An Ellora’s Cave Romantica Publication
www.ellorascave.com
Masquerade of the Cursed King ISBN 9781419912764 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. Masquerade of the Cursed King Copyright © 2007 Vanessa Gilfoy Edited by Helen Woodall. Cover art by Syneca. Electronic book Publication December 2007 This book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.® 1056 Home Avenue, Akron OH 443103502. This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the authors’ imagination and used fictitiously.
MASQUERADE OF THE CURSED KING Vanessa Gilfoy
Dedication For Ben
Acknowledgements Thank you, Helen Woodall, for your amazing editing skills and honesty. Thank you, Julie, Tammi, and Jen, for all your writerly help.
Five of Cups On the card, a figure cloaked in black bows his head in mourning for his loss. He focuses on three spilled cups and can’t see what remains. Behind him two cups still stand and in the distance, a kingdom waits across the river. Water flows under the bridge, but he doesn’t notice. The number five by itself represents the limitations of our physical existence. Our five-pointed human bodies make us susceptible to sickness and death. We’re limited by time in our physical form. Throughout the Minor Arcana, five is a negative number, when right-side up. Cups represent water, emotion, fantasy, family and relationships. So spilled cups represent loss of loved ones, a fantasy that’s been squashed or heartbreak. It’s difficult to see past such tragedies. We focus on them and neglect everything else until something forces our head to turn. Right-Side Up: loss of perspective, sorrow and inaction Upside Down: hope, recovery, new perspective In the story King Erick Duran is the dark figure in the card. He’s so fixated on everything he lost in the war that he can’t see those who love him, nor hope for his kingdom. Unable to reach orgasm with mortal women, he fears he’s cursed by a demon. Only a masked hybrid elf can give him ecstasy but her identity remains a mystery. Although water flows under the bridge, he refuses help from past enemies. It will take magic to open his eyes but when he does, will he face the demon?
Vanessa Gilfoy
Prologue
August 14, 9544 AR (after Red Moon) Valetta, Biston Erick burst up, gasping for air and struggling against the tangle of sheets. The damp fabric clung to his wrists, mimicking the shackles of his nightmare. Her perfume still filled his nostrils, as if the little demon really had been here. Why couldn’t he stop thinking of her? He shoved away the sheets and felt the front of his pants. Mostly dry. Thank Earth. He hadn’t really come in her grip. She wasn’t the cure for his curse. Sweat trickled down his forehead and stung his eyes. In this miserable August heat, he couldn’t cool down. He needed fresh air, anything to erase the sensation of her fingers creeping down his skin. His rigid cock throbbed painfully at the thought. He shouldn’t want something so treacherous. With a groan, Erick slid out of bed. The cool wooden floor on the soles of his feet helped a little. Out the door, down the darkened stairs and through the halls, he stumbled out into the night. He gulped in the perfume-free air that dried his flesh. The knots in his stomach should have loosened by now. Something wasn’t right. Then he saw it. A strange tent outside his palace. In the light of the Red Moon, the tent’s stripes appeared red and black. Symbols of cups, wands, pentacles and swords hinted at a wizard inside. What the hell? Erick glanced behind him. There should have been guards stationed at the door. They should have noticed this and blared the alarm. Half-nude and unarmed against a wizard, Eric felt a numbness spread down Erick’s limbs. He didn’t feel the weeds scratch his bare feet as he crept closer to the tent. Not all wizards used their magic for devious purposes, but Erick had yet to meet one with any code of honor. The last wizard he’d met aided in the murder of Erick’s father. Erick knew he should retreat for his sword, but couldn’t turn his back on what waited behind the glowing edge of the tent flap. He wanted to pummel the bastard with his bare fists. Though he doubted he’d win, he’d get in at least a few good strikes. However, when he pulled back the flap, he didn’t find a battle-hardened wizard. Instead, an old woman sat at a small table. Her white hair, neatly pulled up in a bun, seemed like that of a grandmother. If not for the thick muscle in her neck and bare 6
Masquerade of the Cursed King
arms, he’d have mistaken her for human. Only one tattoo marked her biceps. Normally, a wizard her age would have earned the marks of several schools of wizardry down the sides of both arms. Why just one? “Two silver bits for your fortune?” “What?” A level-one wizard couldn’t divine the future. She smiled and glanced down at his bare chest and scarred arm in a way that made his stomach turn. “I so rarely have half-clad callers in the middle of the night. Because you don’t carry coin with you to bed and the sight of you pleases me, I will tell your fortune for free. A gift. Sit.” He wanted to flee from her pale, nearly white eyes, but what she said next held him prisoner. “I promise I won’t shackle you in a dungeon nor cast elven enchantments on your flesh.” How could she know his nightmare? He’d never told anyone. A chill spread over his face like falling snow. He forced himself closer and sat at her table, unable to do otherwise. Maybe she knew how to undo his curse. From her apron, she drew a worn deck of cards. The edges had yellowed and the corners thinned. Her thick-knuckled hands turned over the top card and placed it in front of him. It showed a boy gifting a cup of flowers to a younger girl. Six of Cups. “This is your past. Innocent love. A happy, protected childhood before the war that put a crown on your head and the war that kept it there.” Erick shifted against the back of his chair. He didn’t like to think about what he had given up. “This is you now.” The wizard woman laid down the Five of Cups. “You focus only on what you lost, your three oath-brothers, your fortune, and your nation’s strength.” What else was there? A crumbling palace? Fallow fields? His many failures? “You don’t see the loved ones who remain nor the those with the means to help. You can’t see the water that flows under the bridge.” No one waited with a treasury of gold to repair the damages wars had wrought. All he had were two remaining oath-brothers and he saw them every day. “If you cannot turn this card upside down soon to see what treasures you still have, this will be your future.” She flipped over the last card—The Tower. Its toppling crown, carnage and consuming flames didn’t need explanation, but she voiced the meaning anyway. “You’ll lose your loved ones, your throne and home by the magic you fear.”
7
Vanessa Gilfoy
Chapter One
August 15, 9544 AR (after Red Moon) Damien Pass, Biston Five years. Five years had passed without so much as a visit or even a letter. Heat welled in Eleanor’s belly. She’d thought Erick had forgotten about her. The heartless jerk. Yet there he stood at the gate, chatting so casually with a group of soldiers. His wild chestnut hair sparkled in the morning light, swept back from his tan face. Frustratingly beautiful. Enthusiastic head bobs and bursts of laughter made him seem like the boy who used to toss her up in the air but he wasn’t. He was all grown up and thick muscle bulged in his neck and strained the thin white shirt he tucked into his trousers. His knuckles rippled under the fabric in an all too tantalizing way but not where she wanted them. Just a few inches from the very nice bulge at his center. If she could just slip into his mind, she’d quietly persuade him to… Earth, what was wrong with her? Her inner thighs suddenly felt sticky and she wished she’d worn a more conservative costume or at least underwear. She tugged on her skirt but it wouldn’t budge below mid-thigh. At least her eyes didn’t glow with lustful elven light. He shouldn’t see her like this. Would he recognize her? Was he here for her? A bubbly wave swelled her chest. Traitorous body. She shouldn’t hope for anything but freedom from him and this cursed place. Some other duty probably drew Erick here. Her escape attempts had never before warranted his personal attention. He donned a gray military shirt and buttoned the front. A guard’s uniform. He couldn’t be Erick. Thank Earth. She exhaled, though she hadn’t realized she’d held her breath. “I know. Could they take any longer?” the huge man in front of her complained. The line had grown to twenty people long. Similar grumbles leaked from their minds and melded into an irritating high-pitched hum at the back of Eleanor’s skull. She wished she could block out their thoughts. The sun had risen behind her an hour ago and already chased away the slight chill left over from night, yet the heavy iron gate still hadn’t lifted. She needed to get on the pass and over the Santarra Mountains before her mother caught up to her. Earth, she’d made such good time. If she could get past this checkpoint, she might make it to Gildon this time. Eleanor adjusted the straps of her cart on her sore shoulder. She’d pulled the cratesized cart all the way from west Biston. The leather straps had rubbed blisters that
8
Masquerade of the Cursed King
oozed and stuck to the thin fabric of her bodice. Gross. With all her fidgeting, her blonde wig caught on the straps’ buckle. How stupid. But she couldn’t tie the fake hair back without revealing her pointed ears. Eleanor ducked down to fix it, unseen. He couldn’t see her. She should be okay. Lots of people stood between them. But her heart pounded. “Here, let me help,” the man behind her blurted. His gaze flitted down her body, pausing at the low-cut bodice that squeezed her small breasts together. Earth, she wished her cleavage was why he stared. “No thank you,” she muttered and swatted his hand away. The large man in front of her turned around. Bearded face lengthened, he examined her the way a child admires sweets displayed behind a bakery window. Her whole fist could probably fit in his mouth. Judging by the tools in his cart, he must be a blacksmith. He inhaled her pheromone and his eyelids drooped. She’d just taken a bath but the morning sun heated her skin. Already, her neck dampened. Soon, everyone would stare—or worse. Earth, what was taking so long? She tugged her wig’s tangled locks loose and peeked around the human blacksmith. Although the group of soldiers broke off and headed south, the Erick-look-alike guard still didn’t open the gate. He tugged on gloves despite the warm August morning air. The guards who had kept her prisoner wore gloves like that all year long. Warnings whispered in her head though the gloves were probably standard issue. “That scent…” the blacksmith’s deep voice rumbled. Eleanor quickly blurted, “I sell perfumes.” She motioned to her wooden cart where tiny bottles glistened, nestled in a cotton grid. She’d bought the whole setup, costume and all with a portion of her tuition savings. The rest of her hard-earned coin was hidden in the base of the cart, just above the axels. The blacksmith shifted to hide the growing lump in his pants. “I ain’t smelled a perfume like that before.” “It’s a family recipe,” she lied. Unfortunately, that scent plagued her. Her elven pheromones never turned off, due to her mixed human and elven blood. A common affliction in hybrids. The rare couplings between humans and elves sometimes produced worse deformities. Some hybrids died from them in the womb or before adulthood. Whatever the blacksmith said was drowned out in the screech of the gate. The lone guard cranked the chain that lifted it. His biceps jerked and trembled. The gate had to weigh as much as five men. Earth, those thick arms could easily hoist her up and squeeze her tight. The thought beaded her nipples and heated her eyes. If she had the time, she’d enjoy his hard body. Eleanor swallowed the saliva that threatened to dribble down her chin and squeezed her eyes shut to hide the light that burned in them. She shouldn’t want him. He looked too much like Erick.
9
Vanessa Gilfoy
When he locked the crank in place, nearly everyone in line cheered, excited for a different reason. Eleanor’s eyes cooled enough to open without light bursting out. Only elves’ and hybrids’ eyes glowed when they were aroused or enraged. A sure giveaway as to her identity. The hum of the line’s minds quieted, like a happy hive. Much better. The line moved forward. However, the guard stopped the old woman at the front of the line from passing beneath the gate. He roped off the hole he’d opened in the huge wall. The mortared stone topped with razor wire spanned the whole eastern border of Biston. One would think it was meant to prevent attacks from the neighboring country of Gildon but Eleanor suspected Erick and her father had the wall built to keep her in. Why else would a guard stop Bistonians from freely exiting? The small building to the left of the gate must be the guardhouse where the guard slept or waited for travelers. Snow-colored plastic bars marked one window. A cell for elves or hybrids. Although plastic grew as tiny beads in the pods of a rare plant in Gildon, its unnatural properties made it immune to elven spells. Nothing ate the stuff, not even fungus. Gildonners melted the plastic beads in kilns and molded weapons. Nearly every other mortal nation, including Biston, ordered plastics from Gildon to defend themselves against elves and hybrids. But Biston had a treaty with the elves. Earth, was that prison cell meant for Eleanor? The blacksmith’s lips moved but Eleanor couldn’t focus on what he said. All sensations blurred and her face went numb. One by one, the merchants and families finally crept beneath the opened gate. She’d never gotten this far before. She was so close. But the guard could stop her. Her few spells couldn’t do much beyond illusion. If he was like the guards who kept her prisoner, selected for their ability to keep her out of their heads, then what? She wouldn’t be able to warp his perceptions. Could she drain him of energy? Maybe in the winter, when her body wouldn’t make enough energy to keep warm but not in summer. Only when empty or cold could she drain a man. With each step she took toward the guard at the gate, Eleanor’s stomach flopped. What if he saw through her? He was too pretty to be purely human. If he had any elven blood, he might be able to break into her mind. She’d never broken into another hybrid’s mind besides Erick’s but he never shielded his thoughts. Earth, she wished she was stronger. She’d had no one to practice on, no one to teach her. Her mother and father had used ignorance as prison bars. The guard’s ears weren’t pointed. His skin was tanned and flushed. If he was hybrid, he had to be dilute, like Erick. Eleanor took a deep breath and wiped her sweaty palms on her skirt. She could do this. Men’s wills crumbled under the lure of her pheromones. She could use that to her advantage. She had before. This was no different. Why didn’t it feel that way? 10
Masquerade of the Cursed King
The blacksmith passed under the gate. Petrified, Eleanor stared at the guard. He looked so much like Erick. His gaze flicked up from a clipboard and a broad grin spread his thin lips. “Name?” Her mind went blank until he lowered his clipboard to his crotch. He hid his erection but not his vivid imagination. His mind leaked images of her nude. Relief softened the tension across her shoulders. He wasn’t like her guards. He couldn’t shield his mind. “Does it matter?” No man cared what her name was. “I’m leaving, not coming.” Breath puffed from his mouth as he pictured her trembling with orgasm. Mmm, very nice but she didn’t have time. “His Majesty’s orders.” He whispered, “Apparently, His Majesty can’t hold on to a woman he’s fond of. He has all his men looking for her.” Hardly. Erick’s fondness for any woman rarely lasted more than a week. If Eleanor’s father hadn’t won Erick the throne, Erick wouldn’t care if she escaped. “Name?” the guard repeated in a lower, forceful tone that quickened her heart. Earth, he sounded just like Erick. They could be twins if the guard’s nose and forehead weren’t so broad. “Violet Glass.” She uttered her favorite alias. “Right.” Was that disbelief in his voice? He didn’t write it down. Tiny claws seemed to scratch inside her stomach. She held her breath, waiting for an explanation that didn’t come. He just stared at her, head tilted. Eleanor tried to slip into his mind, to force him to let her pass. Shields suddenly flipped up inside his skull and he jerked tense. Earth. He felt that. He’d tricked her. Her throat tightened and she coughed. Frantically, she searched behind her for pointed ears. But there was no one else for him to suspect. “What’s in the cart?” Did it matter anymore? He knew who she was. “Perfume.” Eleanor’s heart thudded against her ribs and shook her body as she unbuckled the cart’s strap from her shoulder. The leather strips and brass buckle fell beside her little cart on the dirt road. The guard’s grin reappeared but his mind seemingly disappeared. “May I?” He rested his clipboard on the edge of her cart to reach for a tiny bottle. Eleanor nodded and glanced past him at the mountain pass. Could she outrun him? A spritz sounded from the bottle in his gloved hands. “Nice but it smells different on a woman’s skin, doesn’t it? May I?” He motioned to her wrist.
11
Vanessa Gilfoy
Did this mean he would let her pass? Her throat loosened enough to swallow. Hesitantly, she lifted her arm to him. But he didn’t spray the perfume. He inhaled a heavy drag from her bare wrist and moaned it out. The perfume bottle fell and shattered. Shards of glass pummeled and scratched her bare legs. She jumped back from them and didn’t notice the plastic cuffs in his hand, until one snapped around her wrist. Oh no. Eleanor screamed and wrenched back, eyes aglow but he seized her shoulder and spun her about against the wall. Her face scraped stone. Despite her struggles to squirm out, his whole body pinned her. He forced her other wrist into the cuffs. They pinched and bit into her skin. The pain squeezed her chest. She’d failed again. His erection dug into her back for an instant. As if she’d fuck him now. But he couldn’t touch her without risking a death sentence. Her father would kill him. The vindictive part of her hoped for it. The guard hauled her toward the guardhouse. Her kicks at his shins and weight thrown back did nothing to stop him. Though the hum of onlookers rose, they didn’t help her. Why would they? Inside, the awful smell of plastic assaulted her with every gasp. She gagged and coughed as he dragged her past a desk. She couldn’t hook on to its legs. Her boots scraped the wooden floor despite her attempts to dig her heels into it. He threw her into a barren cell and locked the plastic door after her. Her wig fell off onto the cell’s plastic floor. She scrambled up and stumbled against the plastic bars. Too thick to break. Why couldn’t they be metal? She could easily bend steel and iron with a thought. “Let me out.” “I would if I could,” he said, inches from her, as he removed his gloves. “Earth, I would if I could.” His chocolaty eyes shimmered like fresh glaze on a stale pastry as his gaze drizzled down her body. Deceptive beauty. Eleanor leaned her head on the bars and squeezed her eyes shut to hold back the tears. Her chest caved and ached. She’d been so close. Just a little farther and she’d have been free in a land where she could be anything. “What’s a pretty little thing like you traveling alone for anyway? Didn’t he do what you wanted?” Air puffed out as if he’d struck her gut. Why would he think that? Erick would rather chew nails than fuck a hybrid, not that she’d have him. The cruel bastard deserved nails. Wait. Was that the guard’s weak attempt at an offer? Eleanor straightened to examine the guard’s hungry eyes. Maybe there was still a chance. “I wanted more,” she whispered, lower lip slightly pouted. The cold plastic bars chilled and firmed her 12
Masquerade of the Cursed King
heaving breasts. Tears drizzled down her cheeks from her dimming eyes to complete the look of helplessness. He poked between the bars and his fingertips slipped down her wet cheeks. His touch didn’t electrify her skin or ignite fire in her eyes. He didn’t feel like Erick. She wanted to jerk away but she fought the revulsion in her gut. If she could just get him to unlock the door, maybe she could outrun him. The outer door flew open and the Erick look-alike stepped back from her. Earth. An older soldier glared at him from the doorway. “Don’t. That’s a sure path to the grave. You know who she is, right? King Frederick’s niece.” Sick. So sick. “No I’m not.” No shared blood. Erick, King Frederick, only called her father and her uncles his oath-brothers after they saved him during the Biston Civil War. “My grandmother was his nanny, not his mother.” Gran had raised him, hidden away until he could ascend the throne. Besides, Erick was just five years older than Eleanor. “The girl’s Duke Barona’s daughter,” the older soldier clarified. “He’s on his way. Probably be a few hours.” Eleanor slumped to the floor. The gray-haired man glared at her as he sauntered past to a desk that faced her cell. “I served with your father in the Revolution.” “Who didn’t?” Nearly every soldier over twenty-five had some war story that heroworshipped her father. “He don’t deserve to be chasing after some spoiled brat who don’t realize how good she got it. Does your father know you dress like that in the company of men?” Eleanor laughed. The veins in her father’s neck would probably burst. Normally, she dressed conservatively in long dresses, not that it mattered. Men instantly hardened with one whiff of her pheromones. A dead giveaway, since only two hybrid women lived in Biston. The slutty garb of an aggressive street vendor offered another explanation for men’s instant hard-ons. “Ain’t right to disrespect your father that way.” “Why don’t you waste away in a guarded tower, waiting for the man of my father’s dreams to ask for your hand then? In five years, you can tell me how good I got it.” She sent silent screams into the old guard’s head and surprisingly didn’t find any resistance. No shields. Yes. The old guard tumbled from his chair. Wails rose from behind the desk but he didn’t. The younger guard bolted to his rescue and dragged him out to safety. A needle of guilt pricked her gut. But it was a harmless spell. Just an illusion. She’d done worse, much worse to unshielded humans. Painful memories threatened to gush
13
Vanessa Gilfoy
from the needle prick. Quickly, she shoved them back into their hiding spot at the back of her mind. If only the spell had drained her a little bit. Then she could steal the younger man’s energy to make him swoon. But one unshielded human wasn’t enough to empty her. Earth. She didn’t want to think about that. The Erick-look-alike returned alone. He slammed the door shut behind him. “Are you going to break into my head too?” he challenged, voice hard. His mind crashed against hers. She threw up opposing waves to block him from breaking her mind shields. She expected torturous stabs in her brain but nothing. His mind didn’t seize control of hers. The sides of his jaw bulged and his mouth ticked. Despite his rage and the erection rising in his trousers, his eyes didn’t glow. He must have only a trickle of elven blood. Maybe she wasn’t as weak as she feared. If she broke him, would she have enough energy to make it up the mountain pass afterwards? There was an easier way. She licked her lips and with a sultry tone, asked, “Do you want me inside your mind? I can be gentle.” Eleanor pushed her long legs out in front of her and leaned back on her cuffed hands. He cursed and tugged his gloves back on, glare fallen from her. “Aren’t these cuffs a little redundant? I have an itch I can’t reach.” “Where?” His gaze returned to her and flicked down her body. She slowly tilted her head. “Right here, on my neck. Could you scratch it for me?” His thin lips parted and his tongue glistened. “Lean up against the bars.” Not exactly what she meant. She needed him to unlock the cell door. How far did she have to go to lure him inside? Eleanor bit her lip and forced herself up against the plastic. Head turned, she let him stroke her neck. The dull, gloved fingertips slid down the sinews of her neck to her collarbone. His touch shouldn’t turn her stomach. He was gorgeous, yet she wanted to shrink away. She faked a frustrated whine and stepped back. “No, this isn’t working. I need your mouth. Your tongue on my skin. And maybe something more.” Earth, did she lay it on too thickly? His low groan argued otherwise. Deep and alluring, his voice stilled her churning gut. His cock strained his trousers but not as thick as she’d like. Was Erick’s that slender? He fumbled for something in his pocket and said, “The cuffs stay on.” “Wouldn’t have you any other way. I like being restrained,” she lied. “It makes me feel all vulnerable at the whims of a man.” Too much. She should just shut up and let her body do the talking. He muttered something under his breath and yanked a plastic ring of keys from his pocket. After flipping past a few metal ones, he jammed what looked like a plastic wrench into the lock. The door clicked open and he rushed in.
14
Masquerade of the Cursed King
Thank Earth. “Take off your gloves,” she demanded. He halted then, as if he’d figured out her intentions. Oh no. Breath caught in her throat and she blurted, “Or leave them on. Just kiss and lick this itch away.” She tilted her head to expose her neck. His gloved hands seized her waist and pulled her to him. Hard, thick muscles in his arms and chest pushed against her soft flesh. His mouth crushed on her neck, tongue tasting her. Butterflies should tickle her belly, not sink deep into her gut. She’d done more with other men, guiltlessly. His powerfully built body was exactly what she needed to feel between her thighs. Her eyes should burn with vibrant light. Why couldn’t she enjoy him for a brief moment before her escape? His hands dropped down her hips to the hem of her skirt. Before he could lift it, Eleanor stole heat from his lips and cracked his mind’s shield with the energy she stole. He tried to wrench free from her magic hold. His mind thrashed against hers, bruising her with every strike. She grimaced. Growing pain in her skull distracted her. He nearly slipped out from her control like a slippery fish that cut her with its scales. So much stronger than the human guard. It took everything she could steal from the hybrid guard and much more to stop his blows. When his mind finally quieted, she gasped for air. Weak, she leaned against the bars. Her head throbbed. Excruciating. She let him go and his limp body fell away. Unconscious but breathing, he lay on the plastic floor. The keys glinted beside him. Could he fake the blank mind of unconsciousness? If she knelt down for the keys, would he grab her? Eleanor cautiously reached out with the heel of her boot to scrape the keys toward her. He didn’t move but that didn’t loosen fear’s grip on her belly. She didn’t have the energy to break his shields again. Like a clipped bird, she hopped out of the cell and dragged the keys with her. She pulled the door shut with the toe of her boot, just in case. Her heart pounded while she knelt and felt for the keys. Metal and plastic ridges scratched her shaking fingertips. By the time she found the right one to unlock her cuffs, her heart felt as if it would explode. The plastic torture device fell to the ground and she rose, nearly free. Just the matter of the other guard. Had the other soldiers returned? Eleanor tiptoed to the window past rows of bunks. No one stood at the gate. Was their only job to stop her? She rubbed her arms. Her mother would be here soon. Eleanor needed to hurry.
15
Vanessa Gilfoy
She pocketed the keys and forced herself to the door. Just a little bit farther. She slowly turned the knob and peeked out. Had the old man left? Eleanor pushed the door out. No one yelled or jumped at her. The line of waiting travelers must have already left. She stepped out, grabbed the strap of her abandoned cart and hurried under the gate, out onto the path. Fresh, pine-scented air filled her lungs. Beautiful evergreens lined the path. Their discarded needles softened her steps up the steep path. She could do this. She rushed past and ignored other travelers. Higher up, ferns brushed her legs with their frothy leaves when she strayed into the woods. Probably safer in the shadows. Even out of the sun’s glare, sweat beaded her forehead and her cart grew heavier on the rougher terrain. Jagged rocks poked up like shards from a giant, shattered cup. Just a little bit farther. She repeated that thought up the hill, throughout the day and night. By the time she reached the summit, she crumpled into an exhausted ball at the base of a tree. The bark scraped her back. She’d run out of water halfway up. Her sticky tongue felt too big for her mouth. She should have ditched the perfume but she needed the tuition money she’d stashed underneath it. Eleanor grabbed hold of what looked like a red lily beside her. But light from the full Red Moon made everything either red or black. If only the Old Moon was up tonight. She’d mistaken something gross for a potato plant earlier. Lots of medicinal herbs grew in Biston’s mountain ranges. All of them disgusting. She’d tasted some out of curiosity as a kid but luckily had never needed them. One of the few good traits she’d inherited from her mother—elven health. Eleanor bit into the stem of the lily and sucked up its juices. In Gildon and elven lands, lilies glowed. Magic waited there in every leaf and drop of water, along with limitless spells and new technology all explained in their queen’s libraries. They’d all be Eleanor’s. Every spell and skill in Gildon. Her eyelids sagged but she shouldn’t sleep, not yet. Just a little bit farther. The rest was downhill. Her mother’s voice snapped, “Eleanor.” Oh no. Eleanor’s eyes popped open to blinding morning light. She’d fallen asleep. She burst up and spun on her heels. Her mother’s silver eyes glowed brighter than the sun with elven fire. Eleanor winced against it. Her heart skipped and lurched into her throat. She stumbled away, ready to run. But guards’ gloved hands grabbed hold of her arms like shackles.
16
Masquerade of the Cursed King
She threw her weight back but knew it was pointless. They’d never let go. The sadistic jerks. “What were you thinking?” her father barked. The veins and tendons in his neck looked ready to snap. Red saturated his face, as if a wound on his head had bled. “What the hell are you wearing? I work hard and leave your mother alone every day, so you can have silk dresses befitting a queen and you shame me and all of Biston with this?” Her mother spoke over him, “You can’t abandon your fated one.” The old wound tore and spilled painful heat from Eleanor’s chest. “He isn’t mine. He doesn’t even know.” And he never would. “You’re coming home right now and you’ll apologize to him for this.” “No I won’t. I’ll run. I’ll scream. He deserves curses and misery, not my apologies. He doesn’t care.” Tears rolled down Eleanor’s face. Her father opened his mouth, face creased with rage but whatever he meant to say halted in his throat. He turned to Eleanor’s mother and his mouth closed. Quietly, they talked in each other’s minds. Eleanor hated when they did that. It meant hell for her. Punishments. A shrinking prison cell. Removed privileges. Children had more rights and privileges than her. But she’d almost escaped this time. Next time, she’d be even stronger. They wouldn’t catch her next summer. Eleanor wiped the tears from her burning eyes.
17
Vanessa Gilfoy
Chapter Two
December 21, 9544 AR Valetta, Biston “She’s grown,” Erick mumbled, knuckles slowing his lips. She looked exactly the way he imagined she would. Hunched over in his stone throne, he hid his twitching cock. He should have accepted the nose plug. Her come-fuck-me perfume filled the vast throne room. The sultry mix of musk, rosewater and honey drew every man in the room to their knees, save her guards. The six stoic men surrounded her. Uniformed in gray and black, they could pass for royal guards, except for the silver, false noses that plugged their nostrils, supposedly rendering them impervious to her charms. Through the corners of their eyes, they sneaked peeks at their charge. Earth, Erick couldn’t feign disinterest any better. If he had her alone, he’d shock that scowl off her pouty lips. Her petite breasts would bounce free as he tore that red dress from her smooth, toned shoulders. After a few hours with him, her elven fair skin would look human, flushed with color and heat. He’d dig his fingers into her hips and supple buttocks while driving his cock into her. Thrust after thrust. “Your Majesty?” Henry’s voice echoed off the bare walls and arched ceiling, startling Erick back to reality. “You don’t have to call me that.” The man had saved his life countless times and shed blood to win Erick the crown. A cursed crown. All that kept it on his head was Henry’s skill as a military commander. “Your Majesty,” Henry pushed in his stern tone. The girl interrupted whatever Henry meant to say. “There are too many men here.” Only two dozen knelt on the chipped marble floor, yet she tugged at her raven hair in frustration and started toward the parlor. Darkness swirled around her like a widow’s veil despite the sunlight spilling in from broad windows overhead. She absorbed it like heat from a fire, no doubt due to the drafts. This part of the castle had always chilled her in winter. Her guards moved in a perfect circle around her, as if extensions of her skirts. Time must have strengthened her ability to control them. A repulsive quality in a girl. “Eleanor, don’t embarrass me,” Henry snapped at his daughter. Henry’s elven wife, ever protective of their girl, scolded him in her native tongue. Her silvery hair fell loose from her pointed ears over her ageless face with each syllable. She towered above her husband, eyes aglow with elven fire. Her pale lips clamped
18
Masquerade of the Cursed King
closed but the morphing expressions on Henry’s face hinted that Anre continued her scolding in his head. Erick used the opportunity to adjust his painfully rigid cock to a less noticeable position. If he took the nose plug now, Henry would know why. Earth, the girl was practically his niece. Though not by blood. She slipped into the parlor and her scent faded. The loss should relieve him but it left an ache in his chest. Elven magic? One quarter elven blood flowed through his own veins, making him a dilute hybrid, yet he knew absolutely nothing about their mystical powers. On the outside, he looked purely human. The one elven gift he’d inherited worked sporadically at best, only when others let him read what they were thinking. At the moment, no one shared their thoughts. Rare silence filled the room. “Maybe we should continue this in the parlor,” Erick suggested, not to see her, just to hear Henry’s candor instead of the formalities. He rose from his throne, finally flaccid. Anre smiled in that frustrating way that meant she knew. The woman was like fog sneaking up in the night. She slipped into his head unnoticed. All the more reason to tell Henry no. They followed Erick past Eleanor’s guards, into the parlor. The girl sat in his worn chair, curvy legs dangling over the arm peeking out from her skirts. Sunlight silhouetted her from the stained-glass windows. Ironically, the colored bits of glass glowed with scenes of Bistonian soldiers hunting elves and hybrids. When the door closed behind them, her perfume nearly floored Erick as his blood pounded in a wild frenzy to engorge his penis. The small room with its low ceiling concentrated the seductive scent. She easily overpowered the centuries-old stink of spent cigars that normally wafted from the threadbare upholstery. He tugged his shirt collar away from his neck, suddenly boiling. Eleanor glanced briefly up at him from her book, then ignored him as if he were a mere crystal beetle clicking by. She didn’t rise and he didn’t give her the chance. He sat as far away from her as he could and propped a stained pillow on his lap to hide what he shouldn’t feel. His rigid cock struggled painfully against his restraint. “Greet your king,” Anre demanded, softly. “He isn’t mine,” Eleanor muttered. Her bell-like voice took on a sour tone as her darkness stole beams of colored light from the window. “Men are just sacks of hormones without any inclination toward civilized society, except for you, Daddy.” She smiled but the act lacked any flavor of sweetness. As much as he tried to hide his embarrassment, Erick’s mouth curled up in a grin. Had she read him? Shit. This wasn’t going well. He needed her gone. Growing rage chased the embarrassment away. That brat was in dire need of a swift smack to her
19
Vanessa Gilfoy
curvy ass. If she didn’t leave soon, Erick feared he’d be the one to deliver such a punishment and much more. Henry apologized and sat near his daughter, as if that could impede her destructive nature. “It’s just her age. Puberty for elves. Angst.” She grimaced and shook her head. Her raven hair shimmered and cascaded over her slender shoulders. Slightly pointed ears poked out. “I’m nearly twenty.” She’d never fall past that perfect peak. The flawless, never-ending beauty of an elf. Half-elf, a hybrid, though she looked nothing like her human father. Henry ignored her arguments. “I know she’s a handful.” That word drew Erick’s gaze to her breasts. He shouldn’t want to fill his hands with her. Frustration squeezed his eyes shut briefly. What the hell was wrong with him? “Why didn’t you take her to Nan?” Thankfully, the thought of the woman who’d raised them threw his mind back to him. “I did. Ma can’t handle her anymore. These past two years have been…hell.” “Then let me go. I don’t want to be with you, either.” Hatred ignited her pale blue eyes. The ethereal radiance shot from her like icicles. That same light was supposed to burn brightest in the ecstasy of orgasm. Erick pushed the thought away and leaned forward to hide what the pillow failed to disguise. Earth, he prayed Henry didn’t notice. Shame dropped his gaze. Henry was his oath-brother. One of the two who remained. Erick couldn’t disrespect him this way. “Anre needs to feel elven land under her feet to recharge. It’ll just be two weeks. Eleanor’s guards will watch over her. You don’t have to speak to her.” “Of course you don’t. I don’t have a fucking phallus so what does my opinion matter?” Henry gritted his teeth and raked what remained of his thin gray hair. If any derivative of the word fuck left her mouth again, Erick would lose what little remained of his self-control. He couldn’t do this. “I’m sorry, Henry. I owe you everything and I’d do anything for you but I…” He couldn’t say it. “Her guards can watch over her better than me. I’m drowning as it is.” Any day now, an assassination attempt would finally find its mark and sink him in his sea of failures. “Biston’s never been better. You’re doing fine. Give it time.” Henry stood. “Just stick her in a distant wing of the palace. So long as she doesn’t escape her guards, you won’t notice her. She sulks around her room all day. You only have to bother with her if she escapes. Once the frost kicks in next week, there’s no danger of that.” Elves and most hybrids die in freezing temperatures. Phil walked in, a smile on his bearded face. Arms wide, he hugged his brother. “I thought you were gone already.” “I’m going.” Henry started toward the scuffed door with Anre.
20
Masquerade of the Cursed King
Do something. Erick projected the thought to Phil. But Anre and Henry left, as if fleeing from a burning building. Shit. The girl could end him. The only men he trusted would slit his throat if he laid hands on her. Worse, they’d abandon him. He’d already lost three oath-brothers. The guilt of that failure still haunted him. Phil leaned on the arm of Eleanor’s chair and squinted at the book in her lap. “Elven architecture?” She actually smiled up at the man. “Look,” she flipped to another page, “at the stonework on this one. The curved surfaces make it perfect to withstand attacks but it’s so beautiful. You can see the elven designs here and at first, you’d think it looks like an elven palace but look at the battlements.” “They look like the ones here.” Eleanor nodded. “I think the ruins up north used to have the same battlements and the foundation where it’s caved in has this same shape.” “Interesting. I never thought much of it before.” Phil flipped the book closed to glance at the cover. Intricate elven designs stamped the leather, even though the script was human. “Very handsome book.” “It was a gift from Gildon’s queen.” Erick grimaced. Ceres, Gildon’s queen, had nearly crushed Biston several times. The evil bitch toyed with them mercilessly, leaving most of Biston in ruin. Yet Bistonians still flocked to the enemy nation in search of work. “Does she still write to you?” “Don’t encourage her.” Erick wished he’d never introduced her to the bitch but he’d needed Eleanor’s presence to win a truce. Queen Ceres’ only weak spot was for hybrids, true hybrids. “Yes.” Eleanor ignored Erick and excitedly unfolded her bookmark for Phil to see. “Do you have your glasses with you?” He patted his pockets. “I must have left them somewhere,” he mumbled. The old man was practically blind without them but managed to lose his spectacles every day. She read it aloud, “All lives feel the pain of destruction but we are judged by how we repair and rebuild. Let hope and duty lift you from the despair of your losses. Aspire for more than those around you. Ceres Duran.” Carefully, Eleanor folded it back up. “I like the way she writes.” Get rid of the girl, Erick demanded. But Phil only smiled in response. That fuck-me scent probably screwed with the old man’s head too. Phil cringed and shook his head at him. She’s my niece. If only Erick could see her that way. Earth, he couldn’t hold his breath much longer.
21
Vanessa Gilfoy
“I have something for you,” Phil said to Eleanor, who squealed like the little girl Erick barely remembered. “I’ll get it. Wait here.” The old man left. His heels clicked where holes marked the faded carpet. Erick should have followed Phil but the raging erection tenting his pants wouldn’t allow him to. A sick part of him didn’t want to leave. If he could just bend her over the back of that chair and lift up her skirts. She glowered at him as if she’d heard his thoughts. He tried to tap into her mind. When she used to live at the palace and before the war, they’d talked silently for hours but she’d been a child then. He slipped around the blocks guarding her mind to a place they’d shared. Stop it. She forced him out. Why? Because I don’t like you. She used to follow him everywhere, chattering like a baby bird. Eleanor was the girl from the tarot card of his past, not that he believed all of the wizard’s ramblings. Open and unguarded, Eleanor had shared her imaginary worlds and every vivid thought. When stresses crushed him, she’d been his healing retreat within these decaying walls. A magic place only a mind tap away instead of the hell she unleashed on him now. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed her, the innocent her and Earth, he needed an escape after the day he’d had. If she’d just let him into the dreamlike world that hid beneath the darkness veiling her. What had changed, besides the addition of that scent and curves of her body? You did. You can read me but I can’t read you? It isn’t my fault your thoughts are so fucking loud. His cock throbbed as if on command. She so casually threw around that word. “What? Fuck? You’re such a whore. Have you knocked up any more of my friends since I saw you last? Just knock them up and marry them off to other men. Instead of fucking everything that moves, why don’t you honor my uncles who died saving your incompetent ass, by actually doing your job?” Fury shoved him to his feet and he seized her in his grip. He yanked her up and pinned her against the wall. Her flesh electrified the palms of his hands as he glared down at her. Mouth inches from hers, he snarled, “I regret every breath I take in their stead. If I could go back and undo their sacrifice, I would. As for my job, I’m your king and I deserve your respect.” “Earn it,” she said through bared teeth. “You arrogant brat. Someone ought to beat that self-righteous look off your face.” He pressed her hard up against the wall. Chest heaving, nostrils flared, he inhaled heavy drags of her scent. His mouth salivated and he swallowed. “As for who I fuck, that’s none of your damned business.” His cock twitched against her stomach. His hips
22
Masquerade of the Cursed King
jerked and he couldn’t help himself. He scraped her back up the peeling wallpaper and forced himself between her thighs. He knew he should stop but she didn’t fight him. Her hands rested calmly on his chest. It couldn’t be wrong. Air puffed from her lips as he pulled aside the skirts that bunched up between them. He ground his cock hard against the crotch of her panties and her glare blinded him with a blaze too bright to be from fury alone. He gripped her soft thighs and prayed she wanted him. He couldn’t stop. Like an animal, he dry humped her pantied cunt, grunting and sweating. But it wasn’t enough. His throbbing cock needed the slick squeeze of her pussy. He bunched the front of her panties in his fist and tugged the silk crotch aside. “Bad doggie. No.” She smacked his ass. “Down.” A growl rumbled in his throat. “I’m the master here.” Her smug smile argued otherwise and forged rage in his burning gut. Vengeful pride demanded he fuck her like a dog and nip the back of her neck. It didn’t make sense but he didn’t argue. He dropped her thighs to shove her over the arm of his chair. Her fine elven hair spilled down her face onto the torn seat. Back tense and arched, her plump ass perked up to nestle his cock, begging him to plunder her flesh. The thought made his stones ache. He yanked up her skirts, exposing her silkcovered cheeks. He wanted to palm and squeeze them but urgency forced him to take hold of her panties. Oh, he was going to enjoy this. Every moan, every quiver of her perfect body, every electric pulse on his cock from her hybrid magic. “That’s it?” She turned and looked up at him, thin brows arched, glow fading. Breath huffed out from his grin. His hybrid virgin was in for a surprise. She laughed. “I meant the foreplay. That’s it?” Wrath hid the sting. “I’m a whore, remember? I don’t need foreplay.” But before he could rip her panties off, the door opened. There, in its wake stood Phil. Erick backed away from the girl. Earth, what had he done? His oldest oath-brother, Eleanor’s doting uncle, snorted in disgust and squeezed his eyes shut. Head turned from them, he spat curses and retreated to the hall. “Wait, Phil. I’m sorry.” Panicked that he’d lost his oath-brother’s devotion and trust, Erick rushed to stop the door from slamming forever shut. It crushed his hand in the frame. Wincing, he pulled it back. “I should have accepted the nose plug. It was…” Phil frantically tackled him back into the parlor and slammed the door behind them. “Stop. If her father finds out… You need to watch what you say where flapping mouths can hear you. Do this in the privacy of your quarters. I don’t want to see. I don’t want to know.” Phil released him and straightened. “You’re not angry?”
23
Vanessa Gilfoy
The sandpapery creases of Phil’s face had deepened into caverns. “Of course I’m angry. I don’t want to see this. And Henry…” Phil gave a frustrated sigh. “It won’t happen again. I’ll wear the nose plug.” Erick hadn’t meant to take it so far. It wasn’t like him to act so basely. He’d just meant to scare her into silence. Her perfume flooded through his senses just before she spun him about and kneed him in the groin. His stones crushed against bone. Excruciating agony. Speechless. Burning heat pulsated through his veins as he slid to a crouch on the floor. In the distance, he vaguely heard her hiss, “He hasn’t changed.” “South wing,” Erick grunted. “Put her deep in the south wing.” He didn’t ever want to see that fickle, self-righteous bitch again. The door opened and crashed shut but Erick couldn’t see it through the blur of pain. The erratic clicks of her heels in the hall disappeared among the march of her men and the hive-like hum of men’s voices from the throne room. Phil lifted Erick up and set him gingerly in his chair. “Be careful with her.” The eerie tone didn’t match the warning. He had every right to threaten Erick but it didn’t sound like a threat. “You notice her guards didn’t come running? They’re only for show. More of a danger than a help to her. Henry keeps close tabs on them, with the plugs and the…cock rings.” Phil whispered the last two words. “What?” Erick laughed and immediately regretted it. Pain seized him with every movement. It didn’t help that her perfume lingered and kept his swollen cock rigid. Phil dropped a plastic ring on Erick’s lap. Even through blurred vision he could see the sharp spikes pointing inward. Why would a man willingly put his penis in that? “If your intentions are less than honorable, Henry will kill you. Eleanor’s the only blood he’ll leave behind and he guards her like gold, locked away. But the girl does what she wants in his treasury and that’s where the danger lies. You can’t control her but if you treat her nicely, she’ll behave.” “They’ve spoiled her.” Rules and a heavy hand on her bare ass were what she needed. Earth, why hadn’t he gone flaccid yet? “She’s the same as she’s always been, just older.” Phil handed him a handkerchief. “Clean yourself up before you go out there,” he mumbled uncomfortably. Erick felt his face for lipstick, though he hadn’t kissed her. Phil cleared his throat and motioned lower. A wet spot darkened the front of his pants. Shit. Was he bleeding? Had she kicked him that hard? “You should thank her for lifting your curse. Elven magic.” Awkwardly, Phil wriggled his fingers in the air and blushed before darting out of the room.
24
Masquerade of the Cursed King
No, he hadn’t come. Although he’d only come once in his twenty-five year lifespan, he clearly remembered it being much more noticeable. His bane had saved him from the schemes of unfaithful women. Erick rubbed the spot. Warm and thick, it slicked his fingers with her intoxicating scent. He inhaled a deep drag and groaned. Earth, she’d been wet. He tasted her honey. Delectably sweet and rich. His cock jerked in desperation. He could use a little pleasure for himself. He’d earned it. Erick unbuttoned his pants and his rod sprang free and proud. When he roughly gripped his cock, her honey electrified his skin. He moaned, imagining her tight pussy squeezing him. His whole body tensed at the thought of her beneath him. His hips gyrated into his honey-slicked fist. Her tingly magic spread deep beneath the veiny surface to pluck every nerve. Breath jagged, up and down his length he wrenched and shoved. His ass lifted off the chair, body a rigid line, as the electric pulses raced and gathered. All at once, the tension exploded and lit his nerves ablaze. He howled as he emptied load after load of hot cream. It spewed over his fist and splattered on the convulsing muscles of his abs. Ecstasy. Sweet release. He melted into his chair. Head thrown back, arms and legs splayed, he exhaled. The warmth of serenity blanketed him, a sensation he never thought he’d feel. For a brief moment, he was a whole man, missing pieces returned. Then realization set in. Oh no.
25
Vanessa Gilfoy
Chapter Three
December 21, 9544 AR Valetta, Biston Huddled in a ball on the courtyard bench, Eleanor shivered. She rubbed her arms and rocked, trying not to cry. Why had she let him touch her? She squeezed her eyes shut wishing she’d stopped him sooner. The rejection shouldn’t hurt. She didn’t love him anymore. She shouldn’t want him. It had felt good though, for a fleeting moment. The electricity of his grip, his hard bulge grinding up against her eager clit. Her drenched panties still clung to her unsatisfied cunt. Years ago, she’d have given anything to fuck him in his bed and feel his strong hands grope her breasts. To lick his thin, masculine lips and touch his battle scars while he moaned her name. She’d have filled his mind with hers and the sparks between them would have ignited explosive ecstasy. But he was broken, ever since the Duran War. He didn’t see her. He didn’t see the tiny hope that remained in their tattered nation. All he saw was what he’d lost. Women were just temporary, faceless distractions that kept him from repairing what remained. Eleanor traced the chipped floral patterns of the molded bench with her shaking fingers. The elven design had lasted thousands of years but would crumble during Erick’s short reign. The moron. Deep beneath the nearly lifeless soil, elementals slept, waiting. She felt them turn over sometimes, late at night when everything was still and quiet. But they wouldn’t wake to the dwindling population who suffered the threat of starvation. On elven land and in Gildon, elementals could be commanded with spells of elven kings’ magic to burn, quake and bend nature but only with the collective energy of its populace or under the control of an extremely powerful hybrid, like Queen Ceres of Gildon. Eleanor didn’t have the strength or spells. Eleanor sniffled and rubbed her numb nose. Bitter Biston winters. The door from the throne room opened and the threadbare curtains furled out. Uncle Phil struggled past the filthy fabric. Worries tangled in his mind, wrapped around his king. It was the same with her father. He nearly tripped over the broken path, raised by the ancient roots of craggy, bare fruit trees. He mumbled something about chopping them down as he approached, probably to redirect her anger. “You lied to me,” she said, teeth chattering.
