Marvels and Misfits Page 7

  There were many, many stairs.

  The last time the personal guard split their group was when my father opened the door to the royal area. He was down to two personal guards, the other two staying at the door when we walked into a large entrance area. Those same color beams of light rained down on us, the top of the domed building our ceiling, and still so far away.

  I wiped the damp sweat off my forehead with the back of my clean hand. “Good Fae! There has to be a better way to reach this blasted area.”

  “If there is, no one has invented it yet.” Father patted my back and pointed to a door on the right. “The bathrooms are through there. Take a right when the hallway splits; the left would take you to the royal bedchambers.”

  I nodded, done catching my breath. “Should I meet you back here? Is this where everyone will be?”

  It seemed so since the room was sparse on furniture, mainly made for standing and greeting one another. Only a few uncomfortable-looking chairs sat against the walls where there weren’t any doors or paintings of the five kingdoms—and there was an abundance of landscape portraits covering almost every square inch of the walls.

  “Yes. Hurry back if you can, my heir.” He flicked a finger to the side, and one of his personal guards stepped forward in my peripheral. “He will be going with you anywhere you wander without me. Royals are allowed one guard with them.”

  I stared. “Father, I’m going to the bathroom.”

  He peered down his nose at me. “I know.”

  “Is it far away or something?” I asked in exasperation.

  “Well…no.”

  “Will you be able to hear me if I scream?”

  Father cleared his throat. “Yes.”

  The king still didn’t back down, even if I had a point.

  “Do I need to tell you that I’m not going to the bathroom to simply wash my hands? I figured you would understand this, with your problem as of late.” I shook my head. “I’d like some privacy without someone standing outside the door.”

  King Traevon’s shoulders lowered in defeat. “Go on then.”

  “Thank you, my king. I may shit in peace.” I offered a mocking, gallant bow of thanks, and then turned on my heel and walked as quickly as I could away from him, lest he changed his mind. I stated over my shoulder, “I will hurry!”

  “That is appreciated, my daughter,” Father huffed.

  I barged through the door he’d indicated, it swinging hard back behind me as I tore past. The hallway was clear of any canvases here, simply painted in white like the marble beneath my feet. I marched through the colorful sunlight and took a right as ordered. There were two bathrooms at the end of the hallway, one on each side.

  I turned the handle to the bathroom on the left and shoved my shoulder against the door in my haste to use the facilities…and slammed to a hard stop, my head bouncing off the wooden door. It was locked. This bathroom was seemingly occupied, other royals having arrived before us.

  My eyes rounded large on my face. I quickly stated, “My apologies! I didn’t know this one was taken!”

  A few painful seconds later, a masculine grunt responded.

  Oh Fae, this was mortifying.

  If I was lucky, it wasn’t King Elon or King Athon in there. It could be one of their personal guards. I really hoped that was the truth since I had practically body-slammed the door.

  I swiftly entered the other bathroom, possibly hiding, and stared up at the far-off glass ceiling in embarrassment. I kept my groan extra quiet in case it was a shifter in the other bathroom, their hearing far superior, and punched at the air in aggravation—way to make a damned impression.

  I may have taken an extra-long time in the lavatory—sorry, Father—exploring it after I had finished my business, praying the other person had moved on. I hadn’t heard a door open or close in the hallway, but with how extravagant and large the bathrooms were, it did not surprise me in the least.

  Done with fixing my windblown hair in the mirror, I had no other excuse to hide in here any longer. While the many bottles of lotions and soaps were beautiful, I had already sniffed all their scents, and the dragons depicted in the stained glass above me were more than a little frightening, as if they were ready to attack me.

  I opened the door to the bathroom and shut it quietly behind me, and turned to face the individual who had, indeed, waited outside the other bathroom to see who I was.

  I tipped my head way, way, way back to look into his face. My eyes connected with his chin when his scent hit me. I jerked back a step, slamming my shoulders against the door I’d just exited. Potent honeysuckle slammed into my nostrils and invaded every edifice of my entire being, the man’s unique smell attacking me as I’d never felt before from someone else.

  I shook my head hard, even as the man’s shoulders tensed where he stood leaning back against the bathroom he’d departed. My red brows puckered in bafflement as the carnal urge hit—for someone who was this tall. I lurched my attention down to stare at his black boots—his large boots—with my eyes starting to slowly run up his frame to understand what I was seeing before me—an abnormally huge elf, for sure.

  The stranger’s white leather pants were well-worn in places, almost looking like black patches, and tugging tight against thighs that appeared powerful and rock solid. A tapered bare waist—the man not wearing a shirt—with skin the color of warm russet that showed his muscles in blatant detail, many hills and valleys on his stomach and deep indentions on his lower sides that narrowed—and arrowed—down under his pants. His arms crossed over his massive, hard pectorals were bulky with muscle I’d never viewed before on an elf. A strong throat led up to a slightly pointed chin and a severe, robust jawline. Lush lips the color of a dusky pearl stood out from his dark coloring and a straight nose, not too long or too short, was above that. Soft white hair fanned down around his shoulders, white wisps here or there brushing against his forearms along with the ends of the few tiny braids he also wore that were laced with black beads.

