Page 8 of The Princess’s Pet (Soul Match #1)

Once back in her rooms, she led me to the bedroom and opened the closet. “The clothes here to the bottom right are yours. I’m going for a shower,” she explained, before, very much like in the changing stall at the Academy, she began to undress, without any care for my presence there.

“Okay, Ma’am,” I said as I averted my gaze and left the room, my mouth going dry at the expanse of her hips and navel that I had briefly seen when her shirt rode up with her arms.

I got a glass from a cabinet and poured a glass of water, making sure to keep my eyeline away from the bathroom and bedroom door, as I heard the Princess walking around and then the sound of the shower.

As the Princess showered, I looked around the living/kitchen space more closely. I hadn’t allowed myself to explore the space, though I was very much curious. It was the Princess’s home while she studied at the Academy, and while I had concluded that it was also where I would be staying, I still felt a little guilty, like I was invading another person’s privacy.

My main target of curiosity was the tall but narrow bookshelf hidden in the corner near the entrance door. It was packed full of books, overflowing with some smaller books lying stacked across the top of others, with no space on the actual shelf for them to take a place.

My fingers ran over the spines, and I read the titles. It seemed the Princess was enamoured with history, but the books that lined the shelves weren’t histories of times and places and wars, but histories of people, individual people. Some titles included names I had heard before, famous rulers, but there were also titles with names of characters I recognised from myth and legend. I was more a romance girl myself when it came to choosing a book to read.

I was engrossed in simply inspecting the titles and covers of the books, not really looking for anything to read, but wanting to know more about the Princess who I was irrevocably tied to.

What did it mean that her bookcase was full of such books? Did it reveal anything about her personality or what she liked or disliked? So far, I had learned very little about the Princess. I knew she was strong and could handle a sword. I knew that she had friends here at the Academy, but I got the impression that her relationships were strained in some way. And I also knew that despite the air of assured confidence and dominance that the Princess radiated, that she had experienced pain. It was only a flash across her face, a flicker, barely there, the previous day, but I had seen it.

The Princess was an enigma that a part of me very much wanted to unravel and know as completely as I knew myself.

“Find a title, you’d like to read?” the Princess asked unexpectedly. I had not heard the shower turn off or her approach.

“No, I was just looking, Ma’am,” I said, and I turned to see the Princess dressed rather casually. Black low waisted jeans hugged her wide hips, and a short, dark grey top allowed a sliver of her skin to show and strained against her chest. I gulped upon becoming very aware that she wore no bra .

She hummed, her eyes flashing bright and back to liquid silver. “Go wash and change out of that uniform, pet,” she commanded, and I felt a little dismissed but hurried to do as I was told.

Once I had showered, I inspected the clothes the Princess had said were mine, looking for something to wear. All the clothing was simple, in design and colour, but seemed to be precisely my size. I decided upon black cotton joggers and a tank top to match. The Princess hadn’t indicated that we would be leaving, and I wanted to be comfortable.

When I exited the bedroom, the Princess turned her gaze away from a book in her hands and met my eyes. She leaned forward to place the book down on the coffee table.

“Come here, pet,” she demanded, casually leaning back against the couch and watching me as I walked toward her. “Sit,” she commanded, and patted her thigh.

I hesitated, looking at her lap and back to her eyes. “On your lap?” I clarified. Her eyes hardened and her jaw tensed fractionally. She didn’t reply, and I took a breath to steel myself and moved forward, rather awkwardly sitting myself sideways across her lap. Her arms wrapped around my waist and under my knees, adjusting me to her comfort. The arm around my waist remained to hold me tight in place. The position was the same as my first night with the Princess, when she drank from me, and a stone of uncertainty and fear rested in my belly.

She bent her head forward to take a deep breath through her nose.

“Why are you scared?” she questioned, pulling away, and meeting my gaze.

“The last time…” I trailed off, and she smiled softly at me.

“I’m not going to feed from you tonight,” she told me. “And as I said this morning, when I next feed from you, pet, you’ll beg for me to do so,” she continued, a confident grin gracing her lips. My face flushed. As much power as the Princess seemed to have over my body, I doubted that I’d ever ask her to bite me. It hurt, and just the thought scared me.

“What are you reading?” I asked, wanting to change the subject away from topics that made me feel so conflicted. Her talk of me begging her, was sparking heat in my core as well as fear.

