SIXTEEN
PRINCE ODHRAN
Like fire, juniper serves to cleanse the home of evil and negativity. It assists in warding off evil spirits though it does not affect faeries beyond mere distaste.
The Legends of The Forgotten, by Tibor Harper
“Where’s the girl?” Sloan asks the moment I round the corner.
I barely hear him above the screaming, pleading, and clapping of heels on the white polished marble.
In the far corner, abandoned instruments are scattered across the floor.
The musicians playing a waltz mere moments ago are now cowering along with the rest of the mortals—those found to possess magic, as well as those void of its presence.
The bone-cutting sound of terror is one I’ve heard more times than I care to count.
This time is easier because this is the last.
“Locked in a closet,” I tell him. It sounds absolutely juvenile, but the best option, given the circumstances. I push back my sleeves with a groan. My friend always uses exactly the wrong moment to ask exactly the wrong questions.
“Why?” He raises a brow. “Are you upset that she doesn’t find you pretty enough?” His head rolls back in amusement.
Because I’m an asshole. “Because your ugly face would give her nightmares. Thought I’d spare her the agony.”
“Oh please! You’re only jealous that the ladies like me more than they like you.” His voice booms through the hall, deep and grating.
“Do I question you about the things you do with females?” I counter, my nostrils flaring.
His laughter is loud and boisterous. “All the fucking time!” He slaps me on the shoulder, clearly finding my question amusing. “Difference is, I’m not in the habit of keeping mine out of harm’s way.”
“Yes, I know.” I give him a pointed look.
Sloan has been my best friend since before we were old enough to choose our own names.
He’s been my companion in rebelling against our guardians, but mostly, he’s been the first person I could be myself with.
He’s more than a best friend. He’s the brother I never had.
And like a true brother… he can annoy the shit out of me some days.
“You think she’ll get the job done?” He takes a step closer. “Or will she only get the job done?” Sloan is wiggling his eyebrows at me when I look at him. The sight makes me bite down on my teeth.
“Fuck off.” I narrow my eyes at him, and he raises his hands in surrender.
“If this is the last time I’m playing bitch to my brother, then she won’t be required.
I’m not going to use her as a pawn if it’s not necessary.
She doesn’t fit.” There’s a pause of silence as Sloan looks at me with an arched brow, analysing me. It’s unnerving.
“Ready?” I ask him. Unease settles in my stomach like sour grapes. She’s a distraction I can’t afford.
“Play.” I lock eyes with the pianist. “Clair de Lune. Until I command otherwise.” He rises, glancing at his friends as he walks over to his piano despite the sheer panic etched on his face.
There is no way out. We’ve locked everyone in the ballroom, every door and window sealed shut.
My battalion guards every exit on the outside of this room, armed to the teeth and practically salivating with anticipation.
Every warrior here specialises in one thing: blatant brutality. It’s what makes us so effective.
They came expecting a party attended by the famed and fortunate first prince, heir to the throne, and the very embodiment of perfection.
What they don’t know, because it was erased from their ancestors’ minds, is that the throne he’ll reign from isn’t meant for mortals.
This mediocre pigsty of a realm isn’t real.
The Realm of Forever, Réimse an Sìoraigh, is the true reality, one they can’t see.
By Eamon’s command and the approval of the glorious High King Darragh, the reaping has come early this year, greater than the years before.
I roll my neck and slowly raise my arms in the middle of the abandoned dance floor, palms turned up.
My wrists twitch with the rise and fall of the music, as if I were orchestrating it myself.
I can almost feel their every vibration in the air around me.
The earth trembles beneath me, and my skin prickles.
The crowd screams in unison, like nails dragging across porcelain.
I know what they see. Eyes black, like the night itself, leaving not a speck of white.
Like an infection, the darkness spreads down my face, weeping ink beneath my skin.
It’s cold as ice, as numbing as a good narcotic.
