Page 6 of My Princeling Brat (Tales from the Tarot #2)

Prince Cedrych

“Do not disappoint me.”

Those were my mother’s parting words as I boarded Lord Vasil’s ship bound for the Isle of Wyn, leaving behind the only home I’d ever known. She’d said it as if expecting precisely that outcome, daring me to do it. Were she and the lord conspiring against me?

I studied my somber new master from across the ship’s deck.

His dark skin was bathed in moonglow and the soft light glinted off the widow’s peak in his inky black hair as he gazed coolly across the choppy waters to where we were headed.

Like their lord and master, the Cysgodion Cliffs cut a stark outline in the night sky.

How could I reconcile that harshness with the intimacy we’d shared in the palanquin back to Crystal Castle?

Why did I tell him all of that? What was I thinking? Can he really be trusted?

My misgivings barrelled through me with as much force as the tumultuous waves of the Lunar Straits as we crossed the boundary of fae lands and into the elvish.

The Arcane Isles were an archipelago made up of two large islands and a myriad of smaller ones.

The fae ruled the western Isle of Dyn, and the elvish and vampyre ruled the eastern Isle of Wyn.

The north, known simply as the Northern Realm, was inhabited by nomadic tribes of ogres and giants, better suited to survive the mountainous terrain and harsh winters.

To the south was the Shimmering Sea, where merfolk frolicked amongst the many inlets and lagoons.

Interspersed throughout the Arcane Isles were countless other clans and territories, such as the shifters in the Dragonback Mountains where my ex was currently shacked up with a halfling minotaur, but their populations were smaller and more widely dispersed.

Leaning heavily against the side of the ship, I tried to keep a lid on my dinner, but did not succeed.

Bent over the ship’s gunnel, I vomited until only bile flowed into the sea.

I’d never been good on boats, but my seasickness seemed especially bad at present.

I’d tried hovering in flight on the upper deck but only ended up exhausting myself.

Lord Vasil had offered twice to ease my symptoms, but I’d refused, too stubborn and too proud.

I’d already revealed too much. What more did he expect?

“Would you like my help now, Your Highness?” he asked, being unnecessarily formal while taking in my disheveled state. My mouth was sour and my guts churned relentlessly. My hair was a mess, my face likely swollen from retching so forcefully, and there was a bit of mess on my shirt too. Wonderful.

“Yes, fine,” I said tersely and attempted to stand up straight, only to have my balance compromised by the boat’s rolling hull.

Gripping his rod, he came nearer and inspected me from head to foot. His hand was refreshingly cool against my forehead and then my cheek. “Give me your hands.”

I presented my hands to him, palms facing upward.

Tucking his rod underneath one arm, he peeled back the cuffs of my jacket and undid the laces on my sleeves, then pushed up the fabric of my tunic to expose my pale wrists.

Gently, he pressed his thumbs against my tendons.

I ignored the strange tingling in my spine and the quiver of arousal that weakened my knees.

Surely I would react the same to anyone who caressed me so intimately.

“Are you cold?” he asked, interpreting my reaction as a chill.

“No,” I said with a dry swallow.

“Better?”

“I think so.” I was distracted at the very least.

He raised his rod and drew a ribbon of metal from the end of it, manipulating it between his fingers like taffy until it resembled a thin silver band.

He then fit the metal around my wrist and cinched it tight, yet not uncomfortably so.

The metal band lay flat, applying weight to my pressure point.

He did the same for my other wrist, and I realized what they were–a matching set of cuffs, like I was his property or worse, his prisoner.

Are you sure you wouldn’t enjoy that?

Godsdamnit, the lord’s taunting voice was now in my head.

“This should help with the nausea,” Lord Vasil said and angled me back toward the sea, planting both my hands on the cold metal railing. “Stare at the cliffs, Your Highness. That will help ground you.”

Rather than moving to my side, he remained right behind me with his hands overlapping mine. His breath was warm against my ear as he spoke to me in a soothing manner, “Deep breaths now. I can hear your heart racing.”

“Because I never know what you’re going to do next,” I protested with a petulance that made me wince.

“Shall I inform you of my intentions in advance?” His voice held a low, sultry timbre. Mocking me? Flirting? It was impossible to tell.

“No,” I said, somewhat reluctantly.

