To Ignite a Flame: An Enemies to Lovers Romantasy (Entangled with the Enduar)

Prologue

Four Months Ago…

“Ilove my gift. It’s so tantalizing to think that it came from those savages in the mountains,” Prince Rholker’s future bride says from the other side of their private table.

They are hidden away in a secluded gazebo for their engagement dinner while the rest of their people feast. Lady Marej has light red hair, the color of strawberries mixed with gold, and when the firelight hits it just so, it gilds her smooth skin and decorative scars. Beneath the large diamond hanging on a braided chain are her breasts that she’s gone through extra effort to display. Rholker notes that they pushed out of her tight corset, as if begging for him to touch them. By giant standards, she is everything that a prince would look for. For some reason, the Second Prince is not tempted in the slightest.

Rholker grunts in response. It’s nearly swallowed up by the echoes of ravenous partying happening in the palace.

This trollop comes from the Fektir house, a high-ranking lordship that owns most of the northern fields. She’s accomplished in weaving, hospitality, and the sexual arts. Lord Veklor told the prince that she could make even the most restrained men finish with two quick strokes of her pierced tongue. Even now, promises are floating in the air around them as she smiles up at him through her lashes.

There’s a male slave at her side and a short whip in her hand, prepared to punish the human for any misstep toward her prince.

Rholker swallows. His bride’s golden features only remind him of the impossibly tiny gold flecks in Estela’s eyes. It should be Estela holding that whip and torturing one of her own kind for his pleasure. His pretty little traitor.

The image relaxes something inside of him, and he allows himself to dream—to explore his most luxurious fantasy. His human bride. Rholker’s father has forbidden him from speaking about Estela in his presence, but that doesn’t stop the prince from planning.

Especially since he will finally be allowed a comfort woman, and the king has been distracted by the court lately. Not to mention that Erdaraj has always told his sons that giant princes do as they please.

Rholker’s gaze returns to Marej’s breasts, and he wonders what it would be like to have Estela perched on her chair dressed in a tight, low-cut dress instead. The slave’s curly hair would be oiled into gentle ringlets, her eyes and lips would be painted red with berries, and the most beautiful part of her would be on display for all to see—the brand he marked on her sternum. By this point in time, Rholker would have also found some way to erase or replace Keksej’s awful twin-mark he imposed next to his.

The image has blood pumping through his princely veins, mixing with the alcohol he’d been guzzling throughout the night. He’s drunk on wine and thoughts of Estela.

“Like what you see?” Marej says.

Rholker doesn”t respond, and the silence stretches out between them until it is thin and taut. The woman promised to him stands up, grabs her whip, and crosses over to his seat.

She pushes the wooden chair back and kneels between his legs. His jaw tenses.

“Are you shy, My Prince?” she says while reaching toward the bulge between his legs and tracing her whip against his thigh.

The prince reaches for his goblet once more, only for his fingers to knock the gem-encrusted gold right off the table. The human slave standing to the side flinches.

“Why don’t you pick it up?” Marej demands of the slave.

The man drops to his knees and fumbles the cup even further away. When it is placed back on the table with shaky hands, there are dents and scratches in the precious metal.

Marej’s face twists into a cruel expression as she stands and raises her hand. “Idiot. That goblet is worth more than your life.” Then she lashes the human man twice.

Rholker hears his gasps under the weight of her forceful blows and watches the graceful arc of her tattooed arms. Precise and lethal.

It’s over just as soon as it started, and she looks back at her betrothed for approval.

There is… nothing. No spark of pride. No lust, nor meager attraction.

Rholker pushes his chair back, and her red mouth falls open.

“My Prince,” she calls sharply. “Where are you going?”

He waves his hand over his shoulder. “I wish to retire.”

The sound of a fallen chair precedes her appearance at his side. She’s holding her skirts up, showcasing her tiny, neatly groomed feet.

“Shall I join you?” she asks.

Rholker gives her one sharp shake of his head.

“But, My Prince?—“

He halts and grabs her arm. She freezes at his touch, and her breath stutters as he drags his gaze over her face, hair, and chest.

Then his lip curls. “I will have to endure a life of you soon enough. If I want you, I will call.”

The skin of her face blanches to white, and Rholker rolls his eyes. “Come now, don’t be so surprised. Scurry off to my brother. I’m sure he’d love a taste.”

Her jaw flexes, and she steps back while yanking her arm out of his grasp. “Perhaps I will do just that.”

The prince continues down the stone corridor without another word. There’s a masculine scream behind him—more of Marej’s fun, likely—but he pushes on. The flames crackle on either side of him as he moves. Each step feels blessed because it will take him to the woman who has stolen his mind and trapped his heart.

