Noah. Jacquelyn Frank

      The Miserable Princess

      A Demon Fairy Tale

      Cont’d…

      As nice as love stories about the Imprinting sounded, Sarah was very practical for a Princess. She knew her father was looking for a miracle, just as she knew she was the one who would end up going mad from his desperation to fix the odds more in royal favor. At the moment, that meant propping her up prettily in her throne, displaying her like a frilly trophy to be won. It was like being set afloat on a raft in a sea of greedy piranhas, and Sarah was not stupid enough to dangle a single welcoming toe into the water, lest she get chewed up and spit out into a form nothing like herself. So Sarah set her mind to the task of being so cold and so disinterested that no one would dare approach her.

      Just then the Enforcer walked onto the playing field.

      An immediate chill rippled outward from the place where he entered the arena, both through the participants and the crowd in the stands above. It was clearly visible as it shuddered through them all, every adult and child, the murmur that buzzed loudly all around her. The hostility and, yes, outright hatred everyone felt for this powerful man who enforced the King’s laws and extracted harsh, mortifying punishment for those who broke them was palatable.

      Sarah shivered in spite of herself as she watched the Enforcer cross into the playing field, seemingly oblivious of the stir of emotions he was creating all around him. If she were going to be honest, she would have to admit that when she put fear and prejudice aside, she was still left intimidated by his prowess alone. Had he been a simple warrior, he would surely have made a glorious name for himself in battle, as well as prize competitions like this one. But his battles were fought against his own people.

      He was the one true villain in the picture laid before her. The villain condoned by the King.

      His name was Ariel, far too angelic a name for one who even looked the villainous part. He was bearded and mustached, though both were trimmed close with an almost single-minded perfection. Rough dark brows slashed above his eyes, and his hair was barely long enough to make the queue it was tied into at his nape. His hair was dark as pitch, but the sleek, silky shine of it was fastidious, showing off an almost navy tint of highlights in the too-bright moonlight.

      Just then, thick, sooty lashes parted and revealed the icy blue eyes that so easily terrified everyone who faced off with the Enforcer. They were as glass, frigid and sparkling like shaved ice.

      And they were looking directly at Sarah.

      The Princess felt another chill blow over her, shuddering down her skin until she was covered in goose bumps. Her childish behaviors were forgotten in an instant and she straightened imperiously into the figure of a woman of her station. She could not tell clearly if that was a smile he was taunting her with, his whiskers in the way, but there was cold amusement in his eyes.

      He boldly advanced to the stairs leading up to her viewing box, oblivious of the startled scramble of powerful Demons making haste to create a path for him, as well as adding a few steps more to ensure safe distance. Princess Sarah was afraid, too, her heartbeat wild and her palms becoming damp with it. But she clutched her moist hands around the arms of her throne and forced herself to smile at him, just to prove to him he couldn’t intimidate her, even though she had never been as close to him before as she was apparently going to be in just another minute….

      At first, all she could hear was the low, steady thrum of a heartbeat.

      She lifted her cheek, felt the coolness that crossed it as she left a pillow of perfect warmth. The heartbeat became distant as she raised her head farther and blinked her eyes for clarity.

      The next thing she was aware of was that haunting, sense-numbing smell. Every single time she closed her eyes it was there. The scent had temperature, if it was possible. Heated, but not overtly so. It was mellow on some levels, like gentle musk and flirting masculinity. On other echelons it was headier. Rich and smoky.

      Yes, that was it.

      Smoke. Softly burnt cedar, smoldering maple, and the sweet tang of apple wood.

      It was his scent.

      It was the same scent that had wrapped around her time after insane time for endless months. It haunted her constantly, sometimes in frustrating, imposing ways, and other times in a darkly passionate manner that made her crawl with frustration within her own skin.

      He didn’t like it when she moved away from him, and it always showed in the possessive sweep of his hands as they threaded into the straight fall of her hair. She knew by instinct alone that her hair fascinated him. He was always touching it, holding her prisoner by it, drawing it to the rub of his lips.

      She was too tired to battle him. After six months of this blissful, exasperating torture at his persistent hands and stubborn nature, she had become too addicted to the way he could eventually bend her to his pleasure and her own. Before he had come, she had prided herself for her control of her own body. Gymnastics, martial arts, and marathon runs were her measuring stick, all of which she had excelled in at one point or another in her lifetime.

      But it all went to hell in a speedy little handbasket the moment his fingertips touched her skin and his breath whispered against her ear. He spoke, she knew, but speech was wiped away into unintelligible whispers and hot clouds of increasingly excited breath.

      She didn’t mind so much, though. She couldn’t see the features of his face, so she could tell herself that it was purely imagination and therefore safe to indulge in.

      Then she would remember that her imagination had been fixated on this mysterious man as well as his alluring scent and feel without fail, every single time, and she would feel the quickening of her heart as she acknowledged on a very distant level that this was all more than just a dream. This was the thought that always panicked her into struggling with him, trying to fight him even though she knew how futile it was. He never had to force her to his will; he could do it well enough with the sweet skill of his touch alone, with the sweeping seal of his lips and mouth as he slowly devoured her resistance along with her kisses.

      Kestra ripped out of sleep with a growl of annoyance, forcing herself awake just so she could make the audible sound of protest and denial. She lay in the dampness of sheets misted with perspiration, breathing hard and feeling her chest ache with the violent pounding of her heart. She pressed a palm to her rib cage.

      “Damn you!” she cursed up to the ceiling, though she was unsure if she was cursing the dream man, God, or herself. No matter who it was, they were playing massive head games with her when she was asleep and at her most vulnerable. It was exhausting her, wreaking havoc with her concentration, strength, and equilibrium, all of which were her primary tools in her work. When James started noticing she was off her stride, then she truly knew she was in trouble. She needed sleep, but sleep brought him. When she tried to stay awake, she always failed miserably, falling irresistibly into unconsciousness and subsequently his unending thrall over her.

      Kestra slid out of bed, walking her hot, damp body through the cold room. She paced in her thin, plaid boxers, rolled at the waist to better fit her trim hips, and white ribbed tank top, trying to shake off the kinetic restlessness these dreams always left behind.

      She needed to get laid.

      That was the only thing she could come up with at this point. It had to be the reason why she indulged in these highly erotic fantasies in her sleep, only to wake up more unsatisfied than ever. James would have laughed at the idea of her latest solution. He knew her well enough to know that blowing things up was her best form of release, not sex. But she’d just torched an entire dock of warehouses that previous night, and yet here she was