Storm Book 1 of Wings of Mist Series

His breath was a pungent mixture of death and decay that assaulted Rose's senses. It reminded her of the time she had come across a deer's carcass in the woods, rotting under the sun, during a lazy afternoon ride with her brother. She tried to pull back, but his grip was unyielding, holding her in place.

"What a lovely face." He leaned closer, and Rose could feel the coarse hairs of his beard scratch against the softness of her cheek. "Very intriguing."

She clenched her jaw and removed her chin from his grasp, narrowing her eyes at the king and giving him her most venomous stare. A sardonic chuckle escaped his lips as he looked her up and down, as if assessing a fine horse in a stable. Anger flared within her, hot and fierce, as she bit back the urge to slap the smirk off his face.

His gaze remained locked on her as he signaled for one of his personal servants to come forward. Long fingers twined in his beard, pulling the coarse strands together into a fine point. "Have her brought to my chambers this evening." He whispered loud enough for Rose to hear as the attendant bowed low.

The heat of anger morphed into an icy dread that wrapped around her like an invisible rope, tightening its grip around her neck, making it difficult to breathe. Panic set in as the words reverberated in her mind. There was only one reason a woman entered a man's chamber—and she wasn't naïve enough to think it was for tea.

The king returned to his throne, addressing the assembled lords. "You are all welcome to join my banquet tonight! For we feast like gods before my son's wedding tomorrow!"

Rose managed to move her legs as a servant led her to a seat a few feet away from the throne. She sank into the chair, her heart racing as her mind frantically searched for a way out of this predicament.

That's when she felt it—a burning gaze from across the room. Her gaze lifted to find a long-legged fae woman standing only a few feet from the crown prince. Her eyes cut through the air like lightning in a storm. Dressed in a fine embroidered russet dress that hit mid-thigh, she scowled at Rose, her arms crossed languidly over her chest. Unlike the handmaidens, her hair was short, reaching her collarbone, adding to her striking, commanding presence.

Instinct blared at her to keep as far from that woman as possible.

"Who is that?" She asked the servant by her side.

The man followed her gaze across the hall, his expression shifting to one of reluctance. "That is Delphine, the duke's daughter." He cleared his throat, as if hesitant to continue. "She... she had her sights on becoming the crown princess before the treaty."

Lovely.

She turned to look at the crown prince, surprised to find him watching her, his face a mask devoid of emotion. Her mind drifted back to the night before when he had plucked her from the sky with unsettling ease, like she was nothing more than a ripe apple ripe on a tree. The taste of his blood lingered in her memory, and she wondered if her bite had left a mark.

Rose strained her neck, trying to discern whether his hand bore any sign of injury.

When the court was dismissed, a clean linen bandage wrapped around his hand caught her eye. She didn't know whether to feel pleased or worried—especially with the king's earlier words hanging over her. She needed to ally herself and fast, if she was to survive the Moon Palace.

The servant beside her guided her to the kitchens, where she was served a simple meal of bread and cold veal that had been boiled in savory broth the previous day. Hungry, she relished every bite of the salted meat, allowing the thin strips of fat to melt and coat her tongue. It was the first meal she'd had all day. She had just finished a mug of warm fruit compote when she the servant ushered her back to the workroom for more fittings.

For hours, Rose stood on a stool as seamstresses flitted around her, pinning, sewing, and cinching the dress until it met the standards of a crown princess. She lost count of how many times the sharp pins pricked through the crimson fabric and stabbed her skin. She felt like a pincushion, certain that some pins had pierced deep enough to draw blood.

From her stool, Rose watched through the window as the day morphed into night. She took her evening meal along with the seamstresses in the room. Apparently, the dress's completion prevented anyone from leaving.

They all sat together at a table, waiting for the boiling bowl of mushroom barley soup to cool to a reasonable temperature for consumption. Rose stirred the broth with a wooden spoon, her stomach in a tight knot. The night was creeping closer, and she still had no plan. Confined to this room all day, she felt the pressure mounting as time ticked away.

