With a heart so heavy, her wish took flight,
For a daughter born from whispers of night.
The hair rose on her nape when a draft swept through the workroom.
Alora…a voice whispered behind her.
She spun around and shrieked at the sight of Prince Eldrik. She stumbled backward, nearly crashing into the covered spinning wheel. She braced herself on it, drawing a sharp breath as she gawked at him.
“What are you doing here?” Alora demanded.
“Easy pet, I didn’t mean to startle you.” Prince Eldrik gave her a slow grin. “Don’t stop on my account.”
She stared at him mutely, still recovering from her shattered daydream. Calveron guards stood outside the threshold of the workroom, trapping her in with him.
Alone.
Alora stood firm, refusing to show fear. “By no account should you be here.”
Smirking, he tugged off his golden riding gloves. “I trust I need no introduction, princess.”
Alora held his stare in defiance, despite the knot tightening in her stomach. “I know who you are, Prince Eldrik. My question remains.Whyare you here?”
He gave his guards a nod, and they shut the door. Alora’s heart instantly raced at the sense of being trapped and reached behind her blindly, tugging at the cloth covering the spinning wheel.
Eldrik strode forward. His gaze swept over her with a calculating glint as if appraising livestock.
“I was curious about my future bride and came to see what thing we had bought. I expected some horrid milkmaid, but I suppose you are rather pretty for a half-breed.” He reached out, fingers tracing her ears that were not round like a human or pointed like the fae but came to a soft curved peak. “I can see why my father wanted this match.”
“Don’t touch me.” Alora smacked his hand away. “I’m not athing.”
“No. You’re a prize.” He grinned. “One I have already won.”
Revulsion churned in Alora’s gut. Her hand closed over what she had sought, and she brought the spindle needle to his throat. “I warned you not to touch me.”
His skin blistered against the needle and Eldrik jerked back with a snarl. He rubbed the welt, his eyes flashing with a predatory gleam. “What is that?”
The crystal hummed in her palm, low and lulling, a whisper in a tongue she did not know. For a heartbeat, the old scar on her fingertip throbbed. Alora tightened her grip and shook the feeling away.
Whatever the artifact was made out of, magic lurked within it. And it had stung him.
Alora braced herself as she held the eight-inch needle like a knife. “This is bloodglass, more lethal than iron to your kind. Cross me again and it will find your eye.”
Eldrik blinked at her and burst with laughter. “Incredible, you truly can lie.”
She scowled and backed away, continuing to point the needle at him.
“I was not aware Lady Zinnia had her ward trained in the arts of needle making,” he retorted as she made her way to the door.
Alora faltered a step. He knew the Thornbearer?
“She trained me in many things, Prince Eldrik. Etiquette. Music. Art.” She took the doorknob. “More importantly, how to gracefully nick critical arteries of boorish males.”
His eyes gleamed with something voracious. “Spirited. I like that. It will make breaking you all the more enjoyable.”
Though he didn’t attempt to approach her again.
“You will find I’m not so easily broken,” she hissed, yanking the door open.