26
Masquerade of the Cursed King
The old man didn’t respond. Guilt hid his reasoning from her mind. He wrapped his arm around her and lifted her up onto her feet. Warmth seeped from him and she leaned into his embrace, trembling uncontrollably. “Winter’s come early this year,” he warned. “I have a few more days left.” Before they’d lock her inside beside a fire. He guided Eleanor into the throne room where women glared and men leered. Her guards pretended not to look at her. Thoughts swarmed her head. None hers. The irritating buzz of their lust and venom made her nauseous. If she could focus, if it weren’t so cold, she could calm them to something else. But she couldn’t spare the energy, not ’til spring. Earth, she couldn’t stay here, not in winter. Why not shackle her in plastic for everyone to do what they would with her? It would be the same. Soon snow would fall and she would be helpless unless she drained someone’s energy. Not a task people readily volunteered for. Phil rubbed her shoulder but it didn’t comfort her. A man’s scream from the parlor interrupted it all. Erick, that slut. “He’s alone,” Phil assured her, as if guessing her jealousy. “I don’t care. He isn’t mine.” Phil smiled and nodded but he clearly didn’t believe her. “I don’t.” The moron filled his bed with mortal women. Safe women who couldn’t cast spells or bind him to them. It didn’t matter that her parents kept her weak for him. He no doubt compared Eleanor to his demonic mother anyway. Through the brick hallway, the buzzing faded to the usual low hum of her guards circled around her. “Where are we going?” This wasn’t the way to her room. Uncle Phil wouldn’t actually follow Erick’s order to put her in the south wing, would he? She’d freeze there. Phil’s smile fell. “If you apologize to him, he’ll…” “For what? For not being a faceless distraction, for not being human or for saving his life?” No matter how wrong, they defended his every action. They were too gentle with him, afraid of shattering his fragile psyche. “You know it isn’t his fault. It isn’t your fault either. Just unavoidable circumstance.” “Yeah, right.” He didn’t look fragile to her. He definitely didn’t feel fragile. His iron grip and bulging pecs had easily hoisted her up. Oh and his granite-hard, thick cock… Earth, why couldn’t she get the feel of him out her mind? She hated him. “If you’re nice to him, maybe he’ll be nice to you.” “As long as it’s convenient for him.” She’d asked for Erick’s help once. “I’d rather freeze.” “You can take my room. I’ll sleep in the south wing. He won’t know.”
27
Vanessa Gilfoy
“No. I’ll be fine.” She’d just wear everything she owned. “I almost forgot.” Phil retrieved a small package from his coat pocket. Its crinkly paper fell away to reveal a small frame with a faded picture. He handed it to Eleanor. “From our trip to Gildon. Remember?” Her eyes stared back at her from a young teen’s face. She barely remembered ever being so gangly. Smile bright, she’d leaned against Erick. It had been so exciting, all the technology and magic, that she hadn’t yet noticed how he’d changed. He glowered as if in hell. His chestnut waves hadn’t yet silvered at the temples. By thirty, he’d probably have a full head of silver, like some elves. Same ageless face—hard lines, thick jaw, lowered brow. Bandages bulged from his arm where she’d burned him. “I can’t.” Eleanor tried to give the gift back but Phil wouldn’t accept it. He continued down the long hall ahead of her, sconces flickering and crackling from the draft. At the last door, Phil apologized. He shoved it open, dread on his face. “Meagan will be by to clean it for you.” Cobwebs hung from the corners. Thick dust covered the small dresser and bare bed. Her baggage hid what little floor space remained. No other furniture could fit in the small room. Servants’ quarters. “I’ve stayed in worse.” She’d lived in a poor country village before her father won Erick the throne. “After a good night’s sleep, he’ll be in a better mood, especially after what you did for him. Come to breakfast tomorrow. You’ll see.” “I didn’t do anything. That was all him,” Eleanor groaned and slammed the door in her uncle’s face. Oh, so gross. She didn’t want to talk about that sort of thing with Uncle Phil. Six other doors opened and closed in the hallway. Great. Only a stone’s throw away. Too close. She’d hear their thoughts and dreams. Footsteps stopped in front of her door. Incredibly frustrating. If the others wouldn’t snitch to her father, she’d gladly use one of the firmly muscled guards to finish what Erick started. But she’d been nearly caught before by a jealous soldier. “Go away,” she yelled. The door opened anyway. Meagan stood there, buckets of cleaners at her sides, grin wide on her freckled face. “Did you see him?” Eleanor scowled at her but Meagan didn’t seem to notice. The young maid sidestepped in and pushed the door closed with her foot. “So?” “He’s scum.” “Oh, you can’t still be mad at him.” Eleanor squinted at Meagan and plopped down on a bag. “What do you think?” “Poor baby. You didn’t get to take boring old math classes.”
28
Masquerade of the Cursed King
“Architecture.” The Biston University wouldn’t let her in because she didn’t have a phallus and Erick refused to help, agreeing with them that she’d be stealing a career from a man. She’d never asked him for anything else. “You get to sit on your cushy little butt all day and pick out whichever man you want to dote on you. How do you get by?” Meagan dropped her buckets on the floor and dust flew up. Eleanor coughed curses. “Men don’t dote. They control. They demean. They use.” Meagan’s almond-shaped eyes twinkled in that coy way of hers before she spun about to start dusting. The rag stirred up more dust than it captured. The irritating particles glowed in the fading sunlight from the tiny window. “Someone just needs to get laid.” Meagan winked over her shoulder. It had been a while but the consequences now outweighed the small chance for pleasure. “They’ll marry me off for an alliance if I’m caught.” That was the compromise between her parents. Eleanor could choose her fated mate and wait for him but if she fooled around and embarrassed her father, he’d marry her to a foreign king. She didn’t want either. “Besides, they always come too soon anyway.” Her hybrid pheromones stole their self control. “His Majesty has some elven blood in him,” Meagan crooned. A kinky dark curl slipped free from the scarf tying her hair back and she hastily shoved it back. “Maybe he could do something for you.” Eleanor huffed. “Like what? Dry hump me, then jack off? Or fuck me, then marry me off to someone else. Earth, I hate him.” If only her clit didn’t harden at the thought of his cock inside her. Her nipples beaded and she crossed her arms over chest to hide them. “Uh-huh.” “I just want to leave.” She flopped across her luggage. “If I could just get past the mountains, I’d be free.” They always caught her before the summit, no matter how fast she rode. “Gildon University enrolls women. I could be two years away from my goal instead of two years behind. I could also take lessons from Gildon’s queen. She offered. Can you imagine? She must know every spell there is. If I could just get there, I could be so much more than I am here. Free.” “Are you kidding? I’d give anything to be you here. Not to have to work myself to the bone everyday. Not to wash laundry at the river at five in the morning when it’s icy cold. You don’t know how good you have it.” “I’d trade you in a heartbeat. You get to do whatever you want and no one judges you for it. You can come and go whenever.” Meagan laughed. “If I’m not here from five a.m. to seven p.m. every day, they’d fire me.” “But you could go to Gildon, get an education and be anything.” “I don’t have that kind of money, Elle.”
29
Vanessa Gilfoy
“What if you did? Like a scholarship.” “No. I like my life here. I don’t have kings chasing after me but I have it better than most.” “But there’s so much more out there. It’s beautiful. Green and lush instead of this deathly white that suffocates and freezes everything. Everyone was nicer there too. And I felt like I mattered there. I might just chance the snow in the mountains. No one would suspect and it would be harder for them to track me during snowfall.” “But you’d die.”
30
Masquerade of the Cursed King
Chapter Four
December 21, 9544 AR Valetta, Biston Eleanor wriggled all night. The thick layers of clothing bunched up around her, making it impossible to get comfortable. But it wasn’t just that. Her cunt still swelled and drenched her panties. She ached for something, anything to fill her, to pump her hard and rough. No, that wasn’t completely true. Her body wanted him. Traitorous flesh. Maybe a walk would help get him off her mind. She muttered one of the few elven spells she knew and the illusion of a blue flame lit her palm. If only it were warm like true fire. The soft light cast short shadows in the tiny room. No lanterns. No fireplace. Not even a candle. She dared not draw the drapes for moonlight. Cold drafts would only add to her misery. Just a quick walk. With a groan she rolled out of bed and into her slippers. Oh, so cold. She jumped up and down to warm up, then rushed out the door, palm in front of her. Her teeth clattered and she couldn’t feel her toes. Eerie light from the Red Moon spilled in through the curtainless hall window behind her to give the walls a disgusting blood-smeared appearance. Dark memories oozed up. Earth, she didn’t want to remember. At the other end of the hall, the Old Moon, with its pale, colorless light offered escape. She smothered the elven flame in her palm. The east wing would be warmer. Fires burned there, as opposed to the south wing, where the chimneys had cracked and caved in. As she neared the pale light, dozens of voices echoed off the rough brick walls and worn wood floor. It sounded like the murmur of thoughts from her guards but real. Moans, whimpers, passionate demands and grunts. Disjointed images of writhing bodies, half clothed in fanciful clothing and mismatched touches didn’t synch up to the sounds. Outside the throne room, she realized why. There had to be at least fifty people in there, fucking. Their emotions and thoughts had smeared into one streak in her exhausted mind. Eleanor stared at the door to the throne room in disbelief, eyes lit with lust of her own. She had to be dreaming. This couldn’t be real. But her dreams normally had more color and light. Heat seeped out from the dimly glowing edges of the door. It melted her frozen toes, as she stood there, hand paused on the smooth knob. She wanted to peek inside
31
Vanessa Gilfoy
but her gut clenched in warning. Something was wrong. Her name. She’d heard her name. She licked her lips, trying to focus on a single stream of thoughts that immediately slipped away but couldn’t find it among the masses. Her drenched cunt and heaving chest argued it didn’t matter. She could outrun them, couldn’t she? If not, illusions could hide her. Maybe she wouldn’t want to run. She smirked, wishing she could indulge her needs so openly in front of an audience of fifty ready cocks. Mmm. Guaranteed satisfaction. Just a little peek. Her insides fluttered about like moths in a jar. It shouldn’t be scary. They wouldn’t see her. She turned the knob and opened the door just a crack. Smokey incense swirled out. Beyond the pungent haze, flesh slapped together. Silk and lace dripped off shoulders and below exposed breasts. Bare asses shimmied from the force of thrusting cocks. Moans. Hands grabbing, squeezing, caressing. Parted lips. Muscled bodies dripping with sweat. Tongues tasting wet skin. But masks covered their faces and fabric draped over their hair. A depraved masquerade. Their ridiculous costumes, shortened and skimpy, mocked fairytales and positions of the palace. Pillows cushioned their heads and boosted their cunts to hungry cocks but on the stage was a silk-draped bed. A woman lay on her belly across it, tiny skirt lifted up, fucked from behind, while sucking on another. Dark kinky hair poked out from the tight fabric holding her mask in place, marking her as Meagan. Eleanor should have closed the door and fled but her throbbing clit and knobby nipples begged for more. She couldn’t look away. Oh, she wanted to touch. To feel those veiny cocks plow into her eager pussy. Masked faces turned to her. A man pulled the door from her grip and it crashed open. Before she could think to flee, she saw him. Erick’s dark gaze pierced her through the slits of a black mask. He couldn’t hide his thoughts from her. Black silk around his ankles, penis dripping with sex, he stood on the stage, behind Meagan. He’d fucked her, the way he’d wanted Eleanor over his chair. “You whore!” The words screamed out on their own. Tears burned her blazing eyes. She clamped her hand over her trembling mouth to hold back the sobs. Blindly, Eleanor ran.
***** The last quarter of the Red Moon shone high in the night sky. Brilliant red, like the curtains Marilyn pushed back. Supposedly, the Red Moon had been knocked from Earth by a giant meteor that set into motion the evolution of elves, dwarves and wizards from mortal humans. A silly myth. Wizards came much later. A self-made race of sexy beings. Someday Marilyn would find herself another one of those beefy, magic-
32
Masquerade of the Cursed King
wielding beauties. Her pulse quickened just from the memory of a wizard casting spells in the buff. Mmm, yet another reason to break free. Marilyn gripped the windowsill and a splinter sliced into her finger. With a gasp, she jerked her hand back. Damned crumbling palace. At least it couldn’t hold her much longer. Blood dripped a deeper shade in the light of the Red Moon. She sucked up her favorite color, the color of the roses that grew in the garden just below her plasticbarred window. Though Phil brought them to her in spring, she hadn’t felt their thorns scratch her fingertips in ten years. Since her imprisonment in this awful tower, grass hadn’t tickled her feet, spells hadn’t poured from her mouth and whims hadn’t whisked her through the Biston countryside. All because of elves. Ropes of tension drew in Marilyn’s shoulders and pained her neck. Oh, how she despised the controlling, deceitful creatures. Two of them stood guard at the plastic door, ever watching her with their eerie silver eyes. Repulsive. Nearly colorless. The Red Moon lent only a temporary crimson sheen to their silver hair which fell past their shoulders over their black cloaks. Come morning, they’d match the maggoty white plastic door, walls and floor. King Andraste of the Western River Elves had placed the elven guards there despite his promised allegiance twenty years ago. A better offer came along which the elves jumped at far too eagerly. Andraste’s niece would suffer for it. Poor girl. She didn’t deserve what they’d forced on her. Heels clicked up the stairs and Phil’s lustful thoughts drifted up. Earth, Marilyn was in no mood. Did he think she just waited for him all day and night? Of course. What else did she have to do? Bile rose up and left an awful taste in her mouth as she sank into the bright orange and purple cushions piled on her window seat. Phil had brought them as gifts last New Year’s Eve. The soft weave gave beneath her weight and cuddled her like a grandmother’s knitted sweater but she hated them. They reminded her every day of what she didn’t have—cold, outdoor air on her skin. The door clicked open but she couldn’t look at him. “Did you feel the surprise?” he asked, voice lifted with enthusiasm. “Yes.” She’d felt the poor girl arrive earlier in the day. An innocent little bird, caged from birth. “She shouldn’t be here.” “What? Why?” He knelt on the dented plastic floor moving into Marilyn’s view. His gray brows creased and lifted as he softly touched her ankles. His fingertips found a ticklish spot in the divot behind her ankle bone, as if elves weren’t watching. He made her gasp and squirm while he drew her foot into his lap. A grin grew across his lips when her toes found his arousal. Marilyn glanced at the elves, wishing they’d look away. But they never did. Their silver eyes stared from expressionless faces.
33
Vanessa Gilfoy
Although Marilyn had hung layers of red and purple silk from the rods of her fourposter bed for privacy with Phil, his seductions always started in plain view. Maybe he enjoyed an audience. Marilyn didn’t. Heat squirmed through her insides like worms despite the gush of honey from her sex. “Stop,” she whispered. “The girl,” she reminded him. “Set her free. It’s not right, her being here.” Undaunted, he lifted Marilyn’s skirt to kiss her knee. His short-cropped beard scratched her skin. Normally that made her moan but then he said, “You’ll be free to be mine.” Marilyn kicked him away. Heat flashed through her face and neck. “You don’t understand the meaning of the word free.” Earth, men were so stupid and cold. The image of her late husband flickered in her head. Marriage had imprisoned her just as much as the elves who guarded the plastic door then and now. Phil shifted to kneel before her again, as if starting over in his routine of seduction. “It’s not the same. I promise it’ll be different.” The man never gave up. Every day he asked and every day she answered the same. “No.” Marilyn didn’t want another husband. How could Phil be any better? He didn’t truly love her. For ten years he’d done nothing to free her from this one-room prison. Only ten paces separated her bed from her scratched dining table. Another five paces to her stove and oven. Yet no amount of color could overpower the tiny cell’s suffocating white walls and floor. She’d draped rich, bright fabrics over the few pieces of furniture but couldn’t nail anything to the walls. Only a window interrupted the circular, plastic lined wall. Phil swallowed and blinked but disappointment didn’t stop him. “I’ll be good to you, my love. I’ve never hurt you since we met, have I?” Not yet. But all men decayed to scum once they achieved some level of power in a relationship. She wouldn’t stick around to make the same mistake as last time. If she regained her freedom, she’d flee. “Besides, you’re assuming the girl wants him.” Eleanor wasn’t stupid. She must have read the warps in Erick’s mind. All the Duran men bore those abusive and cruel inclinations that worsened with time. “I’ve worked hard to make him a good man, Marilyn. You’ll see. He’s considerate and sensitive. Nothing like his father.” Yeah, right. “Even if he does what Andraste wants, there’s no guarantee they’ll let me go.” Phil’s barely-there touch glided up the sinews of her calves, under her dress. He always touched her so carefully as if she were a cracked tea cup in need of glue. In his lover’s tone, he whispered, “They’d have no reason to keep you.” She wanted to believe him, to trust him but how could she? Phil had been the one who convinced Andraste to switch allegiances to Erick during the Revolution. Marilyn would still rule Biston as queen if not for Phil. She should abhor him. Her stomach
34
Masquerade of the Cursed King
should churn every time he crept through her door. Yet his tender touch behind her knee quickened her breath and dampened her neck. Because of Phil, the elves kept her prisoner as a threat over Erick’s head, in case Erick refused to marry Andraste’s niece. Marilyn would benefit more from Erick’s failure. If Eleanor abandoned the hateful boy, Marilyn could take back the throne. If she could just push the girl to leave. If she gave Eleanor the spells to abandon Erick, Marilyn could seize control and make them all pay. The elves, Erick, Phil and the miserable filth that had sunk Biston into recession. Erick, like all the other sexist scum, prevented Biston’s renaissance. Marilyn’s throat tightened. She wished she didn’t hate her son. Twenty-five years ago, she’d had such high hopes for the boy. But he wasn’t hers. A Duran. Raulin’s son. A nearly-human, incapable of magic. An insignificant speck, unworthy of the crown. He had no idea. “You haven’t even told him have you?” Phil’s touch halted and he sat back on his haunches. “No. Henry’s right. Better to let them progress naturally. Erick’ll figure out who Eleanor is.” “You’re giving him too much credit,” Marilyn muttered. The boy had always been slow. “You shouldn’t listen to Henry. He’s no better than Raulin.” Her late husband had manipulated men like clay for his own amusement. In a defensive tone, Phil argued, “Henry loves his wife and daughter. He’d do anything for them and Biston.” “His child knows nearly nothing. Not a single spell in her head other than the few I snuck in there. How is that love? To keep her weak for a moron. How could she possibly rule Biston with so little? What will she do that Erick can’t?” If Eleanor were Marilyn’s daughter, the girl would wield elven kings’ magic. One day, Eleanor might have even woken the elementals of Biston, where Marilyn failed. But Henry had prevented that. Ignorant bastard. “It’s the only way Erick will see her.” Phil shifted and his gaze avoided Marilyn’s. “If Eleanor practiced magic… If she were…” “Like me?” Marilyn cut him off. “He’ll what? Say it.” “If she’s a threat in his eyes, he’ll run the other way.” “A threat like me.” A demon, her son called her. “No. You couldn’t help it. I know that but he doesn’t.” “I never purposefully hurt him.” Marilyn had only tried to teach and mold him. No other way could strengthen him enough for elven magic and make him sympathetic to others. “He couldn’t perform a single spell. How else was I supposed to prepare him?” Blood pounded in her head. “I know.” Phil rose up to kiss her. His cologne wafted up with the heat from his body to soften her resistance. Although the scratch of his bearded chin always sent delightful shivers up her spine, she turned from his kiss. “What’s the point?” He couldn’t give her what she
35
Vanessa Gilfoy
wanted. Either an elven reproductive system cursed her, which meant only one child every hundred years, or she’d let Phil age too much. Tears stung her eyes and her tongue pressed hard against the roof of her mouth. Phil’s voice hardened. “Don’t you want me?” She sobbed, “It’ll end like every other night and I’ll wait, hoping.” Earth, she wanted a daughter. A little girl to hold in her arms and mold with spells. If only Erick had been a girl instead of a Duran pig. She’d have been such a good mother then, instead of the empty wretch she’d become. Marilyn’s ribs caved in to crush her lungs. Phil squirmed in behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. “Shhh. It’s okay. Just give my plan a chance. I promise you’ll cradle a baby granddaughter. That’s just as good right? Better because you’ll get to spoil her.” “He won’t let me see her. It’ll be the same as with Eleanor.” “No. I promise. You’ll see her as much as you want. Things will be better. I swear it. Please, trust me. Just imagine that baby smell and that warm tiny body in your arms. A part of you and a part of me.” Her nose ran and she sniffled as she leaned back into Phil’s embrace. “Even if your plan does work, he’ll be a lousy father.” Erick shouldn’t have children. Like Raulin, he’d only hurt the child. “Then you’ll keep her safe. It’ll be okay. You’ll see.” Could Marilyn whisk the baby off to Gildon? Maybe elves wouldn’t guard the door. She’d just slip out in the night. A little breath of hope tickled her lungs. Perhaps Phil could give her what she wanted. She handed him his glasses from where she’d hidden them behind a pillow. “You forgot these last night.” “Maybe I left them here on purpose for you to think of me.” Phil kissed her neck and the edges of his lips scratched her skin. He blew to cool the burn. Earth, when he did that, shivers plucked at her nerves and muscle to draw her neck tight. Her cheek pressed against the sandpapery burn and the exhilaration grew too great. His arm tightened around her waist as if to keep her from fleeing. Wait. Not in front of them, she projected the thought to Phil. “They don’t watch,” he whispered, lips brushing against the delicate skin of her neck. But their silver eyes glowed like lanterns held out in front of them to illuminate every stroke, kiss, suck and lick. Not only did the depraved voyeurs watch but they got off on it. Thick rods sprouted and pushed against their cloaks.
36
Masquerade of the Cursed King
Chapter Five
December 22, 9544 AR Valetta, Biston Chin rested on his fist as he hunched over the table, Erick grimaced. That constant tapping chipped away his tolerance for the man. Reiley III, Porter’s king wouldn’t sit still. If his fingers didn’t thud against the table, it was his mudskipper-skin boots kicking a table leg. The foreign king hadn’t touched his meal. Steam no longer rose from the eggs and ham and the bread must have hardened to pucks by now. Sometimes, he slurped from his milk, which annoyed Erick more than the tapping. Lack of sleep ached Erick’s head. He couldn’t rest after the embarrassment of last night. The girl was a prudish brat. It shouldn’t matter what she thought. He gulped his fifth mug of ale to chase away the memory. The bitter suds dulled all sensations to a bearable twinge. “Perhaps, someone should check on her,” Reiley suggested. He insisted on waiting for Eleanor before he’d eat. “Where did you meet my oath-brother’s daughter?” Anger shouldn’t harden Erick’s words but his mouth and jaw tensed up. It didn’t make sense. Erick loathed the girl. Reiley exhaled slowly, eyelids drooping as if he were the one intoxicated. “She appeared like a winter fairy out of the snow-laced woods, then disappeared. I chased her but my legs were stiff from the long carriage ride. I thought I had lost her forever but I stopped at your duke’s home to rest and there she was. A rose among the thorns.” He smiled like a lovelorn boy, though crows’ feet marked his rawhide-like skin. “It turned out she was not running from me. She ran from her father. She does not like it here any more than I do. If she was not so well guarded then, I would have stolen her from her prison last winter.” Erick wanted to throw the arrogant ass out onto the ice-slicked road but he needed a trade agreement with Porter. Gritting his teeth, he said instead, “My oath-brother would be very…upset.” “What would he do?” Reiley’s smile spread wide to openly mock Erick. Erick’s blood boiled and scalded his skin. He’d have lurched up and pummeled Reiley’s face if it weren’t for Phil. Unruffled, his older oath-brother calmly warned, “Her theft would cause war and would include our elven allies of the Western River. Lady Eleanor’s mother is of their royal line. Eleanor is also a favored ambassador in Gildon’s court.”
37
Vanessa Gilfoy
Ambassador? That stretched the truth a ways but it worked. No one crossed Gildon’s evil queen. The leathery lips of the foreign king closed in a pensive pucker. “You have probably guessed my intent here does not involve business. Our discussions closed last year and I had no intent of revisiting such topics.” Son of a bitch. The arrogant king refused to lift his trade embargo, even though the cause had long been stripped of any power. No spell-casting hybrid sat on Biston’s throne. There was no longer any threat for war between them, until now. Over a girl Erick despised. “I came to negotiate with your duke for Eleanor’s hand. Although I had sent message of my coming, he was not home, so I followed him here. Thus my unexpected and late arrival upon your doorstep last night.” “Henry won’t be back for several weeks.” Erick stood and signaled that Reiley should leave. “I’ll let him know you stopped by.” But the foreign king didn’t rise. “You are your duke’s master. I have something you want and you have Eleanor in your care. I am willing to reopen negotiations.” Although Erick would love to be rid of the brat, Henry would kill him. Before he could open his mouth, the door burst open. A tear-streaked maid rushed in. She panted through her fingers, making it difficult to understand her. She half-curtsied, half-stumbled and fell against the wall. “Eleanor. Lady Eleanor,” she said again. “She’s dead.” Images spilled from her racing mind of a blue hand jutting out from a mountain of blankets. Shit. What had he been thinking? Erick bolted out of the room and through the halls to the south wing. A gush of cold air chilled his face and goose-bumped his skin. Too cold for elves and full hybrids. He knew that. Damn it, he knew that. Eleanor’s guards stared into the room at the end of the hall. The coldest room in the palace. Their silent accusations singed Erick’s guilt-laden gut. They didn’t bow. They didn’t break way. Unmoving, they didn’t acknowledge him. Erick pushed past and into her tiny bedroom. Piles of blankets and dresses covered the bed as if she’d been unpacking. But when he drew nearer, he saw the blue hand hanging out from under the piles, off the edge of the bed. Earth. He tore off the layers of fabric to the slender form beneath. She lay curled in a tight ball, motionless, face just as blue as her hand. “Eleanor? Ellie?” He grasped her shoulder and flinched. Cold. Even through the multiple nightshirts, her flesh chilled his palms. His chest tightened and his mouth fell open. He could still taste her perfume in the air. She couldn’t be dead. He searched for some sign. Anything. “Ellie, please.” He clasped her hand and howled in pain at the burst of magic.
38
Masquerade of the Cursed King
Her skin burned his. He dropped to his knees, eyes tearing, unable to breathe. The scalding heat spread up his arm and into chest like fire eating through him. Agony. But he couldn’t let go. He couldn’t move. Icy numbness crawled up his legs. What sort of spell was this? He couldn’t scream. Blood pounded through his veins and pumped the frosty sting all throughout, cooling the burn in his chest and arm until he felt nothing. She took a breath, a tiny gasp. Her dark blue lips parted and her midnight hair fluttered like elven silk in a breeze. She wasn’t dead. “Thank Earth,” Phil exhaled. “Get her to a fire. The kitchen or the dining room. I’ll start one up in her old room.” The old man patted Erick on the back, shaking him free from whatever held him. His hands trembled and his legs wobbled beneath him as he forced himself up. “I will take her.” Reiley moved to scoop her up. Rage bubbled in Erick’s gut. He seized her in his arms and nearly toppled under her weight. Such a tiny thing, yet she felt like a big sack of sand. She’d done something to him. Weakened him. Limply, she hung from his arms. Silk scarves slipped from her long neck and pooled on the floor. Her perfume wafted up, soft, barely there, yet enough to dizzy him. The room seemed to spin as his tool hardened. “You are drunk.” Reiley tried to take her from him. Somehow, Erick evaded him and staggered through her mass of guards huddled at the door. They followed close behind, blocking the foreign king. Apparently, they hated Reiley more than Erick. Her limbs and hair swayed with his clumsy swagger. Beautiful, even when blue. The long lines of her exposed neck. Her slender jaw and chin. If only she were someone else. In the dining room, he laid her down on the bearskin rug before the fire. The heat should thaw her. He’d seen it before, though never this bad. She’d never stopped breathing before, nor darkened to such a deep shade of blue. “Ellie? Wake up.” He reached to touch her blue cheek. Reiley stopped him, rough grip on his wrist. “Do not bind her to you. Hear my terms.” “What?” Erick squinted up at him. Jealousy creased the foreign king’s face. “I want her untouched, unbound.” Erick jerked free and spat a curse. “Should I lock her in a tower to ensure her cheek will go unmolested?” “They bind their mates to them by a touch of the cheek.”
39
Vanessa Gilfoy
He’d never heard that before but it made sense. He, himself, had an aversion to anything touching his face. But he’d touched her cheek before, when she was a child. She’d never said anything about it then. “She isn’t full elf. It won’t bind her.” Under his breath, Reiley muttered, “Moron.” The haughty prick constantly insulted Erick’s commoner tongue and lack of proper etiquette. “You want to say that to my face?” Raised by soldiers and his nan, Erick hadn’t had expensive tutors growing up but he’d had more than enough training to pummel the pompous ass in combat. “It would bind you to her. She would only be bound to you if she touched your face. If you were fated as they call it.” “She’s touched my cheek. It didn’t mean anything.” She’d just been a kid. Only twelve or thirteen. It had been harmless. “Then you are not her fated.” Reiley smiled, seemingly relieved and knelt beside her. Elven mumbo-jumbo never applied to Erick. Thank Earth. Not to have a choice in lovers would torture him. With his luck he’d have been fated to some ogre. “Warmth from the fire cannot pass through all these layers she is dressed in.” Reiley reached to unbutton the outermost nightshirt. “Don’t.” Erick pushed his hands away. “She’s my charge. Hand me my coat.” Reiley snorted but whatever argument he meant to spew fell silent. Erick roughly dug his fingers into the layered fabric at her throat and tore the nightshirts open. Buttons skittered and rolled as a burst of fuck-me perfume struck his senses. The whole room drew a deep drag and closed in. Her guards weren’t wearing their nose plugs. “Get out,” Erick snapped when one of them stooped beside him for a better look. He pulled the torn fabric taut over her nearly bare breasts and black tuft that shimmered like a starry night. Oh, he wanted to stroke that midnight silk and dip his fingers between her delicate lower lips. If he were alone with her, he’d warm her in a whole new way. She’d wake from orgasm while his hot rod thawed her pussy and his hands rubbed her shimmying breasts. That would be the best way. “You should go too,” he blurted to Reiley, all too eagerly. Although her guards left, Reiley remained. “I am concerned for your niece.” “She’s not my…” Earth, I’m a bad man. They didn’t share blood, but that didn’t excuse his behavior. It was just the perfume. Erick reached into his pocket for the nose plug and shoved it over his nostrils. “She wouldn’t want you to see.” His voice came out nasally but at least he could think rationally. “Nor would she want…” Phil burst into the room, papery face creased with worry. Knuckles white, he clutched a blanket to his chest. “Here, Your Majesty. Her room won’t be warm enough 40
Masquerade of the Cursed King
for a few hours.” He wrapped the blanket around Erick’s shoulders as if he were the one cold. You need to strip down to warm her, Phil uncomfortably directed. Hurry. If she dies… She’ll be fine. This has happened before. Remember? She used to follow us out into the snow. No, she followed you into the snow for no more than an hour, not all night. “Move out of the way.” Reiley shoved his shoulder into Erick’s. Phil yanked the foreigner up by his earlobe. “Touch my king and I don’t care who you are.” He threw Reiley out into the hall and locked the door between them. Despite his age, Phil’s strength showed itself in short bursts. “That’ll come back and bite us,” Erick grumbled, though he wanted to do far worse to Porter’s king. “Hurry up.” Under the cover of the blanket, Erick unbuttoned his shirt. “Now you’re modest?” Phil muttered. He hadn’t worn an arm scarf to hide his cursed scar. Should he take off his pants too? His legs were warm. He stripped them off. Nude, he scooped her up under the blanket with him. Her torn clothing hid her skin from his. Shamefully, even without the tempting perfume, he wanted to feel her. He tried not to seem too eager as he slid the layers off her shoulders and out from under her. Her bare cheeks stung his thighs with icy needles but he didn’t care. He held her tightly, crushing her firm breasts against his chest, ignoring the shivers racking through him. Her stony, blue nipples stabbed into his flesh, yet fantasies of sucking them pink quickened his breath. When he pulled her frozen, nude hip hard against his throbbing cock, he nearly moaned. The cold couldn’t diminish his need. “Ellie?” he croaked in her hair. Strands of her silky tresses tangled in his stubble. Limply, her head slid back, exposing her neck. He wanted to plant kisses there and lick every line but he settled for rubbing her smooth skin. Down the length of her neck, his fingertips curled into the hollows of her collarbone, around her slender shoulders. His hands trembled, cold, when he reached her arms but the friction of his touch might help. He massaged and briskly rubbed up the deep curve of her back and couldn’t stop the groan in his chest. Each rough stroke pushed her firm flesh against his hungry cock. A door opened, startling him. Over his shoulder, he watched Phil leave through the kitchen door and close it behind him. Thrilling shivers pricked his gut. Alone, he could do whatever he wanted. No one would know. But it would be wrong to take advantage. Would it hurt, just to touch her?
41
Vanessa Gilfoy
He tried to sit still but couldn’t stop his hips from grinding against her hip. Her icy flesh should have cooled his desire but his rock-hard cock twitched and wept with precum, slicking each stroke on her skin. He curled his free hand around the deep curve of her waist and traced up the hard line of her stomach, between her breasts. He couldn’t breathe, filling his gaze with the sight of her, spreading his fingertips wide over the soft mounds. He stroked and fondled her cold nipples, rubbing them pink. Oh, this was the best way. How could there be any other way? He cupped her, filling his hand. Warmth sparked from her breast, through his arm. It spread over him, everywhere her body touched his. His nerves lit afire and every muscle in his body tensed. Every sensation concentrated at the tip of his cock and drove him to a fervent rhythm. He clutched her tightly against his need, grunting and panting. He sloppily kissed her neck and the salt of her skin filled his mouth. He lapped up the flavor. Electrifying warmth spilled down his throat, filling him with her magic. Her whole body felt warm. Blue faded, her fair cheeks had flushed. Jagged breath pushed her mouth open. Erick halted and released her breast, afraid she’d wake and scream. He’d taken this too far. “Ellie?” She murmured something in elven. “Ellie?” He stroked her jaw with his fingertips and his eyes rolled back in his head. The sparks were so much stronger here. Earth, that felt good too good. He tentatively pressed his palm to her cheek and moans mingled between them. Desire surged from her mind through their touch and blazed inside him. “Ellie, do you want me?” He held his breath, hoping, praying it wasn’t just a reflection of his thoughts bouncing back to him. “Erick,” she whispered. Elven words followed but he didn’t understand until her open hands glided up his bare chest and her mouth inched toward his. He would have seized her pouty lips if not for the sudden tension in her back. Something felt wrong. Her eyes popped open, aglow with memories they’d shared. She screamed, squeezed her eyes shut and tried to push his hand away. Worries flooded from her mind. Did he see? Oh, please say he didn’t see. He couldn’t have seen. See what? She wrenched free and he barely caught her from stumbling into the fire. His cock twitched against her bare stomach and she glanced down. Earth, no. You didn’t. She wriggled free and snatched the blanket to hide herself. Her lips trembled as if she’d cry.
42
Masquerade of the Cursed King
“I didn’t. I swear. You were blue. I was just warming you.” Erick hurriedly tugged on his clothes to escape the horrible guilt of how close he’d come. If she hadn’t woken up… Oh, he was a bad man. Hell would definitely claim him for this. The fresh memory replayed and he realized it was her in his head. There was no hiding how far he’d taken advantage. “I’m sorry, Ellie. I shouldn’t have.” “If you want me to call you Rickie or Freddie, keep calling me that.” Her gaze lowered to the nose plug that made his voice nasally. “Take that stupid thing off.” She wasn’t mad, not about his touches. He removed the plug and her perfume wafted over him, rich and thick. “Ellie, do you—?” The hallway door crashed open and spilled Reiley onto the floor at Eleanor’s feet. He scrambled up as apologies sputtered from his mouth about the woman he’d shared with Erick last night. “It was late. Alcohol stole my reserves. I have never committed such an act before.” Dressed in nothing more than a blanket, hair tangled, she held herself with confidence she shouldn’t have. If her body dripped with diamonds and elven silk, she couldn’t have looked more graceful and collected. “Are you under the impression that I care who shares your bed? Why don’t you delete the woman in between and just take Frederick to bed? Wasn’t that the point?” Her glare fixed on Erick. I get it, Eleanor. Despite what I almost did to you, you think I want men? Reiley blurted, “I only crave you, my sweet winter rose.” He reached for her hand but she evaded him. “I’ve already told you, I don’t deserve your affection.” On anyone else’s lips, her words would sound like a modest compliment but Eleanor’s tone tainted them with insult. “Give it to someone else.” Pain twisted Reiley’s face and Erick felt a dark satisfaction watching him. Eleanor started toward the door and weakly tottered. Before she could crash into the dining table, Erick caught her. She tried to squirm away but he was stronger. “Eleanor, your room isn’t warm enough yet. You have to wait here a few hours.” “She should eat something.” Erick guided her to a chair. “Are you warm enough?” The sick part of him wished she’d say no, to give him the excuse to hold her nude body. “Didn’t your slumber party empty your whoring stick? Find someone else to distract yourself with. Or maybe you could actually tend to your duties.” Erick stared, dumbfounded. Ungrateful brat. “Why should I be grateful? It was your fault. Did you expect me to yield and beg you for compassion? I’d rather my father see you for what you really are.” “And what’s that?” Erick sat beside her, wishing then that he’d let her freeze.
43
Vanessa Gilfoy
“A blind, selfish coward.” He gritted his teeth and tried to block her from his mind. The hybrid was like her mother, stealthy but with the added strength of the demon in the tower. “How do you stand up to your own judgment? You’d condemn us all to death, your father, your mother, what remains of your kin, for your own selfishness.” “Is that what you think? You’re already doomed. All of you. There’s nothing I can do to save you. I have no power here. No spells. Nothing. You’ve all clipped my wings to keep me prisoner in this hell, so that my mother can force me back with spells I don’t know the counters to.” “The driving force of a hybrid. Power. The lure of Gildon’s queen. I’m sure she offered you a nice morsel of power in exchange for Biston’s demise.” He gulped the rest of his ale. Earth, he hated the girl. “I don’t want to watch you kill everything I love. Why should I stay for that? Look around you.” She motioned to the tattered and dusty curtains, to the broken window molding and the gouged floor. He glared at the spoiled brat. She’d been born to a poor soldier’s family and this wasn’t good enough? He couldn’t afford the amenities Gildon offered. “So you’d run to the woman who murdered three of your uncles and orphaned countless Bistonian children?” “She didn’t know they were my uncles. If she’d known she wouldn’t have. She’s my cousin.” Erick grimaced. He’d heard Anre was related to the evil queen but hadn’t realized how closely. How could Henry look at his daughter and see anything but a monster? Hybrids like her could sink a city to the depths of hell. Gifted with elven kings’ magic, powered by human resilience, they could cast any spell anywhere, unlike elves. At least elves, royal elves, needed the collective energy of their land to command elementals and power destructive spells, prohibiting the swift demolition of mortal kingdoms. “And there it is. That’s why my mother never tells anyone, not even me. You share blood with Ceres’ human side. Why aren’t you considered evil by the same logic?” she asked. “Very distantly related.” Thus the name of the war between Biston and Gildon— Duran, their family name. But it wasn’t the demon queen’s human blood he feared. “I can escort you to Gildon,” Reiley offered. He seemed to hold his breath waiting for her answer. The twit would probably promise anything for a kind word from the brat. Despite Reiley’s high vocabulary from a lifetime among aristocrats and all his learning, he acted like an awkward boy infatuated with an older woman. But Reiley had to be twice Eleanor’s age. Too old for her. “My father would kill you before I reach the summit. My mother would drag me back. Then there would be inevitable war between Biston and Porter. Self-fulfilling prophecy.” 44
Masquerade of the Cursed King
“I don’t understand,” Reiley said. “Eleanor’s mentor claims that if ‘Eleanor Borona sets foot on foreign soil without Biston’s king, Biston will crumble beneath the weight of war. Nothing will remain’.” Queen Ceres had said it so casually, dark grin on her face. “Probably made it up to torture me.” But Eleanor’s parents believed the prophecy or curse. “So either Frederick or whoever rules Biston must accompany you to your new home?” “Just Erick. No one will accede to the throne after him. The moron doesn’t need the weight of war to crumble Biston to ruin.” Reiley chortled. Erick’s blood boiled. He wanted to bend Eleanor over his lap and deliver the punishment she so deserved. “If you were anyone else, you’d rot in a cell.” “I already am. What more can you take from me?” He grabbed hold of her arm and tugged her up with him. “Let’s see.” Her skin shocked his with her hybrid magic in the way that weakened his restraint. She laughed as if she didn’t believe him. “You can’t hurt me. My father is the power behind your throne.” “Your father should have disciplined you long ago.” Erick dragged her out the door. He expected her guards to put up a fight but they did nothing. Porter’s king called behind them, “Release her.” Guards held back the pompous meddler. Although Erick roughly pulled her through the hall, she didn’t seem scared. “Maybe you’ll learn some respect after spending a few nights in a true prison.” The thought excited him even more than the electric sparks of her spell. “So you can warm me when I turn blue?” She opened his fantasy of fucking her warm. “Would that shut you up?” He wished he had taken advantage. The brat didn’t deserve his respect and restraint. His cock twitched and he knew exactly how he’d punish her. “You can’t.” “I can do whatever I want with you. I’m your king.” Did she actually smile at him? Laughter burst from her clamped lips, as if she’d tried to hide her amusement. “Oh no. Please don’t, Your Majesty. Is that the reaction you’re looking for?” Blood pounded through his head. He tore the blanket from her clutches. She gasped and tried to hide her nakedness, nervous gaze flicking down the empty hall. “That’s the reaction I’m looking for.” He seized her, grip tight on her bare ass cheek that clenched and quivered against his palm. Her lithe body hid against him, rich
45
Vanessa Gilfoy
perfume wafting up, sparks burning through him and he feared he’d fuck her right there in the hall. “Just a little farther.” He unlocked the heavy iron door to the dungeon and pulled her inside with him. “You’re going to pay for everything you’ve said and done these past five years.” She resisted his tug and dug her little feet into the landing. Earth, don’t play the victim. He couldn’t fuck her if she pretended not to want him and he desperately wanted this to be more than just a prison sentence. She grimaced. “That smell. Don’t you smell it?” Beyond the lure of her perfume, there was nothing else. But the priss was half elven. The slightest odor would torture her. “Part of the punishment.” Firelight from the torches flanking the door licked at her body and he couldn’t help but trickle his gaze over her soft curves, hardened nipples, silky tuft and long legs. Without modesty, she stood, head held high, small smile hinting she knew the power she held over him. “Not here,” she said in a sultry voice. Breath halted in his chest. He wanted to give in, to take her to his bedroom and lay her on fresh sheets. Anything to hear her moan his name in that low tone. But then he’d be no better than that twit king who begged for her. “Nice try.” Erick hoisted her over his shoulder. Her feminine squeal of surprise swelled his throbbing hunger to the point of pain. He rubbed his stubbled cheek against her bare hip. Earth, those sparks on his face. Her hiss of breath rewarded him. Such delicate skin. He craved an even more sensitive spot against his lips. Down the stairs, he slid his grip up the back of her thigh to the plump curve that shimmied with his every step. Soft and smooth. He dipped his fingers between her thighs, where his cock would soon follow and her honey slicked his fingertips. It gushed from her puffy slit, hot and rich with her intoxicating scent. An electric burst numbed his fingertips as her whole body tensed and shivered. Did she just come? A groan rumbled his chest. How could she feign disinterest? He could barely keep from fucking her against the jagged stone steps. Though what he had in mind wouldn’t be much better. He kicked open the first cell door. The rough-hewn slab crashed against the brick wall and mortar flaked over them like snow, dusting her flawless skin. Inside, darkness nearly blanketed them, if not for the ethereal glow of her eyes. Something scurried over the leather toes of his boots and Eleanor shuddered. She clawed at his back and resisted when he tried to set her down. Erick laughed. “What did you think I meant?” He forced her wrists up into the iron shackles that hung from the wall. She leaned forward on the chains, away from the wall, head turned to examine something behind her. The slender muscle of her shoulders tensed taut and glistened. 46
Masquerade of the Cursed King
Countless men had left their sweat and blood on those bricks. For a hybrid, the smell had to be misery. “Some men spend years here,” Erick whispered in her ear. “If you’re very good, I’ll let you go. If not…” He caressed her waist with the back his fingers. She shivered and relaxed against the wall. The chains jingled, her arms raised, limply bent at the elbows. “What will you do if I’m bad?” She bit her lower lip as if to keep from smiling. Erick grinned and stroked the lines of her long neck. Oh, he wanted her to be bad. “I’ll have to punish you.” Giggles shook her breasts and shimmering midnight hair. “How?” He filled his hands with her to feel the delicate weight bounce against his palms. Did she feel the thrilling sparks too? She quieted, mouth open, breath quick. “How do you think?” He buried his face in her neck to breathe in her scent. It dizzied him and pained his rigid cock. He nipped the hollows of her throat and collarbones and tasted her salty skin. Her flavor heated his throat better than fine rum. Each stroke of his tongue, each scrape of his teeth arched her back, swelling her breasts against him. Arm around the deep small of her back, he squeezed her tightly against his want. It took everything to keep from grinding her against the bricks. He needed to give her more. He hoisted her up on her tiptoes and dipped down to bathe her petite breasts with his open mouth. Kisses and hungry licks melded as he teased her puckering nipples. Her heaving chest implored for his teeth. He nibbled on the tiny nubs and flicked them with the tip of his numbed tongue. Her soft whimper struck fire from his loins through his gut. Any moment now, he’d explode but he wanted her to want it. He glided his fingertips down her quivering stomach and hips. Her silky tuft curled around his fingers. “I need to feel you come again.” She held her breath and the blue glow of her eyes intensified to blinding beams. The chains jingled as she strained to meet his touch. Her thighs parted and a tiny cry begged for him. “Wait.” She drew back, as if suddenly remembering something. Fears spilled from her mind and her glow faded, paining him. She worried he’d give her away to Porter’s king if he had her, like he’d done to her friends. That didn’t make sense. A vindictive ex-girlfriend must have scared her with false rumors. “I won’t.” Earth, he’d keep her chained, secreted away from everyone. No one would know to look for her here. Every night, he’d enjoy her electrifying spell, her scent, her alluring body.
