Curse of the Fae King (24 page)

Leonidas’s personal life was more complicated than his politics. The chamberlain had invited two new women to grace his court. One was giggly and gormless. The other—all cold heart and carefully lacquered hair—told him she’d only agreed to sleep with him for the good of the Fae Nation. He detested them both.

The days blurred into celibacy and boredom. Without Meena, he couldn’t envisage a future—didn’t even want one—and once he’d made reparation to the Vampires, he planned to abdicate the throne. Life moved more slowly. Even soaring through the skies astride Lipstick couldn’t lift his spirits.

He didn’t want anyone but Meena. Hell, he wasn’t sure he was capable of bedding anyone but her. And his four-week deadline was approaching fast.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Meena went on a charm offensive, smiling at surly Elves while Mordred accompanied her around the stronghold’s outer walls. She even stilled her sarcastic tongue into good-humored comments and friendly gestures. Not that the Elves responded—until they saw the sundew plants wither and the anaconda vines retreat from the walls. Even the weeds in the moat rotted away to nothing. After that she gained some grudging respect.

The next day she ventured farther, and thanks to her plant-killing prowess, she uncovered the abandoned port. She rested her hand on Mordred’s arm. “Those empty houses will make wonderful homes for the drudges your soldiers abused. If you decree that only women can own property, your warriors will have to court them if they want a decent home.”

Mordred’s grin surprised her. “Done. Leonidas’s mother raised me better than to mistreat women—especially after the way our father hurt her. I always intended to aid our women, but until I found you, I’ve been too busy finding ways to feed my people.”

His loyalty to the Elves warmed her, but it didn’t melt the ice around her heart. Only Leonidas could do that, but he’d left without a word. And he’d taken the runaway with him.

Three days, and the women took possession of the town. When they did, Meena lost any respect she’d gained. The Elf warriors hated her for taking their women away. Some murmured in small, seditious groups. Others openly spat when she approached—until Mordred intervened. Two floggings later, and the Elves turned surly and silent.

“Give it time,” Meena begged, “and don’t hurt anyone else because of me.”

Mordred froze, a goblet of wine halfway to his lips. “I can’t show any weakness. If I’m not the most ruthless bastard out there, then my loyal subjects will stage a coup and replace me with another overlord.”

Meena didn’t argue, but neither did she tell Mordred how Bryn—the Elf she’d defeated when she saved the runaway—constantly dogged her footsteps. He never approached her, never spoke, but he made the hairs on the back of her neck prickle. Maybe he guarded her for Leonidas, but he’d turned into an unwanted Elf stalker.

Each evening, she made plans for her forthcoming marriage. When she pictured herself screwing anyone but Leonidas, her stomach churned. How could she fuck Mordred when the two-faced, lying Fae king was the only man she wanted between her legs? One day soon, she’d have to kiss her fiancé, but even that was a step too far. What if he used his tongue or ran his hands over her breasts? He wanted children? Goddess, no! Not when the thought of his fingers on her pussy made that sick feeling in her stomach a million times worse. Maybe when the time came, she could ignore the scar on his face and pretend he was Leonidas—but he didn’t taste of chocolate and spices, and he couldn’t make her come with just one steaming-hot glance.

Things weren’t great with her mum either. They’d lost the closeness they once shared, and their relationship was strained…nonexistent really. Her parents had tried to persuade her not to marry Mordred, but when Meena refused to change her mind, they left. After the way her mother deceived her, she couldn’t care less…honestly. Perhaps though, some advice on how to sleep with a man who didn’t make her hot and horny wouldn’t have gone amiss.

Each night she thought of the love she’d lost—never had, really—and wept as she stroked herself to sleep. That few minutes of masturbation had become the only pleasure. Each day, she avoided Mordred and cleared more of the carnivorous jungle outside his door.

Five weeks later, and magic roared like a tidal wave through her blood. Every bladderwort or pitcher plant she’d killed strengthened her, but she couldn’t control the power inside her. If she didn’t vent it soon, she’d explode like a gun firing a blast of magic bullets. Her ground-clearing routes took her farther from Mordred’s stronghold, and she traveled with an Elf bodyguard. After almost half a day in a pony cart bumping over freshly recovered roads, she just wanted her head to stop pounding. With a sigh, she set out to destroy yet more blue-trumpeted daffodils. By midday they’d reached a field of giant hibiscus that stood as tall as cars.