Shadows as dense as the walls unfurl from the tips of my fingers, dripping onto the floor like oil and slithering across its polished surface.
The marble is cold as my shadows skim across it.
Warm bodies shudder as my power surrounds them.
I allow myself to feel everything it touches.
My eyes close with a deep breath. One touch is all I need.
One touch and I’ll know who hides magic in their blood.
Screams intensify, and coughing ensues as I wrap my shadows around our captives’ throats, pulling tight, momentarily cutting off their air supply.
Sloan whistles in amazement, passing me where I stand. “There are more than we expected.”
A few unaffected humans try to run from among the reaped.
Eadan, fast and fierce in equal measure, grabs the man leading the small group astray.
Her hand encircles his jaw before her teeth sink deeply into his neck.
When she releases him, blood drips from her chin, spilling from the upturned corners of her mouth.
I smell the metallic scent all the way from the other side of the room where the young lord lay at her feet.
My cuspids lengthen, begging to sink into warm flesh. The urge only angers me, speeding my pulse and flaring my nostrils.
“Eadan!” I bark out, dropping my hands to my sides. My shadows remain fixed where I’ve commanded them. Almost half of the people in attendance are bound and ready to be taken away. Their eyes, wide with bewilderment, dart between my friends and me.
“Don’t be a bore, Odhran.” She wipes the blood from her face and licks her fingers clean. “He’s still alive, just easier to handle.”
The large double doors to the main entrance burst open unannounced, tearing mercilessly from their hinges before crashing to the floor with a deafening blow.
My jaw tenses, fists clenched. Eamon. His party of five enters the room, resembling a promenade in the garden.
Stiff lipped and dressed for the ball they never attended.
“You’ve outdone yourself, big brother,” Eamon says, smiling without looking at me.
Proudly, he pats my shoulder as if I’m nothing but his pet.
Big brother, I scoff at the term. I may be older, but I’ll always be the bastard in the room, declared as the second prince despite my age.
“You could have silenced them, though. Weeping sours the mood, don’t you agree? ”
I consider making them scream instead.
“You’re late,” I mutter beside him. To no surprise. He pays me no attention as he walks toward the mass of captured humans, waving a hand over the crowd as he glamours them into delirium.
“I need your word that you’ll grant me my freedom when our king names you his successor.” I go to stand next to Eamon. The smile fades from his face, but he doesn’t turn.
“Perhaps if you weren’t as good at your job.
” Eamon stretches out a hand to inspect his nails, as though they ever have the opportunity to get dirty.
“I fear I may need you once I’m king.” He looks at me with appraisal.
His stony expression tells me that this isn’t up for debate.
That he’s thought this through and made his decision.
“You promised—” I grind my teeth, and a vein pulses in my neck.
“I did no such thing,” he interrupts, raising his chin. “I merely stated that I would possibly be open to an arrangement, depending upon the results of this year’s reaping.”
I step into his space, and his guards draw near, placing their hands upon their swords’ hilts.
“You selfish little shit.” My voice is merely a hissed whisper, but it’s enough to redden his face and thin his lips.
He turns his back to me and walks toward the mortals.
The reaped lay bound and gagged in shadow while the others cry and cower along with them.
Tomorrow, they’ll believe guards escorted those with magic into a carriage, not remembering this brutal version that threatens to betray our secrets.
There’s a slight shift in the air around me.
The skin on the back of my neck goes taut with anticipation.
Soft footsteps approach, fast and determined.
The rest of my guard stand closer to the mortals ahead of me, discussing this year’s reaping.
Having already subdued them all, there isn’t much left for them to do.
Turning on my heel, I catch Bryndis’ wrist level with the base of my neck, ready to stab me with a metal strip, bent and uncoiled to form a weapon with a sharp tip.
Anger washes through me in waves of heat.
Hearing the sharp intake of breath between her lips and seeing her widened eyes only makes it worse.
This is exactly what I was hoping to avoid.