She glanced at the book on the table. “I’m reading the history of a great betrayal,” she stated, and I huffed at the answer. She hummed, amused, and leaned into my neck, inhaling deeply, her lips ghosting over my skin, as she continued. “Many years ago, before this kingdom was united under the Borealis coven, the land was split between many smaller kingdoms. Records weren’t well kept back then, and most histories were passed on through stories. There is one story that has many versions; you might have heard it yourself, it is said that a young king was betrayed by his dearest friend.”

She paused, leaning backing into my neck and carefully nipping my flesh with her teeth, her tongue sweeping out after, and a soft rumble in her chest that I more felt vibrate through her to me than heard. “Have you heard the story, pet?” she questioned. I cleared my throat, but when I spoke my words were still breathy from her actions.

“No, Ma’am.”

“Would you like to hear the version of the story I believe most true?” she asked softly against my skin, her hand not holding my waist, moving to ghost her fingertips along my thigh with feather softness, that caused a shiver to run through me.

“Yes, Ma’am,” I answered, barely able to speak above a whisper.

“There was a young king, a pureblood vampire, however, before he was a king, he was but a boy. The youngest son of his father, and he was not expected to become king. This allowed him freedoms that his older siblings did not have. While his two older brothers were groomed for the throne, he was left to explore the castle and grounds, with all the freedom and carefree nature of a boy prince. He made friends with his servants and the people of the nearest village. He did not have to keep his distance or worry about what was proper, as he was all but forgotten by his father. One day while out riding he fell from his horse. He was alone and injured when a peasant boy from a nearby farm heard his cries for help.” Her hand on my waist pushed up the fabric of my top to allow cool fingers to rest against my heated flesh.

“The peasant boy helped the prince, and the prince was grateful, for without the other boy's help he would surely have died. The prince and the boy became friends, the best of friends. The peasant boy was more like a brother than the prince’s own blood. But everything was soon to change for the prince. Their kingdom went to war with a neighbouring kingdom. The war lasted many years, during which the boy prince became a man. The war was hard on both sides, and the prince’s elder brother was killed in battle, closely followed by his second eldest brother. Unexpectedly, he became next in line for the throne. Tragically, his father was said to have succumbed to an illness, his grief at the loss of his sons too much to bear, and the prince became king.”

“What about the Queen?” I asked, breathily, when the Princess paused to run her nose along my neck. I was captured by the story, by the sound of her voice as she spoke. If it wasn’t for her touch, soft and gentle, which in contrast created small, exciting sparks beneath my heated skin, her voice alone could soothe me to sleep.

“The story does not mention a Queen, as is often the case, great women are forgotten by history. I suspect if a woman had been involved, this story would not be a tragedy,” she answered before continuing where she left off.

“The boy prince, now a man and king, entrusted his army to his best friend. He needed someone he could trust to help him win the war, and who was better than his friend, who he knew so well and who had saved his life when they were boys. His friend made a great leader of his army. Together they defeated the other kingdom and took the land and people for their own, expanding the kingdom. As a reward, and because his friend had proven so worthy, he gave his friend great swathes of land, money, and positions of power. And the kingdom grew in prosperity and the land knew peace for a time.

“The king was happy and content, and was free to live as though he was once again a carefree prince as he could trust his friend to run everything of importance. But one day, the king awoke from his sleep to find his friend within his chambers. At first, he thought his friend had come to discuss matters of the kingdom and that he had overslept, but as he sat up and saw his soldiers surrounding the bed, he knew that something was wrong. His friend sneered at the king and told him that he was there to kill him and take the throne as his own. The king laughed and mocked his friend and stated that his soldiers would not harm him. But when his friend gave the command, the king's soldiers stabbed the king to death in his bed. Thus, it was the king's most trusted friend who murdered him and took his throne.”

The Princess finished, and she pulled away from my neck to watch me.

“Did it really happen?” I asked, confused as to whether the story was real events or just a story. “Why would his friend betray him after the king gave him so much?” I continued. The story sat uncomfortably with me. Why would the friend, more like a brother, kill the king?

“All legends start somewhere, and those that prevail do so because they tell a universal truth about people,” the Princess answered.

“And what truth does this story tell?” I asked, meeting her eyes that glowed slightly now.

“That power, easily given, cannot so easily be taken back. That it is those closest that are most capable of causing the greatest harm to us.” The Princess growled, and I realised that the story affected her deeply.

“Why are you reading about this story?” I asked, my hand carefully resting atop her hand that had gripped my thigh.

“History has a habit of repeating itself,” she spoke quietly, cryptically, and that same hint of pain flashed across her features.