47
Vanessa Gilfoy
He stroked the soft skin of her inner thigh and listened to her breath quicken in his ear. “Now for your punishment.” He’d meant to tease her, to bring her to the brink of orgasm with his touch, then pull away. But he couldn’t. When he slipped his finger between her puffy lower lips, her whole body arched and she bucked, moans flowing from her open mouth. Drenched with honey, his fingers glided into her slit. He curled his finger up inside her gushing pussy and she quivered. Her scent flooded through him and the room seemed to spin. He clutched her to keep from falling. Her tight squeeze seized him. She fucked his finger in a zealous rush and her screams rang out. Her impatient thrashes ignited the nerves in his fingertips with shocks that rippled through him, as if he’d come inside her. Every muscle in his body stiffened, aching and rigid. Cheek pressed to hers, he couldn’t wait for her to catch her breath. He flicked her hard, quivering clit. Her thighs squeezed his finger and she squirmed away from his touch. “Mmm. Don’t you want me to?” He needed her to take what she could from him. He couldn’t delay his hungry cock much longer. His eager beast painfully strained the waist of his trousers. “Wait,” she gasped. “Open your mind to me,” he croaked. He wanted to feel that sensitive little nub of flesh spasm in ecstasy beneath his touch. Suddenly, the room filled with light from a glowing orb that appeared overhead and reflected off mirrored walls. Vines crept down from the ceiling and spiraled around her wrists where shackles should be. Instead of filthy slate, marble glistened beneath their feet. A deep melody swelled from a corner where stringed instruments blossomed from rosebuds. Warm rosewater spilled from a rumbling waterfall and swirled around his ankles. That’s not what he’d meant. Earth, he’d forgotten she could do that. It jarred him, reminding him who she once was. “Sorry,” she murmured. Her mind slipped away from his and the cell darkened. Music stopped. Her silky slit slid over his finger to where she needed him most and her panting mouth lifted to his. On tiptoes, she strained to kiss him, flushed lips plump and moist. Ellie. The little girl whose innocence had comforted him in his darkest hours. Erick recoiled from her kiss. He couldn’t do this. Earth, he couldn’t do this. Not with her. Ellie. He shouldn’t see her this way. He squeezed his eyes shut and retreated. Henry would kill him. Metal clanked against stone and he opened his eyes. Unchained, she glared at him, blue fire blindingly bright. Her scream pierced his ears, though she didn’t open her mouth.
48
Masquerade of the Cursed King
Erick clutched his ears, wincing but couldn’t block the excruciating sound. Blood pounded against the inside of his skull and spurted into his palms. His own screams emptied his lungs. He dropped to his knees before her bare feet, silently pleading with her. Elven silk twirled around her, covering her the way he’d imagined when she’d insulted Reiley. Jewels glittered at her throat and dripped from her pointed ears as she strode past him. The pounding of her little feet faded up the stairs. When the door above slammed shut, her scream halted. Erick fell to the floor, panting for breath. He heard the clicking of a rat’s tiny claws. He couldn’t be deaf. He rubbed his ears but didn’t feel the blood that had been there only seconds ago. Dry. Only his fingers were wet, where he’d touched her. Common elven magic. An illusion. He glanced up at the swinging chains. Iron shackles couldn’t hold her. That’s what Phil had meant. Earth, he needed her gone. He heard the door above open. His whole body flinched. Shit. Had she returned for more? Footsteps too heavy to be hers clicked down the steps. Erick pushed himself up and found only Phil in the rank hallway. But that didn’t ease the tension from Erick’s neck. “I warned you,” Phil said darkly. “You have to be careful with her.” “No. I don’t. Send a message to Henry. I want her gone. Let Reiley have her. Tell Henry I’ll escort her across the border. Just get rid of her.” Phil winced and dropped his gaze. “Sleep on it. You’ll think differently once you get to know her.” “No.” Erick rubbed his face and ran his fingers through his hair to his aching neck. “She screws with my head to the point that I don’t know what I’m doing. I turn into a…I don’t know what. Something I don’t want to be. She’ll be better off with that twit king anyway. He can give her what she wants.” She’d have a perfect palace, clean and filled with riches. More than Erick could ever offer. Plus, there was the trade agreement. That would build up Biston’s economy, at least. If only he didn’t feel so…wrong. But it was the right thing to do. He couldn’t have her turning everything upside down, ruining what little order there was in his life. She was just a girl from a closed chapter of his life.
49
Vanessa Gilfoy
Chapter Six
December 22, 9544 AR Valetta, Biston Just outside the rank odor of the dungeon, a silent whisper halted Eleanor’s hasty retreat. Come here, child. Eleanor choked on her own saliva and coughed. She wiped the tears from her eyes to see the door before her. The tower. The demon’s tower lay beyond that door. Come, child. I won’t hurt you. When Eleanor was small, she’d believed that promise. Necessity and desperation had led her past that door, up the curving steps into darkness at the tower’s top, the demon’s prison. “You’ve tricked me before.” Eleanor’s voice came out broken, weakened by sobs. Damn Erick and his mother. We’re the same, you and me. Eleanor ran. Tears burned her cheeks and icy drafts pained her bare skin but not as much as the guilt and misery inside. If only she were someone else, something else. Shivers racked her and air came in erratic bursts of misty breath by the time she reached her old room. Inside, fire, beloved fire blazed, soothing and healing. Its warmth kissed her skin but kisses weren’t enough. With elven words, she drew its energy up like water. It seeped deep inside her, filling and refreshing. This, one of the few spells she knew, came from the demon. When her father had found her in the demon’s lap, practicing forbidden magic, she’d never known such hatred from him. Every vein in his face had pulsated as he exploded insults on her, burning her insides. That was the moment everything forever changed. It hurt but not as much as the demon’s mind at sight of her father. Memories that weren’t Eleanor’s, of pain and torture from an abusive king, Erick’s father. The misery that resulted. Vengeance and consuming wrath. It shouldn’t have left a scar in Eleanor. It wasn’t hers. But it ached and oozed sometimes, whenever her thoughts fell quiet and still. Like an infected wound that just won’t heal. They’d never told Erick but he knew. He had to. Where else could she have learned how to steal light and heat? Not from her own secretive mother. Eleanor had learned for him. He’d have died if she hadn’t. They all would have. “What are you doing?” Meagan shrieked behind her. Eleanor’s whole body clenched. “Go away.” 50
Masquerade of the Cursed King
A blanket spilled all around her. Meagan pulled it taut over her shoulders. “You’ll die. I’ve never been so scared, Elle. Please, don’t do that to me again. I am so sorry about last night. It meant nothing. It was only sex. Just meaningless sex. Forgive me. I meant to tell you. I just… It just felt so good. I mean have you ever felt someone know you, I mean really know you?” Eleanor glared up at the girl. “Don’t you realize why he has you wear the mask? It’s because he doesn’t want to know who you are because if he knew, he’d have to treat you like a person, or as close to a person as he can treat a woman.” “No. I can feel him in my mind, like you used to do but not like that. He…he knows what I want and when I want it. Haven’t you ever felt a man and wished he could do that?” Eleanor’s face burned and she vomited curses. Her stomach twisted and tangled in a painful mess. “Do you fuck him every night?” The words squeaked out from her throat, where hateful hands seemed to squeeze. “No. I wish.” Eleanor bolted up, wishing she could ignore the years of friendship and slam Megan’s curly haired head against the pink wall. Fear widened the maid’s eyes as she backed away. Eleanor’s own eyes must have glowed. She closed them. “I won’t hurt you.” She hated when people looked at her like that, as if she had no restraint simply because of the elven blood in her veins. “He takes a different woman each night. I’m so sorry, Elle. Please. What can I do to make it up to you?” Megan pleaded. There was nothing. A knock sounded at the heavy wooden door, where anxious thoughts crept in. Eleanor groaned. Why wouldn’t he leave? Meagan opened it before Eleanor could scream not to. Porter’s king shoved past the maid and inside, as if Meagan didn’t exist. “Are you all right, Eleanor?” His green eyes glowed as he searched hers. On anyone else, the shade would be beautiful but on him it was the color of putrid algae and toads. “I’m fine. Go away.” He tried to touch her shoulder in mock comfort but Eleanor evaded him. Blanket clutched in one hand, she backed away, wishing his lustful thoughts weren’t so loud. Everything about him repulsed her—his cocky smile, his hunger to demean and squash all confidence around him, his air of authority on every subject. Deep inside his head, something worse hid where Eleanor couldn’t see. Somehow, the human shielded his secrets. “Can we speak alone, my love?” he whispered. That word on his lips made her cringe. “At dinner but only if you go away now.”
51
Vanessa Gilfoy
“Anything for you. As you wish. I promise I shall punish him for you. He will never lay hands on you again.” Eleanor’s eyes burned, fixed on the arrogant king who squinted in her light. “Don’t. I don’t need your protection. Just go away. Get out.” His leathery lips parted, as if to say something but he started toward the door, back stiff. “I will see you at dinner, my love,” he muttered and disappeared out into the hall. No man had ever been so irritatingly persistent. Normally, she only had to say no once or twice. If he pushed her any further, she’d lose her temper and do something awful she’d regret. Meagan closed the door. “He’s handsome, Elle. Dignified.” “Men are such assholes,” she hissed. “How could you fuck him, Megan? He’s slime.” She opened her closet and pulled out a plain dress. “I know. I know. But, Elle, I’m not like you. Men don’t line up to take abuse from me. I just… This is hard to explain… I mean you…” She blinked tears. “Out of the hundreds of men here, why Erick?” Meagan wiped at the tears on her cheek and sniffled. “I didn’t think you’d be jealous. I mean we both liked him and we talked about…” Eleanor cut her off. “I don’t like him. I hate him.” She tugged on the dress and shivered in the cool cotton. Meagan straightened Eleanor’s skirt and returned the blanket around Eleanor’s shoulders. “I know you do but it wasn’t like it had anything to do with him. I mean, really him. I mean, it wouldn’t matter. I just like his body and the way he touches me. You should feel him, the way he moves and the…” “Stop it,” Eleanor snapped. “I don’t want to hear any more.” She slumped onto the rug in front of the fire. Meagan sat beside her, breath heavy, as if waiting. Eleanor’s thoughts bounced about like a ball off the walls and ceiling of a tiny room, eventually rolling into memories of other men at the masquerade. Some of them had been very attractive, muscular and fit. If it weren’t for Erick, Eleanor would have watched longer. Earth, she’d have participated, if she could. Her body still hungered for satisfaction, teased by Erick’s tingling touch. If only she hadn’t let him see inside her in the dungeon, she could have felt his hard cock in her most intimate of places. Slick and aching, she needed something to ease the ache. Earth, he lifted her to such heights, then left her with no way down. She just wanted to push away this feeling. If only her body didn’t want him. “What are the others like?” Meagan grinned and wriggled excitedly. “Why? You interested?” “I don’t know. Maybe.” Megan shoved and nearly knocked her over. “Seriously?” She hopped up. “You’ll need a costume.” On light feet, Megan darted to the closet and yanked the doors open. She pulled out a silky purple evening gown. “Oooh, this would be perfect. We could cut 52
Masquerade of the Cursed King
it here.” Her hand slid just below the hips. “And we could add some lace here.” She motioned to the bust line. “They’d recognize me regardless of what I wear.” Her pheromones and pointed ears would give her away if not the glow of her eyes. “I have a few ideas.”
53
Vanessa Gilfoy
Chapter Seven
December 22, 9544 AR Valetta, Biston Erick’s gaze avoided hers, fixed on the bowl of stew he picked at. He hadn’t said a word to her but his thoughts leaked out. He regretted what he’d wanted. Even now, he wouldn’t let himself enjoy what her pheromones stirred. He held his breath for long intervals, wishing for the nose plug she’d stolen from him. Selfish bastard. Oh, how she hated him. Eleanor forced her throat to swallow a spoonful of bland stew. The thick and lumpy liquid nearly choked her. “Hardly fit for a stable boy. Such a lovely vision should have buttery lobster and succulent oysters. I will pamper you with every delicacy known to New Pangaea,” Reiley promised. “I like stew. It’s my favorite,” Eleanor lied and shoveled in another spoonful of either venison or lamb. She couldn’t tell. Hunched like a gargoyle, scowl fixed on his stony, chiseled face, Erick grumbled, “With a trade agreement, she would have lobster and oysters and Porter would enjoy the medicinal herbs and tubers that grow only in Biston’s mountains.” “Porter hardly needs such…weeds but you know how to win my favor. Agree to my terms and you shall have your trade agreement.” “I’m not some product to be exported,” Eleanor snapped. “I decide, not him.” “Her father has to approve first,” Erick said. Eleanor spat out the water she’d just sipped. “What?” But Erick had promised he wouldn’t. Earth, how could he? How could he be so stupid? Didn’t he know? Didn’t he sense it? Even so dilute, his elven blood had to have some power over him. Was he really that blind? She looked to Uncle Phil, who stared intently at the floor. He’d sent the letter. Oh no. She’d have to chance the snow. She couldn’t stay here. Her father would give her away if her fated didn’t want her. Shhh. It’s okay. Henry won’t agree, Phil offered. Had her thoughts spilled out? She looked to Erick. He’d heard too. Oh no. How much had he heard? Did it even matter any more? He studied her from across the table and his mind probed at hers. When he couldn’t find a way in, he asked, “Would it be so horrible? Do you honestly think someone better is going to tolerate your insults and throw himself at your feet?”
54
Masquerade of the Cursed King
Air puffed out of her. It shouldn’t hurt but her chest caved in as if crushed by the weight of his words. He’d defied fate all these years. Why would he change now, just because of her pheromone’s effect on him? He didn’t love her. He never would. “My fated is pond scum. I couldn’t do worse,” she nearly sobbed. Uncle Phil rushed to her and tried to embrace her but Eleanor rose from her chair and stepped out of reach. “He doesn’t know,” Phil whispered. “No. Why should he? His delicate psyche might shatter. Earth forbid he should face his fears and grow up.” “Stop. This isn’t the way. He isn’t ready,” Phil scolded. “Ready for what?” Erick straightened, mind straining against hers. “He is your fated,” Porter’s king spat, having figured out the obvious. Erick laughed and bolted up, chair falling back. Arms waving out in front of him, he shook his head adamantly. “No, not a hybrid. How awful would that be, being fated to someone like his mother who could murder him and steal what little he has? Even a spell-less, wounded hybrid could trick him, for he has no magic of his own to defend himself. He could hire a rogue royal elf to keep her weak but what if she seduces a wizard with her spells? Like his mother had. Her lover could murder him in his sleep. Maybe his son too. What if his children don’t have someone like my grandmother to protect and raise them? What if my father isn’t around to keep him safe? My father doesn’t have many years left.” Cold and numb, Eleanor voiced the fears he kept hidden and closed even from himself. “No. He could never love a hybrid. Better to fill that void with faceless women, mortal women who couldn’t hurt him, so long as he never marries one.” His laughter halted at her words and his dark eyes hardened, face creased with horror and rage. “Demon. Stay out of my head.” “I can’t.” His thoughts leaked so loudly. He should never have touched her face. Eleanor spun on her heels and rushed out of the room. She wouldn’t cry. Earth, she wouldn’t cry. She squeezed her eyes shut and blindly ran to her room. Curled on her bed, she watched the fire burn, wishing she knew how to extract enough energy from the icy mountains to cross without freezing to death. There had to be a way. Maybe the demon knew how. How much would it hurt? Would another demon’s scar kill her? The last one still burned, after six years. Best to wait. If Eleanor could delay until spring, she could try to escape without risking her life. The door opened and Phil’s heels clicked in. “He didn’t mean it.” “I don’t care.” The idiot probably still refused to see what Eleanor was to him.” “Just let him get to know you.” “He already knows me.” They’d been best friends until five years ago when he’d jilted her. He was supposed to miss her. He was supposed to fall madly in love. He was supposed to rescue her from her father’s prison, like a hero from a fairytale. She’d
55
Vanessa Gilfoy
waited in her tower but Erick never came. When it became clear he didn’t want her, she’d pursued a self-sufficient life but he wouldn’t even let her have that. “He doesn’t want to see. Let him fall to what’s coming. I won’t protect him.” “Ellie, just give him a little more time. He’ll soften if you’re nice to him.” So he could crush her again? “No.” It had hurt too much. “I don’t want him.” “Well, you’re stuck here. Why not make the best of it?” “I will.” Phil smiled, seemingly misunderstanding her. But at least he left. Eleanor sat up and snatched a notebook from her nightstand. She could study and make plans and just ignore the selfish bastard. Maybe even have fun at the masquerade. When the door opened again, Meagan skipped in with a squeal. Fabric rustled over her arms. Openly, she’d carried the costume through the hall. “Don’t worry. No one saw me. Look.” She held it up. The black laced, purple satin dress seemed doll-sized. “Put it on.” “Meagan, I can’t hide the pheromone or my eyes when I…you know.” If only she was full elf. Then she’d only release pheromones when ovulating once every hundred years instead of constantly. Meagan held up lemon slices. “It kills every smell in the kitchen. Even fish. And I have this.” She dumped everything on the bed to find the mask. Purple lenses covered the eye slits. “Come on. Just try it.” Light would still shine through but at least it wouldn’t be blue, she supposed. The lemon seemed like a bad idea, though. After she donned the costume and stood before the mirror, she knew it was all a bad idea. Eleanor tugged at the back but it wouldn’t cover her bare bottom. Her plump cheeks curved below the rough lace. The low-cut bodice didn’t conceal much more. The pink of her areolas peeked out, though they looked mostly purple through the lenses of the mask. Her long hair and pointed ears hid in gathers of purple satin. Although glowing purple feathers fluffed out over her cheekbones and forehead from the mask, her pouty lips still showed. Wouldn’t they recognize her mouth? “I might as well go naked.” “It won’t stay on very long anyway. You look great.” Meagan rubbed a lemon slice on Eleanor’s neck and wrists. “I’m the only hybrid woman in Biston besides Erick’s mother. Even with the lenses, they’ll know.” “So close your eyes.” Meagan made it seem so simple but Eleanor had never pulled off a disguise before. She’d tried and failed many times during her escape attempts. Well, the last time she’d come close. “What about shoes?” Eleanor sighed. “No. You’d be surprised how many guys looove feet. Go barefoot. You have pretty little feet. High arches.” Meagan stripped down to her costume, a tiny fluff of tulle. A swan mask completed her ensemble. “Oh, rules. No names. No kissing on the lips. No 56
Masquerade of the Cursed King
touching faces. That’s it. Let’s go.” She snatched Eleanor’s hand and pulled her out into the hall. Just like that. Half naked in the open. Eleanor gasped and quickly scanned the hall. No one saw her step out. Earth, her heart raced and her face grew numb. Meagan pulled her down the hall, seeming to know Eleanor would back out given the chance. Light from both moons spilled in from narrow windows along the length of the hall. The walls should look pink but Eleanor’s lenses darkened everything to purple. Her feet moved on their own over the icy, bare floor toward the high-pitched hum of desire. Cold crawled up her legs but she barely noticed it. What if someone recognized her? What else would Erick and her father take from her? Could she lose anything more? What if she lost Meagan? The door to the throne room opened. Heat washed over her and thawed her goosebumped skin. Moans and grunts called like a siren’s song but it was Meagan’s rough tug that pulled her inside. Men’s gazes dripped down her body and Eleanor tugged on her skirt, wishing it was just a little longer. She hadn’t expected to feel so vulnerable. She never had before. Why had she let Meagan talk her into this? She wanted to hide her nakedness behind spells but magic would expose her even more. Meagan’s petite hand, Eleanor’s anchor, slipped away and panic flooded through Eleanor. “Wait. I can’t do this.” She stepped back and bumped into someone. She tried to turn around to see who it was, hoping for Meagan. But a man’s thick arm circled her waist, erection pressed hard against her back. Instinctively, she clasped his wrist, meaning to wriggle free but a tingling sensation startled her. Earth, it was him. Invisible needles pricked her belly. She bit her lip to keep from screaming. She tried to push his arm away but his grip tightened. Then she felt his mind, probing at hers. She blocked him and his thick biceps twitched. “You’re new, aren’t you?” he whispered in her ear, breath tickling her. His words relieved her. He didn’t recognize her. Earth, but he would. She needed to get away. Erick kissed her neck and his soft lips sparked nerves afire all through her body. Her eyes heated and she squeezed them shut to hide her light. If only he didn’t feel so good. He stilled, seemingly surprised. “Hybrid?” Oh, stupid Meagan. Eleanor knew the lemon wouldn’t work. He smiled against her skin. She hadn’t expected that but as far as he knew, there could be other hybrids in Biston. That could explain the tingling sensations to him and keep her identity secret. He wouldn’t know what the sparks meant. But could she do this with him? Her body 57
Vanessa Gilfoy
more than wanted to. Tomorrow it would be as if it never happened. Just for one night, to feel him. It meant nothing. He stroked her waist and kissed higher up her neck, quickening her breath. Excitement teased every synapse beneath his touch. It felt so right. She didn’t have to hate him tonight. Her eyelids loosened open. Rough lace scraped her skin as his hand slid over her ruffled skirt to the swell of her buttocks. When his palm cupped her bare cheek, she gasped. Hot honey dripped down the inside of her thighs. If his caress slipped any lower, she’d come right there before his cock even touched her. Suddenly beside her, he stared down from the holes of his black satin mask. She’d always loved his dark eyes, normally the color of chocolate. The heat of his gaze, unhindered and free, melted the last of her reserves. She couldn’t help but touch him. Earth, she’d never felt his skin, not like this. He’d always pushed her hands away before. But now, he actually moaned when she stroked the thick muscle of his neck. It twitched beneath her fingertips. So masculine and electrifying. She pressed her palm flat against the bulge of his chest for more. Bursts of energy lit the nerves of her hand. Mmm, she wanted that everywhere. She leaned against him but fabric frustratingly separated them. When she kissed the small of his throat, her mouth watered, his salt on her tongue, the delightfully warm sensation in her throat. To taste him all over would be divine. Starting with his lips. But he turned from her, hand on the small of her back, spinning her, guiding her forward. Her heart tossed wildly against her ribs. Men stared at her from their masks and the hum of their thoughts rose in pitch. Some even approached. She’d always wanted a few at once but not with Erick. Too much. She just needed him, all of him inside. As if their king shook his head in disapproval, men fell back, clearing a path to the stage. One bed waited, empty, blankets pulled back. Her legs felt heavy and awkward as she approached it. Did he plan to display her while they…? Earth, she couldn’t finish the thought. His touch fell from her. “Lie down.” Words and thoughts failed her. This wasn’t how she’d pictured her first time with her fated. She glanced over the masked faces staring up at her, past the bed, below the stage. When Erick untied the cords holding back velvet curtains that hung above the bed, she worried he’d heard her thoughts. She’d blocked her mind but emotions could have slipped out. Did he know who she was? Darkness hid his face as curtains fell closed. Somehow he shielded his thoughts and he seemed as he once was, impervious and strong.
58
Masquerade of the Cursed King
His hand found hers, rough fingertips scraping the tender skin between her fingers. He’d never had the hands of a king. Callused and blistered from hours of swordplay, even now that he had the throne. “Relax. I won’t hurt you,” he whispered and guided her onto the bed. Soft cotton cradled her and dipped beneath his weight beside her. Blinded by darkness, blocked from his mind, she didn’t know what to expect. She rested her head back and tried to slow her breath. Effortlessly, as if he could see her, his fingertips traced her collarbone. Her whole body arched up and air puffed from her open mouth when his lips pressed slowly, teasingly between her breasts. Light burst from her eyes, through the violet tinted lenses. She gripped his wild locks, demanding more. But he didn’t give her what she wanted. His lips dragged up her chest and neck where he nipped and tasted. Thrilling pleasure burst from every gentle kiss and scrape of his teeth but frustration clawed at her insides. His hand rested so innocently at her waist, instead of where she needed him. No man had ever been so infuriatingly slow. Her eyes burned with a strange mixture of irritation and desire. She gripped his shoulders, squeezing the muscles she’d admired all her life. Down his arms she stroked. Sweet contractions rewarded her exploration, until she reached the scarf tied around the forearm she’d scarred. He pushed her hand away and his body slid over hers, pressing her deep into the bed with his weight. Thick muscle tensed against her nearly bare flesh. Sparks passed between them and she could feel inside him, every electrified nerve in his body. A soft, low sound vibrated his lips against her skin, thrilling her but not as much as the back of his fingers on her nipples. He tugged down the lacy cups of her bodice and freed her breasts. His palms circled over her beaded nipples, fingers spread wide. Heart pounding, she couldn’t breathe. Her hips bucked against her will and she was his. She’d do anything to feel him inside her then. Her thighs seemed to melt, parted to him and she shoved his silk pants down. His buttocks clenched beneath her palms and she squeezed. Oh, she needed to feel his muscles contract and relax in a fierce crescendo, needed to feel him thrust deep inside her. He groaned, bare cock rubbing between the slick lips of her eager slit. “Wait,” he grunted and flinched back. “We have all night.” Her sex shivered from the loss. So close. He wanted to just as much as she did. She felt every desire in his rigid body, every thought in his racing mind. But he wanted to do this right. He knew this was different. Earth, that made him all the more irresistible. “Please.” Her whole body tensed at that word. She’d never begged for a man. She wished she could take it back but it lingered between them, as permanent as stone. She 59
Vanessa Gilfoy
shouldn’t appear so eager. It made her feel weak and vulnerable. But she needed him. She’d needed this for so long. He roughly tugged at the laces of her bodice. His body left her briefly and her nerves ached, dull and still without the sparks of his touch. She nearly whimpered. Not again. But then her dress jerked from her body. It rustled behind him and she lay nude. She wanted to grab him, to pull him inside her but she shouldn’t. She gripped the blankets beneath her in tight fists to stop herself. Just a little longer and he’d be hers. The bed shook as he removed his own clothing. A paper package crinkled above his quick breath and she assumed he had put a condom on. She bit her lip, waiting and wanting. Pricklies tumbled about in her belly like frantic mice. The heat of his hard body spread over her, chasing electric sparks. Her back arched in anticipation and a moan lifted from her chest. Everywhere his skin touched hers, fire lit her nerves. He held her, bare chest against hers, clutching her and she immersed herself in their melding sensations. One. Almost one. Cravings for more tugged at her mind and quivered in her hardened pearl. She wanted to feel him completely, every inch. She licked her lips and slid her thighs up his, tantalizingly slowly, the way he touched her. She gasped from the excitement that burst from his mind. He’d been holding back. The sparks that coursed through him nearly overwhelmed her, intense, so much stronger than he’d ever let her see. His mind frantically probed against hers, seeking her experiences. But she couldn’t. He might see too much. Instead, she offered her body. She tried to slide down to the rigid member that twitched against her thigh but his weight pressed her deeper into the bed, limiting her movement. “Let me in.” But he’d stopped the last time she let him see. Maybe just a little bit, just enough to get what she wanted. Eleanor hesitantly dropped part of her mind’s shield, exposing only her emotions and sensations. He groaned and his voice rumbled through her. His body slid up hers, hardness nearly in reach. Short gasps racked her chest. Every muscle in her back tensed and ached with anticipation. Hot honey gushed from her sex. She knew he felt it. The pride it stirred in him slowed his hand on her thigh. He stroked, palm open, teasingly light, purposely frustrating her. The hard, thick tip of his erection pressed against her puffy opening. She tried to rise to him, to seize him but he pulled away. You know what I want to hear.
60
Masquerade of the Cursed King
Her face heated and eyes burned. He’d liked it when she’d begged. “Please.” The weak word fluttered out on a desperate whisper. When his thick rod plunged into her, everything else disappeared. Spasms of pleasure erupted from her sex. She clutched him tightly as every muscle jerked rigid, every synapse exploded and every scream scraped higher. At the peak, a wail suspended high above them and her body arched tense in his hungry grip. Her trembling sex gushed with erratic electric pulses. Ecstasy. She suspended from his arms, calm and still, clinging to the last sensation. His chest heaved, breath quick. His mind, so ravenous, bit deeper. She winced against the force. Too much. Frantically, she kissed his lips to distract him. Shock halted his descent. His thoughts recoiled, at first, thick with discomfort. But his mouth remained. Soft, full lips pressed gently, hesitantly. It was only for the electric tingles that he kissed her but he felt divine. Warm. Tender. He tasted her mouth, tongue flicking and reservations seemed to slip away. He made love, each stroke deeper than the last. The sweetness intensified her need and hastened her next orgasm. Stronger than the last. Their moans mingled as their bodies knotted into one. Emotions and sensations intertwined, weaving themselves into an elaborate tapestry. He moved the way she wanted him to and her orgasm, rich, tight and slick, became his. Body wrapped tight around hers, he lifted her higher with every firm and fervent stroke. His scream rang in her ears as his orgasm burst deep inside her. Hot and spewing. Electric spasms flickered between them. Long after his hips stopped, his erection throbbed and twitched inside. He lay limp and worn against her. His mind slipped between sleep and wakefulness. She stroked his hair. Those wild waves, smooth and soft, curled around her fingers. Eleanor couldn’t help but smile. He felt even better than she’d imagined. Glad, I could please, he thought to her. Her mind clamped shut. “How can you deny me the pleasure of your company?” he whispered and rolled off her. His arm slid over her waist and pulled her close. “Give me an hour and I can go again.” His lips brushed against her cheek. “Tell me what you want. Let me see inside.” Eleanor held her breath, panic rushing through her. She hadn’t expected him to want to talk afterwards. Earth, he’d figure out who she was and hate her. “It’s late,” she blurted and bolted up. Fumbling about in the darkness, she found her dress and hastily tugged it on. She tried to tighten the cord at the center but he seized a loose end and towed her to him. “It’s not that late. I can’t let you go without knowing your name.” Eleanor jerked away and the cord snaked through her bodice, releasing her. 61
Vanessa Gilfoy
She gripped her dress closed and fell back, past the velvet curtains of the bed, onto the floor. Before he could pull back the curtains, she stumbled away and ran. Bodies tangled in lust blurred past.
62
Masquerade of the Cursed King
Chapter Eight
December 22, 9544 AR Valetta, Biston Marilyn sucked on a lock of her golden hair and stared out the window. Ugly place. Where she’d grown up, in east Gildon, sparks of energy flashed within veils of warm fog. Even the water of rivers had exhilarated her. A tiny strip of elven land on the border of the greatest human nation, rich with energy, her homeland had soothed and nurtured her like a mother’s womb. Queen Ceres had warned Marilyn not to leave. But Marilyn had been young and headstrong. She’d left for Biston’s human king. Raulin. His charms lured her here to this cold, sleeping place. Such a mistake. No one fed Biston’s elementals, so they hibernated, deep beneath everyone’s feet. No sparks. No tingling water. No warm fog. Strange that human spirits added to the elemental mass here in mortal land. Usually only elven spirits had the skills to control and alter nature. Besides, without the specialized plants that stored an elven populace’s excess energy in dirt and water, how did the elementals in Biston eat? Where did they get their energy from? The countryside offered some beauty. Wildflowers grew in spring and summer. Sometimes, Marilyn had enjoyed snow in winter, when Erick had made snow angels. Snow would soon fall this winter. Outside her plastic barred window, ice glistened on bare trees, red on one side, white on the other. Both moons shone one on each side of the night sky. No different from any other early winter night, except for the footsteps below. The foreign king who’d been sniffing around the palace now crept outside. Few thoughts floated freely from his mind. All decoys. Something else hid deeper beneath the false surface. He was planning something. Whatever it was drew him from his bed at three in the morning. Cloaked in black and hurrying through shadows, he secreted his intent. Men hid outdoors for only two reasons—women and war. Air filled Marilyn’s lungs with the most delightful feeling and she nearly giggled. Either motivation worked to her benefit. Only one woman would draw a foreign king’s attention to Biston, the one woman intended for Erick. But war could also catalyze the destruction of Marilyn’s prison. She wouldn’t need Phil and his deceits. Earth, she could escape by her own means during Reiley’s siege or theft. Her chin lifted as a grin spread her lips.
63
Vanessa Gilfoy
Another set of footsteps crept up the steps of her tower. Earth, didn’t Phil ever sleep? Her plastic door opened. His footsteps grew frustratingly louder. The clicketyclack tugged on the corners of her lips until she scowled and he stood behind her. “Aren’t you going to say hi?” he asked. “Shhh.” Outside, Reiley’s cloaked form disappeared behind a bush at the bend in the road. Strange. Maybe his plan involved someone else outside the palace. Possibly an army. Yes. Sinfully dark joy bounced inside her gut. “What do you see?” Phil whispered. “None of your business. I’m mad at you.” She faced the window to avoid the allure of Phil’s flecked blue eyes. “You let her think I’m a demon.” Renewed heat burned away all joy and seared Marilyn’s lungs. “What?” “Eleanor. She stood at the base of my tower and wouldn’t come see me.” Marilyn touched her lips to still them. She’d promised herself she wouldn’t cry any more today. “Eleanor’s afraid of me. Thinks I’m a demon, as if such a thing existed. What did you tell her?” “My love, I would never call you that. She was probably just upset over something else.” Like any man, he’d spew lies just to placate her. Marilyn couldn’t believe him. His arm gently wrapped around her waist and tried to scoop her up. “Don’t.” She stiffened her back and shrugged him off. “I love that girl.” Thick mucus dripped down the back of Marilyn’s throat. She swallowed and coughed up the disgusting fluid. “Eleanor would have been great. Stronger than me in every way if she’d had the proper education. That’s why you told her I’m a demon, isn’t it? To keep her from learning spells from me?” Tears rolled down Marilyn’s cheeks. Damn it. She wiped them away. Phil brushed back her hair and tucked it behind her pointed ears as if she were just a difficult child. Oh how she wanted to smack him then. Softly, Phil said, “She isn’t ready for magic yet. Her mother decided to wait until after Eleanor’s married to teach her.” Heated breath puffed from Marilyn’s chest. “Why? That is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.” Had that elven bitch, Anre, scared Eleanor from visiting? Marilyn never did like Anre. That spoilt elven princess thought she knew better than everyone else. “I know you don’t want to hear this but Erick is the one who’s afraid of you. Eleanor probably heard that word from him. She loves the boy.”
64
Masquerade of the Cursed King
That cowardly, weak, nearly human Duran. How could anyone take what he said seriously? The girl couldn’t want him. “What about this King Reiley from Porter?” Marilyn wiped her cheeks and turned to face Phil. “What does she think of Reiley?” A twitch shook a corner of Phil’s mouth and he shifted as if to hide it. He tried to squeeze in beside her on the window seat but she locked her leg against the sill. Marilyn wouldn’t let him distract her with sex again. Finally, Phil mumbled, “He’s an arrogant man. I don’t think she likes Reiley much at all.” But Phil’s voice lacked confidence and his gaze dropped from Marilyn. Like a child with a wounded bug, she poked at Phil’s worry. “Reiley dresses well. He’s very articulate. Probably more successful than Erick, right? Definitely more attractive. Plus, Eleanor’s half human. She could love someone other than her fated. Maybe she could learn to control a shielded human if need be, with the proper spells.” Marilyn didn’t have the strength to power those spells but Eleanor might. Phil coughed and shook his head. “No. She wants Erick.” “You want that but I don’t think she does. She seemed very angry at him when she stood outside my tower. Maybe angry enough to take another man’s offer.” Worries leaked from his mind as he knelt on the ground. He rubbed the back of his neck and his brow wrinkled at the center. The dark part of her craved more of that, to deepen those lines into a grimace. “Would it be so bad? Either way, I’d be free, right?” He nodded and blinked. Selfish son of a bitch. Her chest tightened and heated. She would scream spells to make Phil’s blood boil if not for the elves at the door. How could he so callously lie to her? He didn’t care about freeing her—he only wanted to possess her. Marilyn turned away, unable to look at him without dark spells buzzing through her head. In the long pause that followed, the buzz in her head grew to a throbbing percussion. The melody—images of Phil writhing like a half-crushed bug beneath her heel. “I’ll talk to Erick. I’ll make sure he sweetens up and gets you that grandbaby,” Phil muttered. Marilyn glared at him over her shoulder. He teased her with hope that never ripened into reality. His nimble fingers disappeared into his coat pocket. “I have something for you.” A small smile lifted the corners of his mouth, as he weren’t a hated roach. Her eyes rolled through no accord of her own. Why did men think they could buy a woman’s love with trinkets? “What is it?” she snapped. His smile struggled and fell. “You don’t want it?” Only if it could help her escape. Otherwise, no. His little presents always tortured her with want for more. “Is it a shell from a beach covered with warm sand that I’ll
65
Vanessa Gilfoy
never dig my toes into? Or maybe spice from an exotic land where flowers play a different melody every day that I’ll never hear?” His head dropped forward and he looked away. “I thought you liked those things. I meant that we can visit those places together someday.” “Well, you thought wrong.” She turned away to look out the window. No sign of Reiley, still. Something rattled and crinkled in Phil’s hands. “For our grandbaby,” he said softly. The dark images in her head faded. Marilyn turned around. In his hands, a pink rattle glowed beside a pair of knitted booties atop torn wrapping paper. Her lungs emptied and her eyes instantly watered. She slid down from the window seat, onto the plastic floor beside him. “Can you imagine such tiny feet?” Marilyn’s lips trembled as she touched the soft booties. Only her fingertips fit inside as she lifted them to her mouth. Her grandbaby’s little feet would fill them and kick with glee. Earth, they even smelled like baby. Marilyn’s chin tightened to crush her lower lip against the supple knitted cotton. Tears rolled down her cheeks, though she wished she didn’t care. She wished she didn’t want the tiny booties and toy. “Shhh.” Phil’s arm wrapped around her. “I didn’t mean to upset you.” “I’m not,” she sobbed. A smile somehow contorted her mouth. She seized Phil’s neck and kissed his rough cheek. “I’ve never been happier.” It hurt to admit that. His pale lips spread into a grin, unable to pucker when he pressed them to her forehead. He cupped the back of her head and leaned his bearded cheek against hers. That simple touch calmed away the buzz from her mind and relaxed the muscles in her back. Warmth spread from his skin and deep inside her. Love shouldn’t soften her to him but it did, as much as she wanted to hate him. He pulled her into his lap where an ulterior motive dug into her hip. His breath lengthened as his hand slid to the swell of her hips. She should have shoved him away but sexy thoughts spilled from his mind to infect hers. Images of their bodies intertwined in a warm river made her heart flutter and her nipples bead. He knew how to make her want him and abused that power at will. “If I didn’t, we’d never have any fun,” he whispered in her ear. She glanced to the door where the elves’ silver eyes met hers. They didn’t yet glow but they would. Disgusting creatures. “Phil…” “Shhh, just look at me.” He guided her face back to him. “They aren’t there. There’s just you and me.” He said that every time. Any moment now, he’d make her ache with the fiery caresses of his rough lips.
66
Masquerade of the Cursed King
But something startled her from his embrace. A single word rose up on a thought from outside. War. Broken pieces followed. Reiley. “What’s wrong?” Marilyn put her finger to her lips, then motioned to the window. She climbed up onto her window seat and scanned the darkness. Nothing stirred. Phil’s chest pushed against her back. His bearded chin would have tickled her neck if not for the brief attention-stealing image of a cloaked mercenary. It flashed from Reiley’s fatigued mind. Multiple hilts glistened at the mercenary’s belt, just beyond his upheld palm. What would he hire mercenaries for that his armies couldn’t do? Marilyn held her breath, waiting for more. She scanned the surface of Reiley’s mind but nothing else slipped out. If she dug deeper, he might feel her and stop whatever scheme he’d set into motion. She searched for the mercenary’s mind but he didn’t seem to exist. No thoughts escaped the stronger man’s shields. A wizard? No, he couldn’t be. Pouches and bottles didn’t hang from his belts. “What do you see?” Phil whispered. Shhh. Reiley’s steps grew louder, having left the mercenary. His cloak snagged on a rosebush and curses rang out from his mind. Apparently, he wasn’t so successful. Very wealthy royals wore elven silk, spun by a special breed of spiders in eastern New Pangaea. An elven silk cloak wouldn’t have torn. “Reiley,” Phil growled. “What is he doing out so late at night?” “Probably searching out a path for Eleanor to elope with him. Your protégé has some competition.” A tinge of disappointment tightened Marilyn’s throat but she didn’t need the girl. If Eleanor left, a darker opportunity would present itself with greater benefits. Nothing would protect Erick then. Reiley darted through the shadows to the southern wing, where he disappeared around a corner. The click of a door sounded twice. He must have slipped inside. Phil slammed his fist against the wall and the plastic rattled. He leaned his forehead against his fist, shoulders slumped. In a dark tone Marilyn had never heard from him, he said, “Erick just needs to make an effort.” What for? “He’s outmatched. There’s nothing he can offer her that Reiley can’t top.” Phil’s plan would fail. Marilyn scooped up the pink rattle and booties. The brief hope they’d birthed had burrowed a deeper hole of emptiness inside. Why had she let herself believe him? Marilyn silently cursed as she squeezed the soft cotton and hard metal. Like the seashell
67
Vanessa Gilfoy
and exotic spices, the booties and rattle would only make her ache for something she couldn’t have. She tried to give Phil’s gifts back. But he wouldn’t take them. He just scowled down at her. Back to plan one—escape and revenge.
68
Masquerade of the Cursed King
Chapter Nine
December 23, 9544 AR Valetta, Biston The silk cord slid over Erick’s knuckles and he inhaled the lemony scent. A perfume like Eleanor’s hid beneath and quickened his pulse. Hybrid magic. His mouth salivated and his cock rose up to the underside of the table, hungry for her. Erick groaned, wishing he hadn’t pushed her. The little nymph probably had a husband. But she’d felt so good, so right. Not just her body. Inside too. Her thoughts had stroked his ego like a nurse’s healing touch. Earth, he didn’t care if she had a husband. Erick shifted in his seat and broke the hard silence. “Did Patty hire anyone new?” Phil shook his head, gaze fixed on the door. “You should check on her. She should be up by now.” The old man had it in his head that Porter’s king meant to steal his troublesome niece. Good riddance. “Ellie’s fine.” “Why would Reiley leave late at night and sneak back at dawn? Something’s not right,” Phil warned. “If he kidnapped the brat, he wouldn’t still be here.” “Not kidnap. Elope,” Phil corrected. “She was very upset yesterday.” Either way would be a blessing. “Are you sure Patty didn’t hire anyone new? A hybrid?” A slow smile spread over Phil’s weathered face. “Why hybrid?” That word shouldn’t tighten the muscles in Erick’s neck. She was harmless. “Just find her. Hybrid girl about yay high on me.” He motioned to his chest. “Soft hands. Probably a cook or a baker. Fair like an elf.” “Eleanor.” Erick grimaced. “No. I didn’t want to strangle this one.” “Eleanor can be very charming if you’re nice to her. Make up. You arranged something nice?” Again with this? “She’s a manipulative bitch.” But Erick did what Phil asked. Her surprise waited outside. The door burst open and she flitted in, smile flickering across her face. She rolled in her lips as if to hide it but a dimple remained on her cheek. Like a snowflake, she seemed to flutter into her seat beside him. “Morning,” she muttered in a tone that didn’t match her expression. Every day, she grew stranger.
69
Vanessa Gilfoy
Erick scanned the tabletop, wishing he could find that damned nose plug. Why did she layer on those spells? Earth, her scent muddled his head and made his cock ache. “Morning ended an hour ago. Did your tortured henchmen forget to wake you, or did you lose track of time, stealing souls?” She blinked and her dimple flattened. Her gaze briefly fell from him as she smoothed a napkin over her lap. “I lost track of time. So many souls.” She hid her lips behind a goblet of water but didn’t drink. “Eleanor is the only hybrid woman in Biston,” Phil said coolly. She coughed and spilled water onto her plate of cold eggs. “No. I’m not.” Momentary fear opened her mouth, gaze fixed on the cord wrapped around Erick’s fingers. “You know her.” Erick leaned forward. He tried to smile and soften his voice but knew she’d see through him. “Who is she?” “Why? Are you bored of all your current whores?” she snapped. Her icy eyes hardened. Faint light burned behind them. He shouldn’t have insulted her. “I have a present for you.” Phil had pestered him all morning to do something for the girl. “Look out the window.” That ought to satisfy her. Eleanor swallowed and searched his eyes, as if looking for a trick. Her mind slipped through his and found what he’d done. But she didn’t seem to understand. “Improvements. Safer streets.” She scowled at him and bolted up. She rushed to the window and shoved the glass open. Her mouth dropped open, curled down in horror. She turned to Erick and screamed, “Stop them.” Heat spread through his chest and burned in his neck. “This is what my job is. My duties aren’t pleasant, so when I indulge in distractions at the end of the day, they’re well deserved.” “Your duty is to murder men who’ve fallen on hard times? Don’t you hear them? Listen.” “Hear what?” Erick snapped. The murmur of a crowd spilled in from the window. Executions drew onlookers. Soon, screams would add to the noise. “Close the window.” But the brat just stood there, arms crossed over her chest, clutching her shoulder and elbow. As if he was the monster. Erick cracked his neck but that didn’t loosen the tension that tugged on his head and shoulders. He slammed his open palm down on the table. “Shut the window.” Phil did it for her. Thank Earth. She stared at Erick, seemingly waiting for an answer. “Thieves weaken the economy. Merchants lose money, go out of business or leave if they don’t feel safe.” Yet the naïve brat judged him for doing what she’d complained he’d neglected. 70
Masquerade of the Cursed King
“That thief stole food for his wife and child. He couldn’t find work even though you have a plethora of jobs that need doing here.” Her hands curled into fists and fell to her sides. “No trial? No prison sentence? You just kill them?” “Prison sentences cost money, money that pays law-abiding citizens who work for a living,” Erick growled. The girl had never worked a day in her life. She had no idea of how the world around her worked. Who was she to glare at him? He had no choice. He did what had to be done. She closed the gap between them. “You’re treating the symptom, not the disease. They need jobs, means to feed their families.” His stomach churned. “Then marry Porter’s king. Give them work.” “Seasonal work. What about in the winters? How will they feed their families then? And you’re assuming he’s telling you the truth. Didn’t you read him?” Her eyes flashed with vibrant light. Had the foreigner lied or was this another manipulation of the hybrid temptress? “With all your worldly wisdom, what would you recommend I do?” “Biston used to thrive on the foreign coin our tradesmen brought in. Architecture. We designed Gildon’s castles and the Western River’s palaces. But when dignitaries come now and see our ruins, they forget what we used to be. Our tapestries rot on our crumbling walls. Stained-glass murals lie in shattered pieces. Carved and gilded furniture burns to warm starving families. Elementals sleep and abandon us.” “And with what funds do you suggest I pay for all these repairs? Can you turn dirt into gold or do your spells only scramble men’s minds? Can you wake these imaginary elementals?” “Borrow from Gildon or the Western River. Use your allies and pay them back with the profits. Just stop that.” She motioned to the window, face contorted. Erick rose from his chair to stand inches from her. Oh how he hated the girl. “Gildon’s queen murdered your uncles. The Western River’s king barred me from ever setting foot on elven land.” Since he was so close to her bare neck, her perfume filled his flared nostrils and twisted his thoughts to depraved fantasies of her beneath him on the table. He barely registered her response. “But I can. I can negotiate with both of them. Just please stop the execution. You can blame it on me. Say I’ll punish him. Villainize me however you want. Just don’t kill that man. Don’t you hear his wife and child?” He couldn’t distinguish a sound from the rising noise. He held his breath to think. The brat had never cared about anyone but herself these past five years. Why did she care now? “Tell me my lover’s name and the thief’s yours to punish.” After a rapid flutter of eyelashes, she stuttered, “Violet Glass.” Phil groaned. “You know her?” he asked Phil. But the old man strode past them, grumbling, “I’ll stop the execution.”
