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]
Cotton Mouth
AYLETH
Suddenly her view of Etan was gone—instead a large, leather-clad chest filled her line of sight. Irritated, she looked up to find a tow-headed man, tall and broad, smiling at her.
"Good morning, Your Highness," he said, and bowed, though not low enough to give her a clear view of Etan."
"Good Morning, Lord…?"
"Trystan Shawd, Prince of Andaluve," he said with a wide smile. He wasn't handsome the way Etan was handsome—all dark, flashing eyes and angular strength. He was… rounder. Cheerful. Ruddy is the word her mother would have used, but Ayleth sensed that, were she not already distracted, she would have enjoyed him. He seemed happy.
Realizing he'd introduced himself, she quickly curtseyed and smiled. "It's nice to meet you, Highness."
"Trystan, please," he said with an even bigger smile.
"And you must call me Ayleth," she replied with a grin. Yes, she would definitely have wanted to meet Trystan. She wondered if Etan knew him, or—the dratted man swayed when she tried to discreetly look past him to see what Etan was doing. When her eyes returned to meet his, his smile had dampened, but remained.
"You know Etan?" he asked quietly.
She shook her head. "No, I was just… I saw them training as we came in and…"
He chuckled. "Yes, I understand. He's very skilled. The rest of us will be poorly beaten when the swordplay begins, I'm afraid. Would you like to meet him? Etan is a friend, though a new one. I'm sure he wouldn't mind."
Ayleth's mouth dropped open. "I, um—"
But the man turned and called into the ring where Etan and Borsche had begun to walk towards the gate, to leave!
"Etan! Well done, man!" he called.
Etan turned as if he'd been distracted from something far more important and his eyes didn't touch on her, only on her companion, though there was a dark fire in them. He was close enough that she caught sight of a bead of sweat trickling from his collarbone, down his chest.
"Thank you, Trys," he rasped, obviously still recovering from the work. But the gravel of his voice twanged that string in her belly that made her breath stop.
"Have you met the Princess Ayleth?" Trystan called. "She and her ladies were here early enough to appreciate your skill."
Etan stopped like he'd been shot, and his eyes slid to her.
Their eyes locked and Ayleth felt his gaze as if he'd stroked her throat and… other places. Her jaw sagged.
Without taking his eyes off her, he struck that bow that had stolen her breath the night before, as if all his strength and prowess had been poured into this graceful dip.
"Good morning, Your Highness," he said. Why didn't he smile?
"Good Morning, Lord Summit," she managed, though her voice wasn't as strong as usual.
"Oh ho!" her companion crowed. "She knows of you, sir!"
She cut him a look, but he was turned to Etan and she couldn't let her eyes leave her betrothed for long. Etan's throat bobbed when her eyes met his again. "It is a pleasure, of course," he said his voice deep and low. "But we must move on to allow the next Lords to train."
She nodded dumbly. Their eyes remained locked for a breath before he turned sharply as if something had angered him, and stalked away alongside Borsche, who looked over his shoulder back at her before speaking quietly to Etan.
They were leaving?
She blinked, desperate to find any reason to call him back. But without inspiration, she only drank in the sight of him, the way his shoulders rolled and rippled as he stalked away, his strength restrained like a predator poised to strike.
It wasn't until he'd disappeared into the training barracks and her companion—Trystan—cleared his throat that she realized she was staring.
She raised her chin and returned her gaze to the happy man, smiling. "Thank you for the introduction," she said. "I had wondered who he was."
"You knew his name," Trystan said with a curious smile.
She shrugged. "Knowing someone's name and knowing the man are two very different things," she said and touched his arm. "So, tell me about you, Lord Trystan so that I might know the man behind your name?"
She would have to pay attention, hold a conversation, probably watch some of the other men train so that she wasn't obvious.
But as Etan moved further and further away, it was as if he'd cut out her heart and taken it with him. Everything within her yearned to follow.