Unthinking, I lifted my hand to her face and ran my thumb across her cheek under her eye. “Why are you sad?” I asked. Her eyes glowed brighter, her hand at my waist and on my leg gripped me tightly, painfully, and she growled loudly.

“Remember your place,” she spat, and I expected her to throw me from her lap, or for her tight grip to increase further, but she held me in her gaze and did not look away, her eyes seemingly searching my face, for what I didn’t know. “Do you miss your mother?” she growled out, unexpectedly changing the subject.

“I never knew my mother,” I answered, and her eyebrows pulled together in confusion.

“Who was that woman that clung to you so protectively when I came for you then?” she asked, her eyes still glowing and her grip still strong, but the growl was dying in her chest.

“Rosemary, she is my father’s partner, they’ve been together only over a year and are expecting a child. She is lovely and will make a good mother,” I said, and my throat tightened as I remembered that I would never see my father or Rosemary or my sibling. I had not thought about my family. It wasn’t because I didn’t care for them or miss them; so much had happened and the Princess herself and my new life were great distractions. I now felt their loss heavy in my chest.

“Where is your mother?” she asked, more softly, her eyes still watching my face closely .

“She died giving birth to me. Until Rosemary, it was only my father and me,” I explained.

“Do you miss her, despite not having known her?” she questioned, and I thought her question intrusive, but still, I couldn’t stop myself from answering when the Princess looked at me like my answer was of importance to her.

“I miss not having had a mother; I miss what never was,” I explained. It was difficult to grieve for someone you didn’t know, but I knew my father missed her gravely, that if it had not been for me, he might have followed her in death. But I did not grieve the mother I never knew; I grieved for the mother I never had.

She held my gaze for what seemed a very long time, her grip on me never lessening, but glowing eyes dimming. “I lost my mother,” she spoke, disrupting the strangely charged silence.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t know,” I softly said, my hand still holding her cheek, rubbing soothingly across her skin. The pain that had been but brief flashes showed itself as her eyes closed and she pressed her face against my hand.

“No one knows,” she whispered, her head turning to press her lips against my palm. I stilled, confused. The death of the Queen was major. The Princess opened her eyes and looked at me, gauging my reaction.

“Why has it not been announced?” I asked cautiously, slowly, when it seemed her eyes encouraged me to speak what was on my mind.

“Because my mother was murdered, poisoned, and we do not know by whom,” the Princess answered, her voice stronger, and her grip on me loosened. “You cannot speak a word of this,” she said, sternly.

“I would never,” I promised. Her hand moved from my thigh to take hold of my own that had held her face. She squeezed my hand, kissing it once more before placing it on my lap .

“The story of the king's betrayal has been on my mind since I learned of my mother's passing. She was betrayed too, and the betrayal could only have been committed by someone close to her,” the Princess explained.

“When did it happen?” I questioned, afraid that I was pushing the Princess too much, but she didn’t reprimand me.

“Almost a week before I came for you,” she said, and I was shocked that it was so recently. I felt a surge of compassion run through me. The Princess had lost her mother and here she was at school, not able to grieve the loss. “It’s why I came for you,” she continued.

“What do you mean?”

“I have known about you since shortly after you gave your blood sample for testing. Originally, I planned to simply ignore the soul match when I learned of your social standing. But my mother's murder, forced me to reassess my security and having a soul match running around outside of my control is too great a risk.

“The soul match testing results are meant to be anonymous. In theory, no one but myself should have known about you. But how could I be sure, how could I be sure of anything when my mother, the queen herself, was murdered in her home while dining with the king? My personal guard each made a blood oath, to never reveal that I have a soul match, and I came for you,” she explained.

I recoiled at the sting of her rejection. She had known about me for almost a year and thought me unworthy. But I also balked at how she so casually mentioned a blood oath. Blood oaths were dangerous blood magic, to break a blood oath was to drop dead from excruciating pain.

“You didn’t ever want me; you weren’t at all curious about me?” I asked, unable to hide my hurt .

“No,” the Princess answered simply. “If it weren’t for current circumstances, I would have left you to live your life unencumbered by me.” And, as she spoke, her voice held a touch of sombre.

“A soul match isn’t an inconvenience,” I replied.

“Perhaps for most, it is not,” the Princess agreed softly, lifting my chin to look at her. “But to be my soul match, I fear is a burden, one that would be difficult for even another Royal to manage. You have never been in more danger Percy,” she said, seriously, her eyes searching mine.