71
Vanessa Gilfoy
Erick’s chest lifted and tension eased from his neck. “Where does she live? Is she here in the palace?” Eleanor’s pink lips parted but only a squeak slipped through them. Her normally cold eyes shimmered with an unidentifiable emotion, without light. Her thoughts hid from him. He pressed against her mind’s shields but couldn’t find a way in. The door opened and Reiley’s yawn drowned out whatever Eleanor said. Damn Porter’s king. The jerk sauntered in, boots stomping, package under his arm. He scraped his chair back. “Lovely winter rose.” He bowed and sat beside Eleanor. “I have something for you.” The foreigner must have attended the same school of thought as Phil in the studies of placating women. Little good it would do him with the little demon. Reiley placed the package before her. A red silk ribbon waited at its top, carefully knotted in a bow. But she stared at it as if snakes waited inside, ready to pierce her pale flesh. “No thank you.” An image of a severed head flashed from her mind and she wrapped her arms across her chest. “If you don’t want men’s attentions, then don’t layer on the spells.” The fickle brat seemed to enjoy toying with men’s emotions. Erick’s cock throbbed under her enchantment. For a pure human, like Reiley, it had to be hell. “What spells?” She slumped into her chair, pleading look on her face as she turned to Erick. Was she scared? Why? “That perfume. The spells that make men’s minds turn to mush. Do us all a favor and call them off.” Reiley laughed. “If it were a spell, I would it were cast on every woman in all of Porter.” “It’s a faulty pheromone production mechanism common in hybrids. I can’t help it.” “Did you not ever study elven and hybrid biology?” Reiley chided. “He can’t.” Part of the Western River’s treaty. No elven texts, no spells, not even their language. He doubted he had the magic for any of it anyway. Not enough elven blood in his veins. “Violet. Where does she live?” “I don’t know. I’ve only met her once in the woods.” Eleanor pushed Reiley’s gift away. The foreign king leaned toward her, unabated. “Open it, please. You should have nice things.” Was that a jab? But Erick wasn’t competing for the girl.
72
Masquerade of the Cursed King
Eleanor stared at Reiley a long while, as if reading his thoughts. Her features softened and she finally pulled the bow apart. When she lifted the lid, rainbows refracted from whatever hid inside. Reiley lifted out a web of gold and precious stones. It dripped with more riches than all of Biston had in its treasury. “Every woman who wore this bore sons for Porter’s kings. Now it is yours.” A knot twisted Erick’s gut. Right in front of him, the pompous ass gloated and flaunted treasures Erick could never afford. Erick shouldn’t care. His lover probably could be happy with just him. He didn’t need to buy her affections. Eleanor’s pale eyes flicked up. “I don’t want it,” she said to Erick, as if he was supposed to do something. “Throw it away then.” Reiley dropped the sparkling web back into the box. “No other woman but you shall wear it in my lifetime.” “Like Erick, you’ll toss aside your entire kingdom for something that doesn’t exist?” She rose from her chair. “Sit down.” Erick grabbed her hand and electric sparks burst through his arm. His whole body tensed, rigid and demanding. Earth, she shouldn’t feel like his lover. He shouldn’t want to drag her to his room and have his way with her. “Why not?” He wanted someone else but that’s not what Eleanor meant. Was it? Erick yanked her back to her seat. “Apologize.” “For what?” She twisted free. “How can you be so blind? You want her to be someone else’s wife. To be of a lower station. If she was anything more, if she was free to be yours, you’d hate her. You’re such a twisted, fucked-up prick.” Eleanor shoved her chair back and rushed out of the room. Erick started to apologize for her but Reiley ignored him. The foreign king followed the girl, oozing apologies, as if he’d said something offensive. Phil seemed to appear beside Erick, silent during the commotion. He must have entered through the servants’ entrance. “Patty hasn’t hired anyone new. Eleanor is the only hybrid woman in the palace besides your mother.” Erick grimaced. Although elves guarded his demonic mother in the highest tower, he’d never felt safe from her. “You recognized the name. Violet Glass. Search the woods for her.” “Hybrids can’t survive this weather. Would it be such a bad thing if this girl is Eleanor? She’s a pretty girl. She loves you. She’d do anything for you.” Laughter choked Erick and he doubled over coughing. “Eleanor? She loves to torture me. You heard her. No, this girl, Violet, she’s soft. Delicate. Couldn’t hurt a soul.” Eleanor probably ate souls in her sleep. “Ellie’s just hurt. All women lash out when you hurt their feelings. Even your delicate mirage. Just consider it. If she’s Eleanor, would it be so wrong?”
73
Vanessa Gilfoy
“She’s a demon.” “Why do you say that?” “Her spells.” “What spells? She knows fewer spells than an elven child.” “Henry would kill me.” “You don’t want to marry this girl?” The thought clenched Erick’s gut. “No.” He wanted what he had last night. The comfort of her soothing him, of her mind in his, of her electrifying body arched and moaning. “Then what’s the point?” Phil grumbled. The old fashioned man often scolded Erick for his nightly indiscretions. Even though Phil had never taken a wife of his own, he seemed to think everyone else should pursue the hell of matrimony. “Maybe Ellie should marry Porter’s king then.” Phil lifted the golden web from its box. “You know, it’s not the gift that matters to women. It’s the meaning behind the gift. Yours implied that Ellie enjoys others’ pain. His implied the role she would play if she accepted it. In a way, he’d appreciate her, at least.” Erick ground his teeth. “Maybe.” What did he care? “See if you can unload that. Sell it. Use the money to make whatever repairs. And find the girl.” Phil pocketed the gem-encrusted, golden web. “Why wouldn’t she show tonight? That’s all you want her for, right?” “Right.” Erick gulped his ale, wishing it were that simple. “The girl is Eleanor and I can prove it if you’ll do me one favor in exchange.”
74
Masquerade of the Cursed King
Chapter Ten
December 23, 9544 AR Valetta, Biston The purple fabric glistened in the flickering light of the fire. She should throw it in. If Erick found it here, he’d probably think she’d murdered the fictional character he’d invented inside his head. Such an idiot. Still. Those sparks from his skin. He’d felt so good, even inside her mind. But he made no sense. Why had he wanted to talk afterwards? If he wanted to know the women he fucked, he wouldn’t have them wear masks. If he’d known it was her, he’d have flipped out like he had in the dungeon. Worse, probably. There were other men. Eleanor wiped the tears from her face and donned the ridiculous costume. Her fingers blurred as she laced the bodice with a recycled cord from another dress. It shouldn’t hurt, what he’d thought. Eleanor rubbed her eyes and tears smeared over the heels of her hands. She tied the laces tight to hold the sobs in. With the mask, she hid her puffy eyes. Everything turned purple through the pretty lenses. As soon as she tucked her hair in, the door burst open. Eleanor jumped. Her heart slammed against her ribs. She spun about and found Meagan. Her best friend closed the door behind her, key in hand, panting for breath. “There’s a guard.” She sucked in air. “Waiting at the end of the hall.” “What? Why?” Oh, Earth. “I don’t know. I overheard His Majesty’s advisor ordering it.” Eleanor slumped onto the seat beside the fire and untied the cord at her chest. She should have felt the guard’s mind, but in her distressed state, others’ thoughts blurred in her head. “Did the guard see you?” “Yes. But I said I was just checking up on you.” Eleanor motioned to her friend’s scantily clad body. “Like this?” Meagan shoved her shoulder. “Oh, everyone’s dressed like this right now. It doesn’t mean anything. Besides, after you nearly froze to death, he probably just thinks I’m making sure you’re warm enough.” With a groan, Eleanor slid her costume off. “What are you doing?” “I can’t go,” Eleanor exclaimed.
75
Vanessa Gilfoy
“Yes you can. You just have to get past the guard without being seen. You can do that magic thing.” Eleanor tossed her costume into the closet and snatched a random nightshirt. “I think he’ll notice the door opening. That would probably tip him off to check on me and then he’ll find that I’m not here.” “Not if you’re with me. I’ll open the door and he won’t have reason to check on you. Besides, he doesn’t have a key to your room.” “I don’t know, Meagan.” The young maid used to always get her in trouble. Would this end any differently? Earth, she didn’t want to take off her mask. Meagan would see she’d been crying, then they’d have to talk about it. “You can’t mope around here all night.” Meagan scooped up the costume and slid it up Eleanor’s arms. “Besides, they’ll know it was you if you don’t come. You’re upset with him—you don’t show. I think he’d see the connection.” “You’d be surprised.” “He can’t be that dense.” Meagan retied the bodice. If only. Eleanor murmured elven words and waves of light twisted around her, cloaking her. The spell chilled her skin and burned her insides. “I can’t keep this up very long.” The young maid waved her hands and slapped Eleanor, as if expecting air. “Hurry up. This hurts.” She shoved Meagan’s hands away. Meagan giggled like a mischievous little girl and threw the door open for Eleanor to rush out. There was a guard. His eyes looked through her to Meagan but fell away as the door closed. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea. Why would Phil station a guard here? Did he suspect? What could he hope to accomplish? Meagan locked Eleanor’s bedroom door and the guard at the end of the hall stepped aside for her. Eleanor darted past. Icy fingers seemed to squeeze her stomach. Although Meagan followed close behind, Eleanor feared the guard only pretended to fall for her trick. Any moment now, she expected he’d grab her arm. But he didn’t. He wasn’t like the men her father had hired. The unshielded guard closed the door behind Meagan. Are there any more guards? Eleanor projected the thought to Meagan. When Meagan shook her head, Eleanor whispered the spell to turn off the invisibility. Meagan grabbed her wrist and tugged. The empty hallway smeared past in a purple haze through Eleanor’s lenses. She should feel relieved but pricklies rolled inside her stomach. Something was wrong. “He
76
Masquerade of the Cursed King
takes a different woman every night, doesn’t he?” He wouldn’t really look for her, would he? Erick had the fidelity code of a rooster. “Yeah but he’s been asking about you.” Meagan smiled and nudged her. “Whatever you did, he liked.” Maybe she could just grab the first man she saw and hide behind a pillar. It wouldn’t really matter who in the dim lighting. It was just to get over Erick and move on. Besides, he’d forget about his Violet Glass. His fleeting interest had never lasted more than a week. The hum from the throne room grew louder, matching the pitch of frustration and worry in her head. What if he did take another woman tonight? Her throat caught and her mind seemed to knock loose from her head. She touched her mask to make sure it hid her. She didn’t want him. He was scum. The door to the throne room opened and heat spilled out. He stood in its wake and his gaze pierced her. Oh no. A smile split his perfect mouth as he closed the distance between them. Black silk pants rippled over his muscled legs. Bare chest. Chiseled abs. Warmth flushed down the front of her scantily clad body. She shouldn’t want to strum those ripples. Faint battle scars on his shoulder and one arm nearly hid in the darkness. She still felt the heat of them on her lips, from when they were fresh and aching. But the same black scarf from last night covered her favorite scar, the one she’d given him. Meagan slipped past him into the sensual mass of flesh. Eleanor tried to follow but Erick caught her wrist. Without greeting, his mouth crushed hers. Electricity exploded through every nerve. His arm wrapped around the small of her back and spun her about. He guided her away from the throne room, to a stairwell. This didn’t feel right. Her stomach tightened. Earth, where was he taking her? Meagan didn’t mention him ever doing this. Eleanor wanted to run but he kissed her neck and fear melted in desire for more. The sparks from his lips. His hot breath on her skin. He caressed her shoulder. Each stroke dipped closer to her firming breasts with every step up the flight of stairs. Beyond the top, in a small hallway, he opened a door leading to his bed chambers. She froze. She’d followed him here once. She’d hidden under Erick’s bed. Then he’d brought another woman. A pretty woman whose hair he said reminded him of
77
Vanessa Gilfoy
sunshine. Eleanor’s chest caved, remembering. She’d sobbed quietly the whole night while he made love to someone else. Eleanor squeezed her eyes shut and wished she could forget.
***** “What’s wrong?” Erick tried to pull her inside to his bed but she clung to the doorway. Her lip curled down in terror as if creatures hissed at her from under the bed. Shit. This room had been his father’s. He hadn’t thought how a full hybrid would sense horrors of the past. “I’m sorry.” He embraced her rigid body. “We can go somewhere else.” Though that might put a few kinks in his plans. “No, I-I should go.” She tried to push away but Erick gripped her tighter. “Please don’t, Violet.” Such a pretty name. It fit her. A fragrant flower. Earth, her scent drove his heart to a mad rush and numbed his head. “I need you tonight. Please. I’ll do anything, everything you want.” He kissed her neck in the way that quickened her breath. Just below her pulse, a soft, slow pressure with tender suction. Her tiny gasp caressed his ear and she relaxed in his arms. Her petite hands eased up his chest. When her thumb traced the scar on his shoulder, he flinched. He’d forgotten about that. She jerked back, blurting, “Sorry.” “No, it doesn’t hurt.” Sweet that she worried. How could Phil think this flower could be his demonic niece? Violet’s lips parted as if to protest but she quickly shut them and backed out the door. Damn it. He wasn’t any good at blocking his thoughts. “I don’t,” he assured her.” Violet wasn’t like the demons that reaped destruction. But if she was anything else, she couldn’t break past his curse. She shook her head at him. “You aren’t cursed. It’s a mark of love. Of protection.” She tugged at the scarf on his arm. With any other woman, he’d have shoved her hands away. But he let Violet unwrap his scarred arm. He’d hated that mark. Every day it reminded him of his failures. He’d lost three oath-brothers. Failed to protect them. Failed to win against an evil hybrid queen in a battle that destroyed his armies and left his palace in ruins. When he woke from whatever had knocked him unconscious, he found that mark on his arm. A scar in the shape of a tiny hand. He’d only come once with a mortal woman since that cursed scar. Only the magic scent of a hybrid woman could break past its hold. Violet caressed the raised pink skin as if it were something beautiful. The electric sparks burst stronger, as if her touch somehow passed through him. “It’s your elven
78
Masquerade of the Cursed King
blood that limits you, not this. Your receptors are more specific than a mortal’s. A mortal man can react to nearly every woman’s pheromones, elves, only one.” She kissed the palm of his scar. How was that not a curse? Limited to hybrids and elves. She released his arm, gaze dropped from him. Earth, he’d hurt her feelings. “Not you.” He didn’t see her that way. “I’m sorry.” He said that a lot tonight. Why couldn’t he think straight? Her perfume. It saturated the air, stronger tonight. No lemon to cut it. “Do you want me to remove your scars? I can heal them.” He never wanted to hear spells on her lips. “Do you like them?” Some women enjoyed the rough texture of scars on a man. “Yes.” Her touch returned to his marked arm. Relief breathed through him. “Then leave them.” Erick drew her closer, away from the only exit. Before she could escape from him again, he pushed the heavy door closed. Now if he could just hide his thoughts. A skill he’d never practiced. Nervousness crept up and bit into his gut. She’d see through him, like Eleanor. He lacked the strength to take on a hybrid. He wasn’t a wizard. Violet strained on her tiptoes to kiss him. “You’re the strongest man I’ve ever met.” Oh, that’s what he wanted to hear. Pride swelled his chest. Her words stroked his ego like her mind had last night. Erick scooped her up. As light as a winged pixie in his arms. Her smooth legs dangled and her wrists curled around his neck. The flickering firelight and pink moonlight cast deep shadows in the valleys of her toned, smooth body. She looked more like a siren’s lure than a pixie. He pressed against her mind but she only let him feel her lust. Earth, the way she saw him. She savored every touch of his skin against hers, as if he was the magical one. It took everything to stop himself from taking all he wanted. Primal desires jerked every muscle tense inside him but he needed to make her want more. Tonight, she’d give up her husband for him. Gently, Erick laid her down on his bed and pulled the covers over them both as he crawled beside her. He seized her open mouth, filling it with his tongue. He tasted her and drank up her sparks. Her body clung to him, thighs parted. Her soft hands drew him closer and she hungrily ground her slick slit against him, wetting him. She didn’t want to make love. She wanted to fuck. Erick jerked his mind away. She’d make him come too early. “Slow down.” Earth, he’d have to do this the way mortals did—blindly. But her thoughts seeped so freely. He struggled to avoid them, to keep his mind completely hidden. He broke away, on his knees to breathe but she followed him, hands tugging.
79
Vanessa Gilfoy
“Take off your dress,” he demanded, to distract her. She halted with a huff, red lips in the shape of an O. Her chest heaved, petite breasts straining the laces of her bodice. But her grip fell from him to slowly tug the knot from her chest. She distracted him, causing him to miss the handle of the nightstand drawer several times. By the time he finally pulled open the drawer of his nightstand and snatched a condom, she’d slinked her tiny dress halfway off. He fiddled with a condom and rolled it on as he watched her strip. Lace and silk slid down her curves. The shadowy lines of her neck and shoulders deepened with every inch she leaned forward. Down her thighs, breasts swaying just above. Off her slender ankles. Nude, she knelt before him. “Better?” she asked, breasts firmed and lifted to his gaze. His mouth salivated. “Yes.” He swallowed, all too eager for a taste. Those tight little buds deserved his lips but first his hands. Her hard nipples poked between his fingers as he palmed her swells. Warm and filling. She slinked closer and slithered her fingers up his chest. Her velvety little tongue flicked at his mouth while her mind probed for entrance. He groaned and shoved her back on the bed. Oh, if she pushed any further, he’d lose all gentlemanly restraint and fuck her for his own pleasure, hard and fast. He’d sputter hot cream with selfish, pounding thrusts. But that wasn’t the only goal tonight. With his hands and mouth only, he explored the curves of her legs. Behind her knees, he found a sensitive spot that made her gasp with each lick. Her inner thighs drove him wild with sparks against his cheek and mouth. Every electric burst from her flesh threatened to break his restraint. Her perfume, so much stronger here from her bare pussy. Thick honey glistened on her swollen inner lips in full view. Delicate, like dewy petals. Mmm, he’d savor her. But not yet. On his knees and elbow, he drew her thigh against his chest and her ankle slithered up between his legs to tease his hardened, aching stones. Harsh breath puffed from his mouth on her hip. Her foot rolled about, caressing his sac ever so slightly. His cock twitched and he moaned. He couldn’t stop himself from grabbing and pushing her calf hard against his need. He rubbed up her leg while he licked the sinews of her hip and squeezed the plump cheeks of her ass. Sparks pulsed through his aching cock. Earth, this felt too good. Her hands in his hair only intensified his eager strokes. It took sheer will to uncurl his clenched fingers from her calf. Body tense, he crawled up hers, lips dragging up her deep waist, up her rips, to the center of her chest. She wriggled to part her thighs to him but he didn’t yield. His knees pressed on the outside of her thighs, holding her prisoner. Her lithe fingers danced over his shoulders and neck. “Please.”
80
Masquerade of the Cursed King
His stomach tightened with a good ache, the kind that made him buck when a woman squeezed his ass. He loved when she said that word. “Again.” She sucked in breath through her pouty lips, frustration tensing her chin. Erick cupped her breast to push his favorite word from her mouth. He loved the way her swells heaved and weighted against his palms. Her hardened nipples in his mouth. Her arched back and bucking hips. Her whimpers. And the light that blazed from her lens-covered eyes. Oh, he wanted to rip that mask from her face, to see the colored fire he ignited in her. She was his, all of her. Soon, she’d want nothing else. “Please.” Oh, that’s what he craved. Erick licked the rigid line down her center. Her fists gripped his hair. The frantic tugs should hurt but he couldn’t feel anything but her quivering pearl beneath his fingers. She screamed and writhed as ecstasy sparked through both of them. It burned through the nerves of his fingers and spasmed through his body. Her mind struggled to break into his, to seize him with her desire. He wanted to give in, to feel her completely. His heart pounded and sparks gathered in his taut groin. But he needed to make her want no other. His block must have grown stronger. He tortured her with his distance, though his pained cock begged for her mind’s desires and the tight squeezing quivers of ecstasy. Soon, he might be able to break into the hidden parts of her mind, to feel her taboo thoughts stroke him even deeper. That would be worth the throbbing wait. After she stilled, he flicked her pearl and speared her gushing pussy with his tongue. The sweetest honey filled his mouth and her rich perfume wafted up from her sex. Her thighs squeezed him and her hands clutched him. He couldn’t breathe as wave after wave of an even stronger orgasm crashed through her. But calm didn’t follow. She slid beneath him and pulled his body over hers. “Please, Erick.” Everything stopped. Very few people called him that. Only a handful. Some dignitaries called him Frederick. Most called him Your Majesty. “I’m sorry, Your Majesty.” But the last two words choked out, as if they scraped her throat, as if she’d never said them before. She broke past his block. It shattered into shards that seemed to scratch at the inside of his skull. Painful, urgent lust flooded through the cuts. It pounded through his veins and thudded against his ribs. He shoved her out, stopping her lust from spurting from his cock. Panting for breath, he gripped her tightly. “Don’t move.” But she wriggled, desperate for what twitched between them. He clutched her hips and pushed her deep into the bed. He knelt above her, out of reach. If he were full elf, his eyes would blaze. Her purple light nearly blinded him. He winced against it. A whine of frustration rose from her clenched teeth and she tried to push his hands away.
81
Vanessa Gilfoy
“Is this what you want?” He thrust up into her and sheer bliss surrounded him. Warm, smooth and tight, she squeezed and trembled. Their bodies melded in a dizzying rush. His stones slapped against her as his cock plundered. A series of crescendos drove him. Thrilling sparks chased down his cock and into his gut with each of her trembling orgasms. Undulating waves stroked him as she screamed his name. Her moans and heavy breathing grew to his next reward. Sweat glistened on her taut skin and slicked her body. He tasted the salt on her strained neck to feel her magic in his throat. It shivered through him, building to a high-pitched hum that swelled to the base of his cock. Electric pulses of delight burst through her so many times, she’d lost count. “Fifteen,” he grunted in her ear. Never had a number thrilled him before. It echoed through them and shattered his last bit of reserve. The amassed electric hum burst into his cock. Culmination gripped him and exploded from his eager thrusts, until he lay empty. Warmth soothed where the current had tensed and shaken him. Peaceful silence blanketed them. Her soft, wet flesh beneath him barely rose to breathe. So relaxed. He curled up behind her, instinctually close. When she tucked into him, plump cheeks pressed against his wet and used shaft, he felt whole and good. She fit perfectly. Erick smiled against her damp neck. She tried to turn over to see his reaction but he tightened his grip, to keep her from leaving the comfort of his embrace. “Just feel me. My expressions match my emotions,” he whispered. She dipped into him and seemed to dissolve. He felt her eyes droop closed. So trusting. Pride swelled deeper, filling him. Earth, she felt good. All his. Sort of. Soon. Was she married? Maybe she wasn’t. Suddenly, she jerked tense, having realized she’d fallen asleep. Erick stroked her waist. “Shhh. It’s okay.” But her mind jumped away from his, hiding whatever had woken her. “Are you married?” he asked and wished he hadn’t. It didn’t matter. She turned over to look at him through her purple lenses. Feathers fluffed out on the pillow. He wanted to yank that mask off. When she tried to rise, he apologized. “I won’t.” Though he couldn’t see why it mattered. He knew her name. She knew his. “Stay with me the whole night.” “I have to go.”
82
Masquerade of the Cursed King
“To your husband?” Jealousy burned inside and he refused to loosen his grip on her waist. Her struggles halted and she rested her head on his pillow. “Why aren’t you married?” His gaze dropped from her purple lenses. He didn’t like talking about this. It opened up old wounds he’d rather forget. But he wanted answers to his questions too. All calm left his body as he forced words past the hard lump in his throat. “When I was very young, I saw my mother with a man who wasn’t my father. A wizard. She told me not to say anything and I didn’t. Later, armies led by her wizard lover came and I watched my mother kill my father.” Erick had been only five years old. “Her thoughts were so loud in my mind when she came for me with a knife in her hands. She blamed me for the years she endured my father. She would have killed me for the throne if not for my nan and her sons.” Erick tried to swallow but couldn’t and coughed into his fist. After all these years, it shouldn’t still hurt. The demon couldn’t hurt him anymore. Violet bit her lip, waiting as if she expected him to say something more. When he didn’t, she asked, Do you think your wife would try to kill you for the throne? Relieved that she understood, he exhaled, “Yes.” But then she asked, “Why do you think all women are like her?” Erick sat up too tense to lie down for this. “I’ve shared something with you. I think it’s only fair you answer my question now.” “No, I’m not married.” She clenched her jaw as if expecting him to say something horrible. She knew. Erick grimaced. Had Eleanor told her? That meddlesome brat. Violet sat up, sheet clutched to her chest. She seemed to search for her clothing. “Wait. It’s okay, so long as you understand this is all I can offer you.” She nodded but he felt like scum. He should offer her more. He wanted more. “Be with me. Be mine in the day too.” That was all he could give. “I can’t.” “Why not?” Who was she that his offer wasn’t good enough? Had Eleanor lied to him? Erick reached for Violet’s mask. She gasped and jerked out of reach. She fell from the bed, landing hard on her elbows. Her midnight black mound and glistening pink lips showed briefly between her splayed legs. His rod painfully swelled. Earth, he couldn’t yet. His stones ached. In the morning he’d enjoy his sweet brunette again. His mind flipped through images of all the brunettes in the palace who’d have overheard his nickname. “I should go,” she blurted and quickly rose to her feet, gripping her costume. She hastily tugged it on.
83
Vanessa Gilfoy
“Why?” “I have chores in the morning. Laundry. If I don’t get enough sleep, I can’t wake up early enough.” Erick laughed. “You don’t have to do that anymore. Do you understand what I’m asking you?” “Yes but I really should go.” She rushed to the door, dress unlaced. Had he hurt her feelings? Or was this all she wanted from him? Just pseudoanonymous fucks late at night? The thought stung. “Violet, what is it you want?” She tried to twist the doorknob and squeaked with frustration when it didn’t turn. Locked from the outside, courtesy of Phil. Her mouth fell open, in the expression of betrayal. Guilt clenched his stomach. “I want more,” he stated the obvious. “Please, Violet. Take off the mask.” He removed his but she wouldn’t look at him. “You don’t want to see.” She scanned the room, seemingly for another way out. “I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t. No one can do to me what you do. Your mind inside mine. I’ll want you no matter what you look like.” “No, you won’t.” Shit, he didn’t want to force this. Why couldn’t she see reason? Erick groaned as he sat up, dreading her reaction to what he’d have to do. She muttered a jumble of elven words and disappeared. “Violet, you can’t hold that spell up until morning. Let me see.” He felt for her mind but she blocked him. “We can wait until you run out of energy, or we can enjoy each other’s company in bed. Which makes more sense?” The fire suddenly darkened. She’d stolen its energy, as if that could last her through the night. Then the window opened. “We’re three stories up.” Erick bolted to his feet, heart racing. “Don’t.”
84
Masquerade of the Cursed King
Chapter Eleven
December 23, 9544AR Valetta, Biston Oh how could she have been so stupid? Eleanor tried not to look down as she stood on the dilapidated ledge. Only the heels of her bare feet fit on the narrow bricks. Ancient mortar crumbled beneath her tentative steps. A heavy ball seemed to drop through her gut, threatening to pull her down with it. If she fell in this costume… Earth, three stories wasn’t that high. She might survive. Eleanor glanced down and her throat closed up. A rocky slope angled steeply from this side of the palace into pitch black where moonlight couldn’t reach. If only she’d stop shaking. Her feet couldn’t get close enough to the wall and her legs felt like cold lead. Eleanor forced her breath to slow and inched farther from Erick’s window. Just a little bit farther. Erick’s screams jarred her already shot nerves. He blindly searched for her and scooped at empty air less than an inch from her calf. Night air scraped her throat but wouldn’t fill her lungs. Why had she let Meagan talk her into this? Earth, she needed to reevaluate who she trusted. Her other friends had lied that they carried Erick’s spawn. An impossibility. He couldn’t come without the scent of his fated. The spell for invisibility burned her insides and the cold started to numb her limbs. But she couldn’t go back. She couldn’t be his empty whore, as if he’d let her be even that. If he knew who she was, he’d flip out and immediately ship her off to Porter. Icy wind pushed against her. She clung to the wall, fingernails dug deep into the recessed mortar. Jagged edges cut her fingers and slicked her grip with blood. Earth, she was slipping. Just a little farther to the next window. Someone opened it. Oh no. Guards. They leaned out and looked through her. Why? Why would Erick do this? That window was her only way in. She didn’t have much energy left but what choice did she have? She forced her way into their minds and altered their perceptions to think she ran through the hallway. It drained energy. The loss scorched through her flesh and mind. Dizzy, she grabbed hold of the window, which pivoted and tugged her from the ledge. She kicked at empty air, heart racing, mind screaming. Her grip, slick with blood and sweat, slipped. Her heart jumped into her throat. She couldn’t hold on. Bricks seemed to swirl around her as she fell. Her gut wrenched her lungs.
85
Vanessa Gilfoy
She expected air to whistle past her ears. She flailed toward what she thought was the wall, just before her face smacked hard onto it. A wood floor. The queen’s empty chambers. She’d fallen through the open window. Her invisibility spell flickered. Too weak to power it, invisibility petered out. Earth. Erick pulled her up to her feet. A mixture of worry and rage creased his face. He reached for her mask. She screamed and twisted free. Before he could grab hold of her again, she shrieked in his head. She ran past him into the moonlit hall and down the stairs. His feet pounded right behind her. Too close. She could feel him at her neck. Earth, how could he be so persistent? He didn’t love her. If her pheromone didn’t make him come, she’d be no different from any of the other faceless distractions. Erick grabbed her skirt. It jerked against her hips. Her stomach flopped and light flickered through her periphery. No. She couldn’t faint. The fabric tore and she scrambled free, down the steps, through the doorway. She knocked a small table over behind her. When he wailed and thudded to the floor, she gained some distance and escaped around the first corner, through the first doorway and down another flight of stairs. Oh, no. This led to the laundry sorting room but she couldn’t backtrack. How far was he? How much time did she have? Adrenalin pounded through her veins and muddled her brain. She gasped in breath and scanned the dank, dim room in search of something, anything that could help her. Pink moonlight spilled in from a tiny sliver of a window above. Her dress from yesterday rested on top of a pile. Yes. Eleanor snatched it up and yanked it on over her stupid costume. She tore off the mask and shoved it in her skirt pocket. Something scratched her fingers. A pen and a notebook. That’s where she’d left them. Perfect. Deep inhalation. She smoothed her hair and plopped down on the floor. Slow exhalation. Her pounding heart slowed a bit. She opened the notebook and quickly sketched out the room. Her bloody hand shook and the lines came out jagged. Maybe she could explain that as the cold. Her fingers and toes were numb. But the blood? She wiped her hands on a rag. Earth, was there blood in her hair? Her fingers stuck to her locks. But on black in dim moonlight, he wouldn’t see, would he? The door burst open and Erick skidded to a stop, horror on his face. His robe hung sloppily from his shoulders, untied. He scanned the room, obviously hoping for someone else.
86
Masquerade of the Cursed King
Her chest tightened and it hurt to breathe. She swallowed the knot in her throat and forced a laugh that came out weak. What did she care? Eleanor pointed to the window, gaze dropped. His rising erection poked out. Hastily, Erick pulled his robe closed to hide desire he’d probably never admit to. He panted, “How did Violet reach that window?” “A spell of some sort. I don’t know. I wasn’t paying attention.” Eleanor shut her notebook and pushed herself up. Flashes circled her vision and she leaned against the wall. Earth, she’d used too much energy on that invisibility spell. She’d never bent light for so long. Phil appeared behind Erick and sternly examined her. He knew. Oh no. Eleanor stammered out her lies. “I know. It’s too cold for me to be down here but I couldn’t sleep and figured I’d add to my sketchbook.” She averted her eyes as she tried to push past. But Uncle Phil blocked the door. He held a fairytale book in front of her and flipped it open to her favorite childhood story. Violet Glass. He remembered that? She hadn’t even remembered. “I thought I made it up. I don’t know who Erick’s girl of the week is. I just couldn’t resist.” She forced her mouth to curl up in a demonic grin but her lips twitched. Erick snatched the book and glared at her. Did he believe Phil? Her chest lifted and her gut twisted in a confusing tangle of emotions. For a brief moment she wanted him to believe. “I’ve been calling her Violet all night and you made it up?” Erick pushed her against the wall, hand between her breasts, teeth bared. She wished his touch didn’t quicken her breath. Earth, she hated him. “She is Violet.” Phil pushed Erick’s hand away. Eleanor tried to laugh but it sounded like a sob. How could her uncle do this to her, in front of him? They’d had an unspoken agreement to hide each other’s secrets. “Shouldn’t you be with your girlfriend, Uncle?” She didn’t want to do this. Should I tell? Nostrils flared, Phil stared her down as if she weren’t his niece, as if she were a disposable stranger. It hurt to breathe. Her whole body felt as if it had been crushed into a tiny box that had been thrown on the floor. “Look at the blood on her dress, on her hands and in her hair.” Eleanor blurted, “I fell. It’s dark in here.” “She isn’t her,” Erick said, gaze fixed on the window. He strode past Eleanor. “What girlfriend?” he mumbled. Eleanor covered her mouth to hold back a sob. In the brief distraction, she slipped past Phil, away from Erick.
87
Vanessa Gilfoy
***** December 24, 9544 AR Valetta, Biston Eleanor murmured elven curses, having pressed too deeply into the mortar of a miniature castle. “Don’t you ever knock?” She glanced up at her friend’s excited face. “He’s looking for you. Everyone’s talking about it. I heard there’s even a reward for bringing you to him.” Eleanor’s stomach fluttered and she wished it was from fear. “Why? For a meaningless fuck?” “He’s smitten, I’ve heard.” Eleanor groaned and straightened the wall of her model. “No, he’s not.” She selected another rock and pressed it into the mush. “What if he asks you to marry him?” Eleanor raised her brows at her friend’s naiveté. “And maybe gold will fall out of my butt. He’ll never marry anyone. The only reason he’s off searching for me is because he thinks I’m a maid, which to him means silent whore.” “You never know. You could become queen.” “Biston locks hybrid queens in towers and calls them demons. No thank you.” “Anyway, your uncle wants you to come to breakfast.” “Tell him to fuck off.” “He said if you said that to tell you that your guards will have to drag you to breakfast.” Eleanor jerked her head back and narrowed her eyes. “I’m just the messenger, Elle. But I don’t see what the problem is either way. Your guards are…” Meagan grinned. “And I don’t think they’d mind.” They’d enjoy it. The controlling, domineering jerks. If only she could alter their perceptions but her father had selected them for that immunity. “Fine.” Eleanor wiped her hands on a rag and tried to pick out the grime from under her fingernails. “As if they’ll notice. You could wear a moldy potato sack and they wouldn’t care.” “I should.” Eleanor ambled out and through the halls to the breakfast table where Uncle Phil waited. She sat before her cold breakfast. “Where’s your beloved?” “Erick is searching the river banks for Violet.” Eleanor wanted to laugh, to ignore the tinge of hope that filled her lungs. “Why?” “Probably because you told him you do laundry in the morning.”
88
Masquerade of the Cursed King
“Where would you get that idea?” She scooped a cold bite of eggs into her mouth, to keep from smiling. “Why didn’t you tell him the truth?” What difference would it make? “Is he waiting behind the door, ready to pop out if I say it was me? You know he wouldn’t believe me even if it was true. Traitor.” The door opened as if on cue and Erick stomped through. His wavy hair fluffed out more wildly than usual, so tempting to her fidgety fingers. Pants wet up to his knees, a scowl on his chiseled face, he looked miserable. Muddy footprints trailed behind him. His ass bulged hard and tight in those pants and boots. Very nice. Eleanor bit her lip and swallowed to prevent drool from dripping down her chin. Why did he have to be so damned sexy? He slumped into his chair, dark gaze avoiding Phil’s. “You were right. She wasn’t there.” “I’m sure you’ll find another concubine to fill your bed,” Eleanor grumbled. “Are you this rude to everyone or just me?” “Especially you.” “Why? Because I’m a whore? Have you ever kissed a man?” Many and she wished they felt as good as him. “Does it matter?” Phil groaned and stood up like a father forced to stop their bickering. He folded his napkin and rounded the table to stand behind Eleanor. “What are you doing?” She twisted in her seat. Phil tried to bring the folded napkin down over her eyes but she squirmed away. What is the matter with you? “Look at her,” he said to Erick. “Just truly look at her.” He tried again to cover her eyes. “Stop.” Or I’ll tell him. Go ahead. Phil tossed the napkin on the table and left the room. Face heated, eyes aglow, Eleanor pushed her chair back. But the words balled up in her throat, tethered by a heavy weight in her gut. All that came out was a squeak. She couldn’t. Phil was her uncle. The one who’d read her fairytales and comforted her when there was no one else. Eleanor rose to go. “Wait,” Erick said. The way he glared at her made the weight in her stomach turn. He hated her. “Don’t worry. I’m not your fairytale lover,” she muttered. “I know.” She wanted to dump her cold breakfast on his lap. Pride demanded she say something.
89
Vanessa Gilfoy
But he spoke first. “I invited a friend of yours to find her. He asked for you to be here.” “Who?” Hands closed over her eyes. “Guess,” a man’s voice said. Eleanor jerked away screaming and fell out of her chair. “Don’t touch my face.” Bradley stood before her, thin brows arched. “Look at Miss Ellie all grown up.” He smiled and tried to help her up but she evaded his grasp. The hybrid man had tortured her with spells and tricks throughout their childhood. Now he looked at her with a totally different expression, as if they’d been lovers instead of enemies. She pushed herself up and recoiled from him. “Stay away from me.” “Ouch.” He clutched his chest in mock pain. To Erick, he said, “Your Majesty.” Without bowing, he sat across from Eleanor. “I dreamed about you last night. How strange is that?” Erick interrupted, straight to the point. “How much?” Earth, could Bradley break past her blocks? Oh no. He’d see what Erick couldn’t. Would Erick believe him? “I’ll do it for free if Eleanor will grant me the privilege of touching her cheek.” “No.” Eleanor started toward the door but Erick caught her wrist. “I’m already bound,” she snapped. “To whom?” Erick asked darkly. Jealousy? Doubtful. He didn’t even realize he’d bound her. “You.” She searched his eyes for something, anything but he didn’t believe her. Erick shoved her into her chair and recoiled from her arm. To Bradley, he said, “Be my guest.” “What? You can’t pass me around for favors from other men. No.” “He’s just going to touch your cheek. Hardly passing you around.” Bradley leaned back in his chair, suspicion fixed on her. “Are you bound?” “Yes.” “No,” Erick said over her answer. “Do me this one favor. If you have any compassion, you’ll do this for me, Eleanor. I love her.” “No you don’t.” Bradley leaned forward and softly offered, “Ellie, you’ll get my spells when you touch my face. It’s not that bad. I promise it won’t hurt. I’ve had a pretty good life.” “I haven’t.” “Then it’ll hurt me, not you. I’ll chance it. Come on. Books and books of knowledge up here.” Bradley tapped his temple.
90
Masquerade of the Cursed King
Admittedly, she could use them to escape. Maybe this winter if he knew the spells to cross the frozen mountains. She might get to spend her New Year’s Eve birthday in Gildon. That would be a nice present. “You can’t tell anyone what you see and I go first.” “Of course.” Bradley jumped up, grin on his face. He inhaled a deep breath as if trying to calm himself. “Okay. Where? Somewhere nice. Too cold outside. Maybe your room?” His gold eyes glinted. “No,” Erick growled. “Here’s fine. Just a touch. That’s it.” Maybe on some deeper level, he did feel jealousy. Too little, though. She didn’t want to do this. She’d heard it hurt after being bound. But she’d been just a kid. Maybe it hadn’t fully taken. Obviously, since Erick felt practically nothing for her. Bradley pulled a chair around to face her and hesitantly sat, leaning toward her. “Wait. Would you rather stand? No. Sitting’s fine. He’s not going to watch is he?” Bradley’s face scrunched up at Erick who glowered, hunched over in his chair. “She’s my charge until her father returns.” Yeah, great protector. “A little sick,” Bradley mumbled. “It doesn’t matter. You’re not the one.” But she forced her hand to Bradley’s cheek anyway. Sparks didn’t burst, reserved only for fated elves and hybrids. Her breath didn’t quicken. Revulsion turned her gut and threatened to squeeze out everything she’d eaten. She wanted to pull away but then golden light beamed from his eyes with memories she wished were hers. Laughter, smiles, love, everything a child should have, warmed her. Lessons from an adoring mother. Spells that flickered and grew to power she’d never known. They planted themselves in her mind. Earth, she could bend tree trunks and float on fog. But the present rushed upon them. No spells to cross the snowy mountains but maybe enough to escape in spring. His panting breath grew in her mind and his hand covered hers like a lover’s. “Please tell me you like what you see,” he rasped. If only she did but his mischievous pranks, petty obsessions and purposeful cruelty smeared an ugly shade over everything else. “I’m sorry.” He shook his head, brow creased. “No. I smell you. Your pheromone. Ellie, you’re mine.” He pressed his palm to her cheek. Eleanor winced at the rough force in her mind. Memories burst up and crashed against the inside of her skull. Memories she’d buried. Her betrayal. Bloody battles. Guilty murders. Fear. Desperate pleas. Her father’s hatred. Erick’s rejections. Her prison of ignorance. Waiting. Defeat. Loss. Each misery seared her insides. She silently wailed
91
Vanessa Gilfoy
but he wouldn’t stop. She couldn’t pull away. Her body wouldn’t move, locked in his touch. At the end, she writhed and struggled for breath. Sobs filled her ears but they weren’t hers. Legs weak, she couldn’t rise. Bradley forced her into his arms and air finally burst in. She wailed and thrashed but his grip only tightened. “I’m sorry. I don’t care, Ellie. He doesn’t deserve you. Please. We have enough human blood. It doesn’t matter.” She screamed. Bradley tried to project images of gardens and waterfalls into her bruised mind. Pain exploded beneath her skull. She lashed out with imaginary daggers. He wouldn’t let go. Erick pried him off and struck him. Through blurred vision, she barely registered the scuffle. Erick’s muscled form dwarfed the slender hybrid. Grunts and curses punctuated thuds and cracks. She couldn’t stop shaking. Her mind burned and throbbed and everything around her seemed to melt into the floor. She fell into a pool, liquefied in her own thoughts. Erick’s smile swirled above her into the makeshift pirate costume he’d worn for her in their childhood games. Argh. “I’m the Dread Pirate Tabitha.” “No, ye be me wee fairy princess, Violet Glass. I be savin’ ye from the ice monsters of the depths.” He snapped an eye patch into place. “Girls can be pirates too.” Wait here. He disappeared around the corner of the old cabin. “Erick?” She chased after him but her tiny legs couldn’t move fast enough. Sweet smells from Gran’s kitchen wafted over her. Blackberry pie. “Pie, Erick. Gran made pie. Come back.” He jumped out from behind a tree and pounced on her. Eleanor laughed and tried to roll out from under him but he was so much bigger, so much stronger. He usually tossed her about like a rag doll until she lost her breath. Not that she ever minded. But he shook her then, screaming her name. “Wake up, Ellie. Please, wake up.” “Stop. I don’t want to play this anymore. Let’s take the pie to the creek. We can catch some fish for Gran.” He stared at her, eyes shimmering. The wavy locks at his temples silvered and the grass beneath them rotted until only a splintered floor remained. Blood dripped from his split lip and a bruise darkened his cheek.
92
Masquerade of the Cursed King
Everything rushed back. Oh no. “Are you okay?” He didn’t have the magic to defend against a full hybrid. She scanned the room for Bradley. “He’s gone. Ellie, I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” Did he know now? She scanned his unblocked mind. No. He’d meant he didn’t know the touch would hurt her. She spoke the elven words for healing but he jerked away before she could touch his lip. Her hand glowed between them and he avoided it as if she threatened to pierce him. “When have I ever hurt you?” She sat up and quickly touched his mouth. Blood smeared across her fingertips when he turned away. She barely managed to close the wound and it burned her already aching head. “That wasn’t supposed to hurt?” He rubbed his mouth and rolled back on his haunches. “It hurts me more than it hurts you. Baby. Let me get that bruise.” “No. Leave it. It’ll heal on its own.” He grabbed her arm and helped her up into her chair. “Are you hurt anywhere else?” Air puffed out from his chest as if she’d hurt his pride. “You think I lost?” Eleanor smiled. “No,” she lied. Should she thank him? It was his fault though. Where were her guards? They’d become lazy since her father left. She reached for Erick’s bruised cheek and caught him off guard. Sparks burst from his skin and deeper depths of his mind fell open, completely unguarded. She meant to speak the healing spell but his fears choked her. Erick shoved her hand away. “Don’t. I’m not your fated.”
93
Vanessa Gilfoy
Chapter Twelve
December 25, 9544 AR Valetta, Biston His lids stuck to his eyes. He rubbed them again and squinted at the clock. Four in the morning. The sun would rise soon and she hadn’t arrived. She didn’t come. Erick shifted in his throne, ass cheeks numb, back and shoulders sore. Two hours more. The last few guests sluggishly buttoned their costumes. Locks of dark hair sprayed out from the edges of their masks but they didn’t bother to hide the identifying color. Probably knew each other. Erick gulped bitter ale though he couldn’t taste it. The suds no longer tickled his tongue nor burned his throat. The last woman smiled at him. Radiant with the afterglow of sex, she’d have been his choice tonight if he could feel anything for her. His body demanded Violet, only Violet. When he closed his eyes, he imagined his lover’s mind coursing through his. The way she reacted to him, the way she plucked his every nerve and caressed his every thought when he touched her. He’d never experienced that before, since elves only fucked their true mates and hybrids were so fucking rare. Violet. Probably the only hybrid who wouldn’t murder him while he slept. Gentle. Sweet. Soft. She didn’t flaunt magic. She didn’t leak spells everywhere she went. But she didn’t want him. Erick gulped the last of his ale. He crashed the mug down and his pink scar blurred past. Earth, he hated that mark. Why hadn’t he taken Violet’s offer? Mark of love, she’d said. From whom? From me. A woman’s petite hand slid down his shoulder. Violet. His chest filled. Popping bubbles seemed to tickle his lungs. He snatched her wrist and yanked her into his lap. Nude except for that damned mask. Heat seeped from her bare cheeks through the front of his pants to where he’d ached all night. Mmm, she felt good. He kissed her smiling mouth and sucked her pouty lip between his teeth. Hand on the back of her head, crushing her to him, he couldn’t get close enough. Too rough. She squirmed in his lap. Erick eased up and softened his kiss. “I’m sorry I called you Violet. I should have asked your name.” He shouldn’t have believed his oath-brother’s brat.