Fuck my father and his rules.

Today, he will claim Estela for the rest of time. She will be grateful for it, and Rholker will keep her safe. He knows that she feels the same—she’s spent years casting him sideways glances and healing his wounds.

How could anyone touch that gently and not be in love?

In no time, the prince is at the slave pens. It smells like shit and human sweat. He wrinkles his nose and pushes into her hut.

“Estela, come with me,” he barks.

Her brother, Mikal is sitting in the corner, scratching charcoal across a wooden plank. Idiotic dolt. He is on his feet in a second but freezes when he sees the prince.

“Prince Rho?—“

“Where. Is. She?” he demands slowly.

The slave’s jaw clenches. “I don’t know.”

Heat pricks at the base of Rholker’s spine. The bastard Mikal is loyal to Estela, but even if he weren’t, he hates the prince. All Rholker knows is that if he touches Mikal, Estela will be furious. Maybe even stop loving Rholker.

So, Prince Rholker turns on his heel and stomps back into the night. He knows the places she likes to go.

More heat ripples up his spine as he thinks about what she could be doing out there… and who she might be with.

“Where are you going?” the half-human slave shouts. Rholker ignores Mikal and starts running. A guard at the edge of the pen sees and restrains the little pup.

“Leave her alone!” Mikal screams as he lands a punch on the guard”s face, but Rholker is already nearing the forest. He keeps running until he cannot hear the slave any longer.

Trees stretch up around the prince, and he sighs when he reaches a thick patch. This area isn’t meant for giants—the trunks are too close. He squeezes between two particularly tangled logs.

Branches and leaves whip at his face when he calls out, “Estela!”

No response. He tries again.

Above him, a branch snaps. His head stretches upward while he gazes at the moonlight filtering down through the leaves.

He can just barely make out the small form pressed against the strong redwood. His heart skips a beat. He doesn’t need anyone to confirm it’s her—he would recognize his perfect human from a mile away.

“My little Estela, come down please,” he calls up.

She doesn’t respond. He blinks.

“Are you hurt?” he demands.

Still nothing.

Rholker’s fears from earlier return with a vengeance. “Is someone up there with you?” he snarls. Rage brews under his skin. He reaches out and wraps his arms around the tree.

He shakes with all his might, and she screams. Stepping back, he lets her tumble into his arms. Pride swells in his chest when he doesn’t hear another voice—nor thud.

“Why were you hiding, my love?” he says down to her. She looks up at him, stunned and he realizes this is the first time he’s ever felt her skin for more than the brush of fingers through bandages and poultices.

“Put me down,” she says.

He pretends like he hasn’t heard her and reaches up to cup her cheek. Soft. So soft. Supple, too, like ripe fruit.

He wonders if she’ll bruise like an apple.

Something roars to life inside of him, and, before he knows it, he’s bolting away, back to his rooms. Past the slave pens, past the party. She fights against him, but her blows might as well have been the kiss of raindrops.

He’s high on the scent of her sweat and the smooth texture of her neck. When they arrive at his room, he locks the door behind him with one hand.

“No!” she screams.

“Shh,” he says, pressing his hand over her mouth and placing her on the bed. Her eyes are wide, and he realizes that her cheeks are streaked with dirty tears.

“Oh, small one. Don’t worry. I won’t be in trouble; no one will find us here.”

After an evening of that pathetic woman hurling herself at him, he feels he is where he’s meant to be. His other hand trails to her bare shoulder, and he groans as blood rushes below his belt. He pulls the fabric down farther, exposing the entirety of her arm and her breast as it springs out.

Pain bursts through his other palm, and he yanks his hand back. Red blood is pooling on his skin. The heat pulsing inside of him is doused.

Sobriety hits him like a wave of ice water.

Rholker’s eyebrows scrunch together just as Estela screams again. Then there’s an audible bang on his door. It’s louder than a knock—almost like they’ve brought a battering ram.

“No,” he breathes. This is all wrong.

Another deafening bang.

“I hope they punish you half as much as they’ll punish me,” Estela spits through her bloody teeth.

The prince looks up at the disgusting woman who is supposed to love him just as they break down the door. There is no kindness nor shyness in her gaze, there is fire. Flames dance in her irises that scorch his very soul.

He whips around to find Keksej standing next to a smug-looking Marej. Six slaves are behind them, as are two giant warriors.

Rholker glares at his future bride, Marej.

“You brought her here?” His brother, Keksej, pinches the bridge of his nose. “For fuck’s sake. What the hell is wrong with you, Rholker?”