  I lifted my eyes to his.

  Black, utterly black—no white—eyes that were just as confused as mine were slowly traveling up my body.

  He was a shifter.

  Now, I understood his lack of a shirt.

  Shifters bodies ran hot…

  My eyes rounded in horror.

  What in the Fae fuck was going on?

  Wait. Is that…

  No, that could not be what I thought it was.

  A small gasp left my parted lips.

  Oh my Fae, that was a golden circle crown resting against his forehead, just like my father had. It was simply getting worse.

  Sweet Fae above and below, this couldn’t be right.

  I was going to faint. Every gasping breath I took in only made his smell that much more compelling. The urge wasn’t as horrible now that I couldn’t run away from…King Athon.

  But soon, like any other time the urge had happened to me, the effects would only get more persuasive without relief.

  What. The. Actual. Fae. Fuck.

  Did the Fae accidentally screw up? He was a shifter. I was an elf. Death this way comes to those who break Fae law, their rules carved in death-blood. And it was sure as Fairy against their laws to have sex with someone not of your own kind, much less, to be put into a Fae fucking urge.

  His shifter black eyes met my elven emerald ones.

  King Athon froze completely. He didn’t even breathe.

  Yes. Welcome to my freak out, King Athon.

  “What in the five kingdoms…,” he muttered quietly.

  His voice even turned me on, deep and rolling gruff, not the elven proper style I was used to. It was a Shifter Kingdom accent with bite and brawl, built from a lifetime of ruling the wildest and heinous people in all the kingdoms. And their king was crueler than all of them.

  My lips pinched into a thin line. “This has to be a mistake.”

  “No shit,” he growled, abruptly shoving forward to yank a fistful of my red hair up an
d away from my right ear.

  I stiffened and held still in surprise as he crouched down in front of me to see what he had uncovered. His lush lips pulled back from his gleaming white, blunt teeth in an ugly snarl as he glared at the top of my right ear—the pointed tip, unlike his own rounded ears.

  “A colossal damned mistake of a Fae fuck up!”

  I broke free of my shock that the shifter was touching me. I knocked his hand away from my hair and stepped to the side with the fluid grace of many years of training, placing space between us again.

  With my heart beating frantically in my chest, I hissed my reprimand, “Keep your distance, King Athon.”

  The King of Shifters slowly rose to his full intimidating height of six feet, six inches tall. He wasn’t the tallest a shifter could be, but he sure wasn’t short for his kind, either. The king towered over my almost five feet of height by a Fae damned mile. The top of my head only reached the middle of his chest. This had to be a freaking joke the Fae were playing on us.

  His arms crossed over his chest, and his eyes narrowed. That furious black gaze flicked to my hair before scanning my face.

  He demanded brusquely, “What is your name?”

  I flashed my fangs and took a step back.

  King Athon stared at my mouth, and a quiet growl reverberated from his chest through the air, slithering into my eardrums.

  A tiger’s growl.

  The king spoke softly—all the worse for its deadly quietness, “Put those pathetic things away unless you want to see mine. I guarantee you my fangs are much larger than yours.”

  I took another step back but stopped flashing fang.

  “What is your name?” he asked again, slowly this time though, like I was hard of hearing. “You do know it, correct?”

  I opened my mouth to speak, attempting to ignore the fact that my panties were starting to get wet thanks to the urge, and stated sharply, “My name is—”

  “Trixie!” Father barked harshly.

  My head snapped to the left. Relief rushed through my veins at seeing my father’s face, even if he did not look one bit pleased. The urge was heavy in my body, but it was controllable currently. I swiftly turned and strode toward safety—not quite a run, but definitely a very fast walk—and met my father halfway down the hallway.

  “I’m so sorry, Father.” I gulped air and tried to calm myself, whispering very, very quietly, “I was ambushed.”

  “Yes, I can see that,” King Traevon griped, his stark eyes lifting to glare over my head as he wrapped one arm around my waist to haul me against his side. The king’s voice charged the air, crisp and annoyed. “King Athon, I would have preferred introducing my daughter to you, not have you waylay her in a deserted area.”

  I breathed with deep intakes of oxygen and slow exhales, much easier now that my father was here, and then turned my head to the side to peer at the other king.

  King Athon was standing right where I had left him, facing us, with his arms still crossed over his chest and his big ass boots set apart in a rugged stance of powerful. His features held not a single hint of our conversation or the predicament we were in, none of the horror and anger he had shown me.

  Father huffed. “What do you have to say for yourself? You know this is unacceptable. My heir is still young yet.”

  King Athon lowered his arms and deigned to speak as he started a casual saunter toward us. “King Traevon, I didn’t even know you were bringing your heir here. And, as far as intruding, she almost busted the bathroom door down where I was peacefully using the facilities. Luckily for her, the hinges held.”

  My father’s irritation didn’t lessen one bit. “And so you waited for her, afterward? Why?”