94
Masquerade of the Cursed King
His lover jerked back against his arms. “No. You don’t have to tell me your name. Don’t go.” He tried to pull her close. “Please. I’ll call you my pixie. Whatever you want.” Purple light beamed from her mask like eerie beacons but she hesitantly relaxed into his embrace. She swung a leg back and over his lap to kneel over him. Her knees squeezed him and her glowing eyes leveled to his. A warning mashed his gut but Erick ignored it for the thrilling sparks of her touch. Her hands kneaded his shoulders. A thrilling mixture of pleasure and pain. She found the knot in his back and magically soothed it away. But her touch didn’t burn and her lips didn’t murmur elven words. Her hardened nipples pressed circles into his chest with each of her healing efforts. The soft flesh of her petite breasts shook, warm and good. He wanted to see them bounce excitedly while he gripped her hips and thrust up into her. Oh, he’d make her scream tonight. Countless orgasms to share between them. “Let me in.” He needed inside her mind to feel what she felt. He probed but her shields blocked him. Through a playful grin, she teased, “Wait. Slow down. We have all night.” “I wish. In an hour, maids will come to clean this mess. Then angry citizens will flood in with complaints I can’t do anything about.” Erick kissed her neck and breathed her intoxicating scent. She dizzied him and pained his impatient cock. “Play hooky with me today. I promise no traps. Just a whole day in my bed. Masks optional.” “Mmm.” Her sultry tone caressed his ears as her tender hands glided down his chest and abs. “I can’t steal my king from his duties.” Her touch slipped beneath his tented pants. He sucked in breath, abs rigid, cock twitching in excitement. He didn’t move, afraid she’d stop, like a bunny startled by a hunter’s step. “Am I a bunny, a pixie, or your fairy princess?” Her fingertips swirled down his veiny rod. His lungs emptied in a harsh puff and his cock jerked up into her fist. Electricity shot through him and hummed in his groin in an anxious pitch. Her tiny hand wrapped around half his girth. When she completed the circle with her other hand, Erick groaned, words lost in his lust. She twisted up his length, knowing what he wanted. “No one knows you better,” she whispered in his ear and kissed the sensitive spot just below. Her thumbs swirled around the crown of his cock. The electric hum rose with his hips and rough grunt. Too much. He closed over her hands with his. “Stop. I’m going to come.” “Don’t you want to?” Her fingers shifted as much as they could in his grip.
95
Vanessa Gilfoy
He rasped, “No.” He needed to make her his. Coming too early would leave her unsatisfied. He guided her hands back to his chest and her nipples brushed the back of his hands. Earth, he wanted her naked always. “Chained in the dungeon, where no one would know to look for me?” she whispered. He hadn’t even felt her in that part of his mind. Alcohol must have weakened his blocks. “I didn’t know you then.” He hadn’t cheated with Eleanor. But his pixie started to pull away. “Please don’t go.” His mind scrambled for something to make her stay. He clutched on to the first thought, “I love you.” It slipped out too early. He’d never said it before. Although she stilled on his lap, she didn’t return the words. She only stared at him, as if waiting for more. What else could he say? What more was there? Earth, she didn’t love him. His chest sank into his gut, split in two like a ship on the rocks. Air leaked out, as if replaced by a rising gush of water that threatened to suffocate him. It hurt to breathe. When her lips pressed against his, his mouth tightened into a hard line. He couldn’t kiss her. Even his penis fell flaccid between them, despite the rich perfume in his flared nostrils. She leaned back, head cocked. “Isn’t this what you wanted? Purely sex? Anything more could be dangerous with me.” “No.” He trusted her. Darkness swirled around her as the room chilled. Like Eleanor, she stole heat to keep warm. His throat tightened but he could live with that tiny bit of magic. It was a necessity for hybrids in winter, right? Her hands rose to the back of her neck. Her breasts pushed up against his chest and jiggled as she untied her headdress. He expected the dark hair that spilled down her shoulders. Silky locks sparkled like the midnight ocean. Beautiful. He could wake to her hair tangled around his fingers and draped over his chest. “Wait,” she warned, as if something could change his mind. She pulled the mask from her porcelain face. Midnight lashes fluttered up from starry blue eyes to examine him. Eleanor. He jerked up and she fell from his lap. The room shook. Her image blurred, as he stumbled over her to the floor. His chin cracked on the marble and light flashed in his skull. “Erick,” a man yelled, paining Erick’s already aching head.
96
Masquerade of the Cursed King
His sandpapery lids scraped his eyeballs. Like a snowstorm, bright white blinded him and hid color. He squinted but only made out faint shapes. Too much light. It glared fluorescently off the normally dull marble. Phil’s blurry silhouette knelt beside him, blanket in hand. “How much did you drink?” “Not ’nough.” Erick tried to push himself up but his arms trembled and collapsed, dropping his face onto the cold marble. Oh, the cold helped. “Where issss she?” Erick slurred out. His tongue wouldn’t move right. Had that evil demon put a curse on him? “Probably asleep. She never left her room.” Erick squinted and scanned the bare expanse of floor. “She uz juss here.” Why wouldn’t his mouth work? “You’ve been passed out for hours. No one else was here.” “Thank Earff.” It was just a nightmare. That demonic hybrid hadn’t impersonated his lover. With a grunt, Phil lifted Erick to his feet. Erick gripped Phil’s coat in tight fists to keep upright. The room wouldn’t stop wobbling. Even Phil seemed to waver between reality and viscous fluid that dripped down incandescent walls. Where were they? “Maybe Eleanor should take a look at you.” She’d just make it worse. “Iss juss a hangover.” He’d lost count of how many pints he’d poured down his throat waiting for his lover. “No. You’re still drunk or worse.” Phil dragged him into the hall. Erick stumbled and leaned against what he’d thought was a frail old man. But Phil held him up and tugged him up the stairs. “How coo I be wursss?” His lover hadn’t come. That’s how. Earth, he needed more ale. Phil kicked open the door at the top of the stairs. “No more.” He grunted and shifted for a better hold to haul Erick inside. He tossed Erick onto the bed. The quick motion lurched through Erick’s gut and emptied him over the side of the bed. Throat forced wide, eyes watering, stomach wrenched, he barely held consciousness. His throat burned. An acrid taste filled his mouth. The smell. Erick rolled away from it. “Yes?” Eleanor’s voice snapped like a whip. Erick turned toward the door to glare at the girl. Darkness swirled about her. Evil creature. Remnants of rage from his dream demanded he bellow for her to leave. She spun on her heels as if she’d heard him. Her blindingly white skirts flew about at a dizzying pace but she didn’t leave.
97
Vanessa Gilfoy
Phil caught her elbow and her skirts crashed against his legs. “Just fix him up a little. Just enough that his brain doesn’t rot.” “It’s already rotten.” “Judgmental bitch.” That came out clearly. Erick wasn’t so intoxicated. “You moron. What did you expect to happen? Did you think she’d come back to be your mindless whore? What woman would want that? To be so low, so empty and meaningless?” “Rot in an elven-guarded tower, you fucking demon. Just stay out of my head. Get out.” But Phil slammed the door shut, blocking her exit. “It’s just the alcohol talking. He’s not himself when he’s drunk.” “Is he any different when he’s sober?” She twisted free from Phil’s grip but approached the bed, dizzying skirts aflutter. Suddenly she halted and covered her nose. “Earth, Erick. Did you drink skunk oil?” With her free hand, she palmed his bare abs. Sparks erupted from her touch and jerked his aching body tense. He pushed her hand away. He couldn’t feel that with her. “Do I have to put on a mask to touch you?” she sarcastically muttered. She looked enough like Violet that he could pretend if she wore a mask. Sick. He threw the thought away. “Relax. I’d rather freeze than fuck you.” She hadn’t felt that way in the dungeon or when he pressed her up against the wall. Neither did you. He hated that power she had over him, to slip so effortlessly into his mind. He’d thought he’d grown strong enough to keep her out. Maybe he was drunk. But it’s okay when Violet does it? Her hand glowed over his stomach. Erick squeezed his eyes shut against the painful light. Before he could tell her stop, her hand burned his gut. He hollered and tried to roll away but his body shook like a fish in a bucket. Pressure swelled in his bladder which threatened to burst. Her spell stopped but the pain remained. “Honey bucket,” she said through clenched teeth to Phil. Hunched over the nightstand, she panted and sobbed on every exhalation. Her white dress had darkened to the color of the Biston river. Phil brought the bucket to Erick and motioned for him to do his business. But Erick could barely move. His limbs jerked sporadically, veins burning. The blinding light from the window had dimmed and vivid colors replaced pastels. Phil rolled him onto his side, pulled down his pants and held the bucket expectantly.
98
Masquerade of the Cursed King
Humiliatingly, Erick’s body relieved itself through no command of his own. He didn’t want to do this in front of her. He’d never pissed in front of a woman. Whatever she’d done to him burned his penis. The strong odor of pure alcohol stung his eyes and nostrils. It steamed up from the bucket as if snow filled the bottom. Eleanor’s sobbing breath slowed behind him. “I can only clean out a little more. It’s too cold in here.” He wanted to tell her no but his mouth wouldn’t move. Paralyzed. Something squeezed his lungs but no sound could escape his nearly closed throat. Like an offered sacrifice, Phil turned Erick onto his back for Eleanor. Tears dripped from her hard glare and streaked her flushed face. But the human color didn’t alleviate his fears. Hybrid. A hybrid woman cast spells on him. You can stop me at any time. But light burst from her hand over his stomach. And again, her touch burned. His limbs twitched as if lightning had struck him. Arteries and veins pulsated in a frantic rush and something crushed him everywhere, all around and filled his burning bladder. Unbearable. Stop. The glow extinguished and her hand fell away. She knelt on the floor, weeping. Blue tinted her fingers and crawled up her arms. Spasms lingered, torturing him. Before he could piss himself, Phil rolled him on his side to catch the burning stream of pure alcohol. Erick grimaced and fought back tears of his own. “You’ll need to drink lots of,” she inhaled sharply, “water. And please think about indoor,” she sobbed a wet and sloppy breath, “plumbing. Honey buckets are so gross.” More criticisms. He flopped on the bed, paralyzed and she tortured him with his shortcomings? He didn’t have Gildon’s treasuries to invest in new technologies. “I’m not trying to hurt you. It’s just a suggestion. You don’t have to be so proud.” She gasped as if coming up for air. “You can let me help without seeing it as an insult to your manhood.” “I don’t need your help,” he hoarsely whispered. Had she stolen his voice? “No. What is wrong with you? I’ve never hurt you.” Nothing had ever hurt more than what she just did to him. “Look at me.” She held up her blue hands. “I give up everything I have and you think it’s to harm you? Why? What could I possibly gain? Do I look like I enjoyed this?” For the past five years, she’d seemed to enjoy torturing him with her escape attempts from her father’s home but at that moment she appeared just as miserable. “I’m sorry, Ellie,” he croaked. His dry throat felt like cracked stone. “He needs water,” she said to Phil and slumped against Erick’s nightstand. The old man left with a bounce in his step and a smile on his face, as if he expected some miracle to happen.
99
Vanessa Gilfoy
But this one favor couldn’t make up for five years of hell. How did the girl even know how to do this? Henry didn’t drink. “In the spring and summer, I work odd jobs to save for college. Mostly just reading men for infatuated women or vice versa. Healing sick people. Don’t tell my parents.” “Why?” “It upsets them. Then my mother shrinks my prison.” “No, why college?” Daughter to a duke and gifted with enchantment, the girl would never need to work. Kings would shower her with wealth for as long as she chose to live. “I’m not just a body,” she spat. “I’m more than that. I want to make things, beautiful things. Monuments. Works of art that will last millennia, like the palaces in Gildon. I would be halfway through Biston University if you had let me.” Was that why she hated him? No that was only two years ago. She wouldn’t look at him, gaze fixed on the floor, blue arms wrapped tight around her knees. Spoiled brat. “My disagreement doesn’t warrant your temper tantrum,” he said. “Oh, I’m sorry. Am I supposed to be okay with your decision to whore me out? I’m supposed to just accept that I’ll have to live off my body to stay here in Biston?” “A married woman isn’t a whore.” “She is when her only duty is to spread her legs. What do you think Reiley expects from his wife? Do you think he’s going to ask her opinion, let her run any portion of his kingdom, share any decisions? No. He expects a baby maker. That’s it. She’s just supposed to wait for him until the end of each day. After the sun goes down, her duties begin. Her worth is measured only by his want. Not by her mind, not by her drive, not by her skills or abilities. She’s nothing.” “Sex isn’t a chore. After the first time, you might like it.” The brat had no idea how good she had it. To be so free from responsibility. Something like a snort came from her throat. “Then you marry him. Don’t you see women as anything more? Before I was this, what was I to you? Didn’t I mean anything?” She’d been just a kid, her imagination an escape. She’d followed him around, spouting hopes and dreams. Nothing like now. “I’m the same person. Everything is still there. There’s just more. Is it this?” She swirled darkness in a ball above her open palm. “Is this why? I can’t make enough energy to live here in the winter and I don’t have someone to borrow energy from. This is the only way for me to keep from freezing to death.” She hadn’t needed dark magic before the war. “You used to share your energy with me in the winters the way my father shares with my mother.” Her lip and chin trembled before she rolled her lower lip in and turned away. 100
Masquerade of the Cursed King
Erick sat up uncomfortably. It had been innocent then. Just holding her hand for the tickling sparks. They’d both been so young, it didn’t mean anything. “What are you asking me to do? What do you want?” He couldn’t hold her hand now without his mind turning to mush. Her gaze flicked back to him, brow wrinkled. “If all you see when you look at me is a whore or a demon, then let me go.” “You aren’t mine to give away.” “Then tell my father you don’t want me. Tell him to set me free,” she choked out, eyes watering. Did Henry expect him to marry Eleanor? Was that why Henry had dropped the little demon off here? Earth, this was no good. A soft rap sounded at the door. “You don’t have to knock, Phil,” she yelled, as if she knew the old man normally burst in unannounced. Phil entered tentatively, seemingly afraid of interrupting something. He was in on it, wasn’t he? For years, the two brothers had demanded Erick marry for an heir. But never before had they proposed Eleanor. She seemed their unwilling pawn, glowering on the floor, avoiding his gaze. You should make her a fire, Phil suggested as he set a tray on the chest at the foot of the bed. “No, I’m going.” Eleanor rose unsteadily, blue hand on the nightstand. “For payment, I don’t want to see him again. Send my meals to my room.” “Eleanor…” Phil started. “You asked for a service which I performed. I don’t work for free,” she snapped, eyes aglow. “The next time he poisons himself, let him die. I won’t come.” The brat staggered out of the room, using furniture along the way to keep from falling. Phil tried to help her but she pushed his hands away. The door slammed shut behind her but didn’t block her sobs. The sound of a woman crying usually made his gut clench up with guilt, but he’d done nothing wrong. They both hated each other. It was Henry and Phil who pushed for something horribly more. “What did you say to her?” “I proposed.” Erick barely forced the grating words out. Phil’s face lit up like a child’s when gifted a lollipop. “Is that what you expected?” The old man cursed, happiness gone, face creased. “Did you at least thank her?” “For what?” For torturing him? His penis still burned and his head felt as if she’d bludgeoned him with a spiked mace. Phil quietly poured water into a glass, seeming to weigh his words. 101
Vanessa Gilfoy
“Does Henry expect me to…marry her?” Was that the trade? Was that why Henry had saved Erick’s life and won him the throne? Erick rubbed his eyes. Earth, how could he have been so blind? No one risks their life for nothing, out of the goodness of their hearts. No one works for free, as Eleanor had said. Phil handed him a glass of water and dropped a letter on the bed. Half a broken seal marked its seam. A dragon’s head and wings—Henry’s mark. It must have come by falcon. Glass pressed to his lips, Erick couldn’t drink, gaze fixed on the letter. “What does it say?” “It says no. Eleanor is a daughter of Biston and she will remain in Biston. I told you. She’s Henry’s treasure. He won’t let her past Biston’s borders, not for any king.” “You wrote him about Reiley’s offer, right?” Phil’s voice lowered an octave. “Yes.” That couldn’t be right. Henry had to see logic—he always did. Erick snatched the letter up and unrolled it. He scanned Henry’s sloppy writing. Shit. Erick gulped the cold water that stung his throat. “What now?” He couldn’t win a trade agreement with Porter. Not without Henry’s approval to give the girl to the lovelorn Reiley. Where was he supposed to get the money to haul Biston out of recession? “You have two options—either marry for money or ask for Eleanor’s help.” “Does she have a spell that can turn dirt into gold?” “She told you how she can help. Make nice and ask her.” “What? Indoor plumbing?” “She has contacts in the Western River and in Gildon. She can use them to get your loan.” “No. Ask the Western River’s king to lift his sanctions.” If Erick had any gift for magic, he could cast the spells himself, maybe find his lover. Oh he needed her now. There had to be a spell to find her. Maybe a spell to lift the curse that had fallen over Biston. How long would it take to learn? “Post a reward for the girl, also.” “The same girl you insulted and hurt not twenty minutes ago? Who is the only woman in all of Biston who wouldn’t be satisfied with your noncommittal interest? She’s had better offers from better men.” Phil looked down on him as if Erick were a worm that had wriggled indoors. Something that should be squashed and wiped away. He’d never earned Phil’s disdain before. Erick’s insides writhed, wounded. “What do you mean, better men?” “Men who would thank and appreciate her. She saves your life, yet leaves here crying. That girl loves you and you treat her like dirt. I understand that she was too young before and you couldn’t wait for her. But now, why? Why would you choose to believe a fantasy when she’s better than anything you can imagine? Don’t use your
102
Masquerade of the Cursed King
mother as an excuse. They aren’t the same. But if you continue to hurt Eleanor, they will be.” He failed to see the difference. Darkness swirled around both. Their spells and wrath burned him, a stark contrast to his lover’s innocence. “She isn’t Violet. You couldn’t prove it.” “Not yet. But that doesn’t make it wrong.” “Ellie would be better off with Reiley. He can give her what I can’t.” Why didn’t Henry see that?” “She wants you. Always has. I’ve never seen her look at anyone the way she looks at you, even now. Didn’t you wonder why Henry sent her away to the country?” “For her health.” “Because you hurt her when you took women to your bed.” She was a fourteen-year-old child then. “Her crush has worn off by now.” She hated him and he wouldn’t have it any other way. “Just send out the letter and post the reward.” “Yes, Your Majesty,” Phil growled and left. Age had made the man grumpier and all the more stubborn. How long would he be fixated on this?
103
Vanessa Gilfoy
Chapter Thirteen
December 25, 9544 AR Valetta, Biston Their silver eyes shimmered in the sunlight from the window as they followed her movements. Expressionless, they never truly reacted to anything she did. She could strip down completely nude and sit spread-legged but they wouldn’t lift a silver eyebrow. Their eyes would glow but beyond that—nothing. Their chiseled faces, devoid of any color, seemed more like cold marble than flesh. Marilyn poured another cup of tea from her chipped red kettle. Green, ancient symbols marked her tea set but she had no idea what they meant. Steam carried the scent of jasmine and some spice from East New Pangaea. Supposedly, elves loved tea. Though she pretended to savor every sip of the bitter brew, the elven guards never asked for a cup. Awful stuff. It somehow left her throat dry. She forced a swallow and asked, “What did you do before this?” They never responded to anything from her lips. Marilyn felt around their mind shields. Not a seam to slip through. She pushed a little harder. One actually flinched. “Don’t,” he warned. If she tested them any further, they’d use whatever means necessary to pacify her, under the excuse of orders. But the racist sadists enjoyed it. Why else would unbound elves their age volunteer to hold her prisoner? Judging by the dark color of their robes, they had to be at least five hundred years old. Elves dressed according to their station and skill. Only masters of elven kings’ magic wore black. To go that long without orgasm must be torturous. Most unbound elves their age scoured New Pangaea in desperation for their fated one. Their repertoire of spells probably dwarfed Marilyn’s. She’d stupidly abandoned her training for Raulin. But on the coldest night of winter, would she be stronger? She had human blood in her, maybe enough to break an elf on an icy night. A tiny butterfly seemed to tickle her belly at the thought. How strong were the elven guards? If she chanced it and failed, they’d kill her. Marilyn crushed the tiny butterfly and set her teacup down on the bright red tablecloth. Gold wizard symbols of cups, wands, pentacles, and swords glowed on the smooth fabric. A memento of Marilyn’s favorite lover, the one who’d rescued her from Raulin. She hadn’t loved the wizard but he’d never hit her and oh could he could last for hours. Amazing body.
104
Masquerade of the Cursed King
Footsteps sounded at the base of the tower. Too early to be Phil. He never came in the daytime. However, his thoughts grew louder with each step up the spiraling staircase. His plan had soured. She knew it would. The elves opened the door and Phil stepped inside. His brow lowered to create columns of creases on the bridge of his nose. Peppery bristles sprayed out from the hardened line of his lips. He’d have seemed angry if not for his slumped shoulders. Broken. A burning ache in her chest urged her to hug him and stroke his hair but she forced air into her lungs to squelch it. “Have you finally given up on your protégé?” There was no saving Erick, yet Phil had naively clung to the idea of good in every person. “I told you so.” “He’s your son,” Phil snapped and slammed the door closed behind him. Her mind stalled for a brief moment. Phil had never taken that tone with her before. “What is that supposed to mean?” Her gut clenched, expecting what came next. “It means show him some compassion. If you had just…” Phil grimaced and tugged at his hair. She knew it. She knew Phil blamed her for Erick’s flaws. “Say it.” He growled in frustration and dropped his fists to his side, shoulders squared. “I’m not here to talk about that.” “No, let’s talk about it.” Marilyn rose with the teacup clutched between her shaking hands. Tea spilled over her fingers. “Say it. Tell me what an awful mother I was.” But he had the nerve to ignore her. He spoke instead to her guards. “Would you please send a message for my king to yours?” Heat flushed through her face to boil the blood in her head. “You son of a bitch. Fate dealt me a lousy hand. I played what I was dealt. You can’t see what I see when I look at him.” She slammed her hand down on the table. The kettle wobbled and its lid rattled, yet the jerk didn’t even look at her. “What is the message?” One of the cold elven guards actually responded to Phil. Oh, how she hated elves. “You don’t say a kind word to me for ten years but a human asks you a favor and you suddenly know how to talk?” Phil crossed his arms over his chest and turned away from her, to the elf. “My king wants to know if yours will lift his sanctions. King Frederick would like to learn elven magic.” “I will ask,” the elf said but didn’t leave. He closed his eyes, as if he could send the message telepathically. No one could send a silent message that far. “Why would Erick even ask that? Erick can’t cast spells. He’s too weak.” Phil’s hard gaze flicked to her for a brief moment and she saw why.
105
Vanessa Gilfoy
Delusions. Laughter bubbled up her chest and nearly doubled her over. “Is he really that stupid?” The boy had always been slow but she’d never guessed to such a degree. “Fear is not the same thing as idiocy,” Phil yelled. His upper lip curled up in an expression she’d only seen on her late husband. “You hurt Erick. You did to him what Raulin did to you.” “I never raised a hand to my son.” Phil rolled in his lower lip and turned away from her. “He said I did? I never hit him.” How dare he accuse her? She wasn’t like them. “No. You didn’t. You used magic in place of a fist.” Red flashed in her head. “Get out.” She hurled her teacup at him but missed. The damned cup shattered on the door. He ducked and should have screamed at her but didn’t. He moved between her and the guards. Palms up in submission, Phil blurted apologies. “I shouldn’t have said it. I’m sorry. I wasn’t there. I can’t pretend to know what you went through.” But her heart pounded in her tight chest. She couldn’t look at him. Bile rose in her throat and she wanted to spit it at him. “You think you’re so much better than me. What do you think you’re doing to your niece? You might as well hold her down for him to take his shots. Let her go. She doesn’t deserve this.” Marilyn motioned to her prison. “She should choose her life, not you, not her father or that elf mother of hers. This isn’t right and you know it.” “They’re fated. There’s nothing wrong with helping them see that, especially if it gives you the future you want too.” “I don’t need you or them to get what I want. Get out of my prison.” Phil swallowed and looked away. “You’re just upset. You don’t mean that. I shouldn’t have said what I did. It wasn’t fair to you.” Nothing could erase what he said from her mind. “No, I mean it. Get out. I don’t want to see you again.” One of the elven guards interrupted, “His Majesty, King Andraste, says no. Should I write the response for your king?” He couldn’t have sent the message that far. They couldn’t be that strong, not on mortal land. Was this a trick to convince her she couldn’t break free? Had Phil set this up? The elf smirked at her. “No and I am stronger than you on the coldest winter night, regardless of your tainted blood.” Marilyn jerked with tension. Needles of pain stabbed into her neck and back. He’d read her and she hadn’t even felt him. What else did they know? Dark secrets hid in the back of her mind. Had the elves seen?
106
Masquerade of the Cursed King
***** Erick groaned and forced himself up. Earth, he ached all over. The little demon had managed to sting nerves he hadn’t realized existed. Every motion hurt as he dressed. After he tied his shoes, the door burst open. “Did you send it?” Erick asked and turned around, expecting to see Phil. Instead, Reiley stood in the doorway, boots spread wide, face red. “Your councilor has informed me that Eleanor’s father will not agree to our transaction. What do you intend to do about it?” There was nothing he could do. Henry was the power behind his throne. All of Biston’s army would follow Henry anywhere, not Erick. “We can still do business but my oath-brother’s daughter is out.” “Are you not king? Do you not make the decisions here?” Reiley yelled. His fist swung down dramatically. “I love my oath-brother. I won’t cross him.” Henry had protected and cared for him as if they shared blood. “If there’s nothing else I can offer you, then you best walk right back out that door.” Reiley turned about and Erick’s chest emptied. The bastard called his bluff. Earth, he needed this deal. But the foreign king didn’t leave, just yet. He grumbled over his shoulder, “You will regret this weakness. She will be mine with or without your oath-brother’s consent.” “Are you threatening me?” Erick rose to his feet. “If it’s war you want, I’m more than happy to oblige.” Both shaky, begrudging alliances to the Western River and Gildon would finally be tested. They’d probably fall apart, all for a girl Erick wanted nothing to do with. Reiley didn’t answer. He left, heels clicking down the stairwell. “This day just keeps getting better and better,” Erick mumbled. How could it get any worse? If his mother escaped from the tower. That would be the icing on this foul cake. He’d have to call Henry back from vacation early, with war approaching. Silver lining, Henry would take his demonic daughter back to the country, at least. Erick followed Porter’s king down the stairs, though he didn’t hear his steps anymore. Would the arrogant bastard have the gall to steal Eleanor on his way out? Shit. Erick skipped two steps at a time down the stairwell but couldn’t catch up. He ran through the hall toward Ellie’s room. Henry would kill him if he lost the brat. A door swung open in Erick’s path and momentum threw him into it. Hands thrown out, he protected his face but his elbows and knees cracked against the heavy wood. Curses flew from his mouth as he crumpled to the floor.
107
Vanessa Gilfoy
Phil lifted him to his feet. “What are you doing?” Phil grumbled. The wrinkles on his face seemed to have multiplied. His eyes had reddened and sunken, as if he’d received hurtful news but there wasn’t time to talk about it. “Reiley,” Erick panted. “He’s leaving.” Phil blinked and his brows lifted, smoothing out the deep crows feet. His tone rose slightly. “Maybe you should check on her. In a bit.” But Phil gripped Erick’s shoulder, seemingly to keep him from going. “Porter’s king can’t steal Eleanor in broad daylight without an army and I didn’t see any waiting outside. She has some spells. And her guards will protect her when they have to. So you can spare me a few minutes.” Phil’s normally strong voice broke several times. Whatever he had to say couldn’t be good. Erick swallowed, expecting news of a death or loss. But neither fell from Phil’s mouth. “Here.” Phil handed him a letter sealed with an elaborate elven symbol. “I sent your message through an elf. He wrote down the response.” “They can do that?” Could Eleanor communicate telepathically that far? Earth, he didn’t want to know the depths of her evil. Phil blew his nose into a wet handkerchief he’d retrieved from his sleeve, like he did during allergy season. “The ancient ones can.” So someday she could. All the more reason to be rid of her. Erick broke the wax and inhaled a deep breath. This could be it. The thought lifted him taller. No more scraping by. He unrolled the response. One word marked it in flowery script. No. That was it. No explanation. No understanding. Just no. They hated his line for crimes that weren’t his. “Ask Eleanor.” “Why would they say yes to her?” Phil’s swollen eyes narrowed. “Because Eleanor is fourth in line for the Western River’s throne. Anre is Andraste’s sister,” Phil said as if this were obvious, as if Anre had ever mentioned this. That made everything much simpler. Why hadn’t they told him earlier? “Why can’t I just ask Anre?” Not much better. But the nagging woman didn’t hate him. “She isn’t Biston’s queen,” Phil snapped. “She can’t keep you from repeating Biston’s mistakes.” “Neither is Eleanor.” Erick’s gut boiled and steamed his chest. “I’m nothing like my mother. I’ve never wielded magic against another. When have I ever murdered for kicks? I’m not a full hybrid.” “No but you’re a Duran.” The name sounded like a curse spat out with disdain. “It’s not your mother the Western River King feared—it was your father. The only reason the elves aided us in the Revolution against your mother was because of Eleanor. They’d have taken the other side if not for the opportunity to put their blood line on 108
Masquerade of the Cursed King
Biston’s throne. Didn’t you wonder why Andraste changed his mind when he saw Eleanor holding your hand?” Erick’s mind stalled and numbness flickered across his face. “Why didn’t Henry tell me this? Why was it kept secret?” Erick hadn’t agreed to this. He’d never planned to marry, especially not that demonic brat. “Anre doesn’t like anyone to compare Eleanor to her cousin, Gildon’s queen. She thinks people will fear Eleanor if they know. And Henry thought you’d rebel because of your fear of your mother and do the opposite, like you’re doing now.” Phil’s eyes briefly flicked up. “If Eleanor hadn’t nearly escaped last summer, he’d have let you take your time. But time’s running out. She’ll escape, you’ll lose your chance and Biston will fall.” That’s what the evil hybrid queen had meant. It wasn’t a prophecy. She’d read them all. Shit. Why hadn’t he seen this earlier? It was all so obvious now. “What if Eleanor doesn’t want me?” Elves believed in fate. They didn’t force marriages. Hell, elves didn’t even marry. They just shacked up with their fateds forever by choice. “The Western River won’t force it if she doesn’t want me.” “You mean if you continue to drive her away and she escapes? They’ll put your mother back on the throne,” Phil snarled and his hard gaze dropped. Erick had thought the elves’ moral code prevented him from slitting the demon’s throat. But her threat lingered only to force their kin into his throne. In elven kingdoms, fateds couldn’t ascend a throne by marriage. Apparently, elves used whatever code benefited them more. Erick gritted his teeth. He wasn’t a discarded pawn. “Can we withstand their attack?” His father had for decades and his father before him. “We can’t afford another war.” There’d been three wars in Erick’s lifespan—his mother’s Civil War twenty years ago, his Revolution ten years ago, and the Duran War six years ago. So that was it? He was supposed to marry a demon who would murder him for the throne because he couldn’t afford otherwise. “Figure out a way. And get me a wizard.” If anyone could defeat his mother and the elves who guarded her, it was a wizard. Not that level-one woman who spewed rambling lies with her tarot reading. He needed a true wizard, the sort with tattoos up and down the length of both arms. Phil grimaced, seemingly disgusted. “You can’t afford a wizard. He will take everything you have in payment, including Eleanor.” “Good riddance.” Then Erick would at least be free of both demons. Elves and hybrids wouldn’t bend him to their will. “You’re making a mistake.” “Maybe, but if I am, it’s mine. I’m not jumping because they tell me to. I’m not marrying a woman I hate to keep a job I’m not any good at. And they aren’t getting their hands on it either. I’ll do what I can and if that’s not good enough then I’ll take my place in the dirt next to my father.” 109
Vanessa Gilfoy
“You don’t know what you’re saying. You were too young to remember what your father did.” Erick had heard rumors but they paled next to his mother’s crimes. “Just see to it, Phil.”
***** At this one corner of the garden, he could make out the river where he used to fish every Sunday. It curved like a satin ribbon through the countryside. Farther south, tiny squares of farmland lay fallow, where he used to chase Ellie. Stalks of wheat and corn had smacked him as he sped past. She’d always been the last one. The only one who’d put up a challenge. The human children’s thoughts rang out like bells but not Ellie’s. He’d shrink her back to that tiny little creature if he could. She should have stayed there, at Gran’s, a sweet memory from a simpler time. When he closed his eyes, he smelled blackberry pie and honeysuckle, as if magic wafted the aromas across hundreds of miles. He could almost taste the tart goodness on his watering tongue. Oh, he missed it, all of it. Even blisters from tilling the soil. He was a fool for leaving that rural life for this. His dead three oath-brothers would have been married there with farms of their own. Alive and well. And he’d be free from the guilt that tore an empty hole his gut, from the loss and from the impossibilities that squirmed out of reach. Your mother would have hunted you down and killed you. Then your oath-brothers would be the ones with the guilt and loss. Erick’s eyes popped open. Had she followed him? He scanned the dead weeds and found Eleanor, shivering, curled up in a ball against the trunk of a tree. Her skirts puffed up just below her knees and elbows to reveal hints of her curvy calves. Goosebumps on her porcelain skin shouldn’t cause waves of heat in his chest and face. It wasn’t his duty to warm her but the thought made him ache in an all too pleasing way. “I was here first.” Her teeth chattered and she clenched her jaw to still them. She flipped a sketchpad closed with her blue fingers and rose up. “Watch where you’re going.” Her icy gaze avoided his as she scampered past. Frozen weeds crunched and clung to her skirts. Earth, that perfume. Even in the bitter cold, it trailed behind her and hardened his tool. How could he want something so foul? “See Reiley off,” he yelled after her. Maybe the twit king would steal her and draw away the Western River’s attention. Erick hated his oath-brother for bringing her but Henry had bled for him. He’d taken countless blows, slices and stabs all meant for Erick. Or was the sacrifice for Eleanor? No, Eleanor hadn’t existed yet when Henry first saved Erick. Henry had probably thought this was the only way to win the Western River’s support for the Revolution that put Erick on the throne. But he should have asked Erick first.
110
Masquerade of the Cursed King
Everything had become so complicated. Erick wasn’t sure who he trusted anymore. How did Eleanor cope with their ploys? Did she know? A scream rang out and Erick spun about. Men struggled beyond the window of the parlor. Eleanor’s guards. Erick’s heart jumped and he suddenly regretted what he’d said. He ran through weeds, slipping and sliding on ice. When he burst through the door, he found six large men slain on the floor. Blood spilled from the gaping wounds and soaked into the carpet. Above them stood Eleanor’s guards, surrounding her in perfect formation, twin swords drawn in elven form. Gloved hands. “What happened?” Eleanor’s icy blue light bore into him. “What does it look like?” Mercenaries. Weapons gleamed from their belts and various scabbards hung from their shoulders. Their thick arms and lean bodies hinted at combat training, despite the lack of uniforms. No doubt hired by Porter’s king but why not a whole army? “It’s a warning to prompt your hand. A lame attempt to avoid the larger expense of war.” She squeezed past her guards and into the hall. “Apparently, I’m the one with the brains and you’re just the pretty brawn,” she muttered over her shoulder. The muscles of his arms flinched and he couldn’t help a stupid smile from curling up one side of his mouth. Pretty brawn? That was the first compliment she’d paid him in years. It shouldn’t have such an effect on him but pride puffed out his chest and flexed his pectorals. It isn’t a compliment. What the hell was wrong with him? Her pheromone. He shouldn’t have even noticed it beyond the iron stench of blood. Her guards started lifting the bodies over their shoulders, staining their uniforms and dark gloves. None of their own blood marked them. No cuts. No bruises. Not even a torn seam. For men who hadn’t practiced, run drills, exercised, or even woken before noon since their arrival, that didn’t seem possible. They couldn’t be that good. Not even Henry walked away without a scratch from mercenaries. Why the gloves? Ridges marked the underside of the fingers and palms, as if meant to be a permanent part of their uniforms. Strange. Nothing had seemed right since Eleanor’s arrival. She brought confusion and misery, in the way that humans suffered colds. Just one sneeze and infection spread everywhere.
111
Vanessa Gilfoy
Chapter Fourteen
December 25, 9544 AR Valetta, Biston Warmth soothed her like a lover’s words. It grew and swelled behind her, chasing away numbing chills. Breath caressed her ear and an arm draped over her waist. Something even nicer nestled between the cheeks of her buttocks. She snuggled deeper into the imaginary embrace and the rigid rod quivered, ready to fulfill every request her active imagination conjured. So many possibilities tempted her slumbering body. His mind pressed against hers and Eleanor moaned. Hungers and needs nipped at her shields. Too real. Eleanor startled awake. A man, a real man held her. In her bed. She gasped in a breath. But before she could scream, a hand clamped over her mouth. Sparks from his flesh halted her. Erick. He lay behind her, beneath the covers. “Shhh. It’s okay. I just want to hold you.” Erick hesitantly released her mouth and curled his arm around her waist, drawing her closer. Painful tension melted away from her back. His touch tickled her through the thin fabric of her nightshirt, all along her side and deep into her stomach. This had to be a dream. He’d never knowingly crawl into her bed. He pressed against her mind again but she blocked him. “Let me in. I need to feel something else right now. Dreams. Anything.” He couldn’t be serious. “Please. I’ve had a rough day, Ellie.” How dare he? She wanted to tell him no and shove him to the floor, to scream at him but part of her needed his touch. The way he held her, so tenderly. His mouth inches from her neck. Eleanor licked her lips, body tense, wishing she could say yes. She shouldn’t comfort him. He wouldn’t appreciate it. He’d hurt her. But his heart thudded against her back and his breath came in erratic spurts, tickling her neck and fluttering her hair up her cheek. He’d chanced the lure of her pheromones for comfort. He had to be in bad shape, perhaps enough to give her what she wanted. Maybe just a taste to ease him in at first. Eleanor dropped part of her shields and opened up an alternate world for him.
112
Masquerade of the Cursed King
His chest pushed on her back as he gasped in breath. All around them, rainbows twirled, refracted from crystals overhead. They tinkled softly, stirred by a warm breeze from a window of light. The scent of blackberries and honeysuckle wafted in with soft music. On the walls, where tattered pink wallpaper once curled, pixies danced in vibrant, living murals. The floor gleamed, renewed with rich inlays and lacquer. Silk fluttered over them and gauzy curtains fell like fog from the gilded posts of her bed. He tried to burrow deeper to where her thoughts hid. “Do something for me first,” Eleanor whispered. “Pretend to be someone for me.” The image of a pirate flashed from his mind and his chest shook with laughter. That wasn’t what she wanted. Her face burned and her eyes stung. She couldn’t ask. What if he said no? What if he used it to hurt her? “I’ll play along,” he whispered and pulled her closer as if she meant something to him. Their bodies fit perfectly, seemingly designed together. “This isn’t real,” she assured him and turned to face him. His imagined arm fell away from her and his whole body tensed, nervousness on his projected face. “Every touch, movement, thought, everything isn’t real here. When you wake, you’ll find me curled up and the room the way it was, because nothing changed.” She touched his bare shoulder and immersed herself in the electric shivers. “This is all pretend. In our minds.” Although his body didn’t relax, nervousness left his face and something else flickered across his mouth too quick to identify. He blocked whatever it was with strength he didn’t normally have. “What do you want me to do?” His voice rumbled through her, deep and inviting. He knew what she wanted, part of what she wanted. I get lonesome sometimes. Eleanor couldn’t say it aloud. Could you pretend to love me? She hid her face in his chest, afraid she’d see him smirk or scowl. She shouldn’t have asked. He’d only scream at her and stomp her already shattered heart. The electric tingles from his skin made her want something impossible and she started to turn away. But Erick stopped her, arm firm against her back. Look at me. Breath caught in her chest and pricklies rolled up into her lungs. When she lifted her face, she didn’t get a chance to read him. He kissed her. His soft lips pressed gently, blanketing hers. He cradled the back of her head in his palm, fingers slipping through her hair. She melted like chocolate in his mouth. When tender thoughts caressed her mind, she nearly wept. Everything inside softened and swirled free, liquefied. Warm rain dripped from the crystals above onto their cheeks and into their kiss. Sweet nectar filled their mouths and caramelized in the electric sparks on their tongues and lips. 113
Vanessa Gilfoy
Erick smiled. Love tastes like chocolate and caramel? She changed it to blackberry pie and whipped cream. Better? She stroked his stubbled jaw with her fingertips. The divine texture tickled nearly as much as the sparks. She palmed his cheek and they both moaned. Current gathered and hummed. But he snatched her wrist and forced her hand away. His mouth left hers and she gasped from the loss. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he said. Oh, that made her want him even more. “You won’t. We can’t bind here.” All the dark, hidden parts of their minds would stay buried. Only good things should show in this imaginary world. Maybe. Probably. If she could just… He filled both his hands with her cheeks and a harsh grunt split his mouth. The electricity that jerked his body taut coursed through her nerves with the force of an orgasm. She clutched his thick arms. Eyes ablaze, body shivering, she panted for breath that wouldn’t come. Quick bursts, then a soft flutter that faded in warmth that drew her arms around him. Satisfaction filled her lungs and floated out on a sigh. “Earth, it’s like sex,” he rasped. She dragged her lips over his wrist. She’d never felt so close to him. That chemical attraction overpowered all else, even in dreams. Do me. He guided her hands to his cheeks. Lust sparked from his skin through her palms. His desires pulled her mind into a murky sea of confusion. Fears tangled his thoughts like weeds and threatened to drown her. That shouldn’t happen. He wasn’t ready. Eleanor tried to wrench free but he wouldn’t let go. “Not yet,” he demanded. “Just a little more.” Deeper, beneath his ocean floor, she found what he loved. Memories of their adventures, the imaginary worlds she’d built for him and now the want she stirred in him. The current between them grew until it burst through. It crashed at her center and ravaged her secret places with thrilling spasms. She clung to the last spark and kept it as long as her trembling body could. When it faded, she exhaled, empty yet full. “Mmm, I love you, Erick.” The words moaned out on their own. They shouldn’t have felt good. Her heart shouldn’t flutter with hope. It was too soon. Or maybe too late. He tore her hands from his face and mumbled, “I love you too.” But his eyes avoided hers. He didn’t mean it. Her chest hurt, as if cold air froze her lungs with each breath. The room she’d created wavered and she struggled to keep it from darkening to a dungeon. Did he know what lay beneath his ocean floor? What was this? Why had he come here?
114
Masquerade of the Cursed King
Erick kissed her mouth. He slid his hand up her bare thigh, under her nightshirt, completely unaware of her misery. Was this why? For sex? Had he abandoned his make-believe, faceless woman? His rough fingers scratched her skin and spread wide over her buttocks. He squeezed her soft flesh and pulled her closer. With bruising force, his hardness pressed into her thigh. Too rough. Eleanor squirmed and pushed against his chest. This wasn’t what she wanted. Earth, any moment, sobs would break free. She held her breath to stop them. “I’ll be gentler. Turn over,” he whispered. “I’ll show you love.” But he hid whatever he planned to do. She should throw him out but his glimmer of a smile reminded her of the man he used to be. Confident, playful and kind. “Trust me.” She wanted to. He couldn’t truly hurt her. This wasn’t real. Eleanor exhaled slowly and rolled away from him. When his body curled up behind hers, she expected him to grind against her, like he had in the parlor but he didn’t. Gently, he kissed her neck and caressed the sensitive skin between her fingers. He inhaled her scent and let her feel what she did to him. Urges to plunge into her, tortured his mind. The plush flesh of her buttocks tempted him, yet he remained still. His cock twitched and his abs trembled. The electric sparks from her skin lit his nerves and tensed his body rigid. But like an innocent, he held her hand and nuzzled her neck. He made her ache. Half of her wanted warm snuggles with just a hint of his lips on her skin. The other half, her lower half, wanted his fingers to prod between her thighs while his ready cock pumped deep into her. He was propped up on an elbow as his gaze fell to the swell of her breasts. She’d always feared they were too small but his desire to touch and taste her soothed the insecurity away. “They’re perfect,” he whispered. His breath tickled her ear and she arched hard against his cock. He sucked in breath through his teeth. “You enjoy torturing me.” A little. With a sly grin, she lifted the back of her nightshirt. Take off your pants. He abandoned her hand to grip her bare hip, as if to prevent her from pressing up against him. “This is the limit of my self control, Ellie. Don’t push me.” “Why not? None of this is real. No consequences.” His grip left her and she feared he’d leave their dream world but he didn’t. Instead, he pushed off his pants and spooned her, nude, his rough grip returned to her hip. Sticky honey gushed from her.
115
Vanessa Gilfoy
His cock pushed up between her cheeks and his fingers snaked between her thighs. Effortlessly, he found her hardened pearl and slid past to drench his fingertips in her honey. Eleanor squirmed to force his fingers and cock where she wanted them but he took control. “Not yet.” He wet her clothed and beaded nipples with her honey. Her slicked nightshirt clung and slipped beneath his kneading touch. Oh, she wanted him to lick and suck it off. He groaned. “Next time.” Before she could beg, his hips rolled below her pert buttocks. In one quick thrust, he speared her, filling her. Deep inside, bare, his cock throbbed. The thick ridge of the head and every bulging vein stroked her slick and swollen hole. His thumbs dug into her hips as his groin slapped her bottom with each hard pump. She arched up and clenched her cheeks to his rhythm. Electric current grew with each stroke. She squeezed his cock, silently begging him to push her into ecstasy. He flicked her pearl with his finger and she fell into his murky sea. She thrashed against him, drowning in sparks. He pounded into her, grunting, demanding more. But his mind pulled away from hers and she tried to follow, desperate for release. She ached, hard and trembling. So close. Just a little more and the sparks would blaze. “Please, Erick.” But he didn’t hear her. He searched for a way out. Then she realized why. He needed more. It didn’t feel real enough. She threw away the magical light and chiming crystals. Near-darkness fell over them to mimic real life with its desolate cold and threadbare sheets. He jerked his pants off again and lifted up a fresh nightshirt, as if they’d reappeared. His imagination had split off on another track, distant from hers. Eleanor struggled to catch up but arrived too late. He spasmed, grip tight around her, while he spurted hot cream deep inside. The last tremor emptied him. His body should have relaxed and his mind stilled but he jerked away, rigid. Earth, what did I do? He stumbled out of bed in a tangle of sheets. His eyes squeezed shut as he struggled free. If she becomes pregnant, it’s over. Elves will slaughter me and take the throne if Henry doesn’t kill me first. What if Violet reads this? I meant to be faithful. This wasn’t supposed to happen, not with her. Her chest sank, crushed by his regret. Tears blurred her vision, stung her cheeks and salted her mouth. Eleanor shoved his mind back to reality and rolled over to face him. “You can’t even fake love?” she screamed. How could she have been so stupid? He lay there, unmoving, startled beside her. 116
Masquerade of the Cursed King
She kicked and pushed him away. “Get out.” He sat up and felt the front of his pants, apparently reassuring himself that he hadn’t fucked her. “Wait, Ellie. That’s not why I came here. I need your help.” His eyes shimmered in the dim firelight. “What?” How dare he? As if she would help him now. “You can sense everyone in the palace, right?” “So what. Get out.” “I need her. Please. Where is she?” This again? How could he be so blind? “Why?” He wouldn’t believe her anyway. “I love her, Ellie.” “You don’t know what love is.” She sat up and threw a pillow at him. “I know it isn’t chocolate-covered caramel. It isn’t sex. It isn’t sparks and light. When she looks inside me, she makes me feel whole. She sees me as something more than I am and I’d do anything to be that man. I’m not a king with her. Everything fades away and I feel wanted. I could say anything and she’d still want me. Things I would never tell anyone. I’m hers. I need that, Ellie.” A sob emptied her lungs and she couldn’t breathe. That’s what she’d needed to hear. She’d waited so long for him. “I’m not like you, Ellie. I can’t shove everyone away and be happy.” “Stop. Don’t ruin it.” She wiped away her tears and tried to steady her breath. “What if you don’t like what you see when the mask comes off?” “I don’t care what she looks like.” Eleanor couldn’t stop a smile from lifting her face. She tried to hide it away but it wouldn’t leave. A giggly feeling pushed on her lungs. “You’d have to face some fears for her.” “I don’t care. I’m not afraid of her.” “Are you afraid of me?” When he didn’t answer right away, she wished she hadn’t asked. Hope fell and dragged her smile down with it. “No.” He lied. Deflated, she motioned to the door, gaze dropped from him. “I can’t help you. Go away.” “Wait, Ellie. I trust in you. Please. I’ll give you what you want if you’ll do me this favor. You can oversee repairs to the palace. You’ll have whatever funds I can spare.” The palace could use some fresh paint and lacquer. Some walls needed restructuring. “Please. I don’t have much time left. My last days should be with her.”
