Loving the Forbidden Prince
[COMPLETE] Can a royal Romeo and Juliet find their happy ending? Ayleth, Princess of Zenithra, is secretly trained in hand-to-hand combat, and collects swear words she doesn't know how to use. During the Festival of Peace, in which every royal son on the continent will be at the castle for a month, she is instructed by her parents to find a husband. Yet, Ayleth has never even been kissed—until the very first ball, when she meets the man in the Lion mask. Etan is a seasoned warrior, and the Prince of Summitras. He attends the Festival hoping to find a powerful wife who will help him conquer the dark sorcery of their bloodsworn enemies, the Kingdom of Zenithra. But at the very first ball, he discovers the masked woman who captures his heart is the Heir to the evil empire. Ayleth and Etan face an impossible battle. Will their love survive? Or will their parents' dark dealings keep them apart forever? [Mature content. No sexual violence.] ****** “You…” She stepped back. Then back again, her mouth dropped open. “You… You cannot be…” “I am,” Etan said, and his hair raked back as he pushed his mask off his handsome face. So handsome her heart raced. His hair was ebony black, his skin a warm brown that threatened to fade in in the winter months. He stared at her with glittering green eyes, over high cheekbones and a noble nose, his jaw tight and shadowed this late in the day. His chin was high over the pillar of his neck that she’d just touched with its hard lines and steel strength, so different to her own. And his chest... She gasped and covered her eyes. She’d humiliated herself revealing her stupid, childish curiosity. “No, Ayleth. This changes nothing.” “How can you say that? It changes everything!” She was horrified to realize she was crying. “Ayleth, please.” His voice cracked on the plea and she stared at him, shoving her mask up and off, despite how it would pull her hair out of the beautiful twist the maid had managed for her. His eyes locked on hers and she couldn’t think. She couldn’t breathe. She had met her One. And he was the son of her bloodsworn enemy. She stared at him as he stepped forward again, offering both hands, palm up. “Touch me,” he whispered. “Hold my hands. This is real, Ayleth. I don’t know how it happened, but this is real. Please don’t deny it.” She couldn’t resist. She raised a trembling hand to his cheek, letting her palm catch on the scruff of his jaw. He blew out a breath and put his hand over hers, and that jolt that happened whenever they touched shivered through her again. “Please, Ayleth.” “I cannot deny it,” she whispered. [Cover specially commissioned and illustrated image by Same Van Rijn. See more of their amazing art on Instagram: @same.vanrijn]
Sleepless Night
AYLETH
Ayleth felt her heart pull in his direction as she moved, always seeking, like a compass in her chest that pointed at him. It was a comfort that she'd be able to find him when she needed to. But the yearning was… bitter.
She had to put up with the maid helping her undress and brushing her hair out before she could convince the woman that she really just wanted to sleep, and the servant bowed, quietly leaving her bedchamber and closing the doors behind her.
But Ayleth had no intention of sleeping. Tension vibrated within her that wouldn't let her rest. Unless she distracted herself, she'd be a wreck tomorrow, and that would never do. So, Ayleth waited for a count of one thousand before throwing the heavy blankets back and digging the hidden clothes out from under her bed and re-dressing in the boy's trousers and the rough shirt of a stablehand she had hidden and used on such occasions. She crept across the floor to put her ear to the door and make sure there were no people gathered in the sitting room, then locked her door and tip-toed to the balcony where she'd hidden boots and socks behind a plant. The socks felt a little damp from dew, but they were wool and kept her feet warm even when not dry.
Then it was only a matter of swinging her leg over the balcony railing and climbing down the trellis on the outside of the wall.
She'd often thought that it was frightening how easily she could escape her room—no one suspecting that the Princess might wish to get out, so the guards only ever facing away and looking for intruders trying to break in. But even they were easy to dodge in the garden because she knew their routines.
She made it to the stable within minutes and heaved a sigh of relief.
There was one lantern lit at the opposite side of the massive stables which would be the night boy, there to ensure no animals were injured, or taken. He would raise alarm only if she made undue noise. But dressed as she was, and with her hair twisted up, in the half-light she'd been seen and mistaken for a true stableboy more than once.
People always seemed to see what they expected to see.
Creeping to the stable of her favorite mare, she slid inside and found the bag of brushes and combs and began to brush the gentle mare.
Ayleth always found physical labor helped her to think, and she needed to do a lot of thinking.
About his eyes. The feel of his skin. The tight firmness of his chest. His laugh. And that smile…
She groaned and leaned into her mare's side. The animal whickered quietly and swished her tail. Ayleth continued to brush her, her heart pattering.
She could feel him out there, somewhere in the direction of the castle. She wanted nothing more than to drop what she was doing and seek him out—find his rooms, climb in his window… but she knew she wouldn't.
He was… impossible. The son of her parent's blood sworn enemy—the heir of an enemy kingdom. Her fierce rival. Had he not been so obviously overcome by her, as she was for him, she would have thought it a plot. But she'd seen his eyes shine when he looked at her, felt the tenderness of his touch. The brute strength under his skin held in check.
He was nothing like what she expected.
Her entire life had been punctuated by the tales of the Summitrans—a brutal, savage people. Barely civilized. When she heard they were coming—that they had an heir, so arrogant as to need his own Clown with him at all times, lest he become bored—she'd imagined an aggressive, un-cultured, uneducated oaf.
Not a powerful, mannerly, man of the world who could kiss like an angel.
Thoughts of his kiss scattered all others from her head, and she groaned again.
She yearned, ached to be with him, and yet they'd be forced to keep their distance until he could speak with her father.
And how was that going to go?
Slumping against the animal's broad, warm side, Ayleth sighed and closed her eyes wishing it was his chest instead.