  “I wanted to know who had snuck into our royal sanctum, as you would have done, since her apologetic voice was not one I had heard before.” He stopped to stand directly in front of us, casual and unwavering, those black eyes focused brutally on my father. “Although, she would not give me her name, so you may still have the pleasure of introducing us if you like.”

  Father’s lips unpinched to form a powerful smirk, his attention just as hard on the other king as the other’s was. “It would be my pleasure. King Athon, this is Princess Trixie Towers, the heir to the Elf Kingdom. My daughter, my one and only child. And if you behave wrongly against her, I will fucking kill you.”

  My blink was slow. That was not very diplomatic.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Confession of a princess:

  I’ve decided I’d rather have my head chopped off than go to another royal summit. My father had better live another thousand years because this Fae shit is crazy.

  Is this normal for them?

  Is this supposed to be my new normal?

  Well, I didn’t expect any of this.

  And, damn, the Misfits are that ugly...

  King Athon’s dusky pearl lips quirked up on one side. His hard eyes stayed a moment longer on my father—after that murderous threat—before he turned that penetrating all-black gaze on me. His thick, dark lashes dipped as he bowed his head ever so subtly. “It’s lovely to meet you, Princess Trixie. I am King Athon Alistair, King of Shifters.”

  All I wanted to do was hammer nails into his boots.

  This was really bad.

  I yanked on my resolve—to be that perfect heir for my people—and pulled away from my father. I dipped low into a flawless curtsey, keeping my head far down. I stared at the floor, and stated respectfully, “It is as equally lovely to make your acquaintance, Your Royal Highness.”

  May I get up now? I’d like to run and hide.

  A gentle tap on the crown of my head. “You may rise.”

  Thank you ever so much. I have to look at you again.

  I lifted to my almost five feet of height, acted as if his soaring frame didn’t frighten me, and stepped to stand next to my father once more. I placed my hands behind my back and held them there, and stated pleasantly, “This is my first time to High Pointe, Your Royal Highness. I must admit to being a bit awed in the face of the Fae’s creation. It’s more beautiful than I could have imagined.”

  King Athon placed his hands on his bare hips and glanced around where we stood, surveying the area. “I will admit that it has been too long since I have viewed it as such. But like that small crack there in the marble, the Fae do make mistakes.”

  I squinted at the miniscule fissure hidden in all the beauty surrounding us. “Hmm. Indeed, they do.”

  And they needed to fix the mistake we were actually talking about in a Fae damned blink because my gut was warming low in my belly with every breath I took. The growing wetness in my underwear was not acceptable in the slightest.

  King Athon’s nostrils flared, and he rubbed at his mouth in quick irritation, but his tone was even and calm. “King Traevon, will your daughter be sitting in on our meeting?”

  Oh, that was even better.

  The shifter king could scent my arousal.

  This day needed to end. Now.

  Behind my back, I twisted the caster-spelled ring around my finger. Thank the Fae it was there. I glanced at King Athon’s long, strong fingers. His ring was resting on his left pinky, twinkling in a yellow light that beamed down from the stained glass.

  At least, no one else knew our inner turmoil.

  And possible death sentence if this didn’t go away…

  “She will.” Father nodded his head once. “Trixie reached her majority two days ago. I’ve decided it is time.”

  King Athon lifted his black brows, a sardonic look adorning his masculine features. “I’m sure this has nothing to do with the reason why we are all here today.”

  “If it does, so be it.” King Traevon shrugged his left shoulder. “Either way, she is of legal age to be here now.”

  The shifter king merely stared and then turned that gaze toward me once more. “Happy belated birthday, Princess Trixie.”

  I dipped my head dutifully. “Thank you, Your Royal Highness.”

 
; Sweat dotted my temples.

  The heat was here now. When would this stop?

  Another gush of warm arousal swept through my body.

  I held perfectly still and did not allow it to show.

  King Athon cleared his throat. “King Traevon, Princess Trixie, I will take my leave. Bishop is taking care of a few business matters in my room that I should check on.”

  Father chuckled quietly. “Does that man ever not bring paperwork with him?”

  “If he has, I have never noticed. I will see you both in a half hour.” King Traevon dipped his head to both of us and then stepped around us to walk down the long hallway behind us to the royal bedchambers.

  The marble below our feet started to tremble.

  I placed a bracing right hand on the wall and tossed a sharp look to my father. “Do you feel that?”

  King Traevon pressed his left hand against the opposite wall and widened his feet to a bracing stance. His lips turned down into a worried frown. “Yes.”

  “I’m not fond of it,” I mumbled absently.

  Suddenly, Father’s eyes pinched in pain.

  “What in the Fairy is this shit,” King Athon griped in dark aggravation, having only made it a few feet away from us. He crossed his arms and glared down at the vibrating marble, his own eyes scrunched in discomfort. “I’m ready to tear my own damned organs out.”

  Father stared right at me, ignoring the other king. His emerald green eyes worriedly skimmed my features. He asked quietly, “Do you feel it?”

  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—”