117
Vanessa Gilfoy
What had he done? She scanned his offered memories and grimaced. “Earth, Erick. Why don’t you let me fix that?” “How?’ He wouldn’t like the answer. It would be better to wait until after he lifted the mask, assuming he didn’t panic and push her away. Maybe given time to fall deeper for her, he could accept his fate. “Just don’t aggravate them any more for a few weeks. Months. No, wait until summer before you send any more messages.” Would that be enough time? He ran his hands through his hair and exhaled a harsh puff. “Hell, if you could just find her for me, I’d be happy. That’d be enough. But if you can get me out of this mess, I’ll be eternally grateful, Ellie.” Maybe. Hopefully. She couldn’t lose any more, could she? But could he risk what little he had, for her? How deep did his trust truly run?
118
Masquerade of the Cursed King
Chapter Fifteen
December 26, 9544 AR Valetta, Biston Something pounded next door and knocked loose centuries-old grime onto his face. Erick bolted up from bed, coughing and cursing. What the hell was that? He tried to brush the filth from his face and chest but managed only to smear it. Another pound and clang rumbled the walls. More grime sprinkled from the ceiling and mortared bricks. Whatever it was, it could crumble the palace. Were they under siege? The stench of sulfur and ash fouled the air. Reiley. He must have had troops waiting in Biston. Son of a bitch. Erick snatched his sword from the scabbard fixed to his nightstand. He kicked open a rarely used door, expecting Porteran soldiers to rush him. But the door crashed against the wall and bounced halfway closed, without resistance. No one caught it. Two of Eleanor’s guards lay passed out on the floor. No wounds marked their pressed uniforms or fresh-shaven faces. Blood didn’t pool. Not even enemy soldiers stood over them. “Morning,” a woman’s voice bubbled. What the…? Eleanor’s smiling face popped out from behind the door with a playfulness he hadn’t seen in years. “I couldn’t sleep, so I started early.” She disappeared behind the door. No one should be in this room. The queen’s quarters had been empty nearly all his life. What was she doing? Erick pushed the door completely open with the flat of his blade. Her remaining, conscious guards stepped into view and stiffly bowed. However, their gazes remained fixed on Eleanor. Against the right wall, slender steel cylinders extended up from a hole in the floor, into a large, glazed planter and up the wall into the ceiling. A trough sat beside it. A trough? “What is this? What happened to them?” Erick motioned to the two men on the floor. “Oh, a pipe hit them. An accident. They’re fine.” Blanket wrapped tightly around her, clutched in her fist, she bounced excitedly. “Now, I know it isn’t fancy yet.” She dropped her blanket to pick up an enameled pot, which she lowered into a hole atop a dresser with a less than feminine grunt. “But it works for now. The potter in town is making something nicer but it won’t be finished until summer. He has to build a bigger 119
Vanessa Gilfoy
oven to glaze a tub. But look.” She practically danced to the trough to turn the knob attached to a steel cylinder. Water spurted, then gushed out to splash the bottom of the steel trough. “And,” she pulled a cord, which tipped a lever above the large planter. Water babbled in the planter like in the automated honey buckets of Gildon. Why had she done this? Was this what woke him? Where was the fire? He glanced about for what stank up the room but not even the fireplace glowed. “Sorry. No, that’s from me.” She held up her hand, murmured harsh, foreign words and fire, real fire burned from her hand complete with smoke. “Wizardry.” Shit. That’s what made the rank odor. Her smile fell and she snuffed out the flame with her other hand. “I used it to weld the pipes. Bradley had the spell, when I…” She let the sentence drift and her gaze fell from him to the unconscious men being carried out by her alert guards. “This is wonderful,” Phil proclaimed from the door. He strolled in past Ellie’s guards, as if in a magical realm. Ellie’s smile returned. “I figured Erick’s queen wouldn’t mind.” Erick choked on his saliva and coughed it out. What queen? Did she mean Violet? “I’ll make something next to your room too. Let me just finish the sink here,” she said to Phil and dropped to her knees beside the hollowed-out dresser. The man who she’d saved from execution stepped forward from the shadows. “I can do that, Lady Barona.” He held a strange glass contraption filled with something that smelled even worse than wizardry. This was her version of a punishment? She was supposed to torture the thief. Phil helped her up and wrapped the blanket back around her shoulders. Blue tinted her fingernails like polish. She must have used quite a bit of magic to weld all that metal. She should be navy-colored. “In the spring, I can grow some vines into an elven pattern to make a screen to hide the pipes,” she prattled, blue eyes twinkling. Earth, when Erick had said she could oversee repairs to the palace, he hadn’t meant this and he definitely hadn’t meant so early in the morning. The deal had been to bring him Violet first. “Did you find her?” Eleanor’s smile fell and her eyes seemed to shrink. “Isn’t this nice?” Phil interrupted. Earth, Violet must have said no. Erick slumped onto the odd toilet. The cold, glazed clay chilled his flesh through the thin fabric of his silk pants but he barely felt it. Something crushed his lungs and he wished it would pierce his heart. Let the elves come. “Don’t you like it?” Phil nudged him. Erick nodded. What did he care where he pissed? It made no difference to him. Eleanor wasn’t supposed to even make this, not without finding Violet first.
120
Masquerade of the Cursed King
“She’ll be here tonight,” Eleanor muttered, low and hateful. “She said that?” Erick straightened up. “What else did she say?” Eleanor turned her back on him and shoved strange tools into a canvas bag. Her whole body shook with each harsh movement. “That was it,” she snapped. “That was the deal, right? To find your queen whose only job is to spread her legs.” She tried to lift her bag but couldn’t. That word queen grated on his mind. “I’m not going to marry her.” “Oh, that makes it better,” she mumbled sarcastically and huffed in frustration when her arms and back trembled against the weight. He didn’t have to explain himself to her. Spoiled brat. Was this jealousy? Earth, he shouldn’t have led her on last night. But it hadn’t been real. She’d asked him to pretend. “I’ll get it, miss.” The thief lifted her bag with a fake grunt, probably to spare her pride. Ellie ran out of the room and disappeared in the hall. “She does something nice for you and you don’t even thank her? Your only concern is when you can have her alone tonight.” Phil grumbled. “Not her.” But Phil glared at him in a way that argued otherwise. “Besides, I didn’t ask her to do this. She’s not a laborer. I don’t know why she does this sort of thing.” “Henry let her rig up their home. Plumbing everywhere. You should see it sometime. Elven vinework. Sculpted murals. Crystal-powered lights. Beautiful.” Erick had never accepted Henry’s invitations. What was the point? He saw Henry nearly every day at the palace.
***** She hadn’t smiled and her purple-lensed gaze flicked too frequently to the door. She sat on the edge of the bed, balls of her feet on the floor. He’d fear she didn’t want him, if not for her thumbs worrying the hem of her patched costume. She was just nervous—that was all. He shouldn’t have tried to force off her mask last time. “I promise I won’t,” Erick said again. Her perfume toyed with him, distracting him. He wanted to smooth her tense lips with his tongue and push away the lace that hid her pink buds. Nearly bare, her breasts begged to be freed. He would unlace that bodice in one quick tug but he needed to make this right first. “I’m sorry if Eleanor scared you. Did she?” The brat had probably threatened Violet to get her here. “No.” But the word came out hard. “Eleanor won’t be here long.” 121
Vanessa Gilfoy
Violet’s chin tilted away from him and Erick wished he could beat Eleanor for whatever she’d done. Violet’s bare neck made his mouth salivate with want. Earth, he wanted to inhale her scent and taste the salt of her skin with a savoring kiss but Erick stepped back to stop himself. “Stay with me and I’ll protect you.” A smile flickered across her face and the knot of worry in his gut loosened. She wanted him as her protector. That had to be a good sign. It was a start. “Are you warm enough?” He’d made a fire but it hadn’t burned long enough to fill the room with heat. He knelt before her and touched her hand. Cold. Her bare thighs shivered against his arm and a tiny gasp parted her red lips, reminding him of the last orgasm he’d given her. Oh he wanted to see her head drop back with a moan as he plunged deep inside her. “Let me warm you.” An image flashed through his mind of parting her thighs and licking her center and he wasn’t sure if the desire was his alone. Just a little longer. Erick pulled down the covers and admired the long lines of her neck and the deep hollows of her collarbone. Her soft breasts shimmied as she moved past him. Perfect handfuls. She stiffly lay down, arms at her side. She wouldn’t look at him. His cravings suddenly made him feel monstrous, as if he were taking advantage. It felt wrong, lying beside her, his cock pressing into her thigh. He shouldn’t enjoy the tingling sensations of her skin against his when she wasn’t ready for him. He propped himself up on an elbow to look at her. That mask. It divided them, worse than the elves and their devious plots. The soft caress of her mind evaded him. She wouldn’t even accept his thoughts. Earth, he needed her. Not just her body. “Let me in.” She bit her lip and shook her head. He was scum, unfit to fuck her. He shouldn’t have insulted her with his petty offer. She deserved more. “Do you want me to touch you?” Binding, he could live with. Her gaze finally met his. “Yes.” The weight inside lifted and his lungs filled with ease. His heart quickened and pounded, anticipating the rush of her mind in his. But when he moved to touch her face, she slid away, arm blocking his as if he’d meant to strike her. He halted and his tool fell flaccid between them. “No, it’s okay. I won’t hurt you.” He snatched her wrist and kissed between her knuckles. “I’ll never hurt you. I promise. Elves bind their mates this way, like a marriage but eternal.” And safer. No marital inheritances. No danger of assassination by a secret lover. But that didn’t ease the fear from her face. “What if you don’t like what you see? I’ve done things, horrible things. I’m not just me anymore.” Under her breath, she
122
Masquerade of the Cursed King
mumbled, “I know that doesn’t make sense.” She pushed his hand away. “I want this but not yet. I want you to still want me after.” “There’s nothing you could have done that would change the way I feel about you.” Her mouth opened and she quickly covered it. Beneath her lenses, her eyes squeezed shut. Her chest shook without breath. Erick pulled her close, fingers laced in her hair as she hid her face in his chest. Her mouth wet his skin with her sobs and he nearly broke. He clenched his jaw to hold it in. It burned his eyes and lungs. He felt lower than dirt for making her cry. “We don’t have to rush,” he rasped. The impending wars were his fault, not hers. She shouldn’t suffer for them. “Just know I love you. I always will.” He kissed her hair and stroked her back. Whatever she wanted, he’d give her in the time he had left. She kissed his mouth, salt on her lips. “I love you too. Everything I did, I did for you.” He squeezed her and pressed hard into her kiss, unable to get close enough, to express how much he’d needed those words. When her mind slipped inside his, aching bliss nearly spilled from his eyes. No other woman had wreaked such havoc in his soul with her loss and return. “Stay with me tonight.” He didn’t care if she wore the mask, so long as he could wake to her. Yes. She snuggled up against him seemingly meaning to sleep. He hated his body at that moment for wanting more. His cock hardened and throbbed demanding her. And that perfume, it cut his breath into jagged shards. Her nearly nude flesh electrified his and it took so much to still his hands on her back. “We aren’t so different. Our needs are the same,” she whispered and pushed his shoulder, rolling him onto his back. She yanked his pants down and sat up in one quicksilver motion. His cock popped free. The tip wept with pre-cum. Aggression that normally jarred him from a woman made him feel desired. Earth, she could do whatever she wanted to him, so long as she looked at him like that. Her gaze blazed his flesh with vibrant light, pausing at all the right places. When her thoughts opened to him, filled with hunger for his body, he wanted to knock her down to mount quickly and plunge into her. But what she had in mind stilled him. Oh, he’d enjoy that so much more. Her smooth legs caressed his hips as she straddled him, teasingly graceful. Sparks burst stronger here in the soft flesh of her inner thighs and in the delicate folds of her sex. Her honey gushed over his shaft and he bucked, electrified and twitching. Mouth wide, head tossed back deep into the pillow, he couldn’t get enough air to calm himself, to keep from taking her. She had no idea how close he was to flipping her over and fucking her like an animal.
123
Vanessa Gilfoy
Mmm. I do. Violet’s tight buds prodded his chest as she bent over him. She dragged her plush lips up his neck to his jaw, while her fingers traced the narrow valleys of his abs. So close to where he needed her touch. If he could just wait a little longer. Her fingertips slid in his pre-cum and smeared the slick fluid up his center to his neck. Earth, he’d explode. When her tongue flicked at the moist trail, he lost all self control. He seized her hips and plundered. Deep inside. Bare. Her electrifying honey on his bare cock. Smooth and tight. She jerked up, knees gripping him. With a quick sway of her hips, she swirled his cock inside her, meeting his every crude thrust. She squeezed and twirled him up and down his length, as if he were a lollipop savored in her mouth. “Oh, Erick.” She arched back, face tense, nails dug into his thighs. Her petite breasts bounced and he filled his hands with her. They slapped his palms with each quick twist and grind of her hips. Ecstasy wrenched his cock as her orgasm burst. Sparks everywhere. He couldn’t let them go. He pumped deeper, chasing the thrilling spasms. He clutched her hips, fingers buried in her fleshy buttocks. “More.” But she halted, body suddenly tense when she should have melted. He opened his eyes, though he hadn’t remembered closing them. Violet’s mouth opened in horror, dimmed gaze fixed on the window where the full Old Moon shined, alone in the night sky. Then he realized why she’d stopped. Through her, he felt the rising hum of an army. Hundreds marched in the distance. They grew closer, less than an hour away. Erick’s gut clenched. He’d thought he had more time. She slid off his cock and stood frozen beside the bed. Erick rolled out. On his feet, he snatched his sword from its scabbard on the nightstand. “It’s okay. They won’t hurt you. They’re only after me.” She shook her head and sucked in her lower lip. They’re here for me. Her hand closed over his on the hilt of his blade. She burned him, though a spell hadn’t fallen from her lips. Darkness whirled around them. He couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. Energy coursed from every limb and into her touch, draining him. Flashes of light spun above him and seemed to pull the room into a vortex until the floor spun away. He fell at her feet too weak to pull his blade with him. Violet, his Violet, stood over him, his sword clutched in her tiny hands.
124
Masquerade of the Cursed King
He couldn’t scream. He couldn’t feel his face. His limbs lay numb and useless. Everything inside hardened to a cold, icy lump. Had she tricked him? Was it her army approaching? Was she the same as his mother? A demon? He’d loved her. Erick tried to open his mouth but he couldn’t even keep his eyes open. Darkness fell on him.
125
Vanessa Gilfoy
Chapter Sixteen
December 26, 9544 AR Valetta, Biston Captain Bale regarded her, head tilted, brows raised. He didn’t believe her. His gaze drifted behind her to Erick who lay unconscious on the bed. The smell of sex still filled the bedroom. Eleanor’s face and eyes heated. She wished it was purely from rage. She should have covered Erick’s nude body. She stepped between Bale and Erick. “If I was going to escape, I wouldn’t have called you to me,” Eleanor argued. Earth, her head ached and her body shook, empty. She shouldn’t have started without first securing someone else to draw from. Biston’s army would fall all because of this powerhungry guard holding her prisoner. “Please, let them in.” The bastard had barricaded the door, even though it was Biston soldiers pounding against it, screaming at him. Outside the palace, wounded and dying soldiers wailed. Swords clanked, bricks and mortar crumbled and soon Porter’s army would find a way in. Yet her guards clung to her father’s outdated orders. Eleanor reached for the exposed skin of Bale’s face but he deftly evaded her. His gloved hand shoved hers away. Through a half-cocked grin, he chortled, “You won’t trick me again, my lady.” She tried to scream inside his head, to force him to his knees but he blocked her. In frustration, she yelled, “We’re outnumbered. Porter will break through and they’ll kill him. What do you think my father will do to you if Erick dies?” She couldn’t lose him. The thought crushed her ribs and squeezed her heart. “His Majesty isn’t my concern.” Jealousy lowered Bale’s voice and brow. The defiant ass hadn’t worn his nose plug since her father left. Nostrils flared, he freely inhaled her pheromones and didn’t hide the resulting tent. She hated when they looked at her like that. Not just with desire but with possessive rage. Her wet sex likely intensified her pheromone’s effect on them. Eleanor tightened her grip on the hilt of Erick’s sword, wishing she had the strength and skill to win. She’d never learned. Bale would easily overpower her and use her attack as an excuse. Her stomach churned and she pulled Erick’s robe tighter around her body. She felt naked under their lustful stares. If her father were here, they’d at least pretend to ignore her and give up this suicidal stupidity. The hum outside rose to a painful pitch. Her brain throbbed from the force. “Just give me three men,” she said sweetly. She’d use the energy to smash the bastard and open the door. Earth, why had she started without first securing someone to draw
126
Masquerade of the Cursed King
from? “You don’t need six to hold me prisoner, do you? What can six do that three can’t?” He’d lent her two to solder pipes. “No.” Arrogant son of a bitch. Reiley would win because of him. “I won’t become a king’s whore because of your power kick.” She lifted Erick’s sword, heart pounding. Unafraid, Bale strode past her toward the bed. “Looks like you already have.” Her arms trembled against the weight and she swung. The blade sliced into Bale’s legs. Weak, she fell with him, and the stained blade clattered to the floor. In a frenzied panic, she struggled to reach his face, the only bare skin on his body. Curses flew from his lips as he kicked her back. His heel thudded and scraped her ribs, knocking air from her chest. Pain seared her skin and terror wrung her gut. Before the others could grab her, she dug her fingers into the exposed wound on his leg. Heat, beloved heat, burst with his blood over her icy blue hand. In a quick rush, she sapped every drop of energy. It coursed up her arm and through her insides, heating her flesh and pounding her heart. Gloved hands wrenched her off. Too close to her damp neck and drenched sex, they lost all reservations. They tugged at Erick’s robe and groped at her flesh. Her whole body tensed rigid. She screamed a newly learned spell. Flames burst from her skin, fueled by stolen power. Her guards fell away to bat at what they’d mistaken for an illusion. Swollen, oozing burns argued otherwise. Wizard fire. Glowing ash floated on the air and charred fragments of purple silk fluttered to the floor. Her bare skin shivered from the loss. Eleanor snatched Erick’s robe again and wrapped it about her naked body. “You have no idea what I’m capable of.” If only it was more. That spell used up everything she’d taken from their captain. Hopefully, the battle wouldn’t come down to Bistonians writhing under her grasp. Not again. “I’ll kill each and every one of you if I have to.” She retied Erick’s robe taut at her waist. “Just do what I say.” But her guards blocked the door. Faces creased with a sick mixture of hatred and sexual frustration, they glared at her as if she’d betrayed them. As if she should be grateful for all the years of imprisonment. They’d misunderstood their roles. “Yes, I’m a monster.” That last word puffed out on a painful breath. “Whose side would you rather I be on? I can slaughter you all or I can help you kill them. My uncle is waiting. Now open the fucking door. Send the order to bring me enemy wounded. And tell my uncle to relinquish command to my father’s second-in-command.” If Phil died, Erick would spiral into another depression. “Move.” Their hesitation suffocated her. She didn’t want to kill them. She didn’t want to do any of this. They turned from her in unison, as if of one mind and heaved furniture out of the way.
127
Vanessa Gilfoy
Uneasy breath filled her. Another battle. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Not for months. Not until spring or summer, when she’d be strong enough or gone. The door crashed open. Bistonian officers, winded and dripping with sweat, hauled in nearly dead enemies. A graying major screamed at her men, spittle flying from his mouth. But he didn’t stay for excuses. He dropped a body at their feet and stormed out, avoiding eye contact with Eleanor. They all did, to escape the dreaded chore. How had they kept Erick from seeing what she’d done in the last war? Could they block tonight’s battle from his mind? Her young guards didn’t seem to understand but they followed the older officers. “Wait, Marcus.” She stopped the last one. “I need you to shuffle bodies. Stack the dead in the queen’s quarters.” The few conscious wounded writhed on the floor and hollered curses at her. Blood spurted from their mouths and gushed from multiple wounds. One crawled to her, fixated on using her for escape. Eleanor slumped to her knees beside him. Images of his son flashed through his mind when she stopped his bare hands. She drained him quickly but that didn’t relieve the guilt. Tears burned her cheeks and her nose dripped. Salt filled her mouth and air puffed from her tightening chest. The enemy soldier fell limp and lifeless. She couldn’t let them live. They’d wake and kill Erick. “Next.” Her voice crackled and she had to repeat herself. Too slowly, Marcus dragged another body to her. “Faster,” Eleanor snapped and it scraped her throat. He brought her a nearly-dead. Barely anything trickled from him. This wouldn’t be enough. If she hadn’t wasted energy on the wizardry spell, she’d have what she needed. Quickly, Eleanor drained the rest and tried to ignore their pasts. If only their thoughts didn’t leak. Some bled their entire lives onto her mind, making her theft all the more heinous. By the time, she’d finished collecting what she could, she shook with sobs. Earth, she didn’t want to do this. She gasped in breath and tried to calm her aching mind for the next misery. “Feed the fire.” Heat would ease the biting cold afterwards. Logs thumped bricks in the fireplace and stirred ash that made her cough. Eleanor tried to focus on the high-pitched buzz from outside. Everyone moved about so quickly. She laced a gentle tone through them. Lilting music, hot soup, thick blankets, everything comforting she could think of followed, like a scarf guided by a string through the front of a bodice. With the energy she’d stolen, she blasted her tone into their minds and tugged the scarf tight. The buzz lowered and softened, until half the Porteran minds fell still.
128
Masquerade of the Cursed King
Thuds fell in unison. Bistonian soldiers slaughtered victims of her spell. No screams. No pain. Silently, enemy soldiers slipped away into the imaginary world she’d created for them. Cold burst up her arms and legs. Drained, she curled up in a ball. The fire didn’t help. Outside, clanks and screams started again. At least three-hundred Porterans remained. Oh no. She’d hoped for fewer, much fewer. Their resistant minds wouldn’t break without immense force from energy she didn’t have. Only about fifty Bistonian minds hummed outside. Earth, even if they all fought in their prime, rested and well-fed, they wouldn’t be enough. Five years ago, Biston had a massive army of thousands and most perished in an outmatched battle. She needed to talk to Phil. He would know what to do. Footsteps sounded in the stairwell. Phil’s mind reached out to her, racing with apologies that didn’t make sense. Worries weighed on the soldier accompanying him. But she’d been tricked before. Eleanor snatched Erick’s sword and listened for some clue. Something cold pricked the inside of her belly. She hadn’t expected Phil to come so soon, not without an argument. Only one pair of heels clicked on the brick steps. That couldn’t be right. She felt two minds. Everything awful she’d said to him these past few days squeezed and weighted her chest. Eleanor rose on wobbly legs and stumbled to the door, praying it was a trick or Phil carrying someone else. Eleanor stepped out into the hall. Only pale light from the Old Moon spilled in through the window beside her. The door to the stairwell before her opened. A grimacing officer shifted Phil’s weight on his shoulder. Not again. Oh please, not again. She dropped Erick’s sword but didn’t hear a sound. Everything went quiet. It isn’t your fault. But it was. She shouldn’t have let him out there. He wasn’t a young man anymore. She was supposed to protect him. “Put me down,” Phil grunted. Gingerly, the lieutenant lowered Phil to the wooden floor. Her uncle’s papery face creased in pain. A gaping wound in his chest oozed dark fluid that spilled down his sides. Eleanor dropped to her knees beside him. He’d lost so much blood. She could feel his heart struggling. A punctured lung hissed.
129
Vanessa Gilfoy
She bit her lip, wishing she’d reserved energy. The soldier who’d carried him had some but not enough. “Why didn’t you go to your girlfriend?” The demon could have easily healed him, if not the elves who guarded her. Phil coughed blood and shook his head. “Hates me,” he wheezed. I’m sorry for what I put you through. It wasn’t fair. I love you like a daughter, Ellie. I thought I was doing right for you. I never loved Erick more than you. She wept, chest heaving and aching. “Don’t.” She closed her hands over his wound to stop the blood but it gushed between her fingers, hot and thick. Too much. She couldn’t stop it. There had to be enough energy somewhere. The officer offered his bare hand. Despite Phil’s protests, she took it, leaving the officer just enough to breathe. “Marcus,” she screamed. “Don’t Ellie.” I’m an old man. I’ve lived my life. Another sob escaped her chest. “No.” When Marcus ran up, she didn’t give him a chance to talk. She seized his ankle, under his pant leg and took what she could without killing him. He fell, heart still beating, lungs still breathing, eyes closed in sleep. But it wasn’t enough. The late hour, combined with their exhaustion left too little. She bit her lip. One option remained. One dangerous option, she’d never resorted to before. It could kill her and everyone in the palace if she couldn’t control it. A spell from the demon. “Don’t.” She couldn’t think about that right now. She’d heard Ceres had murdered an entire swamp with this spell but her men had survived. It could be done. But Ceres was a queen with libraries of spells in her head, practiced and confident. She’d killed an elven queen in battle and won wars against wizards and two elven nations by Eleanor’s age. In comparison, Eleanor was nothing. A clipped bird in a rusted cage. But she pressed one hand to the cold floor. Grit and splinters dug beneath her fingernails as she focused on the kinetic energy deep inside every molecule of the palace floors, walls and air. She just needed a small portion, just a few degrees. The temperature draw spell tingled her tongue like mint oil. As the last word fell, luscious heat burst up from the floor. It washed over her and splashed inside. Sweeter than sugar and richer than thick cream, the taste tempted her for a swallow. A little more. A few seconds longer. Just enough to remember the flavor. She gulped it up and it caressed her insides like Erick’s touch on her bare skin. A lover’s moan fell from her mouth before she realized what she’d done. Misty fog swirled out on her breath and the floor bit her fingertips with its sticky cold. Droplets of moisture froze and slicked every surface in the palace. Ice glistened in the pale moonlight.
130
Masquerade of the Cursed King
Oh, no. Eleanor jerked her hand from the floor. Uncle Phil’s shivering form clung to life. His blood crystallized all around him and fog barely puffed from his mouth. In the distance, the battle hum rose to an even higher pitch. She hadn’t killed them but she would. Save our men, her uncle’s slipping mind pleaded. She pressed her shaky hands to his chest. Adrenaline pounded through her veins. Too much energy vibrated through her. It burst from her touch into Phil. He flinched and shook from the force. Her spell flooded out, shoving and pulling his flesh, forcing cells to multiply and fill in the gaps. It burned his nerves and seared their skin. Teeth bared and clenched, Phil writhed and silently screamed for her to stop but she didn’t have time to be gentle. Men were dying, the hum weakening. Biston was falling. Phil coughed and wheezed when she forced air back into his patched lung. His heart raced at a dangerous speed for his age. She forced up a memory of his girlfriend in his arms but he didn’t relax. “Save them.” Adrenaline clouted her brain. She couldn’t differentiate between the hum of the enemy and her few countrymen. Grace evaded her and her mind slipped in the masses. Frustration made her sloppy but she finally laced their minds together. She stole images from Phil’s memories of home. Of the smell of fresh crops, of the lake on a warm summer afternoon, of comforting meals with family and a loving mother’s hug. Strength she’d never before known crashed from her skull and through the masses of Porterans outside. She crumpled to the ice-slicked floor, empty. Her torso ached as if she’d thrown up every organ. She shivered, not from the cold but the loss of delightful power that had vibrated and coursed through her. For a brief moment, she’d been more than this. More than an impotent demon. Thuds didn’t fall. Instead, metal clanked. Barely audible. Eleanor listened for the few sentient minds. Less than a dozen amidst a sleeping three hundred. Five Bistonians and five Porterans. Phil stirred beside her. He tried to rise, as if he could tip the scale. “No. I’ll go.” Erick couldn’t lose another oath-brother. Eleanor forced herself up, face unsticking from the ice. All of her body throbbed. Her trembling legs faltered and she leaned against the frozen wall to keep upright. Bare feet numb, she couldn’t feel the floor that seemed to wobble. Erick couldn’t bear the loss of his queen Phil projected.
131
Vanessa Gilfoy
That future looked all the more uncertain in this current light. But she argued, “It’s the deadliest piece in chess.” But she wasn’t a queen. A pawn, a lowly pawn reserved to trick a king into checkmate. She grabbed the hilt of Erick’s sword and pulled it free from the thin ice that glued it to the hall floor. She stumbled back against the wall, feet slipping on the ice. Phil’s hand steadied her. “Your part is done.”
132
Masquerade of the Cursed King
Chapter Seventeen December 27, 9544 AR Valetta, Biston
Erick puffed out fog and sucked in stinging breath. Cold. Ice shimmered on every surface. “Violet?” Erick bolted up and scanned the room for her. Her mask lay face down in dark ice, outer feathers tipped with what looked like snow. No, ash. Bits of silk and lace lay deeper, barely visible, edges darkened. Burnt. They couldn’t have burned her. The floor wasn’t blackened. She had to be safe somewhere hiding. Maybe she’d used fiery magic in self defense. “Violet?” His body tensed and pain shot through his chest. She was gone. They’d taken her. How much time had passed? He rolled out of bed and nearly slid on his bare ass. Melting ice slicked his every step. Puddles glared in the morning light. He’d slept while they stole her? His stomach churned. How? “Phil.” Erick threw open his closet and tugged on clothes. They couldn’t have gotten far. He rubbed his head, trying to loosen memories of last night. Why had Porter’s army come for Violet? Reiley wanted Eleanor. None of this made sense. Dizziness clouded his mind and his whole body felt weak as if drained of energy. Phil’s heels clicked in the hallway and the door opened. Wrinkles had deepened on his face as if he’d aged ten years. “Quickly,” Erick demanded and knelt to buckle his boots. Erick expected a damage report but the old man grumbled instead, “Have you checked on Eleanor?” Oh, Henry would kill him. “They took her too?” Shit. Phil shook his head and his Adam’s apple bobbed with a hard swallow. Of course not. Only Violet. Erick rose and snatched his coat. “Get a troop ready.” He’d find Violet no matter where that bastard king took her. Phil squinted at him. “What do you think happened?” His papery face crumpled and tears glistened in his eyes. “There are no troops. Only Ellie’s men survived.” “What?” Erick waited for more, for the truth. He couldn’t have slept while his men fought and died. Not again. Had he fainted like a coward? He’d brandished a sword. He remembered the cold steel in his hand. He’d meant to protect her, to die for her. “Six hundred, Erick. Against our two hundred. There was nothing you could do. That son of a bitch had them waiting. Reiley must have planned this before he set foot
133
Vanessa Gilfoy
in Biston. All that talk about a trade agreement.” Phil wiped his eyes. “It was just to toy with us while they trickled in.” How? Wait. That’s why Reiley had slipped out in the night four days ago, to make preparations. Phil was right. “Why Violet, though? Why didn’t he take Eleanor?” Phil cursed. “Eleanor is Violet. Who do you think saved you last night? Look around. Can anything but magic do this?” She couldn’t be Violet. Though they felt similar. Their magic in his mouth and on his skin. The way she’d felt inside when he’d taken advantage in her imaginary world. Erick squeezed his eyes shut and forced the memory away. Wrong. He shouldn’t have. If Violet ever found that. “Eleanor doesn’t have spells.” Not beyond harsh healing and dark enchantments that twisted men’s minds. Dangerous only by the power of unshielded men she could seduce to carry out her biddings. Anre had wisely kept all other spells from the brat. Had Violet lashed out in desperation when he failed to protect her? His throat knotted up. He should have hidden her away. He should have fought. How could he let two hundred soldiers die without lifting a finger? Again. “You don’t believe me? Ask Eleanor.” The little demon would only torture him. He didn’t have time for this. Men’s voices sounded outside. Erick staggered to the window, hoping to see evidence of something else, anything else. But gray-and-black-uniformed bodies lay in bloody piles. Servants hauled them with wheelbarrows and loaded them into wagons. Hundreds of Bistonian men lay waiting for holes in the dirt. The stench of death rose on an icy breeze. He’d failed. As a king, as a lover, as a man, he’d failed. Emptiness sank in his belly. His arm burned. Then he noticed it. A fresh scar, in the shape of a woman’s hand, Violet’s hand. A mark of protection. She’d stood over him with his sword in her grasp. “They killed Violet, didn’t they?” Why else would her mask lie in a puddle of blood? She’d died for him, like his three oath-brothers had. Because of his weakness. He swallowed the lump in his throat. “Where’s the body, then?” Phil barked. “Open your eyes.” “To what? A kingdom of dead men? Because of a girl I hate. I’d have given him the girl to save those men. To save Violet.” If he’d been awake. Five years ago, he’d have given his life to spare his oath-brothers. But it was the same then. He was a coward and a failure. His head ached and he longed for numbing nothingness. “I don’t want to hear any more about Eleanor. Ship the girl off and let the elves come. I’m done.” He snatched a bottle from its hiding place behind his nightstand. “Get out.”
*****
134
Masquerade of the Cursed King
Their blood wouldn’t come off. She’d scrubbed until cold chilled the bathwater but she still felt it under her fingernails and in her hair. She couldn’t see it but it was there. Worse, their memories looped in endless circles around her mind. They wouldn’t leave. Eleanor sobbed and shivered, curled in a tight ball. Her numb fingers and toes had pruned. Her skin had darkened to the color of death, the color of the bodies outside. “Shhh. It’s okay.” Meagan rubbed her back but it didn’t help. “Come on out of the tub, Elle.” “I can’t. They’re still on me.” She’d killed them. Not just with her spells. She’d used Erick’s sword to run them through. They’d just stood there, unmoving, unsuspecting. Innocent men following orders. They had families and dreams. How many wives had she widowed? How man children had she orphaned? For what? One man, a man who didn’t even know he loved her. Even if he did, was he worth the lives of hundreds, of thousands? How many men had she killed before this? Why had she repeated the same mistake? “You’re going to freeze to death.” Meagan wrapped a towel around Eleanor’s shoulders. She deserved worse for what she did. Earth, she was a demon. Erick was right to fear and hate her. Why couldn’t she be human? Reiley wouldn’t have sent an army if she was human. Meagan’s warm hands slid under Eleanor’s arms. “Come on, Elle,” Meagan groaned with frustration when she couldn’t lift Eleanor out. “If you don’t get out of there, I swear I’ll get your guards to do it.” “They can’t. Not anymore.” She had spells now, courtesy of Bradley. Though she hadn’t the energy. Her teeth chattered and exhaustion drooped her eyelids. The door burst open and she jumped. Cold water splashed out of the tub on to the melting floor. In the doorway, Phil squeezed his eyes shut and turned his head away. “Get dressed. Erick needs you.” She’d done enough for Erick. “No.” She didn’t want to see anyone. Rather, she didn’t want anyone to see her. “I understand you’re hurting. But there’s work to be done. Wallowing won’t make it better. You need to keep busy.” He’d said the same thing last time. That he’d been through this too, during the Revolution. But he didn’t really know. It wasn’t the same. He could distance himself and see them as objects, emotionless and detached. Their thoughts didn’t bleed into his head. “Do you think Ceres does this after a battle?” “No.” The brutal woman probably bathed in her enemies’ blood. Ceres thrilled in the sensations of battle. Eleanor couldn’t see how but maybe she was doing something wrong. Maybe there was a way to block out their leaked thoughts.
135
Vanessa Gilfoy
She rose from the chilly water and clutched her towel tight, aching body trembling. “What does Erick want?” “You need to tell him.” “No.” He’d hate her even more if he knew. It was too soon. Besides, for the past five years, Phil had told her not to.
136
Masquerade of the Cursed King
Chapter Eighteen
December 27, 9544 AR Valetta, Biston He gulped the last of the whiskey but the golden goodness didn’t soften the lump in his gut. The bottle slipped from his grip onto the wet floor. It should have shattered but it rolled away and halted at Eleanor’s foot. Through bloodshot eyes, the brat had the nerve to glare at him. Probably fresh from another tantrum over how he’d screwed up. “Go play with your blocks. Let my brain rot. I have nothing to pay you with anyway.” But she stood there, clutching what looked like laundry. Knuckles white, fingers blue, she held it tight to her chest. The room cleared out as if from her silent command. Their gazes avoided her. Fear. It squeaked out from their overfilled heads. She must have threatened them. Eleanor unwrapped the cotton bundle. Underneath, blood, red and glistening stained his robe. Heavy with the dark fluid, it fell from her arms and slapped the floor. His sword clamored after it. Everything clicked then. “Have you come to finish the job? Go on then. Finish me.” He rose from his throne but the floor angled up and toppled him back onto the chipped stone seat. Tears trickled down her face and her lower lip curled down with a sob that she quickly covered. “Why would you think that?” It would be the perfect ending to his failures. For a demon to make the last blow. “This was all your elven uncle’s work. Andraste sent Porter to do this, to kill Violet. Was Reiley supposed to make me jealous? It was all a trick, wasn’t it? And you played the innocent lamb.” “I’m not innocent but I didn’t trick you. Not like that. A different trick. Not to hurt you. I was just so lonely and I missed you.” Her voice rose to a weeping pitch. She blinked tears, misery in her reddened eyes. “So you killed her.” The jealous demon had laid hands on his Violet, his flower and crushed the life from her. He’d told Eleanor he loved Violet and this was the result. He’d failed to protect his love. The thought squeezed his chest and burned his dizzied mind. Oh, the demon would pay. Erick clenched his fists and dug his heels into the wobbly floor, readying to lunge at the creature. “Violet doesn’t exist,” Eleanor yelled. “Look at me. Same body. Same mouth. Same voice. Are you really so blind or do you hate me so much that you’ll believe anything else?”
137
Vanessa Gilfoy
Lies. Despite the physical likeness due to their similar breeding, Eleanor could never be so delicate and sweet. He motioned to his bloody garment. “What’s this, then?” The demonic creature carried darkness wherever she trod. Her gaze dropped to the floor. “I borrowed it and your sword.” She briefly glanced up at him and wiped her face. “You aren’t a coward. You didn’t faint. Last time either.” Everything stilled. The floor leveled and Erick rose. “Stay the fuck out of my head.” “Just listen. I borrowed your energy. It was the only way to save you. I was afraid you’d never forgive me if you knew what I did. We were doing so well and I…” “What did you do?” “I…” She huffed out breath but didn’t finish. Instead she spilled out memories from last night and five years ago. She’d killed them. His three oath-brothers. She’d sent them to their deaths while he lay unconscious and drained on the floor. “It was the only way. Ceres would have slaughtered everyone. I wasn’t strong enough to fight her alone, Erick. I was only fourteen years old. What was I supposed to do?” she sobbed. “She didn’t know who I was until she found us and I begged her to spare your life. I was in love. I still…” “You were supposed to keep your fucking mouth shut. It wasn’t your job. You had no right.” They’d still be alive if not for her. He could have saved them. “There was nothing you could do but die. I couldn’t lose you.” “So you killed them instead? Selfish…” “They volunteered. They loved you too.” “No they wouldn’t have been so stupid as to let a woman lead them in battle. Lies. This is just more of your tricks. Last night too.” He grabbed her arms and shook her. He wanted to wring her neck but he needed to know. “Did you kill her or did Reiley take her?” But the girl wept and tried to lean into him. Her awful perfume wafted up, making his body want something sick. His cock shouldn’t harden for her. Erick shoved her away. She fell to the floor. Her hair spilled over her deceptive face and she shivered with her sobs. Her back heaved and she curled into a ball. Such a clever actress. “Where is she?” He’d searched the entire palace for Violet and found nothing. No sign of her. “Get up. Tell me where she is.” Erick reached to grab Eleanor but Phil’s hand stopped him. “Don’t you dare,” the old man growled. Erick straightened and pulled free from Phil’s grasp. “Are you in on this?” “You’re drunk.”
138
Masquerade of the Cursed King
“I’ve never been more sober.” The old man, his eldest oath-brother, Phil, had been there from the beginning, always looking after Erick. Had Phil been duped too? “She’s a demon.” Phil struck him then. “She’s your queen and you owe her your life for what little it’s worth. Lay a harsh hand on her again and I’ll make you regret it.” Head turned, blinded by a flash of light, Erick touched his bloody lip. The sting spread deeper, into his chest. Phil had never lost his temper before. What the hell happened? “Get yourself cleaned up and clear your head. You aren’t thinking straight.” Phil helped Eleanor up as if she really was the wounded girl she pretended to be. “You win, Eleanor. Fly away free. I won’t keep you. Freeze in the mountains for all I care. If I ever see you again…” “Shut up, Erick,” the old man shouted. Her wails rose and Phil hurried her stumbling form out of the throne room.
***** She shoved another jar of preserves into her bag and tightened the drawstring. “I can’t wait for spring,” she said again, voice nasal from crying. Meagan refused to understand. “But Elle, you’ll die. Please, just wait it out. He was drunk. After he sleeps it off, he’ll apologize.” Eleanor sniffled and rubbed her raw nose. “Yeah, right.” Even if he did, words couldn’t earn her forgiveness. She’d shared her darkest secret with him and he judged her in the brief moment he believed her. “I’d rather die than see him again.” She slung her bag over her shoulder and latched the straps. If only Bradley had had the spells she needed to survive the snow. Meagan grabbed her arm. “Wait. I don’t want you to die. There’s another way. Ask her.” “Who?” With a nervous squeak, Meagan pointed up and scrunched her face. “The demon,” she whispered. “She isn’t a demon. She’s just a woman who was mistreated.” Erick’s father probably deserved her vindictive punishments. “She might know how you can cross the mountains.” Eleanor bit her lip. It didn’t matter anymore what scars the woman would leave in her mind. Erick wouldn’t know and he wouldn’t care. She’d never see him again. The thought made her chest burn. She hated him. “You can’t come with me.” Meagan nodded and rubbed her eyes. “I’ll be your lookout.” Her callused hand scraped Eleanor’s and squeezed. “Come on.”
139
Vanessa Gilfoy
Through the halls, Eleanor’s heart pounded. She shouldn’t be afraid. It would just be a quick cut in her head. Then the pain would soften to a bearable throb. She could do this. But at the base of the tower, Eleanor stalled. “I’ll be right here for you,” Meagan assured her. That didn’t help. Meagan couldn’t soothe away the pain afterwards. The young maid released Eleanor’s hand and shoved her toward the door. “Go on.” It opened on its own. Inside, dark steps spiraled up into pitch black. “Go on.” Feet heavy, each step strained her. Up the stairs, warmth grew, probably from her pounding heart. Strangely, water didn’t slick the steps. The tower hadn’t frozen. How much power did Erick’s mother have here? How could elves keep a hybrid prisoner on mortal land? Elves couldn’t offer enough power to attract rogue elementals on mortal land. Only a strong hybrid like Ceres had the strength to perform any spell of elven kings’ magic anywhere. Did Erick’s mother have rogue elementals hidden? Was the prison a trick? Not all hybrids are like Ceres, child. Some are more like elves. It normally frightened her when Erick’s mother did that but not today. The woman’s thoughts actually calmed the pricklies in her stomach. Eleanor needed silent conversation after the misery of today. The plastic door at the top opened and light spilled out. More warmth. It soothed the numbing chill from Eleanor’s face and hands. At the doorway, two elves waited. Stoic and still, they didn’t say anything. Beautiful and statuesque like her mother, they towered over her. Their marble-like faces and mystical locks of silver seemed inanimate until they finally moved. They closed the door behind Eleanor and their black cloaks billowed. A coveted color among elven sorcerers. “Ohhh, look at you, child.” Erick’s mother, Marilyn, came from the window, a smile on her fair face. “You’ve grown up so lovely.” She reached out to lift Eleanor’s chin. The scent of cinnamon and vanilla wafted up from her slender wrist where gold bracelets jingled. Eleanor tried not to flinch. She let the woman do what she would as Eleanor gazed past at the bright and contrasting colored fabrics draped over the few pieces of furniture. It reminded her of a circus her father had taken her to once. Sort of cheerful. “You should have been my daughter.” She stroked Eleanor’s hair. “If only I’d had a girl.” The smile fell from Marilyn’s pale lips. If only. The thought of Erick in a dress lifted Eleanor’s spirits a little. Lace, definitely. Pink with little bows. “You’ve been crying, child. Ohhh.” Marilyn’s mouth puckered. “I warned you about men. They only have one good use. Some of them. Beyond that, they’re all scum.” 140
Masquerade of the Cursed King
Her long, golden hair and bright purple skirts whipped about when she turned and motioned for Eleanor to follow. “I felt you use my spells last night and some new ones.” “That’s why I’m here. I need more to escape through snow.” Eleanor trailed her to the small kitchen where heat emanated from the oven. “I know, child. We all want to be free.” At the little red table, Marilyn poured two cups from a garishly bright, chipped teapot. “Sit down. Have something warm to drink. I’m afraid the cookies won’t be ready in time but the tea should be just right.” Would Marilyn poison her? Eleanor glanced back at the elves who silently watched them. She couldn’t feel their thoughts and they wouldn’t let her in. How did Phil get them to talk? “They don’t approve of our kind,” Marilyn murmured. Hundreds of years ago, elves hunted hybrids until Ceres nearly exterminated the elven race in retribution. Racism still lingered, though Eleanor had only felt it from Erick and her father. Ignorant jerks. “Just ignore them.” Marilyn sat down and handed Eleanor a cup. Dark, nearly black fluid filled it to the brim. What looked like tiny burnt leaves floated on top. Strange. Steam rose with an awful stench from the swirling surface. Careful not to spill, she set the cup on the table and sat across from Erick’s mother. Marilyn leaned forward like a young woman ready to gossip about men. Though she looked Eleanor’s age, Marilyn had to be at least fifty. “Have you ever seen a wizard?” “Yes.” One of Ceres’ husbands. A handsome man who looked more like a warrior than a magic sort. “Sexy, aren’t they?” Marilyn’s upper lip curled up in a disturbingly lustful expression. “They believe that in order to grow stronger, you have to break. That’s why they’re so thick with muscle. They tear it with weights, then repair thicker, over and over again. I could watch wizards train all day, every day.” She grinned, green eyes twinkling. She pushed her long hair back and tucked it behind her pointed ears. “It’s the same with magic and the mechanisms that keep us warm. You break, then heal stronger, over and over.” “I need something quick. Is there a spell to keep warm?” “Drink your tea for now. It’s delightfully hot.” Eleanor brought the red and green cup to her mouth to pretend to drink. “Mmm.” She shielded the edge of the cup to hide her lie. Earth, it smelled like compost and left a gross sticky feeling on her lips. Eleanor hastily wiped it away but it wouldn’t come off. It tingled then burned. Oh, no. What was this? She looked to Marilyn, hoping to read her. But thick shields blocked the woman’s mind. “It’s good for you. Drink up.” Marilyn smiled sweetly. “What’s in it?”