"Is there any way I can avoid going to the king's chamber?" She said aloud, not looking up from her bowl.

If the room had been silent before, now it felt as if it had turned into a graveyard after dark. Even breathing seemed to stop.

Rose sighed and looked up. The women sat stiff as boards, frozen in a moment of collective uncertainty. None dared to meet her gaze.

"Please." she said, hoping to garner their sympathy. "I'm only eighteen years old... I don't... I can't."

One of the older women lifted her gaze, eyes glistening with unshed tears. "Nothing can be done, I'm afraid... but..." She tightened her grip on the spoon, as if gathering strength from the smooth wood. "If you can reach Prince Alric in time, perhaps he can think of something."

Rose bit her lip. How was she supposed to find that man? She had been in this place all day with no idea where to start looking for him.

"How can I find him?" Rose swallowed hard, her mind racing a mile per minute.

Silence filled the room once again.

She heard some of the younger women whispering and looked at them hopefully. One caught her eye but looked away, her gaze falling back to her bowl of soup.

If she had to beg—so be it. Better a beggar than what awaited her in the king's chamber.

"Please, I beg you as a lady." She stood from her seat, walking toward the younger women at the far side of the table. "If I ever gain power, I will never forget your kindness to me."

The young seamstress looked up, her expression hesitant, but a decision appeared to settle in her gaze. "I can go find Prince Alric when they take you to bathe. The king likes his women smelling of lavender and honey before he... um... takes them."

Rose felt the acrid taste of bile creeping up her throat. "And how do you know that?"

The woman looked back at her soup, shoulders tense. "I was taken... once." She shook her head, as if trying to dispel the memory. "It's a known fact that if you enter the palace... you can be chosen. Some women want to be chosen, and others do not."

"I see." She didn't, in fact, but what else could be said? It was horrifying.

The meal continued in silence, everyone lost in their own thoughts on the matter.

Rose could barely finish her soup as fear and anxiety twisted within her should she have to enter the king's chamber. Mentally, she had prepared herself for the prince—not his father. She didn't think she could stand to feel his breath on her face or his hands on her body.

When the knock came at the door, everyone seemed to startle in their seats.

A woman dressed in the palace navy uniform peeked her head inside, scanning the room until her eyes landed on Rose. "Princess, come with me. I am to take you for your bath."

For a split second, Rose considered running, her instincts flaring up in protest. But her better judgment held her back. It would solve nothing. She tried to steady her breathing as she stood from her seat, her movements slow.

She glanced at the young seamstress, and a small wave of relief filled her chest when the woman nodded in secret acknowledgment.

Like an unchained pet, she allowed herself to be led through one corridor and then the next. After several minutes, she lost track of the winding halls and stairs, the obsidian stone blending everything in the castle into an infinite midnight sky. All the torches had been lit, their flames dancing and casting ominous shadows against the cold stone.

Finally, the servant opened a door, and a warm mist and the soothing sound of rushing water greeted her. Rose stepped inside, glancing around at the large pool at the center of the room, a jade fountain gushing into its depths. Elaborate ivory tiles decorated the walls, laid out in intricate designs and patterns she was recognizing as Ceteran symbols.

Inhaling, she caught the pleasant scent of lavender, the fragrant purple flowers floating in the water capturing her attention.

A few servant girls bowed their heads to her before stepping closer and beginning to undress her. Rose felt her heart skip as the dress fell away and pooled on the floor around her feet. Working hands took her by the arms and ushered her into the pool.

It was happening too fast. Would the seamstress find Prince Alric in time? Would he be able to think of something—would he care enough to save her?

She shook her head, splashing some of the water out of the pool.

He would save her—he had done it before. She had to hold on to that hope, for without it, she was doomed. Rose groaned and sank into the pool, submerging herself entirely. She sat in the depths, the warm water enveloping her, holding her breath until she thought she might pass out if she didn't take a gasp of air.

