Lost Princess (4 page)

His laughter indicated he might not fully understand her frustration. Then again, it could also mean he understood perfectly and simply found her prolonged torture entertaining.

“Okay.” He held his hands up, palms toward her, his laughter fading to an amused smile. “Why are you having such a hard time with this?”

Ryleigh opened her mouth but bit back the sharp retort. Fire burned through her shoulders. “I think maybe the sword is too heavy.”

Jackson frowned. “Hmm…”

“Every time I swing it over my head, it feels like something’s pulling in my shoulders.” That was an understatement. Each time she lifted the heavy, ornate sword, her shoulders and upper back screeched in agony.

“Wait here.”

As he walked away, she studied the way the dark jeans clung to the muscles in his thighs until the door fell shut behind him. Then she sighed. The thought of dropping to the mat and laying still for a while appealed to her…until she remembered she’d only have to haul herself back up again. Instead, she hobbled to the other side of the room and lowered herself gently into a chair. Clasping her hands together, she stretched them out in front of her in an effort to ease some of the stiffness. No good. Crossing her arms to stretch her back did little to ease the tension in her muscles either. She cautiously rolled her shoulders, the stab of pain coming even sooner than she’d expected.

The door opened, the wood screeching against the stone floor.

She couldn’t take any more.

Jackson crossed the room, a large pouch cradled in his hands. Curiosity chased away some of her self-pity.

“I was saving this for something special, but it’s probably better if you train with it now anyway. So…” He knelt before her and laid the pouch across her lap. “Open it.”

She untied three leather cords and spread the cloth apart. The sword was much thinner and lighter than the one she’d been training with but just as long. She fingered the purple and clear jewels, similar to amethyst and diamonds, adorning the handle of the delicate sword, ran her fingers carefully up the blade. “It’s gorgeous.” Beside the sword lay a long strip of dark purple leather.

“I had it made special for you. It’s much lighter, so it should be easier for you to work with.”

She gripped the handle and lifted it above her head, then faltered at the twinge in her shoulder and lowered the sword to her lap.

“Here. Let me help you.” Jackson took the sword and put it back on the cloth, lifted everything from her lap and laid it all on the floor. Then he stood and moved behind her.

The pressure of his fingers against her neck sent a new wave of pain crashing through her. She started to shy away, but he only increased the pressure.

The muscles beneath his fingers tingled. Warmth heated her neck, spread steadily down through her shoulders and upper back as his attention moved lower. The pain dissipated, leaving her muscles warm and supple. Flexible.

She relaxed into his gentle touch. “Whatever you’re doing, don’t stop.”

“Now that I’m no longer banished and stripped of my powers, I’m able to heal you.”

Heat spread through her.

“You have no idea how badly it hurt me to leave you suffering when you were injured in the earthquake.” He moved his magic hands lower down her back. “You’ll have to start trying to heal on your own at some point, though.”

Ryleigh ignored the statement, not yet ready to contemplate she might actually have special powers too. She let her head drop forward as he played his fingers up and over her neck. A small moan of pleasure escaped before she could stop it.

He jumped back. “Does that feel better?”

The loss of his touch left her empty, and she ached for the flow of energy to return. She rolled her shoulders and tilted her head from side to side. “Wow. That feels amazing.” She turned on her chair to say thank you, but stopped short the instant she faced him.

Heat filled his eyes.

He tucked a few strands of long blonde hair that had come loose from her ponytail behind her ear. His fingers lingered along her neck, tracing a line over her frantically racing pulse. He leaned closer, his gaze locked on hers, the intensity burning through her.

She tamped down the flare of desire.

A small groan escaped Jackson as his eyes fell shut an instant before his lips gently caressed hers. He slid his hands around her back and pulled her up from the chair and into his embrace. His lips crashed down on hers, eagerly devouring her.

She gripped his shoulders, savoring the feel of his hard muscles flexing beneath her hands. Her legs weakened, threatened to collapse. She wrapped her arms around his neck and held on tightly as he deepened the kiss.

Chanting filled her mind. A chorus of voices. Beautiful. Intense. Ancient. Meaningful.

Jackson moved his hands up her back, gripped her upper arms and…shoved her forcefully away.

She opened her eyes as she stumbled back and grabbed the chair to keep her balance.

Jackson stood, head lowered, tremors wracking his body. She took a step toward him, but he held up a hand to keep her back.

“Jackson?” Until now, he’d fought so hard against the compulsion to claim her. “Jackson?”

He finally lifted his gaze to meet hers. “It’s all right. I stopped myself in time.”

Squeezing her eyes closed for a moment, she struggled for control. She wasn’t yet ready to be claimed by Jackson, didn’t even fully understand the concept or the meaning. He’d explained it to her, said it was simply a promise to be together forever. But forever in Cymmera meant just that, since its inhabitants were close to immortal and could only be killed by an instantly fatal wound, one that wouldn’t allow enough time for the recipient to heal himself. She opened her eyes. “Are you all right?”

He shook his head. “I’ll be fine. Just…let’s move on.” He averted his gaze and retrieved her things from the floor. “Come here.” He lifted a belt made of dark purple leather.

She hesitated, unsure he’d fully regained his senses.

He rolled his eyes. “I said it’s fine now.” She waited through the conflict blazing in his eyes. “I’m okay. I promise.” His tone softened. “Come here.”

