Marianna
The front gates of the palace are heavily guarded every second of the day. I clutch my purse to my side, dressed in tan slacks and a cream-colored sweater–less casual than normal–in hopes that I’ll get in without a huge fuss. I double checked to make sure all of my IDs are in my wallet, and as I remove my sunglasses and peer at the security gate, I still feel an overwhelming sense of dread.
It was easy enough to get into the castle for the ball because a driver was sent to fetch me. I didn’t have to come through the front gate that night. Now?
I inhale, holding my breath as I walk toward the warriors stationed outside the massive, towering wall of alabaster stone, but they don’t even look in my direction.
Not until I make a move for the foreboding metal gate that prevents anyone from seeing what I know is an ethereal garden and the steps leading up to the palace.
The security post is the size of a small house, and while the guards on either side of the gate turn to me, giving me slightly menacing looks of warning not to come any closer, another guard steps out of the post and arches his brows, waiting for me to explain why I’m here.
I fumble with my purse, my cheeks burning red, and not from the warm morning sunlight dancing over the ancient cobblestone beneath my loafers. “Um, my name is Marianna Abbot. I’m here to see Prince Blake of Crescent Falls. We have a meeting this morning. He didn’t really give me a time to arrive–”
The guard lifts a radio to his mouth and turns from me, motioning to the other guards to move out of my way. Without another word to me from anyone, the gate cranks open, revealing streaks of bright green and the first early spring blooms that line a wide, steep staircase made of pure white marble.
My mouth dries out as I nod my thanks and step into the front garden. The gate closes behind me with a screech that settles in my bones, making my teeth rattle.
Bees hum, bouncing from bloom to bloom. Little butterflies dance through the bushes, and tall, trembling grasses in shades of emerald and wheat. I start to ascend the stairs, tripping over my own feet.
My leg muscles are burning when I finally reach the front door, which towers over my head by two stories and is squished between even taller windows made of stained glass with moonstones and gems scattered within. It’s a work of art, this palace. I can’t believe it spent thousands of years underwater.
The doors open before I have a chance to… I don’t know, knock? Ring a doorbell? A smiling young woman in a cream colored uniform steps outside, her hands resting over her stomach. “Miss Abbot?”
“Yes, that’s me.”
“Perfect. We’ve been expecting you. Follow me, please.”
I do. Four stories later, my legs on the verge of giving out completely, I’m ushered down a wide, sunlit hallway on the fifth floor, which overlooks the forest directly behind my backyard on Wisteria Way. The maid pulls out a set of keys and opens a door, saying calmly, “This way, please.”
I nod, swallowing hard, and step into what I know without a doubt is Blake’s office.
It’s a sharp contrast to the finery of the castle, which is dressed in shades of gold, white, and the occasional touch of crimson. Here, the large, open space is shrouded in tones of gray and black, everything sleek and modern. A large desk made of black wood takes up a huge area of the far reaches of the room. Ceiling height bookshelves made of tinted glass span the walls, and only a smidgen of sunlight breaches thick gray curtains covering the windows.
“His Highness doesn’t normally take a tea or coffee service this time of morning, but I’ll bring one up for you,” the maid says and promptly leaves, closing me into the room by myself.
A few doors are spread along one wall. I have no idea where they lead, but Blake isn’t here. “Blake?”
I look around and decide to test a few of the doors, but they’re all locked. So I finally sit down in a large black armchair in front of his desk while toying with a loose string on my brand-new sweater. The maid returns with a coffee tray, which I help myself to. A steaming cup of what ends up being very strong coffee will not calm my nerves, but it’s something to do.
I wait for twenty minutes, wondering if he’s forgotten he asked me to come here, but as I’m bringing my coffee to my lips, my mouth suddenly fills with the taste of… metal. I lower my mug, padding my fingertips over my lower lip, wondering if I bit myself and I’m bleeding and that’s where the strange, coppery taste is coming from, but then a burst of energy rockets through the room, and a dizzying spell of violet hued magic appears with Blake at its center.
I scream, spilling my coffee all over my lap and sweater.
Blake steps out of the haze, ripping off his thick navy blue cloak, and rushes to me. “Fuck, I’m sorry. I’m–are you okay?” He guides me out of the chair, holding me at arm’s length to inspect the dark stain on my sweater and the coffee seeping into my slacks.
What a great start!
He chews his lower lip, his eyes lifting to mine. “Come with me.”
“What the fuck was that?” I ask as he takes my hand and moves toward one of the doors along the wall. The lock slides out of place with a flick of his wrist, no need for a key. My stomach tumbles to my shoes.
The door opens to a narrow hallway with off-white walls and smooth, creamy carpet. Windows let in sunlight and a soft, cool breeze. He keeps his hand firmly clasped around mine. The hallway leads to a tidy, immaculately clean living room.
It’s his apartment. His suite in the castle. It smells like him here–that brisk, cool scent of winter and snow that makes my body react with a wave of heat I can’t tamp down.