“What the fuck, Ashglo!” I exclaim in a whisper, taking the hanger from her grip.
It scorches my skin. If I’d shoved my hand in an open fire, it wouldn’t hurt this much.
I open my hand, slow enough to not give her the satisfaction of inflicted pain, and drop her makeshift weapon.
You’re either a clever little creature or a miserably stupid one.
The sound of the hanger clanging on marble is loud enough to alert everyone in the room.
Perfect! I squeeze my eyes shut, unable to keep my annoyance bridled.
I do not take well to being attacked. Despite her protesting, I refuse to release her wrist. Instead, I tighten my grip, and her eyes widen further with another sharp intake of breath.
She winces. “Stop fighting me!” I warn her as quietly as I can manage. She kicks my shin instead.
Eamon is beside me before I can silence her. “Well, well, what do we have here?” He runs his thumb across his lip. To him, she’s a meal to devour. His meal to devour.
“She’s mine,” I practically growl. My jaw locks as I sense Sloan and Eadan judging me from across the room. It’s hard to rein in my emotions when raw energy still pulses through my veins.
“Yours?” Bryndis hisses at me, pulling away.
“Quiet!” I retort, attempting to tame my temper but losing.
Eamon’s laughter is anything but reaffirming. “Doesn’t sound like it wants to be yours, dear brother. Perhaps the mortal would prefer someone else entirely.”
“Are we not allowed our spoils?” I straighten, looking him square in his eyes.
It’s a challenge, putting me on thin ice.
“Do you really wish to deny me twice in one day? I’ve already claimed her.
She wears my seal around her neck.” Her eyes fall to her chest and the necklace resting against it.
Loathing burns like wildfire in her eyes.
Eamon’s lips curl into a menacing smile in direct contrast to his refined features and shimmering blonde hair, which curls against his golden threaded collar.
He reaches for the pendant I’d gifted her, deliberately grazing his fingers over her chest. She tenses, and I don’t miss the deadly look in her eyes, this time directed at him.
“Pity. Your creature could’ve turned this dull night around.
I’m in no mood for soiled goods, though.
It’s yours to do with as you please.” He waves us off before retreating to the other side of the room.
With great effort, I school my face into an expressionless mask.
I would glamour her if she weren’t wearing the very thing that prohibits me from doing so.
Sparing no time, I march her straight out of the ballroom, mindful not to touch the injuries on her back.
We walk through the dark passage where I’d tried to hide her, past the swinging doors and the two distracted soldiers instructed to capture anyone attempting to escape, and into the abandoned kitchen on the other side.
Plates of partially prepared treats remain on the countertops.
Salmon, avocado, strawberries dipped in dark chocolate.
Broken champagne glasses are scattered across the floor, crunching beneath my boots.
She’s barefoot. She must have removed her shoes to sneak up on me to quite literally stab me in the back.
I’ll be lying if I say I’m not at least a little proud of her attempt.
She spins so fast I barely follow the movement. Her hand is raised and eyes are burning with wrath. I catch her arm before her hand strikes my face. “Stop trying to attack me!”
“Fuck you!” she practically spits. My chest tightens in response. Closing my fist, I feel my knuckles crack with tension.
“I’ve just saved your life. A little appreciation would be nice.” My eyes narrow at her.
“Thanks?” She glares back at me. “THANKS?” Her voice echoes through the kitchen.
“You are a monster! And you want THANKS!” I notice the slight quiver in her chin, the glistening of moisture building in her eyes.
My grip slackens on her arm, which is still raised level with my face.
“I won’t show false appreciation, neither will I thank you for what you’ve done. ”
Good.
“Did I or did I not tell you that you should be scared of me?” My lips press into a firm line.
I should have kept my distance. “Stay clear of my brother and his men. We leave in the morning.” I release her completely and take a step back, putting much needed distance between us.
I would have locked her bedroom door if I’d known she’d be this stubborn.
“And no, there’s no use in running, Slìbhìn. ”