King Athon tilted his head of long white hair, his black eyes connecting with my face. With no white to his eyeballs, it was hard to tell, but I was fairly positive he was watching me as Father had. But for a completely different reason. He was searching to see if I was powerful or not, even at a young age.
I was the heir to the Elf Kingdom.
I kept my attention on my father, no real agony inside my stomach like they appeared to have. My stomach clenched with queasiness, but no real pain. I answered cautiously, “I don’t think I’m feeling what either of you are—”
The tremor stopped.
I promptly hunched over and threw up all over the floor.
Father sidestepped quickly from the trajectory of my vomit, and then gently pulled my hair back from my face and rubbed my back in soothing circles.
Over my coughing, he stated, “That explains that.”
King Athon muttered in cruel disgust, “I implore you to teach your heir how to keep it down, King Traevon, because that is astonishingly revolting.”
I turned my head to the side and spat in his direction, glaring up at him from my hunched over pained form.
Father snorted. “I think she can handle herself fine.”
The shifter king’s straight nose scrunched in loathing, holding my gaze. “Does it smell good down there, Princess Trixie? Because it fucking reeks up here.”
I spat once more onto the floor below me and straightened up, hiding any lingering pain I felt. “My simple elven nose can handle the stench, apparently—unlike yours, Your Royal Highness. Thank the Fae I’m not a shifter.”
King Traevon’s lips twitched, even though the other king didn’t notice, seeing as he was busy glaring daggers at me. My father wrapped his right arm around my waist and led me away from the mess on the floor. “I must introduce my daughter to the others before the meeting begins. We’ll see you in there, King Athon.”
“Have your guard clean this disgusting mess up, King Traevon,” King Athon barked a clear command behind us. “If I have to smell this the entire time, I will not sign off on your next bill—no matter what it is.”
Father waved his free hand in the air. “I’ll have it taken care of.”
“This is fucking gross,” King Athon continued to mumble under his breath, his words getting fainter the closer we got to the door to the main room. Then louder, he called, “Princess Trixie?”
I ground my teeth together, before glancing over my shoulder. “Yes, Your Royal Highness?”
One side of his lush mouth curved up into a wicked smile. “You’ll want to brush those teeth before you go out there. This is your first impression, after all.”
Father instantly pivoted, tightening his arm around me to keep me moving with him, and started walking back toward the other king—to the royal bedchambers. “I have a toothbrush in my room, my heir. We need to make it quick, though.”
King Athon chuckled quietly as we passed by him.
* * *
“Queen Mikko, this is my heir, Princess Trixie Towers. My daughter will be attending the royal summits from now on,” King Traevon stated, his chin high with pride. “Trixie, this is Queen Mikko Boone, Queen of Casters.”
I lowered myself into a perfect curtsey, staring at the white marble once more. I breathed evenly as a rush of lust swamped my entire being, almost making me fall in its intensity. The lone shining point since Father and I strolled back into the main greeting area was that King Athon still wasn’t in here.
With sugar dripping from my words, I said sweetly, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Queen Mikko.”
“It is a pleasure to meet you, too, Princess Trixie,” the queen stated quietly, a small voice for a pint-sized woman. A caster’s accent easily tickled the senses with their luxuriated vowels and short consonants. She tapped the crown of my head softly. “You may rise.”
I lifted and stared down my nose at her. That couldn’t be helped with my current state of yearning. Otherwise, I would positively be a puddle on the floor.
Queen Mikko stood at four feet tall, with chestnut brown, tree bark hair. It scraped over her shoulders as her head tipped back to look up at me. The brown mist of her eyes swayed calmly while she studied me with that alligator-like scrutiny. Her skin the color of an onyx sky ate all the light that poured down on her, seemingly casting her in shadows. Her outfit was just as menacing, with the twigs on her black collar sticking out far enough to cut anyone and the flowing dress of yellow moss that had sharp red thorns sticking out of it.
The woman could cast a deadly spell on me.
Or an equally lovely one.
It simply depended on what mood struck her.
