Page 1 of A Kiss of Healing & Honor (Darkstone Academy #4)

“Please don’t tell me you’re in love with Jacinthe,” said my sister Alondra. Her voice was nearly drowned out by the music and conversations filling Darkstone Academy’s Great Hall. “You know she’s involved with Lord Tama. And Prince Boreas, too. You don’t stand a chance.”

She pointed with her chin across the banquet table, indicating the silver-haired merman and the big, flame-haired Wind-Walker sitting on either side of Jacinthe on a long bench.

“And maybe even Senior Apprentice Gwydion,” she added, with an unhappy look at my Fae friend. “But I hope not. It wouldn’t be fair if she snared all the interesting men on this island.”

Thanks to the cursed soul-bond I shared with Jacinthe, I knew more than I ever wanted to about her involvement with the three men my sister had just named.

But I feigned ignorance. “What in Vesta’s name are you talking about?”

Alondra didn’t know about the soul-bond. Our small soul-bonded group had decided a month ago not to reveal its existence unless absolutely necessary. Only my mentor, Mage-Healer Armand, knew about it.

“Oh, please, brother.” My sister rolled her eyes. “Everyone saw you kissing Princess Jacinthe this morning after the duel.”

My throat went dry at the memory of her soft lips beneath mine, and the way her breasts had pressed against my chest.

“That—that meant nothing!” I sputtered, reaching for my goblet of spiced cider. “I—I was just relieved that she survived the duel with Lady Erzabetta. Especially after Erzabetta almost destroyed this island.”

Alondra snorted, unconvinced. “If you say so. But don’t think I haven’t noticed you staring at the princess when you think no one’s looking.”

I gave her a ferocious scowl. It was a curse having a little sister who knew me all too well.

Then I turned away from Alondra and concentrated on demolishing the delicious roasted chicken on my plate.

The castle’s kitchen staff had really outdone themselves tonight, especially considering the short notice of this celebration feast.

As I ate, I felt the burn of Alondra’s gaze studying me.

Don’t look at Jacinthe, I told myself.

But I found it impossible to resist the impulse. She sat directly across the table from me and drew my gaze like a magnet attracting iron filings.

Tonight, she wore a beautiful green-and-gold gown. Her smooth, brown breasts swelled appealingly over the top of the low-cut neckline. Her flame-colored hair was braided and pinned around her head like a crown, leaving the slender length of her neck deliciously bare.

I couldn’t help imagining myself kissing my way down her throat. And then continuing down further. I wanted to bury my face between the sweet pillows of her bosom while lifting her skirts and spreading her long, smoothly muscled legs—

As if sensing my heated trained of thought, Jacinthe turned away from Boreas and shot me an inquiring glance from her wide hazel eyes.

At the same moment, I felt her concern and surprise at whatever emotions had leaked through our bond.

What if she senses I was just thinking about ravishing her right here on the banquet table?

Horrified and ashamed, I looked back down at my plate.

Why can’t I just close off this bond? I asked myself for the thousandth time since volunteering to take part in Gwydion’s damned Fae spell.

“Look, Ilhan,” Alondra said, sliding her arm around my waist. “I’m not trying to tease you. Well, not much, anyway. But I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“Thank you,” I murmured, forcing a smile.

Alondra’s empathy was new and unexpected.

Following our father’s arrest for conspiracy against the imperial throne, and our exile to Darkstone Academy as political hostages, my sister had spent the past two years driving me crazy with her rebellious moods and taste for trouble.

To be honest, Alondra’s behavior had improved dramatically since her ill-fated decision to join Lady Cresta and Lord Bernardo last summer in trying to extort sweets from Jacinthe and another junior kitchen apprentice.

Boreas had unexpectedly intervened to defend Jacinthe and her young companion, using his Fire magic to burn off the three bullies’ hair and clothing. The resulting public humiliation had taught my sister a lesson that none of my lectures and reprimands had.

I continued, doing my best to sound puzzled. “Why would I get hurt? We’re just friends and fellow apprentices.”

Another lie. My feelings for Jacinthe had always been a tangled mess.

We might not be lovers in the physical sense—not yet, whispered a traitorous voice in my head—but Jacinthe and I were so much more than mere friends.

Friends didn’t share every experience, every emotion, every thought like we did.

I couldn’t count how many times I’d lain in my lonely bed over the past few months, playing an unwilling voyeur to Jacinthe’s passionate encounters with Tama, Boreas, and Gwydion.

Or how many times I’d desperately prayed for a way to shut down our connection.

In the beginning, when I—and everyone else—still thought Jacinthe was nothing more than a low-born kitchen apprentice, I’d considered her a threat to my sister.

The surge of emotion and despair I felt a few weeks later, when Jacinthe lay dying from a death-curse,that blackest of magic spells, had taken me by surprise.

I still didn’t understand what had compelled me to volunteer for Gwydion’s dangerous Fae cleansing ritual. I only knew I couldn’t let Jacinthe die if it lay in my power to save her.

