Page 1 of Heir to His Court

ChapterOne

Raniel.

I called his name over and over, gripping its texture, bracing under its force, tugging myself into consciousness along the jagged, pulsing thread of our bond. His focus settled inside my chest with the weight of a Vow until that weight had a name, and a purpose; body. Self.

I,Aerinne, Lady of Faronne, also Aerinne Kuthliele, was embroiled in war with the High Fae Prince of Everenne.

A war he would not surrender, even to win my love. Surrender meant letting me go, and that, he would never do.

This knowledge also settled in my chest with the weight of a Vow.

Blinking, I opened my eyes, staring up at the glistening white ceiling, the silver inlaid designs and rich murals depicting nightmares. . .but if I tilted my head, the nightmares morphed into sea creatures and crashing waves.

I yearned for both, finally understanding the decades long emptiness that had haunted me. Cold seeped into my back as I shifted to adjust the ache. Movement caught my attention and I turned my head.

I didn't know how much time had passed while Nayya had me trapped in her dreamscape. Now returned to. . .reality. . .every inch of my skin felt it. Not a part of me remained untouched by hands and tongues and teeth.

The Prince knelt at my side, black hair brushing the floor, eyes that fought between silver and blue, feral. Power behind glowing irises almost sentient in its own right; sentient, and waiting. Watching me. Constantly weighing the next move, and the move a hundred after that.

“Renaud,” I said, and it took me two tries to form something that resembled speech. “No more.”

There was no pain at my neck. He had not let them take my blood—I would have given it.I would have given it.

And taken it in return, perhaps.

The creature in my abyss that responded to blood and pain reached out a taloned hand and began to claw her way out.No.Not yet.

What did Ifear?

Myself. Mostly.

The Prince shook his head. “Sweet halfling, did you think I was done with you?” He flipped me onto my stomach, his hands cruel but his fingertips a caress, pulling my hips up as he rose behind me. “I am not even close to done with you yet.”

Jagged, burning darkness filled me, and though there were no screams left in my chest, I opened my mouth for one more—

—and shook my head sharply, dislodging the images as I pressed my hands onto worn wood floorboards, orienting myself with a grimace.

A girl could get whiplash from all these set changes. I would need to learn to defend myself from this kind of mental manipulation. If we were of the same bloodline, they should not be able to fling my mind about with impunity.

Renaud stood above me as I sprawled on the floor of Faronne house's dining/war room, his back to the large window overlooking the courtyard, the drapes pulled to the sides.

He stood in perfect silence, his stillness drawn from an abyss of time that passed through eyes staring at me with vicious focus, and forced remoteness, the echoes of his own battle beating inside of my head like a hundred dreamlike wings.

He breathed; I could tell that much from the subtle rise and fall of his chest. The curtain of silk spilling over his shoulders gleamed with the iridescent blue that should be impossible under such low light, but only served to remind me the difference between us. Between an Old One, and a halfling.

I tried to rise, knees buckling. I waited until I steadied, then slowly pushed to my feet, stumbling forward a step before I caught and held my balance. This would not do at all. I straightened to my full height, my posture perfect, and faced him with as smooth an expression as I could summon.

“You will divulge the purpose of that. . .particular dreamscape, of course,” I said.

He and his mother revealed far too much of their powers. Either they trusted me—because I was too weak to use the knowledge against them or because they counted on my bond with Raniel—or they thought I was stupid.

I was betting on the latter. . .but the former was also a strong possibility. To my knowledge, no one knew of their affinity for dreamscapes. Now, the interesting nibbit was—was this an inheritable affinity from Juhainah? One I could possibly develop?

“What do you think was the purpose?” His detached voice whispered a warning—he was merely difficult when riding his emotions, but the lack of them was worse. I did not want to deal with a Renaud separated from feeling. “It seems I must delve deeper to access your true fears.”

“They didn't touch me?” I remained calm only because I was reasonably certain that it hadbeenan illusion—my body's psychosomatic response to what my mind had believed. “You didn't touch me?”

He stared at me as if the question, and a response, were beneath him. “You are mine to touch, after all. Do you cry violation?”

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