He pulls me into his bedroom, and that heat expands to something dangerous and damning, and I feel it, see it in the way he slowly inspects my expression, that he can feel it, too.
We haven’t really been alone like this in years. Just us in a space with no distractions, no whispered voices or prying eyes.
“I’m sorry,” he repeats, stepping away to open a drawer in his dresser. He pulls out a T-shirt and hands it to me then rifles for a pair of pants for me to change into that will somehow fit when he’s twice my size.
“My pants are fine, I think,” I whisper unintentionally, unable to raise my voice any higher. Adrenaline courses through my body as his magic lingers on my tongue.
I grip the shirt and meet his eyes. “What–what was that? When you got here?”
“We call it spiriting or jumping. I can move from place to place using my powers,” he explains in a calm, monotone voice that surprisingly settles me. “It takes some practice, but I think Skye will also have the ability when she comes into her wolf.” He motions to a bathroom. “You can change in there. I can send the sweater down to the laundry to be cleaned.”
“It’s fine–”
“It’s not,” he cuts in. “I wasn’t sure if you’d come today, and I was… running late. I was in Silverhide last night, and my powers….” He cuts himself off, shaking his head as he turns from me and walks toward the door. “We can start the training here, in my suite. It’s more private than my office.”
“Okay–”
He slips out of the room, and I turn to the bathroom, my heart in my throat and my lungs refusing to expand.
I barely slept last night, not after our conversation about Skye. I knew Blake had powers. It was… part of the reason I pushed him away when we found out I was pregnant, after he’d already broken up with me, but still. It had come as a shock, even knowing some members of the royal family were… different. Special.
I change into the fresh shirt that brushes the middle of my thighs, then I step out of his room. I lay my stained sweater over a wood-backed chair in the sunlight, and Blake, nursing a cup of coffee as he fans through a handful of paperwork, looks over at me.
He notices me edging out of his bedroom and extends the papers to me, reaching for the pen tucked in his shirt pocket. “This is the new contract I had drawn up last night before I left. Our mediator has been sent a copy to review as well. I have my lawyer on my schedule for tomorrow, so we can review it and sign it together then, but I figured you could look over it now–”
“We don’t need another contract,” I cut in, and his arm slowly falls to his side. He looks confused, maybe a little unsure. “You’re not going to… take her from me, are you?”
“Marianna,” he says in a near gasp before he reigns himself in. His tone is deeply offended as he grinds out, “No, I would never do that to you. Either of you–”
“Then we don’t need a contract. She needs you now. I understand that. We can weather whatever comes next, whether you want her to know the truth about who you are to her or not.”
He swallows. I watch the column of his throat bob as my words sink in. “I haven’t had a moment to give the prospect of telling her I’m her father any thought yet. I will decide soon, however.”
“I’m not asking you to give me a timeline–”
“I don’t know how to do this,” he interrupts me, his voice stern and cool. “I don’t want to hurt you by not being… a warm, empathetic father figure in her life–”
“She’s neither warm nor empathetic.” I laugh, unable to help myself. “She won’t understand what that even means, Blake. When I said she was like you, I meant she was like you. Not just because of your powers. She’s quiet and curious. She doesn’t like big shows of emotion. It makes her shut down.” Just like him. Exactly like him.
He nods along, running his fingers through his hair like this conversation is leaning toward being uncomfortable for him.
I choose not to say anything further.
Blake clears his throat, tosses the papers on a coffee table, and motions toward the couch soaking in the sun. “Let’s do this, then.”
I sink onto the cashmere soft cushions. He sits beside me close enough that our thighs touch, and his scent wraps around me, that mark on my neck that doesn’t belong to him tingling in warning.
I ignore it. I have to.
“What does this entail exactly?”
“Lying,” he deadpans, smoothing his hands down his thighs, down the finely knit fabric of what I realize are dressy black slacks. He’s always been so put together. There isn’t a causal bone in his body. “You need to lie to yourself, make up memories of things that didn’t happen, and use those to block me from being able to see things that did take place.”
I shake my head, chuckling in disbelief? “Is it that easy?”
“It sounds easy. It’s not. You have to… make yourself believe in those lies. They have to feel totally, completely real.”
“How does that stop someone from being able to see into my head, though? They still would. They’d just be seeing something I made up.”
“This is a concept that predates me. Warriors, especially in the Ghost army, are trained to do this. It’s a type of mental shield at play that keeps battle plans hidden in the event they’re captured and to trick enemies. If someone like me, with powers similar to mine or magic able to access someone’s thoughts, were to use them against another person, that person’s metal shields, the lies and deceit, would be a distraction from the truth. The assailant would feel like they’ve seen what they needed to see and not dig any further.”
“How does this help Skye?”
“She mentioned Dean,” he says, and it crushes me.
I nod, closing my eyes. I feel his fingertips brush over my forehead before he tucks a lock of my hair behind my ear. “Lie to me, Marianna. Show me something that didn’t happen.”