Afterwards, when I realized I and the other spell participants were permanently soul-bound to Jacinthe, I’d been terrified of what Father would think if he found out I’d bound myself to a low-born indentured servant.

So, I’d held myself aloof from Jacinthe as best I could, hoping our soul-bond would wither away in time.

It hadn’t worked.

We’d spent the fall and winter months carrying out our duties side by side as infirmary apprentices. I’d learned that Jacinthe was a gifted healer, intelligent, compassionate, and astonishingly well-educated for the daughter of a simple village healer from the remote Western Isles.

Only my pride—and the knowledge that Jacinthe had taken the other men who’d soul-bonded themselves to her as her lovers—had kept me from declaring my growing feelings for her.

This morning, I’d plumbed the black depths of terror and despair when I’d watched the academy’s chatelaine, Lady Erzabetta de Norhas, nearly kill Jacinthe during their magical duel.

Suddenly, it longer mattered if I had to share Jacinthe with Tama, Boreas, and Gwydion. I knew I couldn’t waste this precious second chance I’d been given.

I cleared my throat. “Your Highness,” I addressed Jacinthe, using her royal title like I always did in public. “May I speak to you in private later? After the meal?”

My Fae friend and fellow infirmary apprentice, Gwydion ap Pwyll, smirked at me. Despite my attempt to hide my interest in Jacinthe, I was sure he’d guessed the truth about my growing feelings for her.

Boreas and Tama both shot me curious looks. The two of them were complete opposites in every way.

The slender, silver-haired merman Tama was as cold as the polar seas he called home, quiet and deeply reserved most of the time. He’d been Jacinthe’s steadfast protector ever since meeting her on the ship that had carried both of them to Darkstone Island. And I’d seen how deadly he was when angered.

Boreas the Wind-Walker was a giant in his human shape. The Dragon was generous and outgoing with a booming voice, but he also had a quick temper and a foul mouth. He was fearless to the point of foolhardiness, and I envied his easy confidence and loud charm.

“Of course, Lord Ilhan,” Jacinthe responded with careful formality. Then she smiled at me, her eyes lighting up with the same genuine warmth that flowed through our bond.

Despite the bruises and abrasions marring her features from the duel, she still looked beautiful.

I wanted to hurl myself to my knees and declare my love on the spot. Only my upbringing of rigid self-discipline kept me from making a fool of myself in front of my friends and the entire academy.

“Thank you,” I managed.

I looked away again, desperate for some kind of distraction.

Tonight, Darkstone Academy was celebrating the promotion of my aunt, Baroness Amella Margitts, as the academy’s new chatelaine, and Antoni Guisbald, the castle’s former master-at-arms, as its castellan.

The two of them sat side by side at a table elevated on a dais at the back of the hall. The academy’s eleven surviving Mage-Instructors shared the head table with Aunt Amella and Castellan Guisbald.

My fellow mage-students crowded the long banqueting tables, their animated conversations echoing off the vaulted stone ceiling high overhead. The air was thick with the scent of roasted meats and mulled cider. Candlelight gilded walls adorned with vibrant tapestries that told stories of ancient battles and legendary heroes.

Aunt Amella looked twenty years younger tonight. Her usual sour expression had vanished as soon as the academy’s staff and students had voted her the new chatelaine.

Now, she was actually smiling as she chatted with Mage-Instructor Bevitrice, who was seated to Aunt Amella’s left.

This morning, Aunt Amella had promised to be a benevolent administrator for Darkstone Academy.

I wanted to believe her. When Alondra and I arrived here two years ago, I’d barely recognized my once-carefree and beautiful aunt.

At some point during her marriage to Baron Margitts, she’d become a sour-faced, bitter tyrant. Or maybe the shock of losing her husband had driven every ounce of joy from her.

Then she’d made the ill-fated decision to act as a go-between for Father and the Duke de Norhas during their failed attempt to capture the imperial regency. After the domina-regent’s agents uncovered the plot, the government had sent Aunt Amella into exile at Darkstone Academy.

There, she’d been forced to serve Lady Erzabetta as assistant chatelaine. This could only have further embittered my aunt.

“Do you think things are going to get better for us now?” Alondra asked, as if reading my mind.

I glanced at her and saw she was also studying Aunt Amella.

“I hope so,” I replied.

“Well, things probably can’t get any worse,” Boreas interjected, grinning.

“In this place?” Gwydion’s pale features screwed up in a grimace. “There’s always room for worse!”

“Prince Boreas, don’t tempt the Trickster by saying things like that!” Alondra exclaimed at the same moment.

Boreas snorted. “Your petty earthworm gods don’t have any power over me.”

I shook my head. I normally wasn’t superstitious. But I also didn’t believe in egging on the Trickster. Who knew what worse might look like?