“The red flowers are so pretty.” Meena sighed.

Her escort’s command pulled her back. “They are one of the rarest and most deadly species. Even you should not go too close. They exude a perfume that will put you to sleep, but you’ll never wake. A species of rat has developed a symbiotic relationship with them, and once the flowers have you in a trance, they will devour you. You see to the flowers, slowly, and we will see to the rats.”

“Great. Giant rats. Just what every girl needs. Okay, slow and steady it is. Let’s get this over with.”

Intent on her task, Meena never noticed the when the sky darkened. Around her, Elves fidgeted and fingered their weapons. Another dead hibiscus. A rustling of leaves. Three rats charged.

The sky rained fire around them. They were gone before the first Elf released his spear. When Meena looked up, Lipstick hovered overhead. She waved and did a delighted little dance of welcome. Once he landed, she greeted him like a long-lost friend. He’d grown almost as long as Whitby Abbey, where he’d first sought her out. Fortunately he wasn’t as tall.

He curled around her, delighted to see her, and she laughed out loud when his tail snaked around her waist. Down the road, the cart driver struggled to control the ponies as they bucked and whinnied in terror. Even her escort fell back, overawed. Finally their commander lifted his spear overhead. His action rallied his troops, and the bravest raised their spears, ready to repel him if they could.

“Don’t you dare!” Meena yelled, and they fell back.

“Lord Mordred will hang us if that dragon hurts you,” their commander huffed.

With a saccharine smile, Meena said bluntly, “He won’t. That scarlet dragon’s my Witch’s familiar.”

Fully grown now, Lipstick rubbed his head against her thighs like a cat marking its owner. When she tickled his ears, he reared up and licked her cheek.

She shuddered and wiped her face on her sleeve. “Yech! I’m sure war dragons should be fierce, not friendly. And delighted as I am to see you, I could do without the face-licking thing.”

Lipstick shoved her behind him and spewed a sheet of flame across the fields. It destroyed the beautiful, deadly hibiscus in seconds. The rats too. The place smelled like a greasy burger joint as the stench of cooked rat replaced the heady hibiscus perfume. Meena applauded, and even the Elves cheered.

“Clever boy.” Meena stroked under his chin in approval; then he curled his tail upward and settled her so her legs straddled the base of his neck. As she grasped a thin leather strap, he flew over the land. His fire burned the rampant vegetation, and Meena’s deadly mojo prevented the plants reclaiming the territory. Finally when he flew her back to Mordred’s tower, she patted his serpentine neck. “Thank you. Flying was amazing, and unlike that abominable pony cart, it didn’t make me feel sick.”

The dragon stared at her, waiting for the question she tried not to ask. Eventually, she whispered, “How’s Leonidas?”

Lipstick flattened his ears and crooned a low sorrowful note.

Meena wrapped her arms around his neck. “And you thought I might go with you if you cleared those plants. Lipstick, I’m sorry, but he’s made it clear he wants nothing to do with me—but that was pretty smart thinking for a dragon. No wonder the Fae bond with your species. Go home, Lipstick, and keep Leonidas safe. Please.”

Hekate, every time she thought of the Fae king, tears threatened, but she reserved her crying for the privacy of her own chambers. Thanks to Lipstick, however, she was back too early to plead exhaustion and retire to bed.

Lipstick’s eyes clouded with sorrow, and as he flicked his tongue over her cheek, he whined a sad lament—a funeral dirge for her happiness maybe. Then he soared skyward, circled the stronghold, and roared before he flashed back to the Fae court. At least his presence had soothed the pulsing knot of magic in Meena’s stomach. Finally, she’d found some control.

As she crossed the ramparts, Mordred burst from tower. He wore black battle armor, and like Leonidas, he carried a bullwhip and sword. “Are you all right? Your bodyguard sent a message to say a Fae war dragon abducted you. I thought that despite my half brother’s objections, their council had decided to make use of your powers. We would go to war to fetch my fiancée home.”

Home. That was what she’d wanted. Somewhere she could belong and be loved. In her dream, she offered her love, not merely admiration and respect. She’d made a deal with Mordred, and she wouldn’t back out. Besides, she had nowhere else to go.