Rholker’s senses had been swimming in Estela’s skin, her smell, her legs, and then she was gone, leaving behind the sting of her rejection. The prince can’t believe that his brother barged in on this moment. Keksej will no doubt add it to the pile of humiliating moments he’s witnessed over the years.

The First Prince crosses the room in two strides and wraps one hand around his brother’s neck. “What am I supposed to do with you now?”

Rholker shoves him off, but Keksej grabs the prince again.

“Act like a child, and you will be restrained as such,” Keksej hisses.

Rholker can smell the wine on his breath.

Marej steps further into the room and laughs.“I was hoping that she was at least worth the trouble, but it seems you aren’t quite as capable as I’d hoped.” Her eyes drop to Rholker’s now-flaccid groin.

The room fills with a sickening silence.

The Second Prince grits his teeth, and his hand flies out to strike her across the cheek. The slap echoes in the room, and Marej”s responding cackle reverberates through his being. He can”t stomach the audacity of her mockery, the injustice of her words. Golden-brown eyes flash in his mind.

Estela was supposed to love me.

Rholker’s heart twists and convulses, a living, breathing fire of anger and betrayal.

Marej doesn”t even touch her cheek. She casts him a sly smile, her deep yellow eyes glinting in the soft light of my room.

”Oh, My Prince, you truly are a pathetic excuse for a giant. I can see why they’ve had such a hard time finding you a wife.”

”Go to hell, Marej,” he seethes, his heart pounding with rage. He clenches his fists so tightly that his knuckles turn white.

“Take the whore to the king,” Keksej shouts.

The guards drag a quiet, tear-streaked Estela out of the room, and Rholker is left with Marej and the rest of the royal entourage.

Marej continues smirking as she watches Estela being led away. Marej’s peals of laughter play repeatedly in Rholker’s skull, cutting deep, as if she”s etching each ugly bark into his flesh.

Keksej steps forward, his face a mixture of disappointment and concern. ”Calm down, brother. This is not the time or place for such a display.”

”No need to protect me, Keksej,” Marej coos, walking around the heir to the throne and tracing the back of his shoulders with her scarred fingers. ”He”s a beast without its claws.”

Everything mounts on Rholker’s shoulders: rejection, ridicule, shame. The next time that Marej opens her mouth to spew her poison, he lunges.

Every awful emotion swirling in his soul is channeled into his powerful blow.

When his fist collides with her face, it sends her crashing to the ground. The sound of bone cracking comes seconds before blood leaks crimson across the luxurious, hand-woven carpet.

The sight of the dented skull on the floor serves as a twisted kind of solace—proof that Rholker is not the pitiful, weak thing she despises. Time passes slowly as he waits for her chest to rise with another labored breath or for her eyes to flicker open. Nothing. He straightens and shakes away the pain in his knuckles. First Prince Keksej stares at his brother with a tight expression.

”Feel better?” Keksej sneers. He points to one of the slaves, and they hurry over to start cleaning the mess leaking all over the polished wood.

Rholker nods. ”Much.”

”And what are we supposed to do now? She was to be your bride,” Keksej asks, more annoyed than angry.

Seconds pass, but Rholker’s feeling of freedom doesn’t fizzle into shame. He shrugs. ”I believe she has a younger sister. She”ll be even better for breeding.” Not that he wanted to bed and impregnate the bitch.

Keksej purses his lips and stares long and hard. ”That is true. But you”ll need a new engagement gift since Marej has been wearing the last one around for the last week. Hell, she”s even flaunted it in the lumber yards in front of the foremen. It will reflect poorly on Father’s wealth if you reuse it.”

Rholker’s eye catches on the glinting diamond at the dead woman”s throat, and he nods. ”Yes. I suppose it”s time I finally go to the Enduar Mountains.”

Keksej shakes his head. ”No. You”re shit at negotiations. I”m sure that Father will send me.”

The Second Prince takes a deep breath, and then another, as if taking in new air can cleanse the blood on his hands. It works.

His older brother grasps his shoulder and guides him out of the room.

”Come, your new bride is at the party. I suggest lying with her before she discovers what has happened to her sister. It will make the marriage contract simpler,” he says calmly, the heat of the wine in his system evidently cooling. Or perhaps not. Keksej is a convincingly sober drunk.

”What is her name?” Rholker asks, despite seeing Estela’s face in his mind.

Keksej shrugs. ”Who cares? When Lord Fektir asks, tell him that you found Marej rutting a slave. She was a slut. No one will question you.”

It is a good plan, but unease still curls in his stomach. Keksej can play savior all he wants, but no one will deal with Estela but Rholker. He just needs time. He just needs to see her. He just…