Page 43 of Slaying the Shifter Prince
On the bone-fracturing brilliance of victory.
It was an intoxicating brew, stronger than fae spirits. And I gulped it down. Greedy. Wanting. Half-starved.
I writhed and rocked beneath him, now, chasing pleasure he both wanted and hated, taking sustenance from that fact. He crushed me into the table, spiking sensation through my nipples as he rubbed against me. One hand gripped my hip, the other my throat, bracing me for each drive of his body.
“Tell me to stop,” he growled. It rumbled through his chest into mine, reverberating at the point where we’d be joined if not for our clothing.
“Never,” I spat.
He thrust once more, fingers flexing so they cut off my breath.
He was going to kill me.
I lifted my chin, some part of me welcoming it as what I deserved. Some part that saw what I was doing and was disgusted that I could spread my legs for the fae who’d killed my sister. Some part that hated me for feeling alive as I did it.
His nose wrinkled, then his grip was gone. He turned with a roar that shook the room.
Gulping in air, I watched his square shoulders as he stormed out. He didn’t even bother to slam the door behind him.
The chandeliers were still tinkling when I laughed.
I’d won. A battle, if not the war. But I’dwon.
19
Ididn’t see the prince for the rest of the afternoon. It was like he’d forgotten about me, which suited me well. I explored the dining room and nearby parts of the palace, searching for my dagger and learning the layout. There was a whole library, but I wasn’t here to read, only to find the weapon that would allow me to win this war.
I had no luck.
And even less when I found the door to his study locked. Maybe I could swipe the key from him one day. The dagger had to be in there.
Eventually, Cadan came and fetched me for His Royal Prickishness. I took the opportunity to thank him for the salve. Glancing along the corridor, he only acknowledged my thanks with a nod, then mouth in a tight line, he delivered me to the prince’s room.
I was not allowed to sleep on the bed that night.
The prince spelled out his displeasure in various other ways over the following couple of weeks. I served him at every meal. I wasn’t allowed to wear shoes or jewellery other than my collar. Most days he left me with Celestine as though he couldn’t stand the sight of me.
But I knew better.
He couldn’t standlikingthe sight of me.
One morning dawned bright and crisp. Snow had fallen overnight, leaving the palace under its heavy blanket. It softened the broken lines of ruined outbuildings. It erased the cracks in the garden’s statues and crept through the broken domes.
I was allowed silk slippers that day, but they offered scant protection as the prince led me out to the eastern side of the gardens. Cold nipped my toes through the thin fabric, which was soon soaked with snowmelt.
He moved silently and swiftly over the fluffy inches of white, while my steps creaked. Our breaths streamed mist through the frigid air. His came out in great plumes, perhaps because of how hot he always was.
He wore his crown and the usual shirt and trousers. His only concession to the snow was a light jacket. Meanwhile, I wore one of the many silky dresses. No coat or cloak. Not even a scarf.
We passed a ruined building that might’ve once been a small temple. Its roof stood open to the sky, and ivy crept over its crumbling walls, battling with the snow to reclaim the stone remains.
It only took a few minutes to reach the lake that dominated this side of the gardens, but my feet burned with the cold. Unfazed, he took coffee and breakfast under a dome overlooking the lake’s frozen surface, leaving me to stand in the snow.
It looked like something from a painting or a dream. Perfect white columns with subtle gold decoration at their bases. Snow encrusting the dome. The splash of colour that was the prince sitting upon a marble throne as he contemplated his domain.
He took his time eating, only pausing to call, “Are you hungry, little bird?”
I stood to attention, eyes on the lake and the moorhens scuttling across its surface, their black feathers stark against the frosted landscape.
