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She was powerful, yes, but…

Had no one else heard it?

My stomach rolled uneasily as I glanced upward again.

As I did, a shadow glided between the two arches high above the priestess. Massive wings stretched wide. But when I blinked, it was gone.

I searched the crowd again, hoping someone would be looking upward as well, that someone else had seen…

But all those sharp fae eyes were trained on the water-works in the middle of the hall.

It must have been my imagination. The remnants of the tea I’d made the night before, too much nightbloom flower—

The priestess’ voice swirled through the room, carried on a dozen winds of elemental magic: “Her Royal and Powerful Majesty, Veyka Pendragon, Queen of the Elemental Fae.”

I stepped forward, past the dais, into the void of space left just for me.

“The Heir of the Terrestrial Fae, Brutal Prince and Protector of Annwyn, His Highness Arran Earthborn.”

From the knot of earth-toned wool at the other end of the throne room, a massively tall male stepped free. The dark-haired, surly fae scout stared at me across the expansive throne room.

Realization slammed into me with more force than the combined wind magic of every elemental fae in that hall.

He could not betray me to the Brutal Prince. Hewasthe Brutal Prince.

16

ARRAN

Veyka Pendragon, second born of Uther and Igraine, the female dubbed the Princess of Peace by a kingdom stunned by her very existence, stepped onto the dais.

She’d been beautiful in that clearing, sweat rolling down her limbs, her white hair matted against her face. But in all the finery of the elemental court, she looked like she’d come through the rift from another world entirely.

Her hair was styled similarly to every other elemental female watching from the wings, in an ornate plait that hung to her waist. But the color was unique. Not a pale platinum blonde or the silvery gray of old age so rarely seen among our kind, but a true white.

Her gown was revealing, showing off all the soft curves of her body. A golden brassiere held her breasts in place. They were nothing short of magnificent, barely contained by the forged curves of metal, begging to be touched. I knew that if I turned and surveyed the courtiers, I would see many eyes burning with desire.

A new flame lit inside of me.

Mine.

That soft stomach revealed below the gold brassiere—mine. The ivory pale skin of her navel, framed by the deep V of the belt that held the silky, translucent folds of her skirt in place—mine. Those strong, muscular legs revealed by the slits cut up to her hips had one purpose—to be wrapped around my waist while my cock was buried inside of her.

Thank the Ancestors my eyes were so dark that no one would be able to see my lust unless they were standing right in front of me.

The only person in front of me was Veyka Pendragon.

She looked like the queen of hell herself.

Every elemental courtier, dressed in all their jewels and flowy finery, wore soft pastel shades gilded with gold and silver. But not the Princess of Peace.

She wore black.

When her eyes landed upon me, I could feel the burning from the other side of the throne room. And it had nothing to do with desire.

She was incandescent.

In a sea of beautiful but carefully indifferent faces, the fury poured off of her.