She broke the surface, inhaling life-giving oxygen. Leaning her back against the edge of the pool, Rose closed her eyes for a moment, savoring the caress of the gentle ripples lapping against her skin. The women surrounding her sprang to action, lathering her golden hair with fragrant soaps that filled the air with the sweet scent of lavender and honey. They worked with practiced efficiency, rubbing her arms with various oils and scrubs, their palms warm and soothing against her skin.

As the women applied the last touches, the sound of footsteps echoed in the chamber, causing Rose's pointed ears to perk up. She glanced toward the noise, a flutter of hope in her chest, and heaved a silent sigh of relief when she recognized Prince Alric's imposing figure approaching.

Rose grabbed a towel from the maid's outstretched hand, wrapping it around herself with urgency as she hurried up the steps from the pool. The towel felt soft against her skin, and she was aware of the water dripping from her hair, creating a small stream that trickled down the tiles behind her. She rushed to dry herself, the sound of water splattering echoing in the otherwise serene room.

Steeling herself, she turned to face Alric; the tension thrumming in the air between them. As his piercing indigo eyes met hers, she felt the warmth of the steam mingling with the chill of apprehension, leaving her both uncertain.

"Take her to my chambers." His voice allowed for no questions. "Quickly, we don't have much time."

He turned on his heels, his black hair flying through the air like a whip, leaving Rose stunned.

Before she could utter a word, a towel was thrown over her head, plunging her into sudden darkness. Hands rushed around her, drying her with a fervor that felt almost frantic. The plush white towels wrapped around her, feeling stifling, as if they might suffocate her.

The women worked quick—brushing, drying, and dressing her at a speed that left Rose little room to breathe. She felt like a doll, maneuvered in every direction without regard for her own will. Frustration bubbled within her, and she didn't appreciate the lack of empathy.

"Stop!" She yanked her foot back as one woman tried to roughly slide a slipper onto it. "You're hurting me!"

"My apologies, princess." The servant bowed her head low.

Ignoring their flustered attempts to help, Rose snatched the slipper and put it on herself, asserting some control in a situation that felt overwhelming. She had been poked and prodded enough for one day. Smoothing her hair, she rubbed her scalp where the handmaidens had yanked too hard, the lingering discomfort a reminder of their inconsiderate haste.

"This way, princess." One servant pointed toward the door, beckoning her to follow.

Rose took a deep breath, squaring her shoulders, and followed the servant, wondering which way they would go this time. She walked down a dim corridor and up a staircase to a set of large double doors. Two guards stood on either side, their swords hanging from belts at their hips, eyes sharp and assessing.

"Princess Rose is here to see the prince," the servant announced.

The guards looked her over, exchanging glances before one nodded and pushed the doors open.

With a surge of bravery, Rose stepped inside, only to have the doors slam shut behind her with a heavy thud that echoed in the spacious chamber. She tensed as she caught sight of the enormous bed to her right, adorned with pillows of every size in shades of gray and purple.

Prince Alric stood beside the bed, several papers in hand, a furrow etched into his otherwise relaxed features.

"Get on the bed."

Rose blinked, confusion settling in.

"Are you deaf?" He looked up at her, irritation flashing in his indigo eyes. "Or just dumb?"

She cleared her throat, finding it suddenly dry. "I'm not sure what you mean. I thought you were going to help—"

In one swift motion, Alric threw open the blanket, exposing the pristine white sheets beneath and sending decorative pillows tumbling to the floor. "Get on the bed."

Her breaths quickened, panic tingling through every fiber of her being as his intent became alarmingly clear.

Muttering under his breath, he placed the papers on the bedside table. In three strides, he was at her side, grabbing her arm and pulling her toward the bed, roughly throwing her onto it.

"What are—"

"I'm helping you." His voice turned dangerously low as he climbed on top of her, tearing at her dress and exposing her milky breasts.

Frozen in place, Rose watched him unbutton his tunic, the fabric falling, along with his belt, to the ground with a dull thud. His pointy ears perked at the sound of something outside, and a curse flew from his lips. "Eager old, bastard." He turned back to her, seizing her arms and pinning them above her head.

His breath tickled her ear, warm and invasive, as he leaned into her, the heat from his body radiating against her skin. "Scream."