my falcons’ feathers sparkling around her neck as the air vibrates with my annoyance. “Thanks for teaching me the game.”

Watching her straight back glide toward the exit, I tamp down my rage. Courtiers never dare to leave without my dismissal. Never. I could peel the skin from her discourteous body with one word. With two, I could pull her heart through her pink lips. Three words and her brain would explode to mush inside her foolish skull.

But I don’t speak any of those vicious, hateful things. When she reaches the main door, I say one powerless word, “Wait.”

She freezes, then pivots around.

I trace her expression—plain and serious, no hint of the fae tricks or ruses I’m used to seeing glimmering on a lover’s face, only freckles framed by my falcons’ feathers. I don’t understand her appeal, yet nonetheless I am mesmerized.

As I inspect her, she holds my gaze calmly.

Finally, I ask, “Why would you risk yourself for the moss elves?” My fingers press into the air symbol engraved on my cup.

I cannot fathom why she, a tiny human girl with nothing to gain, would put her life in peril for lower faeries. She’s a puzzle I can’t figure out, no matter which way I turn it.

She smiles. “Someone like you wouldn’t understand.”

I blink and draw a painful breath.

“Goodnight,” she says, and pushes through the dark filigree doors before I can summon a reply.

My limbs slow and heavy, I guzzle water, and then prepare for bed. When my head hits the pillows, my gaze lands on the checkered board, the rune shapes moving like liquid metal over the pieces, and I realize two equally disturbing things.

One: In my mind before, I compared her to a fae lover as though it were an inevitable outcome.

And two: She’s stolen my king.