These past few weeks had been the most dangerous and tumultuous weeks I’d experienced since Father’s arrest and my subsequent exile to this place.

The shocking—and very public—murder of Mage-Instructor Quinson had been the first in a chain of appalling incidents.

On the same afternoon, Lady Erzabetta and Lord Roderigo had staged a false Wind-Walker attack on the academy, which culminated in the arrests of Jacinthe and all her friends… Alondra and me included.

At least my sister and I had been confined to luxurious rooms in the old donjon, which now served as the administrators’ wing of the castle. Jacinthe, Tama, Boreas, and Gwydion had all been thrown into the castle’s dungeons, where Gwydion had been cruelly mistreated by the guards.

At dawn the next morning, Roderigo and Erzabetta had gathered the academy’s staff and students to witness the revelation of Jacinthe’s true identity as the daughter of the lost Princess-Royal Jonquil of the imperial House of Severieri and King Menelaus of the Dragon Kingdom of Kappadokia.

Lord Roderigo had then tried to coerce Jacinthe into marrying him by threatening to torture Boreas, Tama, and Gwydion.

After a tense standoff that ended with Jacinthe freeing herself from a magic-restrictor collar and Tama messily executing Roderigo, Lady Erzabetta had pretended to turn over a new leaf while still secretly plotting against Jacinthe and her protectors.

When Erzabetta tried to assassinate Tama two days ago, Jacinthe had publicly challenged the chatelaine to a duel of magic.

It was a duel that Jacinthe had barely survived. An increasingly desperate Erzabetta had almost doomed this island with her foolhardy attempt to draw on the volcano’s power.

“Is something bothering you, Ilhan?” Jacinthe asked, concern etched on her battered features.

“It’s nothing,” I lied, forcing a smile. “Just remembering what a close call we had this morning with the volcano. I’m hoping the calming spell worked and that it will stay dormant.”

She nodded solemnly. “I’m so grateful that everyone pitched in to tame it. We’ve all earned this celebration.” She leaned forward and reached across the table to place her hand over mine. “Let’s not worry about the future until tomorrow. We deserve a moment of joy tonight.”

At the touch of her fingers against the back of my hand, a pleasant shock ran up my arm and straight down to my groin. My throat went dry at the thought of what I wanted to say to her after the banquet ended.

Will she guess I’m still a virgin? That thought was instantly followed by several more worrying: Will I be able to please her?

And how will I compare to her other lovers?

“I’m just glad you’re safe,” I said, raising my goblet in another toast. “To your victory over Lady Erzabetta. No other first-year mage student could’ve done what you did, Your Highness.”

Jacinthe looked away, her cheeks turning dark red.

“And here’s to our next gaming night, now that Lady Erzabetta isn’t around to spoil our fun,” Boreas said, his voice carrying above the din as he raised his goblet. “Friend Tama and I are finally going to crush the rest of you and conquer the continent!”

I took a deep breath, wanting to believe that everything was going to turn out all right.

“Here’s to foolish optimism,” I countered, raising my goblet in a counter-toast. “Princess Jacinthe and I have only lost one game so far. We’re an unbeatable team.”

“Prince Gwydion, see how they underestimate us?” Alondra exclaimed with a mock pout.

“Let them,” Gwydion replied, his silver eyes sparkling as he grinned at us. “Right up to the moment they realize we’ve outflanked them and blocked their routes of retreat.”

“I’m really looking forward to not having to sneak around or bribe the guards to see all of you,” Jacinthe said, smiling. “Why don’t we get together and play a game tomorrow—”

The doors to the Great Hall swung open, and a frigid blast of wind extinguished half the candles. A castle guard staggered into the hall. He was sweaty and red-faced with exertion.

The music faltered to a stop, and the buzz of conversation died as everyone looked around.

“What the fuck?” Boreas demanded, scowling.

“Castellan Guisbald, Chatelaine Margitts,” the guard panted, his voice hoarse. “Apologies for the interruption, but I’ve run all the way here from Harbor Cove. Six ships just arrived and dropped anchor!”

My blood turned to ice. No supply ships were scheduled to arrive on the island during the winter months.

“Six ships, you say?” Guisbald asked, looking as unnerved as I felt.

“Are they imperial supply ships?” Aunt Amella asked in a sharp tone.

The guard shook his head. “No, m’lady. They’re all flying the double mountain flag.”

Vesta save us! I thought, trading a dismayed glance with Jacinthe.

Her face had gone a sickly greenish shade under her tan, and her hazel eyes were wide with panic.

I probably didn’t look any better.

“That’s the Duke de Norhas’ standard,” the guard added, as if he needed to explain.

“The traitor duke is here?” my aunt gasped.

I looked around the silent hall and noted the varying expressions of shock, worry, and excitement among my fellow mage-students.

Darkstone Academy had long served as a dumping ground for not only criminal mages but also political dissidents. I suspected that the Duke de Norhas still had many supporters here.

Is Aunt Amella one of them?