141
Vanessa Gilfoy
“Tea leaves. Very special tea leaves. I’ve saved them for over thirty years. They never did me much good but maybe they’ll help you.” The elves darted toward her. “Drink it, child.” Eleanor gulped it down. It burned her tongue and blistered the roof of her mouth. Grit felt like glass in her throat but she swallowed every last drop before an elf tore the cup from her hands. They smashed the teapot on the floor. Her blood seemed to boil and her heart shook her chest. Boils split her skin, oozing and stinging. Eleanor screamed and the sound echoed in her mind. What had she done? Earth, it was poison.
142
Masquerade of the Cursed King
Chapter Nineteen December 27, 9544 AR Valetta, Biston
He would give up everything for her. His cursed crown, his crumbling kingdom, his life, just like that damned wizard had foretold. If he could just find his lover. Reiley’s men couldn’t have gone far, not with an army. They’d probably backtracked the same way they’d come. He could just follow the tracks. Erick slid another scabbard on his belt and buckled it. Two swords and three daggers. That was it. Against an entire army. How many were there? He sagged onto his bed and hunched over. There had to be a way to save Violet rather than die trying. His death would only relieve his guilt. Wouldn’t do her much good. The wizard had said he needed to turn his present card upside down. What the hell did that mean? What aid stood behind him unseen? Earth, he hoped his lover was safe, that he wasn’t too late. If that bastard had hurt her, had touched her… Erick squeezed his eyes shut, unable to finish the thought. Nude. She’d been nude when they took her. His gut wrenched and his neck burned. He couldn’t defeat an army alone but he knew someone who could. Shit. Was the demon the aid he couldn’t see? Was that who the wizard meant? The demon would kill him as soon as lay eyes on him but there was no one else with that kind of power. Not in Biston. Light faded from the setting sun outside. The castle had finally defrosted from Violet’s spell. By now, the Porteran troops had probably made camp. He had to hurry if he was going to catch up. Erick bolted up and stormed out the door, determination in his step, fear rolling his gut. Maybe the demon would listen. Time could have softened her. Motherly love might have defrosted in her icy heart. Warnings in the back of his mind argued otherwise but he rushed down stairways and through halls. There was no other way. At the base of the tower, a young maid’s eyes widened at his approach just before she scurried off. Probably there on a dare. Everyone avoided this part of the castle. The demon’s whispers normally sounded loudest here. Her cold words always sent shivers down Erick’s spine. He ascended the spiraling staircase and each footstep echoed. The sound chipped away at the hardened ball of memories he’d buried inside. She’d locked him here in this tower with spells. She’d twisted his thoughts to see monsters in the dark. Growls had been his lullabies and tears his mother’s kisses.
143
Vanessa Gilfoy
Five years. She’d only had him for five years. And they were so long ago. His palms shouldn’t sweat. Blood shouldn’t pound behind his eyes. Elves guarded her now. They stopped her spells. She couldn’t hurt him anymore. She couldn’t toss him through the plastic-barred windows from the top of the tower. At the last step of the staircase, in near darkness, he knocked and his heart jolted. Breath held, he waited. An eternity seemed to pass before the door finally opened. The smell of cookies and something revolting spilled out to make him gag. Just as he remembered the strange concoctions she’d forced him to eat. Two elves, pale as winter snow, taller than any human, stepped aside for him. “Your Majesty.” Their heads slightly nodded. The calm on their ageless faces should reassure him but it didn’t. Beyond, the demon crouched to wipe up a spill that looked like runny mud. The same golden hair, hid her face and pointed ears. Beyond, blood-red curtains hid her bed, as if something waited there, ready to jump out. “What do you want?” she snapped but didn’t look at him. Erick’s tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. “Mother.” The word choked out like sand in his throat. She finally turned. Blood trickled from a cut on her lip. Erick winced. He couldn’t block the memory that flicked up. His lungs emptied at the image of his father looming over her, fists falling. Helpless, too small, Erick couldn’t stop it. Earth, he didn’t want to remember. Bile rose from his gut and he swallowed it back. “You look just like him.” “I’m not.” Erick would never strike a woman. “No? Do you treat your fated any better?” “I love her.” He forced his eyes open to meet the demon’s painful gaze. “She’s why I’m here.” He’d never have come otherwise. He hadn’t planned to see his mother again. Not unless she escaped and stood over him with a knife again. His mother stood up. “That was a long time ago. I couldn’t do it. But I wanted to,” she said darkly. Her voice broke. “I could have chased you. I could have hunted you down. But I didn’t. And now look at what you’ve become.” Her insults shouldn’t sting. He’d heard them all before. He’d failed to measure up to her expectations as a child. Why would now be any different? “Just like your father. I knew you would be. It’s in your blood. A Duran.” He normally worried about her blood in his veins but today he needed the magic if he had any. Erick swallowed arguments that swelled his throat. “My fated is in danger. I need spells to break an army’s minds if I can.” To hell with the Western River. He glanced over his shoulder at the elves who shook their heads in warning.
144
Masquerade of the Cursed King
They’d try to stop him. But maybe the cold had weakened them enough for Erick to escape past. “You only need the strength to break into one mind. To see through seeing eyes. No spells. But you’re too late. She’s already gone. You lost her. Or rather, you threw her away. She’s better off.” “They stole her.” And Reiley would pay. His mother’s mouth opened and manic laughter poured out. Ten years in the tower had made her stranger than before. “Please.” He yelled over his mother, “She trusted me to protect her. Please. I’ve never asked you for anything. I just need this one motherly act, for her, not for me. Mother.” His chest felt as if it would burst. Earth, if his mother refused… “You won’t like what you find.” A wicked smile smoothed her bleeding lips. “Give me Biston and I’ll give you the strength you need.” Warnings hissed through his head. He didn’t want the cursed crown but could he sentence his countrymen to her tortures? Her tyrannical rule had murdered countless innocent men. Would it be wrong to condemn thousands for one beloved? In his hesitation, the demon’s smile fell and her gaze shifted to the door. “For my freedom then,” she blurted. “Set me free and I’ll give you what you need. Now or never.” Eyes wide and shimmering, she repeated, “Now or never.” Without her elven guards, there’d be no one to stop her. At night, he’d fear she waited in the shadows. She’d wreak havoc on anyone she stumbled across. But Violet needed him. Shame closed his throat and squeezed his gut. He couldn’t answer. How could he? It was wrong and selfish. “Now or never. Time is running out.” “Yes.” As soon as the word slipped out, she fell on him. Claws dug into his face and she knocked him to the floor. Her mind crashed against his and crushed his every thought. Every sensation crumbled in her grip until only pain squeezed through her fingers. It coursed through his throbbing nerves. His limbs thrashed but he couldn’t break free. He couldn’t breathe. His throat spasmed, straining to open. Light flashed all around him and everything halted. She’d stolen control of his body. She’d tricked him. The elves did nothing. Footsteps pounded in the distance in time with his struggling heart. Phil. The clicks grew louder up the stairs. Oh, no. Erick shoved against her restraints but couldn’t unlock his jaw. He couldn’t warn Phil. Not even a thought slipped out from her hold.
145
Vanessa Gilfoy
The door crashed open. Phil stumbled into the room. “Marilyn. Stop.” He seized her shoulders, as if he could somehow win. Run, Erick tried to scream at him. But Phil tugged on the demon. “Please, my love. We agreed.” What? Not Phil. Erick’s lungs seemed to collapse, empty. The room faded and the floor shook. “I swear I’m making him a good man. Let go.” “He asked me to,” she grunted and squeezed tighter. Light burned deeper into his raw mind and flashed until color faded from the room. Everything disappeared. “Erick.”
***** Cold iron bit into Erick’s wrists. He hung from the chains, limp and groggy. Stone scraped his back as he straightened up. Earth, what the hell happened? He stared into darkness and gagged. A rancid stench made his stomach churn. It reminded him of his mother’s strengthening potions. She used to sneak the awful stuff into his food. But this couldn’t be her tower. His bare feet, ass and back didn’t slip against smooth plastic. Rough grit and shards of rock cut into the bottom of his feet. The dungeon? Shit. Rage boiled in his chest and steamed out as curses. Erick jerked against the heavy chains but it was no use. He couldn’t break the iron links nor the two thick dungeon doors. Trapped. Imprisoned below his own kingdom. She’d stolen it. This wasn’t part of the agreement. Why the hell had he gone to the demon? He knew she hated him. Of course she’d double cross him. He was no use to Violet here. He’d have been better off dying fighting an army in a futile attempt to save her, his Violet. Instead of rotting here for his mother’s tortures. How fucking stupid could he be? Blue light grew from two circles only a few feet away. The scent of roses and honey overpowered all else. Erick’s gut clenched as his cock hardened. “Ellie?” That manipulative demon. She’d probably been the cause of his lover’s kidnapping. Had she conspired with his mother? Her fiery gaze filled the room with light as her beams flitted down his nude body. That shouldn’t feel good but his cock twitched and his abs flexed. She slowly slinked closer, bare hips swaying as if to music. 146
Masquerade of the Cursed King
Her firming breasts and midnight mound stole his attention. His mouth salivated with want for a taste. Earth, what the fuck was wrong with him? “Did you chain me?” “Yes.” A grin grew across her face. “Do you like it?” Erick yanked on the chains and scowled. But she saw through the act. She always did. Her petite hands chilled his neck with the theft of energy. Fingers spread wide, she combed up his hair against his scalp as she stood on tiptoe to kiss him. Her full lips sucked on his, warm and soft. Electricity coursed from her succulent mouth. He leaned in, though he knew it was wrong. He shouldn’t want to probe into the thrilling magic with his tongue. If Violet saw this in his memories she’d shove him away. Erick forced himself to turn. The loss left an ache in his gut but he managed to say, “Stop.” He expected Eleanor to scream or punish him but instead, she pressed her whole body into his. Current hummed between them, especially where her bare belly teased his cock with warm pressure. Earth, he wanted to buck and grind but he belonged to Violet. “Mmm, you’re mine now,” she murmured, just before she kissed the center of his neck. His head jerked back for more. He couldn’t stop himself. A moan escaped his open mouth. “Wait, Ellie. I love her,” but the words came out weak as her lips dragged down his chest. Did it count if he tried? What if this wasn’t his fault? He’d meant to be faithful. “You have been very good. I think you deserve a reward for being so true.” Her hands glided down his neck, over his pecs and down his twitching abs, seeming to relish him the way a musician plays a favored instrument. His body jerked tense in anticipation beneath her strumming fingertips, waiting for that last string to be plucked. She looked up with a smile. Stunningly beautiful. “It’s too soon for that note. What about this one?” Her delicate hands slid behind him to cup and squeeze his buttocks. Oh Earth. He bucked against her, cock throbbing. Her hard nipples prodded his chest, purposely drawing circles to tease him. It wasn’t enough. He jerked on the chains to get closer but couldn’t. He needed the soft swells of breast in his palms and on his tongue. “Oh but I can’t let you go.” She kissed his mouth. He lapped up her magic and probed as deep as he could, crushing her lips. Her mind opened up and her lust flooded into him, doubling his own coarse desires.
147
Vanessa Gilfoy
He writhed and wrenched on his chains. If he were free, he’d fuck her hard on the filthy floor. “Please, Ellie.” Her thigh slid up his, wetting him with her electrifying honey. Just the scent of her could make him come. Oh, he needed her. “Please.” The chains loosened, only enough to allow him to drop his arms and grip the full cheeks of her ass. He hastily hoisted her up, heart racing. She parted to him and her smooth cleft slicked his bare cock. Earth, her honey exhilarated him. He twitched and bucked. She clutched his shoulders, nails digging in, though he barely felt them. A whimper left her lips while she wriggled to get him where they both wanted. When her tight channel squeezed him he moaned. She slid onto his shaft, just as eager. Slick, firm and warm. She stroked him as he quickly withdrew. Gripping tightly on her ass, he thrust hard into her over and over. The chains jingled and his arms and thighs shivered from the force. Her head tossed back and her midnight hair fluttered about as she screamed. Her orgasm gripped and wrung his cock while she thrashed against him. Her thighs squeezed and ecstasy burst from her. It hummed through his cock and gathered in his groin. His body jerked tense. “I’m gonna come,” he warned, breathless and urgent. He tried to let go, to spill his cream on her belly instead of in her cunt. But she clung to him. “Do it.” She rotated her hips to swirl his cock inside her tight clutch. He couldn’t hold back. His cock lurched with the most thrilling burst of electricity. It shot deep inside her. His cum. He couldn’t stop himself from emptying. He fucked her until the last few drops spurted free. He panted for breath. Earth, he couldn’t breathe. What had he just done? Eyes dimming, she released him from the squeeze of her thighs and popped off his cock. It slapped his abs, excited from its first seeding. That shouldn’t thrill him. He shouldn’t have come inside her. She wasn’t Violet. “None of this is real,” she whispered in his ear. “When you wake I’ll be gone. Is that what you want?” No. Shamefully, he wanted more. This had to be real. It was too dank and dim in here to be fantasy. “You should have been good to me. I’d have fulfilled your every fantasy.” The blue fire in her eyes extinguished and darkness fell. “Wait, Ellie. Don’t go.”
148
Masquerade of the Cursed King
Suddenly, the chains fell away and he fell to the cold floor. He couldn’t move. Pain seized every muscle. Far in the distance, Phil’s voice screamed at him to breathe.
149
Vanessa Gilfoy
Chapter Twenty
December 27, 9544 AR Valetta, Biston Raised voices made her head throb. Everywhere ached. Her skin burned and hurt worse when she tried to move, as if it had been sloughed off. Her body didn’t feel like her own. Empty, as if every cell had leaked and deflated. That couldn’t be right. Eleanor forced her eyes open. Red curtains surrounded her on a bed too soft to be her own. The crimson and purple bedspread seemed like something from a whorehouse or gypsy parlor. She couldn’t still be at Marilyn’s, could she? Eleanor threw an arm out to pull back the curtains and screamed. The skin on her arm and hand had bubbled. Red and oozing, it didn’t look like skin. Eleanor’s stomach seemed to lurch into her lungs. She couldn’t breathe. What had Marilyn done to her? The curtains stuck to her raw flesh as she stumbled out. Body weak and dizzy, she fell to the plastic floor in only her undergarments and couldn’t get up. Earth, she’d die here. How much longer ’til the poison killed her? Already, spasms shook her limbs. She needed to find help. “Ellie?” Phil’s voice said. His form rounded the bed. Panic didn’t loosen its claws from her chest. “Find the antidote,” Eleanor wheezed. “Oh, my Earth,” Phil said, knuckle raised to his lips. ‘Marilyn, what did you do?” “She’s okay.” But she didn’t feel okay. Pain shot through every nerve and strained every torn and raw muscle. The horrified expression on Phil’s face confirmed her fears. Skinless, hideously deformed, her body must look like a butchered lamb carcass. Marilyn had ruined her. Earth, even if she survived… Eleanor sobbed and each gasp for breath hurt like a thorned stem scraping through her lungs and windpipe. Marilyn appeared beside Phil, hair tangled, lip bleeding. Rumpled and distracted, both hesitated. What could they do? With a smile, Marilyn assured her, “Everything’s all right. Honey, there’s a balm in your pack. Just put that on twice a day and you’ll heal up fine. You’ll be stronger than you ever were.” Deformed. Disfigured. Broken. Her desert-dry eyes couldn’t even tear. “Marilyn, how could you? Look at her.”
150
Masquerade of the Cursed King
Earth. Why had she come here? The frozen mountains would have been less painful. “Freedom is worth a short discomfort,” Marilyn said. “Like hell,” Eleanor tried to scream but coughs racked her body. Eleanor couldn’t make it to the Damien Pass like this. Her heart pounded rage through her veins and into her neck and face. She’d have been better off freezing to death. Phil crept to Eleanor and snapped over his shoulder, “Your freedom or hers?” He dropped to his knees beside Eleanor. “I’m going to pick you up. It’s going to hurt.” The old man bit his lip, brow wrinkled. The knots along Eleanor’s spine twisted. “No. Don’t.” Her body was a giant, infected cut. When he gripped her shoulder, Eleanor wailed. Heat from his flesh seared hers. Her empty body drew it up through no command of her own. No spell fell from her lips nor tumbled through her mind. She couldn’t stop it. Phil’s body shook from the force. Teeth clenched, he silently bore it. She wished he didn’t. She wanted to push him away. If she could move, she would Her oozing flesh dried and sealed closed. Slightly less raw. She could breathe without pain. “That should do for now.” Marilyn seized Phil’s shoulders and yanked him back. His hand tore from Eleanor’s arm. The loss ached through every cell. Still so empty. But Phil fell limp beside her, unconscious. Earth, if Marilyn hadn’t stopped him, he could have died. Air puffed from Eleanor’s freshly healed lungs. She couldn’t have handled the loss of her only remaining human uncle, not yet. “He’s fine. Now, let’s get you dressed.” Marilyn held out her hand for Eleanor. Marilyn had saved Phil. She could have let Eleanor drain him to death but she hadn’t. Maybe Marilyn had told the truth when she said Eleanor would heal. “Will I scar?” If she did, the entire surface of her body would look like cracked sandstone. Hybrids and elves normally healed too quickly to scar but Eleanor had never been so wounded. “No. You won’t scar.” Relief soothed some of the tension in Eleanor’s back but not enough to chance moving. Her healing skin might break if she reached up for Marilyn’s hand. Marilyn bent closer and her bloody lip glistened in the window light. “Who did that?” Marilyn glanced toward the door. The elves. Why had they tried to stop Marilyn from helping Eleanor? It didn’t make sense. The elven guards worked for King Andraste, Eleanor’s uncle. “Come on, child.” Marilyn took Eleanor’s hand and pulled. 151
Vanessa Gilfoy
Agony tore down Eleanor’s back as she rose to her feet. Her tender flesh ripped and she screamed. She needed more energy to heal. But she couldn’t take Marilyn’s. Eleanor struggled against her own body’s need. Just before her restraint broke, Marilyn pulled away. Like a new fawn, Eleanor wobbled. She clung to a bedpost to keep from falling. Just beyond, on the floor, lay Erick. Eleanor’s throat closed up and her face went numb. The cruel bastard should be scouring the countryside. She choked out, “What is he doing here?” Had he come for her? Gut clenched, she fought the urge to fall on him. If only she had the energy to cast the dark spells that raced through her head. “Does it matter? Here.” Marilyn helped Eleanor into her clothing and somehow evaded direct contact. But Eleanor couldn’t take her eyes off Erick. His chest didn’t move. She shouldn’t care. She shouldn’t hold her breath in wait for his chest to rise. He deserved whatever Marilyn had done to him. “Is he dead?” A sharp pain emptied Eleanor’s chest. With a scowl, Marilyn blurted, “No.” Eleanor inhaled but it didn’t mean anything. He wasn’t hers. A hard swallow hurt her throat and she looked up to stop tears from flowing. “It’s hard at first to stop caring,” Marilyn muttered and donned a coat. “Where are you going?” Although Marilyn wasn’t the demon Erick said she was, icy fear stabbed down Eleanor’s back. “With you. Someone has to teach you the spells to cross the Santarra Mountains.” “But I can’t go like this.” “You’ll heal in the carriage before we reach the mountains. No one will see you.” Marilyn shouldered Eleanor’s bag. “Let’s go, child.” Her arm wrapped around Eleanor’s waist and guided her toward the door. Eleanor’s shirt rubbed and stuck to her scabbed flesh beneath Marilyn’s arm but Eleanor couldn’t stand on her own. She needed Marilyn. Could Eleanor trust the woman? Did she have any other choice? The elven guards sidestepped in front of the door and shook their heads. Shoulders squared, feet spread apart, arms crossed over their chest, they barred exit. Yet no emotion marked their snow-white faces. “He released me. You heard him. We made a deal,” Marilyn argued. Her voice rose to the pitch of helplessness. In a pleading stance, her slender body pitched forward. Her grip tightened around Eleanor’s back and she clutched Eleanor’s arm like a vice. Just as desperate for escape as Eleanor. They were the same. Only years separated them. What had Marilyn traded for freedom? Eleanor glanced back at Erick. It didn’t look like he got what he wanted, just what he deserved.
152
Masquerade of the Cursed King
“We answer to King Andraste of the Western River, not Biston’s king,” the elves replied in their silvery voices. Marilyn jerked her head back, face creased with rage. “You slime. There’s no longer any reason. Tell him it’s over.” “That is for His Majesty to decide, not a hybrid wretch.” How fucking arrogant. How dare they? Eleanor interrupted, “A hybrid wretch will someday sit on the Western River’s throne. What then?” Andraste’s heir was hybrid. “We will see.” The glint of their silver eyes argued something could change fate but they couldn’t overthrow Ceres’ younger daughter. If Gildon didn’t crush them, Ceres’ elder daughter, the Onyx Empress would. Andraste’s royal elven blood had given rise to the most powerful hybrid women of all New Pangaea, with the exception of Eleanor. “Andraste is my uncle. Step aside, or I’ll tell him.” That was all she could do. That was the depth of her power. “You may pass but she may not.” Marilyn’s arm slipped away from Eleanor. Go on. How? Without Marilyn’s help, Eleanor would freeze in the mountains, if she made it that far looking like this. Dizzy and weak, Eleanor tottered. Exhaustion threatened to spill her at their feet. Her gaze fell to their bare hands. “You don’t wear gloves.” How did they guard a hybrid? “Try it,” one challenged. Don’t, Marilyn warned. How much energy could two elves in Biston possibly have in winter? Probably not enough to ease the ache in Eleanor’s nearly empty body. How did they even survive here without human or dwarven fateds to keep them warm? Eleanor fell forward, reaching for their hands. But they spun about. Steel scraped free from their scabbards. Her head struck the door and panic squeezed her heart. In desperation, Eleanor screamed the darkest spell. She sucked up heat from the air and every non-plastic thing in the room. Like mint oil, it splashed through her. Ice instantaneously formed and clung to every surface. It stuck to their boots and slowed them to humans’ pace. Their blades flashed as ice slid from the smooth steel. Eleanor rolled away, just as their twin swords crashed down and shattered. She yelled the spell for fire but nothing shot from her outstretched hand. They’d silently countered her spell. “Drain them,” Marilyn screamed. How? They’d counter the energy-transfer spell meant for flesh and the temperature-draw spell was too powerful to differentiate between elves, hybrids and humans. Eleanor barely distinguished inanimate things from living tissue with that darker spell. What if it drained Phil and Marilyn too?
153
Vanessa Gilfoy
Do it. Two minds crashed against Eleanor’s mind shields and she shrieked. They dug and struck. Each blow seemed to rattle her skull. They came for her. Rage creased their perfect faces as they fell on her. She wasn’t fast enough. Her scabbed flesh tore in their grips as she kicked and pushed. She couldn’t get away. Marilyn tried to pull them off. She screamed spells that never fruited. The elves countered her magic. Eleanor’s pounding heartbeat and ragged breath deafened her to whatever the elves said. Please say that wasn’t a spell. She couldn’t counter any spell. Clipped and helpless. Something tugged on Eleanor’s insides and cold bit her fingers. Earth, they were trying to steal her energy. “Do it, child. Rob them dead.” Marilyn screamed. Eleanor wailed ancient elven words. Energy burst into her flesh, hot and pure. It buzzed inside, louder and louder, massaging every cell. A higher pitch rushed adrenaline through her body, erasing all pain. So much energy. It even tingled on her tongue. Nothing had ever felt sooo good, until blue flames blazed from her flesh. Oh, sweetest ecstasy. Power overflowed from her invigorated skin. Power to burn the heavy weight pushing on her chest. The assault on her mind halted but the surprisingly heavy elves nearly crushed her. Eleanor shoved them off. Like stiff boards, they clattered to the floor, half frozen, half burnt. What the…? She couldn’t think straight. Blood pounded hard through her shaking limbs. Her blurry vision narrowed no matter how hard she blinked. She actually heard energy hum in her nerves louder than any thought or voice. Eleanor pushed herself up, nude, clothing burnt away. But skin, real skin had replaced most of the scabs. Pain no longer shot through her body with every movement. She’d not only survived but healed herself. How? “Earth, child,” Marilyn gasped. Her face lengthened, jaw slackened. “You’re like a bottomless hole. Energy just pours right through you.” But disgust didn’t lower her voice. She seemed excited. “I thought they’d counter me.” Eleanor’s pitifully few spells were no match for ancient, elven kings’ magic wielding elves. She should have lost. Marilyn laughed darkly. How was that funny? They’d nearly died. Eleanor’s face heated and tensed. “Your hunger was stronger than their counters. If you could make that much energy on your own, there would be no stopping you.”
154
Masquerade of the Cursed King
Chills ran down Eleanor’s spine. Earth, she wished that was fear. But she’d thrilled in gaining that burst of power at the expense of the elves. They deserved it though. Racist jerks. Their frozen grimaces faced the plastic floor, shoulders and arms curled back as if they’d tried to back away. A dark satisfaction curled up Eleanor’s lips, despite her attempts to prevent it. Was it wrong to enjoy success at someone else’s failure?
155
Vanessa Gilfoy
Chapter Twenty-One December 27, 9544 AR Valetta, Biston
Erick’s brain sloshed against his skull. Agony pierced his head all around. “Wake up.” Shit, he’d been dreaming. Those fucking dreams again. He’d thought they’d ended. He hadn’t dreamt of Ellie since he met Violet at the masquerade. Well, not including that night Violet didn’t come to him. Something stung his cheek. A hand. Erick sucked in air and gulped as much as he could. His chest hurt as if it had been smashed. He patted his ribs, hands shaking. None broken. Head intact too. What had his mother done to him? He started to twitch like a dying animal at the feet of a hunter but he lay in his bed. Phil must have dragged him here. Then a trickle of thoughts that weren’t his. Phil’s worries bruised Erick’s already sore mind. He saw, repeated in the background like an awful song that stuck in his head. Marilyn, was the chorus. Saw what? Eventually, thoughts linked up in sequence and Erick’s stomach lurched. Bile rose, stinging his throat, filling his mouth. Erick sat up to keep from choking. “You fucked my mother.” The demon. That thing was Phil’s secret girlfriend. Phil, his eldest oathbrother, had snuck away in the dark to be with that thing in the tower. “Don’t talk about her like that.” Phil stood up from Erick’s bed. Anger hardened his features, as if he had the right, as if she wasn’t the demon who’d repeatedly tortured Erick. “What were you thinking of going to her?” Erick swallowed bile and forced out, “I could ask you the same.” Traitor. He’d trusted Phil. He’d put his life in the man’s hands. Heat filled Erick’s aching lungs. He held it in to keep from bawling like a child. The old man squeezed his shoulder awkwardly and Erick shoved the comfort away. Phil’s voice deepened and trembled. “I never betrayed you. I can’t choose who I love but that never interfered with my duties and love for you.” Erick broke. Shame couldn’t stop the blubbering misery. It shook his chest and wet his face. His oath-brother’s arms wrapped around him.
156
Masquerade of the Cursed King
“I’m all right.” Erick tried to harden his words and push free. No, you’re not. Phil squeezed tighter. Earth, that hurt. Erick’s mind seemed to liquefy into Phil’s. Silent thoughts sucked him in. Worries about Erick’s weaknesses and Eleanor’s defiance. Deep beneath, he spilled to the mouth of a cavern Erick had never seen in Phil’s mind before. Pain seized them both, clenching their guts, straining their backs. What the fuck? Phil’s mind jolted. “Stop.” He grimaced and his thoughts wavered as he struggled to push Erick out. Edges of shields dug into Erick’s mind but couldn’t scoop underneath. Erick tried to pull free but couldn’t solidify his mind. Shit. He couldn’t feel his body anymore. He leaked into the cavern and splashed into a sea of hidden memories. They swirled through him, in a quick rush. Fragments flashed. Eleanor sobbed as a child on a bloody floor. The promise of a better life to a beloved. Hope for a child, abandoned to hope for a grandchild. None of it made sense at first. But when the swirls solidified and clicked into place, Erick nearly drowned in his own stupidity. He wished he could explain it away but it was so clear. Phil couldn’t give the demon a daughter, so he promised her a granddaughter of both their blood—through Eleanor. But that wasn’t the worst of it. It couldn’t be true. Erick flipped through the memories again, hoping to find a fault in the ice. He watched innocent Ellie struggle and weep while he lay unconscious. She knelt between him and Queen Ceres. Shaking and covered in blood, Ellie sobbed, Please, don’t hurt him. I love him. I’ll do anything. Please. The image shifted to Eleanor, grown and in his lover’s dress casting spells gifted from the demon. With a hard grunt, Phil forced him out. He panted for breath, crouched on the floor on all fours and dropped to his elbows. “Ask,” he rasped. “I’d have told you whatever you wanted to know.” Cold realization chilled Erick’s limbs, just before steam puffed from his gut, through his chest and into his neck. “You knew?” Erick screamed and rose to his feet. “You knew what she did? You were there. You saw it happen. And you never told me. Why?” Shit. Shit. Earth, it was true. Everything she said. Eleanor hadn’t lied. She hadn’t faked those sobs that shook her on the floor. Erick winced. A lump hardened his throat and pain emptied his lungs. He didn’t deserve to breathe. He choked out, “Why didn’t you tell me?” “I did. I told you it was her. You chose not to believe me. I warned you to be gentle with her.” Earth, why hadn’t he known? Why hadn’t he seen? She’d always been there. His dreams had tried to tell him. Henry knew. Anre knew. But they never said a word. And Ellie…she… Erick raked his hair. “Where is she?” “Gone. They’re both gone.”
157
Vanessa Gilfoy
Erick squeezed his eyes shut. He couldn’t think straight. Everything seemed upside down. That was what that wizard had meant. Erick’s head throbbed and his body wobbled like jelly on a shaking spoon. “I threw her away.” She’d loved him and he’d never noticed her until she put that mask on. Earth, how could he have been so stupid? She’d given up her childhood innocence for him but all he’d noticed was the dark change. Even though he’d felt men’s minds bleed into his as they died on his blade, he’d hated her for the battle scars that pained her. He knew the pain. Yet rather than comfort her, he’d insulted her and jabbed the tender wounds. She’d been just a child the first time. He’d turned her away then just as he did now. “I’m a bad man.” “Go after her and make it right.” “What am I supposed to say?” What could he say? That he was a moron? That he was so fixated on his failures that he couldn’t see her. No woman would accept that as an excuse. She deserved more than that, more than a blind idiot who’d offered her the position of king’s whore, if that. She’d pegged him right. The hard ball in his gut dropped like an anchor and tugged him down onto the edge of the bed. He’d lost her without ever realizing who she was. His fated. “You haven’t lost her yet. Get up,” Phil snapped. “It doesn’t matter what you say, only that you say it. Make an effort. She’s probably heading for Gildon. She’ll freeze in the mountains if you don’t stop her.”
***** December 29, 9544 AR Damien Pass, Santarra Mountains Marilyn’s gentle fingers rubbed a foul-smelling balm on Eleanor’s back. Some sort of wizard concoction. So gross. Eleanor squirmed and grimaced. Earth, it felt like fire consumed her flesh. At least the boils and scabs were gone. A few pink spots lingered but Marilyn promised they’d disappear by evening. “All right.” Marilyn capped the jar and set it on the dusty nightstand. “Get up and show me the spells again.” Eleanor groaned and hid her head beneath her rolled-up coat. The practice all last night had drained her too much. There wasn’t enough energy in all of the Santarra Mountains to fill the emptiness that ached throughout Eleanor’s flesh. “I can’t.” “Yes, you can. Come on. I want to make sure you can do it before I leave.” Like the mother Eleanor had always wanted, Marilyn pushed her through challenges. Spells Eleanor had coveted all her life would finally be hers. But Eleanor was so tired. If only she’d ignored her father and Erick earlier. Fear wouldn’t have stopped her from going to Marilyn all these years. Eleanor could have learned at a much more comfortable pace with rest in between.
158
Masquerade of the Cursed King
“You can sleep when I leave.” Eleanor and Marilyn had decided to cross Damien’s Pass separately. That way they wouldn’t freeze each other and they wouldn’t have to share the very few elementals who quietly whispered beneath the mountain soil. A day of sunlight in between should replenish at least some of the stolen heat used to command the elementals with kings’ magic. Although Marilyn said elementals had always hummed beneath Damien Pass, Eleanor hadn’t noticed them until last night. Maybe Marilyn’s strange tea had made Eleanor stronger. “Come on.” Marilyn flicked Eleanor’s shoulder. “Ouch.” Eleanor rubbed the sting away. “I’m getting up.” She sat up from the squeaky bed. Strange that someone had abandoned it and everything in the small cabin. Dust had coated every surface last night but Marilyn must have cleaned it up after Eleanor passed out. Sort of homey. A basket of sweet-smelling goodies rested on the little table at the center of the room. Even better-smelling steam rose from a bubbling pot on the wood-burning stove against the log and mud wall. Mmm. Rabbit stew. Eleanor’s mouth salivated in anticipation. “You can eat afterwards.” Marilyn pulled Eleanor to her feet. But her stomach growled. Lightheaded, Eleanor leaned against Marilyn. The dirt floor seemed to give beneath her feet but it was just fatigue. The hard-packed dirt didn’t even fly up from Eleanor’s steps. “I’m starving.” “Oh yes. So dramatic.” Marilyn retrieved Eleanor’s clothes from the rickety and warped nightstand for her. Marilyn had said she’d found this cabin twenty-five years ago. Hidden in the woods at the base of the Santarra Mountains, the cabin had somehow escaped notice. Maybe because of the wall at Biston’s border. If Marilyn hadn’t known the sticky spell to scale the fifteen-foot-tall barrier, they’d have missed this little resting spot and the secret shortcut to Damien Pass. No guards or gate barred this way. Marilyn helped Eleanor into her clothes, as if Eleanor were a little girl. Admittedly, she needed the help. She could barely move after the practice last night. “It wasn’t that bad.” Marilyn scrunched her face up and tugged Eleanor out the rough-hewn door. Eleanor had never worked so hard for such a long, uninterrupted span of time. Kings’ magic required so much more energy than common elf magic. Exhaustion hung from her bones. A gust of cold air chilled Eleanor’s face and shivers dragged goose bumps down her skin. The thick coat and pants she’d borrowed from Marilyn couldn’t seal in enough heat. Earth, she’d freeze. “You’ll be fine.” A fine ice sculpture that would eventually thaw into a corpse. “Such an imagination.”
159
Vanessa Gilfoy
Broad patches of snow marked the ground like puddles after a flood. Up the mountainside, the snow deepened to several feet thick. Someone had once told her it piled fifteen feet at the summit, probably to scare her. She couldn’t sink that deep into it, could she? Could it swallow a person like quicksand? Marilyn laughed. “No, child. Come on.” Brittle needles and twigs cracked beneath their boots as Eleanor followed Marilyn deeper into the uphill clearing. At the center, snow crunched like celery beneath their steps. A strange sound for frozen water to make. Her toes went numb, despite the thick cushion of fur inside her boots. Marilyn halted. “Okay.” Earth, why couldn’t Marilyn understand fatigue? Shivering, Eleanor licked her lips and focused on the cold air in front of her. She mumbled a spell to command the water elementals. The mass of invisible spirits excitedly bit into her energy reserves and tore a scream from her chest. Vapor hardened to a thin ice sheet midair, and the elemental returned some of the energy it took from the water, like a dog playing fetch. A trickle of heat seeped through Eleanor’s skin but not enough to power the spell much longer. “Quickly.” Marilyn instructed. Eleanor flinched as she stepped onto the falling sheet of ice, knowing it would shatter. She fell through and her heels slid. Her ass smacked the snow. Pain shot up her back. “No. You have to do it all at once. Imagine you’re running on lily pads. You can’t linger too long or you’ll sink.” With a groan, Eleanor rose and rubbed her numb ass. She’d done it right once last night. She just needed sleep and something to eat. “Try again.” Red flashed through Eleanor’s head but she blinked it away. She should be grateful for Marilyn’s help. After a calming breath, Eleanor blurted out the ice sheet spell and ran. Each step shattered falling sheets of ice above the snow. But the greedy water elementals squeezed her cells of what little energy she had. At the end of the clearing, she collapsed, face forward in the snow. It stung her cheeks and she feared she’d blue into a coma state again, like she had in the south wing of the palace. But the sting didn’t pierce beyond her skin. Pink marked the back of her hands, like a human’s. A tickly feeling in her belly nearly shook her with giggles. Earth, she might survive the frozen pass. “Good,” Marilyn praised. Eleanor looked back. No footprints this time. Thank Earth she didn’t have to do it over again. “Now add invisibility to it.” “What?” She didn’t have two mouths to speak from. “How can I power two spells at once?”
160
Masquerade of the Cursed King
“You say one in your head and the other with your mouth. Ceres can power five. You can at least do two.” “Ceres is over two hundred years old.” The goddess-like queen had libraries of spells and battlegrounds to practice in nearly all her long life. Eleanor could never compare to Ceres. The ancient queen could squash Eleanor like a bug. “When you’re her age, you’ll power five. For now, you can do two. Stop complaining and just do it,” Marilyn hissed through bared teeth, patience gone. Harsh lines creased around her mouth and at the center of her forehead. Green eyes afire, she looked like the demon Erick had described. She rushed toward Eleanor, hand outstretched as if she meant to yank her up. Eleanor rolled away and onto her feet, out of reach. Her heart stumbled in a frantic rush. Oh, no. Eleanor scanned the border of trees for something, anything that could help her. “You see. You’re not so worn. Now, go on.” “What?” Eleanor puffed out the word. Had Marilyn scared her just to prove that point? “Yes. Come on. I don’t have all morning.” Eleanor swallowed. The blood pounding through her veins slowed a bit but she couldn’t shake the anxious feeling Marilyn had stirred in her gut. Awkwardly, Eleanor switched back and forth between muttering the ice sheet spell and projecting the invisibility spell. Neither one worked. Instead something awful rose out of the earth. Eleanor screeched and jumped back from it. Its matted, melon-sized head flopped limply to the side as black drool oozed from its slack mouth. Its pink eyes wept syrupy, yellow goo and didn’t seem to focus on anything. Sickening. Clumps of fur fell away from scaly skin. No bigger than a pet cat, it shouldn’t pose any threat. But when it lunged at Eleanor, she screamed. Panic seized her gut. She kicked and her heel squished deep into its floppy head. Like tar, it clung to her heel. Its claws gripped her boot and started up her leg. Earth, it couldn’t be real. Frantically, Eleanor kicked. It wouldn’t come off. Breath quick and ragged, heart racing, she cried for Marilyn’s help. As if it were nothing more than a sick fowl on a farm, Marilyn grabbed hold of the creature and slammed its head down on a rock. Viscous, black fluid splattered from it. Eleanor bolted up to avoid its tar-like blood. It hissed and steamed on the snow, unlike anything Eleanor had ever seen. Black droplets stained Marilyn’s scowling face and smeared when she wiped at them with her sleeve. “Think, child. Don’t just scream and expect someone else to save you. There are no knights in shining armor. You aren’t a damsel in distress. You’re a hybrid sorceress.”
161
Vanessa Gilfoy
Eleanor blinked and looked away, cheeks growing hot despite the cold. She’d reacted like a child. “What could you have done differently?” Unlike Marilyn, Eleanor couldn’t touch the thing to kill it barehanded. Just the thought made Eleanor’s insides squirm. “I could have burned it with wizard fire.” “What else?” “I could have stolen its energy.” The deep creases on Marilyn’s face smoothed out. “Much better. Now try again.” “Wait. What was that?” “I don’t know. You made it when you jumbled the spells. It probably used to be a gopher.” Eleanor crossed her arms over her chest to rub her shoulders. She hadn’t even felt the thing’s mind beneath the earth. It didn’t have much of a brain anymore. Not even a skull. The creature’s head flattened like a deflated ball. The sick fluid inside leaked out to melt the snow. Tufts of fur rolled away and fluttered up with a breeze. “Everyone makes mistakes the first time. Try it again.” Her stomach churned. That disgusting thing shouldn’t have existed. Eleanor shook her head. She couldn’t chance making another one of those things. “We don’t have much time, child. The sun’s already up.” Was that thing the worst that could happen if she messed up again? “Probably not but what choice do you have?” Marilyn was right. Eleanor couldn’t wait here all winter. Her parents would come searching for her. Phil had probably already sent word. They’d be here soon. Then what? She needed the spells to lose them. Eleanor took a deep breath. “Okay,” she exhaled. Her hands uncurled from her shoulders to fall limply at her sides. She murmured the spell for invisibility as she silently recited the spell for ice sheets. “Run.” Her insides flopped. Eleanor lurched forward. The ice cracked under her weight. She nearly fell through as she ran onto the next one. The last bit of energy squeezed out from her cells to bend light around her, rendering her invisible. At the other end of the clearing, her magic petered out. Her vision blurred. She fell into snow, breathless. Sap the trees, Marilyn projected. Eleanor dug her hand into the snow and past the frozen dirt. Tiny roots tangled around her fingers. “No cheating. You know what trees feel like. Touch only the snow and dirt. Conduct the energy through.” 162
Masquerade of the Cursed King
But Eleanor couldn’t focus. Her head throbbed. “Let go of the roots.” Eleanor drew away from the rough tendrils. The dark spell poured out from her famished body as her mind madly hunted for the hum of the trees. She latched on to as many as she could and wrenched energy. It burned through her hand and filled her starving cells. They plumped up and vibrated with their own hum. Earth, it felt good. Warm and soothing. It bathed her insides. “That’s enough. Stop.” Oh, she wanted more. Her hand trembled as her arm strained. It hurt to pull away, to end that delicious flow. Eleanor sat back on her haunches, eyes squeezed shut, as if she could hold on to the feeling just a little bit longer. “The stew should be ready, rolls are on the table and I packed some cookies in your bag.” Marilyn pecked Eleanor’s forehead. “Wait. You’re going already?” Eleanor opened her eyes and spun about in search of Marilyn. Gone. No footsteps. No leaked thoughts. Nothing. Why had Marilyn used spells to sneak away? Shivers skittered down Eleanor’s spine but it was just from the cold. The chill had dropped even further. Maybe she’d taken too much. All around, death blackened and shriveled the trees. Needles that had been lush green only moments before now shimmered like slivers of charred wood. Ice collected on the surfaces. Earth, a guard patrolling the wall might see this patch of blackened trees. What if he came before Eleanor finished healing? “Marilyn?” No answer. Alone, in the snow. What if the energy she’d stolen wasn’t enough? Without Marilyn, there would be no one to drag Eleanor back down the hill. Maybe this wasn’t the best plan. Eleanor’s teeth chattered as she ran into the cabin. Beloved warmth washed over her face. She huddled in a ball by the stove to soak in it. As she rocked back and forth, the smell of stewed rabbit and carrots furled out from the bubbling pot to make her mouth water. Wait. Eleanor halted. Marilyn wouldn’t have poisoned it would she? Not after spending so much time training Eleanor last night and this morning. But why else would Marilyn use spells to cover her tracks? What if Erick really did have reason to fear his mother? Pressure built in her chest but not because of Marilyn. Eleanor covered her quivering lips with her hands. Just his name was enough to make her eyes tear. The way he glared at her and pushed her away.
163
Vanessa Gilfoy
No more crying. Eleanor rubbed her face. Earth. She couldn’t think about him right now. Worse problems threatened her, like hunger and possibly poisoned food.
164
Masquerade of the Cursed King
Chapter Twenty-Two
December 30, 9544 AR Damien Pass, Santarra Mountains Erick’s boots crunched deep into the snow and slid. He grabbed hold of a branch, which snapped like an icicle in his gloved hand. In anticipation of the fall, his stomach lurched up into his chest. Not again. Phil caught the back of his collar and tugged Erick up as if he were a clumsy child. Their sled, laden with supplies, jerked the straps tight across Erick’s chest, nearly emptying his lungs. Breath billowed out like a bride’s veil. If not for Phil, the heavy burden would have dragged him down the rough mountainside. Jagged rocks hid beneath the snow, threatening to add to the bruises and scrapes on Erick’s ribs and shoulders. Icy air numbed his face and hurt his lungs. Shivers shook his mostly human body. The higher they climbed, the colder it grew and the thicker the snow. Up the steep and frozen mountain path, he hauled enough gear and foodstuffs for four but hoped he’d over packed. He didn’t want to see his mother again, regardless of Phil’s arguments of how she’d changed. “What was that favor you wanted?” Phil grumbled, “That favor might not matter any more. I don’t know if Marilyn still wants me.” Erick couldn’t force anything comforting from his mouth. The image of his mother and Phil together made his gut clench up. “I wanted her to have a normal life with me.” “That’s not so bad, “Erick mumbled. Though the tightness across his shoulders and up his neck argued otherwise. He rarely saw Anre anymore. Maybe it could be the same with his mother. Erick tripped over a stump hidden in the snow and grabbed hold of an evergreen branch to right himself. Its needles poked through his gloves. They’d stumbled all night and day up the harsh mountain path. The sun had nearly set, yet they pushed on. They had to. For a hybrid, ice was deadly. Already the sliver of the Red Moon cast a pink hue over the snow. Colder night was coming. Worry wrung his gut. Earth, he prayed he wasn’t too late. What if she’d strayed from the path? Snow could have buried her blued body and he’d have no way of knowing. All because he’d been a cowardly moron.
165
Vanessa Gilfoy
She had never hurt him. She could have slain him at will. When he’d stood over her in the throne room, screaming, she could have drained him of energy or burned him with fire. He’d deserved worse. But she didn’t punish him. A demon would have toyed with him but she was the same girl who’d chased him with flowers she’d twisted into his hair when he wasn’t looking. Full of smiles and giggles. He’d loved her then in a way he’d never understood. And now… He swallowed. Now she turned everything upside down. He still stumbled about, dizzy. One clear thought repeated in his head—he needed to find her. He couldn’t lose Eleanor to the cold. “Over there,” Phil pointed ahead. The creases of his face lifted with his voice. “Tracks.” Deep shadowy footprints interrupted the path as if someone had dropped from the sky and darted off into the woods. Hard-packed, undisturbed snow had led up to this point. Could Eleanor have done this? “How?” It didn’t seem right. “Magic.” Phil wriggled his gloved fingers in the air, then unbuckled the straps from Erick’s chest and secured them to a tree trunk beside the path. Shivers slithered down Erick’s spine like an icy serpent. “Wait, Phil.” With the strength of a man decades younger, Phil grabbed Erick’s thick coat sleeve and tugged him into the dense evergreens. Pine needles scratched and slapped Erick in the face. Just beyond, in a clearing, they both halted. Phil’s grip dropped. Before them, blackened needles fell like ash from dead trees. Icicles dripped from shriveled branches. Death spread like darkness through the woods as far as they could see. Unnatural. They shouldn’t be here. Something bad was about to happen. Erick could feel it in his gut. They had no magic to defend themselves against whatever had claimed this forest. “Ellie must have passed through here. Who else could have done this?” The footprints stopped at the center of the clearing, as if an invisible body waited there. “No, this isn’t Ellie.” Something stronger did this. Something that could float up into the air. Ellie didn’t have that kind of magic, nor the strength to power it. Erick scanned the trees but nothing looked back at him. Someone watched them, though. Its quiet gaze stabbed needles of tension into his neck. “Back to the path.” When he stepped back, his heel scraped what shouldn’t have been. His back slammed against it. He spun about. Ice. A solid, uninterrupted wall of ice. It blocked their way. Through its milky surface, the path quickly disappeared, hidden by white.
