Chapter Four- The Boy Raised by Snakes #2
Much like the Executioner Prince, nicknames arise from rumors and hysteria, though they lend themselves to accuracy because the truth lies somewhere beneath the whispers.
“The boy who was raised by snakes has to be the one doing this!”
“His tongue is forked! He must be the Serpent!”
“The first body had a snake’s fangs lodged in his throat.”
I decided I didn’t like that calling card so instead, the noose that each nobleman found himself hanging from had snake’s skin woven into it.
Since leaving the Venomwoods, I’ve had the chance to learn other types of spells.
Now I favor the snakes’ speed and their invaluable hypnotic abilities, and have added fire into my spell work.
My Serpent magic was never meant to be discovered.
Now, it is known to only one other person.
Only because it failed. Failed. It had never failed prior to that moment and hasn’t failed since.
But something equally strange happened that night.
Because not only had Thorne Shadowfall learned my secret, but I had learned his.
About Two Years Ago
This is going to be too easy, I smirk as Prince Thorne kisses me.
My forked tongue pushes into his mouth again, earning a moan.
He grips the collar of my jacket and shoves me into the wooden wall.
The tavern downstairs is still humming with life, laughter, conversation, and music.
The roll of dice, clank of cups, and whoops of laughter cause the building to vibrate subtly as magic entwines itself in the signs of life.
I’ve only been in the palace for a few months and I already have my target in the palm of my hands.
I’m here at The Jester’s Lyre celebrating being officially Knighted by King Dreven.
The last person I expected at a place in Eldershade was a fucking prince. Much less the one I’m meant to kill.
Yet, I kiss him harder, allowing him to shove my jacket off. Confusion twists my features at the gloves on his hands as I run mine up his arms. Veins and muscles flex beneath his sleeves but he doesn’t allow me to remove the gloves.
“Don’t,” he grunts and pins my hips with his when I touch them.
I decide then and there that getting those gloves off is my top priority as I shift the power balance and push him backwards onto the bed.
He lets out a soft laugh and throws his head back, silver strands fanning out behind him.
The strong column of his neck is far too enticing, so I nip and lick at it.
He finally pushes off my shirt and the feeling of the gloves against my skin isn’t satisfying.
The urge to have him bare in all ways beneath me overtakes me as I push myself into him.
He gasps at the intrusion and I can feel that it’s been a while.
I become weak at how good it feels as I roll into him, my larger frame dominating him.
Gloves off. I use hypnosis.
At the command, Thorne’s eyes, screwed shut in pleasure, flutter open. Deep blue eyes meet mine but there isn’t anything submissive like normal. No. He’s sensed my attempt to control him.
Remove them.
My will crashes against his, fighting to get through what feels like impossible walls. I feel a stabbing sensation behind my temples as I send my magic harder against his. The eye contact should have solidified my control but…
I push harder, both mentally and into his body as he’s vulnerable and drunk with pleasure beneath me.
“Obey,” I whisper. Hypnotizing shouldn’t require verbal spell casting but it can’t hurt.
My heart pounds with the sheer force of the magic usage, causing my vision to blur momentarily. Something isn’t right. It’s never been this difficult.
With my eyes still locked on his, my will clashes with his like blades locked at the hilt.
I thrust into him, arching up to hit the spot that should keep him distracted. He moans. But then his ocean eyes snap open, a cold depraved stare sets his features. Our eyes lock, and he shoves me away, forcing me to withdraw from him and stand. The loss of his warmth is abrupt and harsh. Fuck.
I catch a glimpse of my reflection in a small mirror; my pupils have become that of a snake. A normal occurrence when I’m using this spell but not one that typically matters as the person on the other end of it is bending to my will. Thorne regards me in horror for a moment as he stands.
“You…” he pants heavily, still reeling from being on the precipice of an orgasm.
I arch my eyebrows at him as I pull my pants back up, mirroring his own actions.
“You’re the Serpent of Netherhelm,” he snarls at me.
I relish the moment he makes the connection, as the bodies of people he knew swing in the archways of his memory. I know we aren’t leaving this room. I know I have to kill him now.
I mockingly half bow at him. “At your service, Princeling.”
The smile I flash at him is wicked and cruel as I charge him.
All of the sensuality from the moments before is gone.
I’m bloodthirsty and ready to see his body in the rafters of the King’s throne room.
The anger that burns within me because he didn’t succumb to my compulsion makes me reckless and he’s ready for me.
I feel something invisible grip my arms before I’m being slung backward into a wall.
“Iizyiah,” I whisper the spell, calling forth a dozen snakes.
They drop from my hands and surround the Prince who curses softly.
He looks back up to me and it’s then that I really see his eyes for the first time.
His irises are so pale blue that they could be mistaken for white.
The ocean in his eyes is more akin to the crashing of waves than the deep blue itself.
Beholding them sends a chill to my core.
What appears to be tendrils of shadows move within the whites of his eyes, very briefly like spiderwebs before disappearing.
I fight the urge to stumble away from him, everything in me screaming wrong.
As the tendrils recede, I watch as his dark chain collar seems to swim with black matter, like liquid shadow. The same substance crawls down his arms to his gloved hands as he finally removes the gloves. Oh fuck.
I feel the magic coming off of him, not dark magic. Not Stygian magic—the strongest form of dark magic that royals possess—but something other.
The darkness, his shadows, pin me in place. My snakes are recoiling from him, hissing and striking from the furthest corners of the room as I struggle against the hold.
His hand cups my face, blue eyes locked on mine as his magic seeps into me.
Shadow tendrils snake through his eyes, eclipsing them in total darkness this time.
And then I hear it—screaming. Agony brought to life, voices writhing in torment.
It floods my senses, and I gasp as unyielding pain sweeps over me.
Then like a rushing current, it washes over and past me. Even though he’s still gripping my face. Even though he’s still possessed by that dark liquid shadow.
All at once, the pain stops and I headbutt him, breaking his trance just like he broke mine. Stars burst in my vision but I’m determined to stay focused.
He blinks as he looks from his hand to me. He wipes the blood from his nose in astonishment and slams me into the wall by my throat. Something in the shocked expression he wears gives way to relief when I don’t react to his touch this time.
“What are you?” He demands, inches from my mouth. I can smell his scent, almost taste him. Anger is mixing with lust in a completely foreign and mind-bending fusion.
“I should be asking you that, Prince,” I sneer at him and dig my nails into the arm he’s using to pin me.
The moments that followed were animalistic, a clashing of bodies that I can’t explain nor forget.
Something in our very nerves needed it, our magic reaching out to taste the others.
I’ve never experienced anything like it.
Such raw hatred erupting in the deepest pleasure I have ever known as his nails carved a map in my back, a map I feared would always lead me back to him.
When it was done, he demanded that I stay out of his way, or he’d report what he learned to the king. Perhaps he figured my unique skills would be put to better use as a knight. As a knight, the royal family possesses me. That seems to satisfy him.
Now, even two years later, Thorne and I haunt the palace like shadows, ghosts of a collision that never should have happened. Two predators circling. My fangs sheathed, his magic coiled, just waiting for our moment to strike.