Suddenly suffocated by his attention, she snapped, “I’m fine. I’m going down to the old port to see how the women are doing. And for once I’m going alone. If your troopers trail after me like normal, I’ll…”
Come on, think of a suitable witchy threat
. “I’ll turn them into toads.”

She turned her back and left both the tower and a flabbergasted Mordred behind. As she stepped through the gate, Bryn, her Elf stalker, followed. Furious, she turned to confront him, but he edged closer to the imposing tower. She wished she’d told Mordred about him, but those floggings had sickened her. His hands glowed with magic, but judging by the angry glower, he wasn’t casting a good luck charm.

Meena’s world slipped into slow motion. She had time to notice the bare land around the tower, even counted the stones in its walls. The sun seemed brighter, the colors more glorious, and even the air smelled sweeter. All the life force and power she’d absorbed from the plants coalesced inside her, and Lipstick’s visit heightened her witchy prowess. She lifted her hand, fascinated by the rainbow aura her power spread over her skin. Finally, almost drunk on the swirling mass of magic inside her, she turned to face Bryn.

His eyes burned brighter and brighter as he gathered his power. His brow furrowed with concentration, and he lifted his arms overhead. “Not sneaking up on me now, are you? Not stealing our whores and slaves either. Whatever Mordred does to me, it’ll be worth it to rid the world of an interfering harpy like you.”

A whispered command, and he threw an explosion of magic—putrid, dark, and deadly—toward her.

She’d thought Bryn harmless, and then a bolt of dark energy convulsed around her in a sheet of black flame. The stones at her feet scorched. Somewhere close by a woman screamed her distress. Guards yelled commands. And still Bryn poured his magic into the flame.

A vortex spun inside Meena, sucking magic and heat from the flame. She didn’t burn, didn’t blister. Fire magic—the sort Leonidas had told her the drudges had used to kill the Elf commander—swirled around her as she claimed its heat and strength.

Meena held out one hand and studied the fiery tongues that licked around her. Instinctively she drew the magic inside her—cleansing, enhancing, and shaping—then she hurled it back. Flames engulfed Bryn, and his high-pitched yelp cut off abruptly. The fire burned brighter until nothing of the spell caster remained. Her fire grew stronger, uncontrollable, and she couldn’t draw it back. It blazed around the tower walls until they crumbled. Sentries tumbled inward onto flagged pavements or pitched forward into the newly cleared moat. The wooden watchtowers perched on the four corners of the ramparts burst into flame.

Unharmed by Bryn’s attack, Meena stared at the devastation she’d caused. Dust clouds swirled everywhere before drifting slowly to the ground. Rubble settled in untidy heaps, crushing anyone below. Some warriors jumped from the ramparts and into the moat to avoid the flames, but weighed down by their armor, they struggled to reach dry land. So much for finding some control.

Through the tower’s open gate, she saw warriors littered across the courtyard. Some twitched in silence. Some were still alive, moaning on the ground as they clutched broken arms and ribs. Women gathered before the castle, hands linked as they chanted spells to extinguish the flames. Meena joined them, flooding their spells with fresh power. As the flames died away, the women’s strongest healers moved forward to tend the injured. Others helped pull warriors out of the moat. And there in their midst stood the runaway.

Meena’s heart stuttered. Color drained from her face. Mordred had sworn Leonidas had taken the scrawny scrap of a girl with him when he left. Please, in the name of the Goddess, don’t let him have
used her, then sent her back
. She couldn’t have misjudged him so badly when she loved him so much—could she? When the chaos subsided, she’d collar the runaway; then they’d have a full and frank discussion…or else.

The healers gathered herbs and made potent salves to help the injured warriors. Weeks of harvesting magic strengthened Meena, and Lipstick’s visit had fired up her powers like never before. As she moved among the wounded Elves, she healed the worst injuries. Finally, she spotted the runaway helping one of the walking wounded inside.

After a quick check that his injuries were superficial, Meena grabbed the runaway’s elbow. “Come with me.”

The runaway glanced around as if seeking protection, but no one looked up. Her thin arm trembled in Meena’s grip. “I didn’t sleep with him, honest. I spent the night alone in his bed. The next morning the overlord had his servants drag me back upstairs.”

The girl wrapped her arms around her chest and stared at the carnage, muscles tensed as if she planned to bolt.