“No? Why not?”

“Because I’ll probably just be stubborn about it,” I admitted.

He chuckled, warm and low against my neck.

My cock throbbed, the traitor. “You are quite contrary,” he agreed, sounding pleased by it, which had never been the case with my family or my tutors.

I asked a lot of questions and refused to do something simply because I was told to do it.

I needed a reason, a compelling one in fact, whereas my brothers always just… obeyed.

I worried what his crew might think, what with him pressed up against me so close, his cock nestled against the seam of my breeches.

An accident, or was it intentional? But we were betrothed, if only temporarily, so some measure of affection was to be expected.

I could have asked him to move, but the weight of him felt good and solid against my back.

I glanced down at my wrists where his bands glowed in the moonlight, then back to the cliffs, his homeland and birthright.

“Have you always had a talent for sorcery?” I asked.

“For as long as I can remember. I was reshaping a silver rattle before I could walk, or so my mother said.”

There was a wistfulness to his voice whenever he spoke of his parents.

They’d been close, I knew that, and after they’d passed away, Vasil’s visits to Emrallt Valley became rarer and never for very long.

I’d caught only glimpses of him then, usually at formal dinners when my mother held court and forced me to attend.

He bore the weight of an unbearable sadness on his shoulders, a terrible loss that echoed my own grief over my father’s passing.

I hadn’t teased or annoyed him then because it would have been too cruel.

“Did you have tutors for sorcery?” I asked, recalling my own with some displeasure.

“I had a mentor, a powerful elemental sorcerer named Bethel Kane. Master Kane. He lived with us for a few years. His command of metal was unmatched in all the realm.”

“And where is he now?” I asked, for the lord hadn’t mentioned him before.

“He died at the same banquet as my parents. Poison.”

I hadn’t known about his tutor. My own mother and father were both present at the ball where his parents collapsed.

Lord and lady had been dancing, arm in arm with their golden goblets held aloft, when both their hearts suddenly stopped beating.

They’d fallen to the ground like puppets with their strings cut, still with their arms around each other.

My parents hadn’t spoken of it to me. I’d read about it in the daily scrolls and seen the tragedy of it written all over Vasil’s face.

No wonder Lord Vasil lived as a recluse, not trusting anyone. I wanted to say something to acknowledge his loss, but I didn’t trust myself not to make it worse.

“Did you admire him, your master?” I asked instead.

“I respected him, certainly. Feared him too. He was very strict. Ours was a complicated relationship.”

I recalled my language tutor who’d mocked my pronunciation and difficulty with grammatical concepts. He’d turned me off from reading for a long time, and I still stumbled when forced to speak publicly.

“And this material is your favorite,” I said, tracing the cool metal with my fingertips.

“Vanadium is like a well-worn tunic. It feels comfortable and right. I’ve worked with it so much that it’s second nature by now.”

“You said that it’s rare. Is it not what your cliffs are made of?”

“No, the Cysgodion Cliffs are a mix of limestone and calcite with quartz threaded throughout. Vanadium can be extracted from iron ore, but only in very small quantities.”

I didn’t know much about geology, though I was interested to learn more.

The elvish specialized in mining, weapon-making, and metalwork, and their craftsmanship was beyond reproach.

We imported all of our weapons from them, and my own sword was said to have been forged by elvish metalworkers of generations past.

“Tell me about your archers,” I said, for I’d noticed the elite guard that had accompanied him to the palace and were now stationed in varying positions around the deck, all with their arrows nocked and ready to defend their lord.

“My archers are the best in all the realms,” he said, not with arrogance but with pride.

“I hold a yearly tournament to scout for new talent and to keep my own squadron sharp. It’s coming up soon.

I’ll take you if you’d like. The prize is a metal bow and arrows fashioned by my own hand, as well as a place on my flight. ”

“Why archers and not sorcerers?” I asked, for surely an army of metal sorcerers would be formidable indeed.

“I’m afraid you will not like my answer,” he said.

“Tell me anyway.”

“My fortress is defensible against many attacks, the exception being those from the air.”

“To fight the fae army,” I concluded. I glanced back to find him with his head tilted, neither confirming nor denying it.

“They also accompany me on trips such as these where we are less protected. I keep metal sorcerers in my ranks as well.”