Enchanting the Fae Prince: Kingdoms of Lore Book Two by Alisha Klapheke

Author:Alisha Klapheke [Klapheke, Alisha]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Alisha Klapheke
Published: 2021-04-28T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 17

Rhianne

Rhianne shivered as they walked into the cabin Brielle had offered them. A candle flickered in a thick glass cylinder on the wall of the cabin. A stove with a set up similar to the one that had been on the Nucklavee radiated blessed heat. A narrow bed sat against the far wall, and Rhianne was so exhausted, she’d probably fall asleep in it without even getting out of her wet clothing.

Werian shut the door firmly, then gave Rhianne his back. “Change now. Your hands are about to freeze right off your lovely body. I’m glad it’s only autumn and not winter yet. You might have lost a finger or two to this mess of a quest.”

She shivered so hard she worried her jaw would crack. “Thank you. I’m quite glad I don’t have a laced-up gown like Brielle. My poor fingers could never manage it.”

She thumped around behind him, shucking her simple, wet dress and underthings into a pile to the side of the door. Then she dressed in a dark-ruby-colored tunic and plain, homespun trousers that were a bit too big for her. The trousers had a tie at the front, and she knotted it as best as she was able. She set her sea-soaked belt, stockings, and undershirt across a metal contraption—set there, no doubt, for this exact purpose—to dry by the stove, wishing the contraption had enough bars to host her dress and cloak.

“You can take your turn now, if you like,” she said to Werian.

Doing her best to keep her gaze away from him, she sat on the side of the bed and reached toward the stove as he hung his baldric on a hook and worked his wet vest and shirt off. Heat bled into her fingertips. Werian tossed the wand onto the coverlet beside her, and though she’d been trying very hard to keep her eyes averted, she glimpsed his bare chest and trim waist. His skin was as smooth as river stone, muscles cutting deep across him.

She forced her mouth to close, then took a breath and asked, “Why did you take the wand, anyway? What’s wrong?” In her curled fingers, the wand was as warm as the heat from the stove.

“Brielle is Wylfen.”

Rhianne’s blood stilled. “No.”

“Her accent gives her away. Her cousin’s accent is even more clearly Wylfen. And you know how they treat those who have magic.”

Goddess Vahly of earth, help her. The Wylfen burned witches. The stories went on and on about the horrific deeds perpetrated by their king.

A spark of hope lit up inside her.

“Could it only be the king who hates magic?” she asked. After all, she’d thought a fae prince was too far above her status to ever consider her as a love match, but here they were. “Maybe common folk, non-warriors, don’t care about such things. As a simple villager, I never worried much about those beyond my ken. Perhaps Brielle and her cousin Gabe are the same?”

“I’m not counting on it,” he said, starting on his trousers.

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