166
Masquerade of the Cursed King
“Run.” Erick raced toward a gap in the trees but the wall rushed up from the snow. It hissed and crackled as it hardened. He chased its edge. His boots crunched deep into the snow and suction tugged against him like tiny hands. In his gut, icy fingers squeezed and scratched. If he could just grab hold of the wall’s edge to pull himself to safety. He strained but couldn’t reach. Cold burned his gasping lungs and constricted throat. Phil panted beside him and somehow gained the lead. The old man threw himself beyond the edge, hand grappling for Erick’s. His fingers wrenched down Erick’s wrist and caught on his glove. But the rumbling wall shoved away Phil’s arm. Erick’s glove ripped off with Phil’s thrown grip. Shit. Erick’s heart tumbled in his chest. He lurched toward the growing edge and somehow managed to grab hold. He pulled, wrenching the aching muscles in his back. But the wall closed over his fingers and seized his hand. His body jerked on the tether of his arm and screams tore from his throat. Frantically, he dug his heels into the ice but couldn’t pull free. Ice bit at his skin, its venom numbed him. The wall closed, edges joined in a circular prison. Trapped. Cold sweat beaded on his forehead as he scanned the bare snow for his captor. Nothing. No one. Something wanted him alive. For what? He couldn’t be here. He needed to find Eleanor. Darkness had nearly crept across the sky. Stars shone in the dark blue. She’d freeze. Erick dug at the ice wall with his free hand. Shavings fell from his numb fingertips. Though he glanced back frequently, something could sneak up on him while his back was turned. Fear trickled down his neck. “Let her go. Just creep back to your crumbling kingdom of sexist asses.” His mother. She stood behind him. His back went rigid. Erick turned about expecting the blade that sparkled in her shaking hand. She gasped in breath and sobbed it back out, face distorted like a crumpled piece of paper. Her knuckles whitened around the hilt of a sword. Its narrow tip swayed less than an inch from Erick’s chest. Afraid that a quick word could spring her into action, he carefully drawled, “Mother, she’ll die in the cold.” “No. That’s not why you’re here. It was the same with your father. I’d made it here, almost free when they found me. Mercenary elves dragged me back.” She spat out the words and the blade shook erratically. “I’d rather have died than go back.” Her shoulder tensed as if readying to make the blow. He flinched back from the blade. Heart tumbling, he scrambled for something to save himself. He threw words, like sand, “You have Phil now. He loves you.”
167
Vanessa Gilfoy
She shook her head and blinked tears, lower lip crushed against her upper lip. “I lived in a tower guarded by racists and he did nothing. That wasn’t love.” A sob escaped and she held the rest in with a curled wrist. Pain shouldn’t push his chest. He couldn’t look at her. The tears on her cheeks made his eyes sting. He unclenched his jaw but didn’t know what to say. Tongue pressed against the roof of his mouth, he could only swallow. She took a deep breath. “I won’t let you do to her what they did to me.” Her voice broke. He looked up. Both her hands tightened around the hilt while her swollen eyes blinked streams of tears. Heat sank through his chest and slumped his shoulders. Useless, his arms hung, though he wanted to hold her. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” But he did. He’d known. He’d just been so fixated on the misery she’d rained on him, that he hadn’t thought of her. He hadn’t thought of why she’d hurt him. “I don’t want to hurt you,” his mother sobbed. “Will you go back?” Please, say you’ll go back. He couldn’t, not without Eleanor. “I love her.” The blade pierced his chest. He couldn’t jerk free. It drove in, tearing through flesh and bone. Pain squeezed him. He couldn’t push her hands away. Couldn’t breathe. Gasped for air that wouldn’t come. Burning throbs spread from the wound and spilled down his sides. Beyond his struggling heart, he barely heard his mother. She wept over him. “I loved you in my way. But you look so much like him. I let them have you to give you what I couldn’t. I thought they’d make you a better man than I could have but you’re the same.” She yanked the sword free. Erick screamed with what breath he had left. He writhed, empty and burning. Blood spurted from the wound. His heart skipped beats and darkness ebbed at the stars and moons above him. No. He struggled to push back the darkness. He needed to save Eleanor. Snow crunched beneath his mother’s stumbling steps. She sobbed as she dragged the bloody blade away. It scraped along the hard surface. Please. But his wailed thought went unanswered. She didn’t seem to hear. Jaw clenched in agony, he couldn’t speak. He couldn’t beg for her help. He couldn’t save Eleanor like this. Blood and life seeped into the melting snow. Pain drifted, replaced by numbing cold that spread through his chest. Oh, no. Erick tried to tug his hand free from the wall. He couldn’t die here. Not yet. He’d turned his present card upside down. That should have prevented The Tower card from falling. 168
Masquerade of the Cursed King
Yet despite his struggles, Erick couldn’t move. He only hastened the oozing numbness up his neck and into his skull. He’d failed. He’d never let any woman close to him, afraid they’d be like his mother. Now he lay here dying because of that failure. If he’d accepted Eleanor, if he’d seen her for who she was, he wouldn’t be here and she wouldn’t freeze in the snow. And Phil. What will my mother do to Phil? Earth, this is all my fault. All for what? What had he been so afraid of losing? He hated the cursed crown. He had no cravings for power, no head for diplomacy. Loss and mourning had consumed him. What the hell did Ellie see in him? Something scraped ice and crunched in the snow. He couldn’t turn his head to look. Phil. Earth, he hoped it was Phil. But the rhythm was off. Quick and fluttering, like a woman. Shit. His mother. Come to finish the job. He coughed blood and struggled against closing darkness. Eleanor’s face appeared over him. Angelic except for the scowl on her face. “You’re such an idiot.” An ember of warmth flickered heat through his chest. He clung to it, hoping for just a few more minutes. “Ellie,” he tried to say but his mouth wouldn’t work. “Don’t.” She dropped to her knees and burned his wound with her tiny hands. Unbearable agony arched his back and lurched his gut. If he could scream, he’d beg her to stop.
169
Vanessa Gilfoy
Chapter Twenty-Three
December 30, 9544 AR Damien Pass, Santarra Mountains Pain bludgeoned Marilyn’s chest and sobs gushed out. Why hadn’t he just gone home? He wouldn’t have writhed beneath her blade. Marilyn squeezed her eyes shut but the image stained the backs of her eyelids. His blood, her son’s blood dripped down her blade into the snow. The red splatters on her pant legs seeped through and should have chilled her skin. But they burned. She hadn’t wanted to hurt him. Marilyn wiped at the tears that stung her eyes and cheeks. Her empty insides churned and she wished she could go back to undo what she’d done. She’d only meant to save the girl. He’d refused to set the girl free. Marilyn had no other choice. But it was all for naught. Eleanor had climbed over the wall. Despite Marilyn’s warnings, the girl repeated the same mistake Marilyn had twenty-five years ago. Earth, that girl. Marilyn wiped her dripping nose with her thick coat sleeve and sniffled. There was nothing more she could do, short of dragging Eleanor to Gildon. The thought lifted Marilyn’s heavy gut a bit but no. That would be wrong. Marilyn would be no better than the girl’s elven mother if she did that. Damn it. “What did you do?” Phil’s voice demanded. “Not enough.” She should have finished him but she couldn’t. Her son, her own flesh and blood had bled at the end of her blade. He’d have slowly died from the wound. That should have been enough. Marilyn opened her eyes and found Phil standing before her in the pink moonlight. The hard bulge of his brow shadowed his face but softened as his gaze searched hers. “You didn’t.” He exhaled, seemingly relieved. “He’s okay. Earth.” The jerk would probably gloat soon about the good in everyone. He had no idea how close she’d come to saving Eleanor. Bitterly, Marilyn muttered, “Yes. You won. She chose him.” Marilyn stepped around Phil to trudge through the snow, back to Damien Pass. “Wait, Marilyn.” He grabbed hold of her wrist and tried to turn her around. “Everything is as it should be. We can start over, now. You and me.” “I already am starting over. Go see to your protégé.” “Eleanor has him.”
170
Masquerade of the Cursed King
Marilyn’s chin tensed and strained her lips. She covered her mouth but couldn’t hold back renewed sobs. They shook her chest and squeaked through her cold fingers. That girl. Earth, why didn’t Eleanor listen? “Shhh, my love.” Phil pulled her into his embrace. Marilyn wanted to shove him away but she needed him, just one last time. She hid in the warmth of his chest and her wet cheeks stuck to the fur of his coat. Her whole body trembled as ache burst out her throat. “It’s okay. He won’t hurt her. He’s not like his father.” How could he be any different? Erick looked just like Raulin. Even his voice and cadence. Only a few stray thoughts of worry and kindness didn’t fit the mirror image. Could that slight difference be enough? Marilyn’s tongue swelled against the back of her throat and she nearly choked. Had she done wrong here tonight? Marilyn shifted her weight back onto her own two feet. No. Twenty-five years ago, when she fled through this mountain pass, she’d wished for someone’s help. Eleanor deserved that chance for escape. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. You can’t see what happens behind closed doors.” Marilyn lifted her face from the sticky fur. She swallowed and pushed back out of Phil’s arms. “Better to err on the side of caution.” “No, Marilyn. Don’t. Please. I need you.” “Enough to keep me locked in a tower, for fear I’d leave you?” “No. I would never.” “But you did.” He never tried to rescue her. Her chest caved and heated. To keep from crying, she touched her lips. Phil reached for her, as if he meant to comfort her. “Don’t.” Marilyn jerked her shoulder away. His lower lip fell away from his mouth and his gaze faltered. “Didn’t I take good care of you?” He threw images at her of their nights together, seemingly meaning to soften her to him. But it wasn’t enough to ease the pain in her chest and gut. Marilyn spun about and ran. Spells sputtered from her lips to bend moonlight and lift her from the snow. She ran on crystallized vapor. No tracks. Yet he followed. His feet crushed snow as he ran only a few feet behind her. “Marilyn.” It shouldn’t hurt. She shouldn’t want to crumple into his arms and sob how much she loved him. It wasn’t love. Dependence. She’d known nothing else for the past ten years in her prison. His panting breath and crunching steps faded behind her. Free. That word should taste sweet on her tongue and tickle like a melting snowflake. But tears stung her eyes and salt filled her mouth.
171
Vanessa Gilfoy
***** Something cold draped over Erick’s chest. Colder than the snow at his back. It fought every painful breath. His lids scraped up his eyes. Vision blurred, Erick made out a dark smear. A faint perfume wafted up his nostrils and sped his aching heart. “Ellie?” he coughed. She didn’t respond. When he forced his chest up, his head scraped up the ice wall and his gut knotted agonizingly. But both his hands were free. One bare and numb. She limply rolled onto his lap and into his arms. Had she fallen asleep? In the snow at night? Why couldn’t he think straight? A fog seemed to cloud his brain. He blinked away the blur from his eyes and pulled off his other glove. Raven locks hid her face. Erick pushed them back with his warm hand. The silky strands tangled around his fingers and her cold cheek electrified his skin. Earth, her magic felt good. Her hair fell away from her upturned face. Blue. Dark navy blue stained her eyes and mouth. Damn it. She’d given up too much energy saving him. Erick scooped her up to his chest and daggers seemed to stab his back as he clutched her close. Heat escaped through his tight throat. He couldn’t hold back the sobs. He shut his eyes but tears squeezed past. “Ellie, why do you do this?” She’d repeatedly risked her life for him, despite the pain he’d caused her. He didn’t deserve her sacrifice. Nearly drained of energy, she could have died. He was supposed to have saved her. Icy cold, her forehead chilled his flushed cheek. Body heat alone wouldn’t be enough. “Take everything I have.” He pressed his hand to her cheek. Shamefully, the sensation hardened his cock, until the sparks blazed hotter than before. They scorched his palm. He wailed. Even if he wanted to, he couldn’t pull away. She drew energy from him like blood sucked up from his veins. It burned through his flesh until icy cold seeped from his numb toes, up his legs to his gut. Phil tore Erick’s hand away from her pale blue cheek. “Save some to carry her down the pass,” he warned, winded. Erick hadn’t heard him approach. Had the old man scaled the wall? “Come on.” Phil tugged him up. Wobbly, grip trembling under Eleanor’s weight, he’d have fallen over if not for Phil. Flashes of light, almost like the stars above, circled Erick’s periphery. Stomach empty and growling, he needed to replace what he’d lost. But there wasn’t time. Night had fallen.
172
Masquerade of the Cursed King
Red moonlight on the left combined with white moonlight on the right to make pink in the center. He normally hated the Red Moon. Its bloody light reminded him too much of the aftermath of battle. But tonight, it shone like a magical piece of heart in the sky. He squeezed Eleanor’s limp form. Even in pants and a bulky coat, she seemed like a pixie dangling from his arms. The beautiful lines of her neck begged for his mouth but it was just her pheromones’ affect on him. “She saved me,” Erick mumbled. She could have left him for dead but she didn’t. Did that mean Ellie still wanted him? He hadn’t lost her? “Of course she saved you,” Phil grumbled. “Let’s go.” How? A smooth wall of ice surrounded them. “I climbed a tree on the other side,” Phil said while scanning the clearing. But there were no trees on this side. Just a white, circular wall, like a hybrid prison cell, complete with the white floor. Except for red moonlight on one side. The old man drew a dagger from a scabbard at his belt and stabbed into the ice, high above his head. Tiny fractures spread like new spiders from an egg sac. He did the same with the other but he couldn’t expect to break the ice. It had to be at least three feet deep. “I need yours too.” Phil took them from Erick’s belt and slid them into his own scabbards. The old man pulled himself up with the planted daggers and stood on them. He shouldn’t have been able to do that. “How…?” Phil cut him off, “Your mother.” Magic. She must have stopped time’s hands from Phil’s body. Wait. Why hadn’t Phil chased after her? “She doesn’t want me,” Phil grunted as he stabbed Erick’s daggers into the ice. Erick’s gaze dropped to Ellie’s pale blue face. Would it be the same? Would she turn him away too when she woke? But she could have left if she wanted to. She could have let him bleed to death in the snow. “I held on too tightly, afraid of losing her.” Phil’s mouth pressed into a hard line and his head jerked with each stabbed dagger. “If I’d met her earlier before she’d been hurt, maybe things could have been different.” Relief shouldn’t soften Erick’s gut. He should feel sorry for Phil. “Maybe she’ll change her mind.” But the words lacked any verve. With a scowl, Phil climbed up Erick’s daggers to the top of the wall. He rolled onto his belly and reached down. “Lift Ellie up.” Unconscious, she’d just fall limply back. “We need rope.” Phil shook his head. “Lift her upside down, facing the wall.” It didn’t make sense at first. But Erick pressed her against the ice. Oh, he wanted to wake her and do something else up against the wall. He let her torso fall back from his
173
Vanessa Gilfoy
arms and gripped her hips. When he turned her body and hoisted her plump cheeks to face level, her thighs fell back and parted on his shoulders. He nearly moaned. The scent of her sex wafted up from her trousers. The rich mixture of roses and honey made his mouth salivate and his cock painfully rigid. If he could bury his face in that scent. Not the right time. He held his breath to avoid her perfume, as he reached down for her shoulder. He heaved up, one hand on the side of her waist, the other on her shoulder. Before she could fall back and topple them both, Phil grabbed hold of her foot. He tugged her up and disappeared with her on the other side. Fatigued and aching, Erick’s shoulders trembled with the strain of just his weight as he pulled himself up the wall. It was just from the blood loss and lack of sleep and Ellie draining energy from him. One last pull and he lay atop the wall, panting for breath. He looked over the other side for Ellie and Phil. Gone. His heart jumped. Phil wouldn’t. Ellie was his niece. Erick slid down the other side of the wall into a pile of snow. Air knocked from his chest. He couldn’t move at first. Dense woods hid the stars and moons. Only splinters of the path showed between evergreen trunks and interlaced branches. When he scrambled up and darted through the woods onto the path, he feared he’d find nothing but a trail of half-formed footsteps. Phil grimaced with disgust. “I changed her diapers. Why would you think that?” The old man knelt beside her and unfolded a blanket over her. She lay on the sled. A few supplies were tucked up against her but not enough for all three of them. Phil took hold of the rope and rose, toward Biston. “No. Other way. Gildon’s closer.” They could sled down the smoother terrain on Gildon’s mountainside. “Are you sure that’s wise?” Phil asked, warningly. Erick swallowed the lump in his throat. “No but Ellie could die down the longer path.” Gildon wasn’t much safer for him. The long and frequent wars between Gildon and Biston made Erick a favored target to bitter soldiers who’d lost brothers and fathers at Bistonians’ hands. But that wasn’t what Phil meant. Gildon offered riches and power Erick couldn’t match. He couldn’t compete with Gildon’s technologies and magic. If Eleanor had saved him only out of kindness, he was doomed. What if she didn’t want him? He’d said horrible things and had treated her no better. He’d given her no reason to stay with him. What if he was too late?
174
Masquerade of the Cursed King
Chapter Twenty-Four December 31, 9544 AR North Point, Gildon
“Mmm, Erick.” She snuggled into his tingly embrace. Nude and so deliciously warm. The muscles of his back danced beneath her palm and his hard rod twitched at her hip. She couldn’t help but palm his firm cheek and squeeze to feel him buck. “Wait, Ellie. We need to talk first.” His hot cock disappeared from her. Eleanor froze. He didn’t normally talk in her dreams. Earth, why was she even dreaming of him? She hated him. Her eyes burst open. His bare chest, scars and everything pressed against her face and his thick arms wrapped around her. When she tried to push free, his hold snaked tighter. What was he doing here? “Relax. It’s okay.” She clenched her jaw to keep from sobbing. No more crying. The jerk didn’t deserve her tears. If she didn’t feel so weak, she’d scream spells at him. She writhed to get a knee between them. “Stop, Ellie. Just calm down and feel me.” Blankets slithered away from her face with her struggles to reveal a room she didn’t recognize. Fire hissed and spat from the corner where a rich burgundy throw draped on the edge of a velvet settee. Intricate, flowery designs swirled on the carpet below, too clean and perfect for Biston. Both crescents of moons shone from the night sky outside the window. New Year’s Eve. Earth, she was supposed to make it to Gildon before then. Whispers from deep in the Earth wafted up like the scent of fresh baked sweet bread. Warm. But that couldn’t be right. Had they woken? How? “Don’t you like it?” he whispered and stroked her back as if they were smitten lovers on a romantic New Year’s Eve getaway. Aren’t we? he silently asked. Earth, he was in her head. In every thought and every memory, even parts she kept hidden. She shoved and squirmed but couldn’t push him out. He’d never been so strong before. No, she was just weak. She’d lost too much energy. With some distance and rest, she should be fine. Maybe she hadn’t finished healing from Marilyn’s tea. But tiny doubts struck holes in her self assurances. “I can’t help it. I just needed to feel you,” he breathed, heating her scalp and fluttering her hair.
175
Vanessa Gilfoy
Her empty stomach churned. “I hate you. Can you feel that?” How dare he? The heartless bastard toyed with her so fickly. Did he enjoy torturing her? Did he honestly expect her to roll over and say it was okay that he treated her like dirt? Wait. He didn’t know who she was. None of this could be real. Was she dead? Maybe the snow. Earth, she’d only meant to use a little energy to heal him, then leave. Had she died in the snow? Was this hell for what she’d done for him? Eleanor squeezed her eyes shut. Claws seemed to dig into her heart. Her hell was the torments of a man who was supposed to love her. “No.” He pulled her up to face him. But she couldn’t look. She didn’t want to see the scowl and judgment on his face. “I love you, Ellie.” Sobs beat and crushed her chest. Those words weren’t supposed to hurt. He tried to kiss her strained lips but she lowered her chin against her chest to hide from him. She didn’t deserve this. Blind, ignorant love had made her do those horrible things. It wasn’t her fault. She hadn’t wanted to. “Ellie, look at me. You aren’t dead. This isn’t hell,” he snapped, as if insulted. “I’ve done all the things you have and worse. No magic but the same general principle. In the Revolution, I killed men for a crown I didn’t even want. I did it for my oath-brothers and all the sacrifices they made for me. You remember, right?” At only ten years old, she couldn’t protect them. Erick hadn’t been much older, only fifteen, too young for war. She’d comforted him in their new home while everyone else scoured blood from the floors and walls. She’d hidden the stains with magical realms and soothed his wounds with twists of logic and stories of heroes. He’d let her help him then. “The Revolution would have happened regardless of whether I wanted it or not and if I didn’t kill them, they would have killed me. I don’t like it but I’ve come to terms with it. All this,” he gently poked her hidden guilt and wrongs, “is my fault. I’m sorry, Ellie. It shouldn’t have been you alone. I was a moron not to see. Now open your eyes and look at me.” She wished it was enough but it wasn’t. There was nothing he could say to erase his past tortures from her mind. Eleanor forced her heated eyes open and started to demand he leave, when he surprised her. His dark eyes shimmered with an expression she rarely saw in them. Nervousness. Why? She tried to slip into his mind but he completely blocked her. He’d never been able to do that before. “Wait,” he said. He took a deep breath. “Okay,” he exhaled and moved to touch her cheek.
176
Masquerade of the Cursed King
She jerked back, neck taut. Earth, that’s not what she wanted. Eleanor squeezed her eyes shut and turned away. What was wrong with him? “I don’t want to be your fucking whore,” she screamed and wrenched free. How could she be any clearer? She stumbled from the bed onto the polished wood floor and scanned the room for something, anything to wear. He bolted after her and grabbed her wrist. “No, Ellie. Wait.” He knelt beside her feet, nude and so temptingly beautiful. “Marry me.” His brow creased and his mouth opened but an explanation didn’t follow. She’d have melted at those words years ago. Now, they only hardened the ball in her gut. “That’s it?” No heartfelt persuasions. No testimonies of love. Nothing to convince her that he wouldn’t hurt her again. “Why now? Why not when I waited years for you to rescue me? You never even came to visit me. I’d begged you not to let them take me away but you didn’t stop them. And when I asked for your help, you ignored me. Fuck off.” She twisted her wrist from his grip to snatch the burgundy throw. Her whole body shook, rage pounding through her. “Ellie, I was a mess. I was so fixated on everything I’d lost I couldn’t see what I had. I didn’t know who you were to me and how much you meant. But I can see now.” With the throw rug clutched to her chest, legs heavy, she hesitated. She wished she could kick him away and run. But a weak part of her wanted to believe him. So stupid. How could she? He’d been so cruel. “I know. I’m sorry.” He dropped his gaze. Kneeling on the floor, hands limp at either side, he’d have seemed remorseful and broken except for the thick erection that dripped pre-cum. “Your perfume,” he grumbled. “It’s impossible to think straight when you do this to me.” If only that didn’t send delightful shivers down her spine. That position begged her to stroke his wavy hair and pull back his head, while her knee would hook over his shoulder. Erick always did have nice shoulders. Beefy and broad. She could easily fit her tongue in the deep divot in the center, at the base of his brawny neck. Eleanor turned away to avoid the siren song of his hard body. Someone so awful shouldn’t be so beautiful. In a low, dull tone, he offered, “I got you something.” A bubbly feeling stroked her insides, though she didn’t want anything from him. Surprising he remembered. “Difficult to forget, being that it’s New Year’s Eve. Happy birthday.” With his chin, he motioned to the settee where the throw had been. A book. Elven script imprinted its cracked leather cover. Spells. Her mother kept texts like these locked away in a magically sealed chest. Was it real? She touched the brittle surface but nothing happened. She’d always expected them to tingle like Erick’s skin. When she carefully opened it, ancient elven words seemed to leap off the pages. Power vibrated in those words and in her chest.
177
Vanessa Gilfoy
“Where did you get this?” She’d searched all of Biston, as far as she could before her mother could catch her. “Here.” Erick audibly swallowed and his mind fell open to her with memories of yesterday and the night before. Flashes of snow and trees whooshed by while he held her unconscious body but the path was smooth. Morning light grew as snow gave way to lush green. Musical flowers that rang with in the wind waited at the base of the mountain pass, where soldiers in blue stood watch beneath red and gold flags. Gildon. They were in Gildon. Air rushed in, filling space she didn’t know existed. She’d fly if she could. Her mouth curled up and she bounced on the balls of her feet. While she stood taller, he slouched lower. Then she realized why he’d blocked his mind from her. He feared she’d leave. He had no power here. If he tried to drag her back to Biston, Gildonner police and soldiers would stop him to protect her rights. “I wouldn’t. I won’t keep you prisoner.” “You can’t.” She was free, finally free. She could be whatever she wanted here. Eleanor glanced out the open window. Below, calla lilies glowed and bluebells tinkled a soft melody. Beautiful. No deathly white prison walls or snow. Just luscious green and glowing, bright flowers of the colors Marilyn had draped throughout her cell. Colors of freedom. She could have so much more here in Gildon. A whole new life. Tomorrow, the new year would start. Ceres would teach her every spell, millions of times more than Erick’s gift. The thought repeated in her mind. The first gift in five years. Before the Duran War, he had given her a kiss on the cheek and a carved knick-knack every birthday. He’d carved them at Gran’s after Eleanor had fallen asleep. Wooden birds and flowers still sat on her bedroom windowsill at home but it was the kisses she’d treasured. “If you don’t want me, you can leave.” She wished she didn’t want him. She wished she didn’t see the boy she’d loved in his dark shimmering eyes. He wasn’t that boy anymore. His masculine body flexed under her gaze and she wished her eyes glowed solely from anger. “I don’t need your permission.” But her voice broke. “I know. But if you want me, then stay with me. Make me a better man. Call out your favors from Gildon and save Biston where I failed.” Was this a trick? Just to get her back to Biston? Why? He hated her. Not to mention, her father would kill him for using her as a whore. “No. Ellie, that’s not what I want. This isn’t a trick. I need you for more than that.” But his mind flickered with the memory of the last time they’d made love. The image of his hands on her breasts made her neck hot and sticky. She shouldn’t crave his electric touch and his warm mouth on hers. Her lit gaze trickled down the
178
Masquerade of the Cursed King
hard hills and deep valleys of his chest and abs to what she needed most. His cock twitched all the way up to his belly button. That submissive position displayed the power of his body so perfectly. Mmm, the possibilities. He could easily support her weight and pump up, buttocks taut, while she arched back on her elbows. Oh, she was an idiot to want something so base when much more waited outside. Eleanor found her clothes at the foot of the bed but before she could tug them on, he hissed in breath. Sensations of his hand rubbing his cock, drove into her mind. She couldn’t help but look. Earth, he knew her weakness. The reason she’d donned that stupid mask. Hint of a grin on his face, he masturbated in full view. Thick muscle rippled along his arm and chest, with each hard jerk. His thighs tensed, stiff buttocks lifted. His grunts rumbled through her. Heat flushed the front of her body and gathered deep in her belly. If he was her plaything, her whore, she’d more than enjoy him in that position. “Do you know what you do to me? How much I want you? I dream of you at night. In the morning, I imagine you in my bed when I do this.” His fingers caught on the crown of his cock with each rough stroke. The tight muscles of his abs bulged as his hips thrust up. Honey wet her thighs. Would it hurt to stay just a little longer? Just ’til morning? She couldn’t do much else at night anyway. Everyone was probably celebrating New Year’s Eve. Eleanor sat beside him on the settee and dropped the throw that covered her. He huffed out breath, gaze on her chest. Pre-cum drizzled down his knuckles. “Touch your breasts.” Butterflies tickled her stomach. “Like this?” She glided her fingertips slowly down her swells and circled her nipples. They hardened and twirled, sensitized by his hunger. “Yes,” he rasped. Rapid jerks shook his voice. Earth, her mouth salivated, watching him abuse his veiny cock. Her cunt wept with the slick honey she planned to soothe him with. But first, she wanted more. She parted her thighs, letting him look at her puffy, dripping lips. When she traced her center, down her furry mound, to her slick cleft, Erick moaned. She split her fingers in an upside down V to part her lips to his gaze. Air caressed her wet, firm opening and throbbing pearl. “Lick me.” He halted and grimaced, body taut and quivering. She feared he would come but he forced his fingers loose from his throbbing cock and dropped on all fours between her thighs. He blew, chilling her cunt, sending shivers up her spine just before he lapped between her fingers. His velvety tongue flicked from her needy hole to her twitching pearl. Sparks burst and she bucked, squeezing his face, tugging his hair. She screamed, head thrown back. Waves washed over her to relax her trembling thighs.
179
Vanessa Gilfoy
That’s when he seized her. He yanked her by the knees onto the floor. She barely registered her head thudding onto the carpet. Before she could think, he plunged into her, hard and unyielding. The naked ridge of his cock’s crown stroked her pussy on his hasty withdrawal. Each electrifying thrust came with a grunt. She couldn’t breathe. His mind so desperately clawed inside hers and filled her with his lust. His fingers dug into her hips pulling her closer, pushing his cock deeper. The fervent rhythm drew her up into his approaching orgasm. An electric hum vibrated through their nerves until that last thrust held tight inside her. It exploded wave after wave of current through their clenched bodies. Hot, thick, cream shot deep inside her, coating her already tingling tunnel. Oh Earth. Eleanor tried to pull away but he firmly gripped her hips, so her quivering pussy milked the last drop from his cock. How could she have been so stupid? Was this another ploy? Did he think if he made her pregnant she’d stay? Then what? Her eyes cooled, light extinguished. Relaxed, his weight nearly crushed her chest as his breath heated her neck. “Mmm.” He pushed himself up on his elbows. “You sure talk a big talk about love but when it comes down to it, you’re just as scared as I am.” She huffed out breath, meaning an argument to follow but nothing came. It was true. She didn’t want to feel the rejection that would follow tonight. If she let him touch her cheek, he’d see deeper depths of her betrayal and hate her. She had wanted the power that came with Marilyn’s spells. It wasn’t just for him that she’d learned. It was her pride too. “I already peeked while you were sleeping.” He grinned and rolled to his side, head propped up on his elbow. “You’ve always been proud, Ellie. That’s not a surprise to me.” But she’d gone to his mother. Erick just stared at her, mind distant. Relief didn’t loosen the knots in her gut. She shifted under his gaze. Even if he forgave her, could she forgive him? “Now that I can think, I have a theory about our five years apart.” He sat up on his haunches. “If you’d stayed, I’d have figured what you can do to me.” He stroked her arm and a trail of sparks followed. “I’d have taken advantage too early and you’d have hated me. This is the only way we could be.” “I hated you for ignoring me.” “I’m not ignoring you. I can’t.” He brushed her hair back from her face and sparks skittered from his fingertips. She shivered in spite of herself. Her eyes relit. Breath held, she waited for what she knew he’d worked up to. “Only if you want me to,” he said. 180
Masquerade of the Cursed King
Binding would permanently link them, unlike the loose tangle from their childhood. If it was meant to be, they could never be more than a day apart. “Would that be so bad?” She licked her lips and sat up, legs curled in front of her. “No.” But it would hurt. It wouldn’t just be the good memories that would open up between them. Unlike the pretend touch they’d shared in her imaginary world, true binding would toss them through every misery they’d ever experienced. Her hand shook when she reached up to palm his chiseled cheek. Her heart quickened as sparks burst from his skin. Breath puffed from his mouth and she felt the air scrape his throat, through him. She felt his skin spark beneath her touch. Although his eyes didn’t glow with memories, they raced from his mind. All consciously focused on her. Childhood games, her smiles, trust, times that she’d thought had no meaning to him. Warmth spread through her from his cheek. His younger self trained and showed off for her. The Revolution spewed from a tender spot but his mind slowed at memories of her comfort. He finally realized that he’d loved her then. She felt like an ember fluttering high from a fire. Up into his tightening embrace, she rose. Her thigh slipped between his and where their bare skin touched, sparks blazed. But she needed more. She dipped deeper into his mind, hungry for all of him. He tried to skip past the aftermath of the Duran War but she had to see, hoping it had somehow changed. Fresh guilt welled up at his callous judgments when he turned her away. Her growing hint of pheromone had scared him and severed what remained of their once close friendship. You were a child, he tried to explain but that wasn’t all of it. He couldn’t hide the true reason. He didn’t want a hybrid queen. She’d hoped his fear of her magic would disappear from the memory but how could it? It would always wound her. The sting would have jerked her hand away if not for his silent pleading. Wait. I promise it gets better. The electric hum grew between them but it shouldn’t have. Worse judgments pained her. Tears rolled down her cheeks, yet her nipples beaded. Her chest heaved with a confusing mix of want and anguish. Then he saw through Phil’s eyes. Everything suddenly flipped upside down. His views completely shifted. He saw her, the real her. No longer a little girl from the past, not the demon he feared and not the fictional Violet Glass. Despair lifted into hope by the time he reached the end of the mountain pass. Tension broke, current coursed and emotions scattered in all different directions. She sobbed against his neck. His chest shook against hers. He kneaded her back and crushed her into him. When the last electric spark dissipated and emotions settled into place, her mind sorted through the mess. She lifted her face from his damp neck. Through clear eyes,
181
Vanessa Gilfoy
she saw him—every thought, every reason and every desire. He was hers. All his beauty and all his flaws. She touched his stubbled jaw. “I love you, Erick.” He kissed her mouth. His lips cradled hers while his tongue caressed her cavern. Their first true kiss. He pulled back and her lower lip smacked her teeth like a released rubber band. “I’ve kissed you before.” Hard lines marked his brow and she felt guilt squeeze his chest. “Yes but you didn’t know it was me.” “It counts.” Before she could argue, he palmed her cheek. Bright light blazed from her burning eyes. Where his renewed erection pressed against her belly, current grew and swirled. She puffed out breath and clutched his hand on her cheek. Oh, she wanted this, regardless of the darkness that waited in the depths of her mind. When her early infatuation unfolded, he grinned and pride swelled his chest. Her every memory seemed to stroke his ego until the pain following the Duran War. Like a ship caught in a storm, they tossed about on a tumultuous sea of emotions. Waves crushed his pride on the rocks and left his ego bruised and battered. They both struggled to breathe, not just from pain. Her wet sex swelled and ached. His body rolled onto hers. Bare, hard flesh pressed heavy against hers, warming her skin, soothing the burn in her head. His knees pushed between hers, parting them to his firm thrust. “Shhh. It’s okay.” His tears wet her hair as he slowly withdrew and penetrated her again. The healing stroke sent shivers of pleasure up her spine. Tentatively he pushed deeper into her mind. Her efforts to win him, her failures to escape and the risks he’d forced her to take. With each memory, his cock stroked her, easing the ache. They grew closer to the present and he quickened. His harsh breath heated her scalp. Hot honey gushed from her with his pounding cock. When she felt only him, the veiny surface of his cock, the hard grip on her hip, his hand electrifying her cheek, she exploded. Current looped through them, over and over. Her body spasmed, arched and went rigid as she squeezed him in her clutch. She trembled even after the calm flushed through her. His scream echoed in her throbbing mind. His huffed breath, the tumbling rhythm of his heart, his relaxing flesh, all of him filled her mind as if his body was hers. “I love you, Ellie.” New Year’s cheers rang out below and rumbled the walls. The start of a brand new year.
182
Masquerade of the Cursed King
Chapter Twenty-Five January 1, 9545 AR North Point, Gildon
A brand new year. Slate wiped clean. Everything she was before no longer existed. All her sins, all her miseries—gone. Marilyn squealed like a child and kicked off the blankets. Oh, she could hardly believe it. A tingly feeling danced down the front of her body. Gildon. She’d slept and woke in Gildon. All the amenities of the greatest nation in New Pangaea graced her hotel room. Running water at the flip of a lever, crystals that glowed from stored sunlight, rich fabrics, vivid color. Even bright red lilies glowed from a delicately painted gold-and-red vase. Oh and Gildon’s loyal elementals. Their lulling whispers had soothed away her aches throughout the night. Their energy pulsed within plants, trees and water, despite the lack of hybrids and elves on the western border of Gildon. Ceres probably fed them every few months. Not as magical as the elven land on Gildon’s eastern border but nicer than any other chunk of mortal land. Gildon—it had everything. Her first day as a free woman. She would do so much better this time. No men to lure her astray. She’d finish her studies. Then they’d have no power over her. No prison would hold her. Earth, it would be a great year. A great beginning. Marilyn inhaled and held on to the scented goodness. More waited outside. She’d heard bluebells ringing on the wind, just after the cheers and Gildonner ballads that celebrated the new year last night. She hopped out of bed and quickly dressed. She tied her hair back from her pointed ears. Here, in Gildon, she didn’t have to hide them. She practically skipped out of the hotel room and onto the cobblestone street. A gentle gust of chilly morning air caressed her face but felt like heated bathwater in comparison to Biston’s bitter winters. Gildon had never known a destructive freeze, drought or blight during its hybrid queen’s reign and it never would. Ceres protected them like a goddess from myth. Ceres’ colors of red and gold furled from flagpoles up and down the sidewalks along the street. At the base of the steel poles, perfectly tended gardens glowed and played music, barely audible above the growing crowd of shoppers. Vendors had already set up their wares on tables and carts between the flagpoles. Fresh baked breads and hardy winter fruit filled baskets plentifully. Wonderfully sweet aromas mixed with that of savory meats from a restaurant down the street. Mouth-watering. No one cooked like Gildonners. Their eclectic style incorporated every type of food with varieties of sauces and spice. A playground for the senses. 183
Vanessa Gilfoy
“Five coppers,” a clean-cut vendor yelled at Marilyn and held up a length of red fabric. “Beautiful silk for a beautiful lady.” Other vendors waved to her and yelled their prices, as if she was like everyone else. People didn’t glare or cringe at the sight of her. A Gildonner police officer even strolled past without a second glance. Earth, that felt good. Her steps fell lightly here. Even the weight inside seemed to rise a little. How had she ever given this up? Her stomach growled. She didn’t remember ever feeling so hungry in the past ten years. She could devour everything that made the savory smoke that billowed out from the restaurant’s chimney. At the end of the street, just before the restaurant’s outdoor seating, a familiar mind tapped against her shields. Marilyn halted. Laughter bubbled up from her gut. It couldn’t be. Ceres? With ethereal grace, the Gildonner queen seemed to appear from nowhere, though it was just a trick Ceres used to sneak up on people. She smiled that motherly smile of hers and spread her arms out wide. Marilyn ran to her and grabbed on tight. The scent of home wafted up. Roses. “I never thought I’d see you again.” Oh she wished she wouldn’t tear. Joy split her lips with a broad grin, yet burned her eyes. “I missed you.” Ceres stroked Marilyn’s hair and kissed her forehead. “I expected two. Where’s your friend?” Marilyn quickly wiped her face with her sleeve, grin fallen. The tender wound inside that had seemed to disappear suddenly throbbed, reopened. “Eleanor’s young yet. She’ll come around.” No longer a gentle tap, Ceres’ mind broke past Marilyn’s shields and touched every memory all at once, like the tentacles of a sea monster. Ceres laughed. “Sea monster?” But her laughter suddenly stopped. She’d read what happened at the summit. Marilyn flinched as the weight inside suddenly dropped deeper. It tugged on her chest and shoulders. Oh no. Was it wrong? Should she have ignored him and just let his abuse happen? Maybe she should have. Marilyn hadn’t wanted to hurt him but she had to. Earth, would Ceres turn her away, or worse? Marilyn’s invisible weight’s tether agonizingly squeezed tighter. Something too quick to identify flickered across Ceres’ face. Was that disdain? Ceres shook her head. “No. What doesn’t kill us makes us stronger. Come on. Let’s go home.” She took Marilyn’s hand. Warmth spread up Marilyn’s arm. Unconditional love. It soothed where guilt and fear had rubbed her. But she didn’t deserve it. Ceres should have turned Marilyn away for what she’d done at the summit. Earth, Marilyn could still see Erick’s face contorted with pain as he bled.
184
Masquerade of the Cursed King
“Stop. You’re never going to heal if you keep picking at it. Are you ready to start your lessons back up?” “Yes.” If anything could heal her, it was Ceres’ magic.
***** April 13, 9547 AR Valetta, Biston Radiant beauty. Dirt and grime in Eleanor’s hair didn’t distract from her smiles. He’d never seen her so happy, even when they were kids. Erick’s own mouth curled up, watching her from the outer door of the parlor. Infectious joy. At this distance, he could feel more than the raging erection that normally stole his every thought. The southern wing nearly matched the rest of the palace, under her direction. Renewed, clean and whole. Artisans reproduced faded and worn interiors to splendor he’d never seen. The palace seemed more like the fantasies she’d projected on him in his darker hours. But it was real. Odors of dyes, fresh lacquers and sawdust lingered throughout the palace. She’d even sent tradesmen to learn new technologies from Gildon and the Onyx Empire to retrofit for plumbing and crystal-powered lights. Trade agreements had already opened up with a few western countries. In the past two years she’d accomplished more than the last three reigns. She’d turned everything upside down, yet he’d never seen more clearly. With Ellie and his remaining oathbrothers, the future seemed brighter, hopeful. Henry patted his shoulder. Pride swelled the older man’s chest at sight of his daughter. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Erick asked. So much loss could have been avoided if he’d known earlier who Eleanor was to him. “You had to open your eyes before you could see. You hadn’t wanted to.” Anre answered for her husband. She did that frequently, as if she was Henry’s voice. Before Erick could retort, Henry muttered something about grandchildren and wandered out of the room. They’d brought that up at least twenty times since the wedding. “When she’s ready,” Anre snapped and followed after Henry. Ellie needed convincing. A task Erick enjoyed nightly and daily. At her approach, his cock hardened, anticipating such a moment. He backed in to make way. Scents from the flowering garden wafted in with her perfume when she entered. Spring had never brought so many flowers. A few glowing varieties shipped from
185
Vanessa Gilfoy
Gildon even took root as if they’d always been there. But nothing smelled better than the pheromones from Ellie’s neck. Earth, she made him throb. Head tilted, eyebrows lifted, she shook her head slightly. A sign that meant she needed a little more convincing than usual. “I’m too tired,” she sighed and plopped down in his favorite re-upholstered chair. Her raven hair fluttered back over the fresh velvet. “A massage then.” He sat on the arm of the chair and pushed her shoulders forward. “Your massages are never just massages.” But she let him knead her tense flesh, relaxing to his touch. She knew what he wanted. Minds linked, secrets no longer existed between them. Her breath lengthened like it did when he fondled her breasts and he couldn’t help but dip his touch beneath the collar of her blouse. Her soft moan rewarded him. When he dipped deeper to soft flesh, her chest lifted up. Her desire for more nibbled at him, like her mouth on his neck. He pulled away and tried to block one thought, to surprise her. “Erick?” She rose, frustration on her face, eyes aglow. He tore her blouse open, startling her. That tiny gasp he loved, so rare, caressed his ears. Her petite breasts perked up, nipples hardening. So responsive. If not for his greedy cock’s demands, he’d spend hours worshipping her breasts. Just a little longer. He grazed her swells with the back of his fingers, the way she liked and watched her lips part with breath when he caught on her nipples. He cupped her and teased the tight buds between his fingers. The delicate weight pushed against his palms. Perfect. When she moaned, he filled her mouth with his tongue, tasting her. Earth, she electrified him. The sparks spilled down his throat with his eager swallow. Her tiny hands fumbled with his belt and shoved his pants down. She wet her fingertips with his pre-cum and swirled it down his length. Breath stopped in his chest. Abs hard, buttocks clenched, he wanted to grind forcefully against her. Her touch slipped away to crawl up his abs. “Tease,” he rumbled. “I like it when your muscles do this.” She palmed his quivering ripples. He always won this game. “I like when you do this,” he breathed in her ear and pressed his palm flat against the front of her thin skirt. Finger nestled in the cleft of her mound, he waited, thrilling in the current that gathered there. Her hardened pearl twitched and her hips bucked, in need of his touch.
186
Masquerade of the Cursed King
But he spun her about and shoved her over the arm of the couch, plump buttocks raised to him, raven hair fanned out on rich velvet. “I’ve wanted to do this for so long.” He lifted her skirt and tore down her silk panties. Her back arched to lift her supple cheeks. The sweet cleft glistened with her honey. Just the sight sent shivers of pleasure through his cock. He palmed her rump and dipped his fingers in her dripping pussy. Smooth and firm inside. Her rich perfume rose up thick and full with her moans. She rose up on her tiptoes, hinting that she wanted his cock. With a grin, he asked, “Enough foreplay?” “Yes,” she huffed, breathless. Though he wanted nothing more than to cram his cock hard into her tight hole, he rubbed her pearl with his slicked fingers. She cried out with frustration that pouted her lips. “Please.” Mmm, he loved that word. It always made his cock twitch. “I’m not sure that’s enough.” His painfully rigid cock argued otherwise but he ribbed her. “I wouldn’t want you to think I’m a whore who doesn’t need foreplay.” “Erick, I…” He plunged into her, bare. Her trembling tunnel electrified him. Her cry rang out just as the door opened. In its wake, stood Phil, grimacing. His head turned away, eyes squeezed shut. “Again, what’s wrong with your quarters?” he growled and yanked the door shut.
187
About the Author Indulge your secret desires with romance as dark as the richest chocolate. Dip into realms filled with mouthwatering vampires, tempting elves, and delightful shivers. Vanessa’s wounded characters struggle to fill needs that torture all of us. Let them draw you into their charged journeys. Writing began as Vanessa’s escape from an unpleasant past. Now it’s her passion, along with many cups of coffee. Ideas for her stories come from nightmares, daydreams, and occasionally real life. Science tidbits sneak into her novels due to her B.A. in Molecular, Cellular, and Developmental Biology from the University of California, Santa Cruz. She taught high school biology for several years, but now focuses on only one pupil while she writes. Vanessa lives in beautiful California with her loving family. Feel free to send her an email. She'd like to hear from you. Vanessa welcomes comments from readers. You can find her website and email address on her author bio page at www.ellorascave.com.
Tell Us What You Think We appreciate hearing reader opinions about our books. You can email us at
[email protected].
Discover for yourself why readers can’t get enough of the multiple award-winning publisher Ellora’s Cave. Whether you prefer e-books or paperbacks, be sure to visit EC on the web at www.ellorascave.com for an erotic reading experience that will leave you breathless.
www.ellorascave.com