She approached slowly. She loved Jackson, of that she was certain, but she wasn’t yet ready to make such a huge commitment, not only to him, but to his kingdom as well. If she allowed him to claim her, she’d be his for eternity. She wouldn’t be able to live in her realm, couldn’t stay with her sister, since Mia wasn’t yet strong enough to live in Cymmera. She’d be expected to rule at his side, become his queen. No. He couldn’t claim her. She wasn’t yet ready to accept his reality. She tentatively touched his cheek. “I’m sorry, Jackson.” Would her desire for him ever become so strong she’d surrender?

He covered her hand with his own. “I know. It’s all right.” The hint of a smile touched his eyes. “Most of the time.”

Ryleigh laughed, her nerves strung taut, wondering how long Jackson would be able to respect her decision.

He pulled her hand away, pressed his lips to her fingers, then stepped back. “Here. Let me put this on you.” He inhaled deeply and held his breath as he reached behind her and weaved the belt over her shoulder and around her waist then buckled it at her right hip. At her left hip, hung a sheath. He retrieved the sword and handed it to her.

A rainbow of reflections emanated from the stones. “It really is beautiful, Jackson. Thank you.” His answering smile brought a wave of relief. He seemed to have his emotions back under control. She slid the sword into place. It felt…right. She couldn’t help the grin that escaped. “I love it.” She moved to the center of the mat and pulled the sword from the sheath. She practiced a few times, sheathing and unsheathing it, before running through her warm-up routine. Sweat sprung out on her forehead, trickled down her back. “This is so much better.” The work-out felt good…hard…but good. Her muscles flexed smoothly, tension creating a dull ache, but none of the intense pain the heavier sword had brought.

“All right, let’s try practicing some—”

“Excuse me, Your Majesty.”

Ryleigh hadn’t even heard the seer approach. “Hi Elijah.”

“Miss Ryleigh.” He lowered himself to one knee, folded his hands across the other knee and bowed his head in the traditional greeting for the king—and queen.

Heat crept up Ryleigh’s cheeks. She’d finally gotten him to stop addressing her as your highness—with the threat of leaving and never returning—but no matter what she said, he still insisted on greeting her properly.

Elijah’s blue eyes, a stark contradiction to the dark, almost black, eyes of the other Cymmeran men she’d met, usually held only kindness and compassion. Now, something darker filled them. Something cold.

A chill raced up her spine.

He approached Jackson. “Forgive me, Your Majesty, for intruding, but I must speak with you immediately. I assure you it is of the utmost urgency.”

Jackson propped his hands low on his hips, a sure sign he was agitated. “What is it, Elijah?”

Elijah cleared his throat and continued to stare at Jackson. “I wish to speak with you in private, sir.” His gaze flickered briefly to Ryleigh, before darting back to Jackson.

Ryleigh started to back away. “Oh…uh…sorry. I’ll just—”

“No.” Jackson stood his ground, his posture rigid. “Ryleigh will one day be queen. You know and respect that, Elijah. I don’t understand your desire to exclude her from a conversation.”

Elijah exhaled slowly, his expression finally softening. “Sir. I mean no disrespect.” He turned to Ryleigh. “Your high—”

The glare she aimed at him stopped him short.

“Uhh…Miss Ryleigh. Forgive me. I assure you, I have the utmost respect for you.” He bowed his head. “It’s just…well…” He looked back at Jackson, his hands fidgeting wildly. “It’s a sensitive subject, sir.”

“Speak freely, Elijah.” Jackson’s expression softened. “This is ridiculous. You’re my friend, Elijah. Come in, sit down, and tell us what’s going on.” He gestured toward the chair. “It’s obvious something’s wrong. Is anyone hurt?”

“No, no. Everyone is fine. I’ve had a vision, sir.”

Jackson stilled.

Elijah waited until Jackson motioned for him to continue but made no move to sit. With one last glance at Ryleigh, Elijah straightened his spine. “Very well, sir. You must assemble the Death Dealers to retrieve the occupants of a human aircraft.”

Shock held Ryleigh’s tongue.

Jackson frowned. “Do you have the necessary information?”

She stared at Jackson. No way would he—

“I do, si—”

“You can’t be serious.” The sound came out too shrill, and she worked to lower her voice. “You’re not actually going to kidnap more humans, kill them, and bring them here?”

No one answered.

“Right?”

“Look, Ryleigh. If Elijah says it’s necessary, it is.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” She glared back and forth between the two of them.

Jackson’s expression was hard, his eyes holding none of the turbulent emotion she’d become accustomed to.

Elijah looked apologetic, but no less determined.

“I can’t believe you’re even considering this.”

“There is no other way, My Princess. I’m sorry.”

How dare they? Who did they think they were? “Are you going to at least try and transfer them without killing them?”

Elijah’s shoulders slumped. “Look, Miss Ryleigh, you must accept that it’s just not possible.”

“But I was able to open a portal here, and Mia transferred through just fine.” Something niggled at the back of Ryleigh’s mind. She tried to grab hold of it, but it was gone.

“With all due respect…” Elijah bowed his head—his formal behavior grating on Ryleigh’s last nerve—before continuing. “You and Princess Mia are both of Cymmeran descent, being descendants of King Raya, and even so your sister became very weak and had to be returned to her own realm to heal.” He pressed his fisted hands against his eyes, clearly distressed. “I assure you, I meditated on this for a very long time, too long, really, even after I was quite certain. If there were any other way, I would try it.”

“All right, why don’t we calm down?” Jackson held up his hands. “What else can you tell me about the vision, Elijah? