Land of Ice and Intrigue (Seasons of Fae #2)
Prologue
Jarok - The Night Before Prince Ghel and Lady Strella's Betrothal
Prince Jarok Borau rubbed his tired eyes. He’d been squinting at scout reports, letters from men in the field, and security logs for a few hours, doing all he could to organize the information he had at hand. So much was happening in the Winterlands, what with the rising Monti Clan rebellion, traitors invading their home, and his older brother, Prince Ghel, set to become betrothed to a lady neither had met before. At least the last bit would change the next afternoon. Jarok wanted to be prepared, needed to be prepared, to help his family and his land as best he could.
It was all tiring, and more than anything, he wished for a hard drink and a soft body in his bed to relieve some of the stress. Prince Jarok lived up to his reputation as the more genial, fun-loving Borau brother, even if most of his time was spent like tonight: taking his duties to his family and homeland seriously. The bulk of which centered on where he stood: making sure the Winterlands Palace remained safe and secure. He’d taken over the daily charge of palace security from his mother decades ago. One reason for the switch was his other benefit to his family: he was good with a mask. He could laugh and play and wheedle his way into the good graces of the lords and ladies with a flippant smile the court seemed to indulge. All fake, for the most part, but necessary, especially when he wanted to keep track of information and attitudes regarding his royal family. It was a skill he wished he could employ on his broody, gruff brother before his meeting with his betrothed the next day.
A pain shot like a lance through the prince’s skull at the thought of what might happen with his brother the next day, how the betrothal would go. Much was at stake. Ghel needed to secure the union to help solidify alliances, but more importantly, to keep an eye on the traitorous father of his soon-to-be bride. And what if the lady herself was a traitor helping her father? It remained to be seen, so Jarok had a great deal to look out for in the next days.
To elevate his now-aching head, he stood from his seat, his civil and warrior training making his posture ramrod straight as he stretched his long, golden-brown neck left to right, back then forward, trying to ease the tension there. He hung his head, the floppy cut of his short black hair causing the effortless yet artful looking tangle at the top of his head to skim across his eyes, feathery and soft. As he pushed his hair out of his face once again, his mind homed in on a small half-moon scar at the base of his thumb—something he received gods knew when or how. All he knew was it had happened before he was saved from the frozen waste of the Ice Plains during a particularly vicious and sudden blizzard.
He didn’t often think back to that time he could barely remember. He knew he was a Windin by birth, his distinctive looks having spurred him to do a little digging later in life, but now he was all Borau, dead set on keeping the royals who had taken him in, made him a prince, and more importantly, made him a real part of their family, safe and in power. Hence the late night, the headaches, and the worry he felt along with the pressure. If he had to stay all night in his study off the royal wing, he would.
A faint yet distinct sound drew him back from his stray thoughts. The skid of feet on gravel. An animal perhaps. Or a misstep by someone trying to circle the palace for a different reason. Jarok slinked toward his window facing the south side of the Winterland Palace so as not to draw attention with his movement in the firelight. When he was close enough to the edges, he peeked around, searching the small gravel path four stories down for any sign of an intruder. Nothing came at first, until he saw a single leather-clad foot kick up from rounding the nearest corner. Godsdamnnit, there was someone skulking about the grounds in the dead of night, and there was no good reason for anyone to do so.
Long ago, his mother, Queen Alene, derisively referred to by some as the Warrior Queen, had taught him several secrets of the palace she’d learned from her husband, King Frit. Some she had also discovered on her own. One of which was there, in his study. An extra perk of being a royal prince: having a secret set of stairs behind one of the overstuffed bookcases. He pulled an old, worn-leather volume by the spine, triggering the spring to release a hidden door, which opened wide into a dusty, cobwebbed corridor. Jarok grabbed a candlestick before running down the winding staircase, unconcerned with the grime or the spiders hovering. He made it to the door to the outside of the palace in a flash, then eased it open as he secured the lit candle in a holder by the interior, being slow and methodical for the first time since he had spied the boot on the path below him.
With stealth and grim determination, he picked his way across the frozen ground, avoiding the gravel path so he wouldn’t make noise. He was surprisingly silent for a tall warrior made of lithe muscle. Whoever was ahead had also learned a lesson and made nearly no sound. When Jarok concentrated, he could hear the occasional slip of gravel once again, as if whoever ran ahead was unused to the area and the loose, rocky path.
He neared a bend in the palace, a spot along the western edge where a large turret stood towering ten stories high. Spanning several yards, the outcropping caused a tricky blind spot for someone trying to track an unknown intruder. He paused and leaned his back to the wall, inching across the stone so as not to present an open target to anyone waiting beyond the arch of the structure. As he came to the apex, his foot skidded across gravel, and a second later, a large brown-leather-clad foot shot into the air, barely skimming his face. If he’d been running straight ahead, the blow would have blindsided him. He was momentarily dazed, but because of his forethought, he was more angry than anything else.
He leaped into the path, lunging blindly in the direction of the kick that’d landed across his right cheek, and managed to catch whoever it was in a bruising grip, bringing them down hard to the ground. He scrambled for purchase as the unknown fighter twisted and kicked to free themselves. Prince Jarok was wiry and wily, and had been trained by his brother and mother and cousins, some of the best warriors in the land. He wasn’t about to let go of his prey and managed to position himself on top of the struggling brown-leather-clad figure on their back.
When the large moon freed itself from the clouds and shone silver light on them both, he froze. On her back, he corrected himself. She was tall for a Fae woman, strong, as most Fae were, and obviously trained as a fighter. But those weren’t the reasons Jarok froze in the moment. He knew plenty of Fae female fighters, a number of whom were members of his family and could beat him if they tried, so the idea of a female threat to the palace wasn’t outside the realm of possibility for the prince.
What stopped him dead was the body and face pinned below him. Her compact muscle, thick and strong thighs, and ample breasts strained against the traditional Winterland fighting leathers the woman wore. His hands clenched at her wrists and his thighs clamped around hers, holding her firmly in place, but not without a great deal of effort on his part. She had a powerful body Jarok could imagine doing many dirty things with in different circumstances. Her face was broad, wide for a female. Not what a noble Fae would call beautiful, but then again the nobility were often stupid. She was handsome and striking, her cheeks a shock of pale skin and her nose regal though slightly large and pointed. Her big eyes squinted in anger just as her wide, full-lipped mouth curled back in an animalistic snarl. Her hair, pinned tight to her head, glimmered darkly in the moonlight, a slight reddish tone to it which somehow snagged Jarok’s attention.
Enough of his attention, in fact, to cause his arms to loosen a bit, and she was able to whip one wrist free. She brought it up in a sweeping arc, nearly connecting the side of her balled fist to his temple. It would have been a punishing blow if he hadn’t managed to block it with his forearm. He leaned down, pinning her entire arm under his own.
“Now, now, now. None of that,” Jarok gritted out. “That’s not how our introduction will go.”
“Get off me, you brute,” she said, bucking under him in a way Jarok had to push out of his mind.
“No, intruder.”
“I’m no intruder.”
“Funny, as I’ve never seen you before.”
“You know every single Fae in this palace?” she asked, her thick, reddish arch of eyebrow rising high in obvious disbelief.
“Yes,” he said, with all seriousness. He made it part of his duties to know all that went on in this palace, all those who came to be around his family. His brother, Ghel, protected the family and the Winterlands with their army, and Jarok helped as his second. He also helped as the man of information, the one who could be counted on to know, to track or schmooze, or do whatever was necessary to keep those he loved safe, as they’d kept him safe since he was a babe of four.
Something in his tone brooked no argument, so the leather-bound Fae woman made no reply, simply giving a humming sound as if thinking over things. She was silent long enough he thought to prod her more, but her bucking suddenly picked back up, surprising him enough she got him to his side. She wrapped a powerful leg around his and twisted, flipping them completely around so he landed on his back, looking up at the woman straddling him.
As he often did, he went for innuendo to disarm his opponent. “If you liked it on top, lovely, all you had to do was ask.”
She sneered, the perfect mask of noble entitlement flashing long enough for him to be intrigued by it. He didn’t know who this was, but she was a tangled mess of contradictions Jarok wanted to unravel.
He didn’t have time to do so, and he needed to contain her, get her secured in the dungeons of the palace before he went at this puzzle. He shook her hand off and shot his right arm to her right side, leveraging it so he took her off him and to her side once again. They wrestled for dominance for several seconds, enough to both be panting. Jarok discovered an odd thrill in the push and pull before he narrowed his gaze and decided they’d had enough tussling on the ground.
The prince shoved her back hard to the cold earth and held her shoulders down. “Fun and games are over, now, lovely. Sorry to say.”
His eyes darted toward the sky when he heard wings close by and tried to catch if it were one of his mother’s birds of prey somehow on guard, come to assist. A red hawk cry sounded too close, and he scanned the sky and grounds for the bird or his mother, knowing one or both had to be nearby.
A stupid thing to do given the fight he’d just had with the woman below him, but he was certain, somehow, help was near. However, nothing was there to help when she popped her knee up, forcing his hips to go up as well. A split second later, her loose knee reared back down and up, connecting to his balls. Pain blinded him, and he lost his hold. She scrambled to her feet and was running away at top speed before he caught his breath again. Like a good warrior, she didn’t stop, look back, or second-guess herself. When Jarok was finally up again, using his wind magic to help himself breathe easier, she’d disappeared somewhere on the grounds.
He didn’t sound an alarm for all to hear. No need to worry everyone with this just yet. Instead, after recovering from the blow to his body and ego, he found the guards on duty, questioned them about any possible encounters, and searched with them until dawn kissed the western sky above the Winterland Mountains.
Jarok found nothing then, but only hours later, he saw that arresting face and shock of auburn hair seated at the side of his brother’s soon-to-be-bride, the fighter masquerading as her lady-in-waiting. In the following months, he hounded her every step, waiting for her to reveal the secret he was certain she possessed. The secret he just knew hovered above his family, waiting to drop and possibly harm them all. When she finally did reveal it, all to help save his brother and his kingdom, he was shocked—by both her power and her willingness to use it for such ends. Then, and only then, he begrudgingly admitted she might be more than a beautiful but potentially deadly problem to solve. She might actually be a solution.