Page 1 of Princes of the Outlands (The Castles of the Eyrie)

Chapter 1

Trei

Trei Barendur, eldest prince of the Baer kingdom, should have been at his swordsmanship lesson on the afternoon of the Anniversary of Sovereignty but was instead sticking his tongue down a beautiful falconer’s throat.

It wasn’t as though he’d intended to shirk his princely duties—as the crown heir, he took his role with all its due seriousness—but he had a weak spot for Saraj Swiftjoy. Judging by the looks he got from villagers whenever she was around, he suspected his infatuation with her was the kingdom’s most poorly kept secret. When he’d spotted her ducking out of the snow into the falconry mews while on his way to the training grounds, his feet had somehow led him inside the stone structure instead of where he was supposed to go.

And now here they were, hiding out in one of the narrow stalls used for housing the kingdom’s falcons, with her back against the stone and his mouth drinking her in.

“By the gods,” Trei moaned, gripping her jaw as he pulled back to gaze into her bright green eyes. “What have you done to me, Saraj? I’m supposed to be helping my father rule this land, but all I can think about is touching you in all the places I shouldn’t.”

Saraj smiled coyly. “You work too hard. The whole kingdom says so. Even the heir needs to have some fun every now and then.”

Trei pressed his forehead to hers, returning her devilish look. “I think you have me under a spell. Was it one my aunt taught you? A love hex?”

Saraj snorted. “I need no hex to charm you, Trei Barendur.”

His hand fell to her dress’s collar, running along the wool neckline. “And if I demand you prove it by showing me your hexmarks?”

In the outland kingdoms of the Eyrie, magic was primarily performed through hexmarks. Each spell required its caster to recite a phrase and carve a symbol into their flesh: usually on a person’s chest or arms or back, and always cut by a knowledgeable mage. Though receiving hexmarks was often painful, Trei was working on mastering his thirty-ninth—one that controlled wind.

He had no idea how many hexmarks Saraj had earned; despite their few romantic tussles in the hay, he hadn’t glimpsed her bare chest or back. Yet .

Saraj toyed with the laces on her dress’s bodice, teasing him. “That’s why you want to get a glimpse at my chest? That’s the only reason?”

Trei nodded in mock seriousness. “Purely for informative purposes.”

She slowly tugged one lace free, biting her lower lip. The rigid panels of her bodice loosened, and Trei felt his heartbeat stampede in his chest. His eyes locked on the soft curves peeking out. His hand itched with the overpowering desire to tug her bodice down.

But Saraj paused before baring herself fully, running a finger lightly over her lowered neckline. She paused at a small scar now visible on her upper left breast.

“The spark hex,” she whispered.

Trei cupped the curve of her breast outside her dress, sweeping his thumb over the raised skin in an “x” scar. Unable to resist, he dipped his head to skim his lips over the hexmark scar. Her skin was even silkier than he could have imagined. He was used to her hands’ rouge callouses from years of hard work, and he was thrilled to discover softer pieces of her.

“That’s one.” His voice was gruff as he counted off the hex.

She tugged the laces even looser and stroked her finger to the hollow between her breasts, where a small spiral scar rested. “The eyesight hex.”

Trei’s pulse was thundering in his ears. Feeling bold, he dipped his head between her breasts to lick his tongue over the eyesight hex. He felt her breath pull in sharply, then give a shuddering exhale. She gripped the back of his head, silently urging his mouth to continue to explore.

“That’s two,” he muttered against her skin.

Moving faster now, Saraj dragged her loosened dress collar down over one shoulder, freeing her left breast. Trei spotted two more hexmarks: one carved on her shoulder and the other at the top of her ribs.

By the gods, she’s covered in them , he thought briefly. It was no surprise that Saraj was well-versed in magic—he had expected nothing less.

As he captured her nipple between his teeth, Saraj arched her back, pressing against the mews’ stone walls. The smell of straw rose around them, and the other familiar barnyard scents: her falcon, Zephyr’s, leather binds; the acrid scent of iron tools; her damp wool cloak hanging on the door hook. Saraj herself smelled like the snowfall outside, yet her body was anything but cold.

“I thought you wanted to know all my hexmarks,” she whispered as Trei devoured her breast. “We only made it to two.”

He gripped her hard around her narrow waist, locking her hips back against the wall as he licked and sucked and nibbled. “I’ve found something far more interesting.”

He broke his attention to return to her mouth. The kiss was burning in intensity, only surmounted by the force of their hands tangled in each other’s hair.

He gripped the back of her neck, tilting her skull to look at him. Her lips were parted and swollen from their kisses. Her eyes were sharp, ringed by long lashes.

By the gods, she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.

He slid his knee between her legs. “I’m missing a swordsmanship lesson for you.”

“So you think you’ll sheath your sword here and now, is that it?”

“If you’ll have me.”

They’d made love twice before. The first time was on the beach after the Autumn Equinox bonfire, on a moonless night when they’d both drank too much mead. The second was a few weeks later when Trei had come to her cottage under the pretense of delivering a message from the head falconer and had ended up with her skirts bunched around her waist, thrusting into her against her dresser.

Their lovemaking might be new, but the truth was, he’d loved her for years.

She’d been an orphan when they’d first met and a scrappy one at that. She had been ten to his twelve years of age. He’d caught her in the castle kitchen stealing raspberries. He’d let it happen because he’d assumed she was hungry—but then she had smiled wolfishly at him and taken a whole ham hock and wheel of cheese, too, green eyes daring him to tattle on her.

Over the years, he’d caught her pilfering everything from his mother’s satin ribbons to herbs from the mage quarters. He’d never told anyone about her minor crimes. And then, as they’d grown older, he would find her waiting for him in the room he shared with his two brothers. She would pointedly steal some trinket of his—a button or a coin or a handkerchief—defying him to stop her. And when he didn’t, she would reward him with a featherlight kiss on his cheek.

For years, her bad habit had been a game between them—until Trei had decided they were too old for games.

“I’ll have you,” Saraj whispered into his ear.

Trei needed no more encouragement. He tugged on the remaining bodice laces, freeing her from the dress. Both of their other lovemaking times had been performed in the dark or mostly clothed, and he was eager to see her bare curves. He pulled on the dress until it pooled around her feet in the straw. She wore only a thin cotton chemise beneath.

He took the time to step back and let his gaze rake down her body. She was even more perfect than he had imagined—and he’d spent plenty of nights fantasizing about the lithe falconer. Her dark hair cascaded down her shoulders. At least a dozen hexmarks graced her chest and shoulders. Her hipbones curved out like handles that he very much wanted to grip.

Fingers coiling in her chemise’s hem, he pushed it up around her waist. Saraj gave a soft moan.

“Moan like that again,” he rasped as he fumbled with his belt. “I want to hear it again and again.”

Just as he was freeing his cock from his pants, something cawed sharply outside the stall. Before Trei realized what was happening, a storm of fluttering wings and a sharp beak descended on him through the open doorway.

He barely had time to shield his face with his arm before a falcon attacked him.