Page 8 of Royal Hunt
Magick. Mellan had said the word that was forbidden in most households; the one that would make our priest’s face red with indignation as he ordered you to fast for such insolence.Magick!
The lords in the country treated the word as a curse—as something that would strike them down if they were foolish enough to utter its name. My nursemaid said that there used to be magick in this land, thousands of years ago. She said the legends told of fae who entwined their bloodlines with humans to create the royal families, and how they used their powers to help the humans thrive and live better off the land. Her stories were always the best, filling my head with whimsy and magick.
Until my father had walked in on us once. Clara had been disciplined for hours, and then I never saw her again.
I blinked, forcing myself back to reality. Princess Rowan’s high-pitched cries were animalistic, and Prince Hector hiccuped uncontrollably.
I couldn’t stand by and watch them be slaughtered. It wasn’t about magick or loyalty to the crown; some lines were not meant to be crossed. Not by me, not by nature, and certainly not by vicious lords with vengeance on their minds. The royal family had ruled the Northern Realm for centuries, and all of that was crumbling around us in the space of one evening. It was too final, too definitive. Someone had to survive. Someone had to live …
I itched with the urge—no, the need—to act.
“Where is Prince Ellis?” Trenton’s voice was a deadly whisper, and Mellan flinched. Trenton’s grin was feral.
The crown prince looked away. “I … I don’t know,” Mellan insisted, staring at the floor. “He’s not here. He’s never here. Everyone knows that. Lucky bastard!” Mellan’s laugh was desperate and hysterical.
Trenton dragged the sword over the back of Mellan’s neck, the sharp steel making shallow cuts in his flesh. “Don’t bother lying. I know Ellis was planning to return tonight for the betrothal feast. Why do you think we attacked now? We knew you’d all be TOGETHER!”
Mellan closed his eyes, muttering something about his idiotic brother and how he’d been invited but never made it, because his brother was a drunken louse and a sorry excuse for a prince.
A drunken louse.
My chest tightened painfully, and my heart nearly stopped beating as shock rolled through my system. Sweat dripped down my back.
It wasn’t possible.
I dug the handkerchief out of my bodice, my hands shaking as I turned the rich fabric over in my fingers. The monogram at the edge was done in gold lace, the glimmering letters mocking me. Most nobles couldn’t afford gold lace. Not even the rich ones. Not in these times.
ENR.
Ellis of the Northern Realm.PrinceEllis of the Northern Realm.
Oh, fuck. You just fucked the prince. Soon to becrownprince.
The voice in my head froze, redirected, and grew louder.Get back to him. Save him. It’s too late for the children.
Trenton’s face was purple with anger. “Tell me or I will make you suffer.”
Mellan spat at his feet. “What else can you take from me? Nothing. You played your hand too early. You will kill my brothers and sister regardless of what I say,” Mellan sneered.
Trenton snarled, and one of his men yanked Mellan’s head back to expose the underside of his neck. I snuck back toward the balcony, everyone too transfixed by what was going on to notice me. My body shook, and I struggled to keep my steps straight and my pace calm.Don’t stick out. Don’t attract attention.
The cool night air filled my lungs just as the sound of sword meeting flesh echoed through the hall, followed by a wet thump and raucous cheers. I fought down the rising tide of nausea.
Focus. Finish this.
I crawled down the garden steps, too afraid to stand and draw attention. My hands searched frantically in the semi-darkness, and I sobbed in relief when my fingers landed on a smelly, still-breathing lump.
The crown prince Lump.
I didn’t know much about Prince Ellis other than what the rumors said. He was a playboy and a scoundrel: the black sheep of the royal family. He was rarely at the castle, preferring to live at his other properties and throw wild parties that included harems of women. It was no secret that he was a shameless drunk and addicted to gambling.
And he was about to be the last heir of the Northern Realm. This unconscious, sullied, crusty excuse of a man who’d had no qualms taking me up against a wall.
I slapped his face, hissing in his ear. “Wake up! Right now!”
He moaned, his dark hair falling over his eyes once more. I grimaced at the smell of him, but heaved him up with little effort, for once thankful for my size and distinctly unfeminine muscles. Wrinkling my nose, I tugged his soiled tunic back over his head.
His eyes crossed, then attempted to focus on me. And failed. “What’s going—”
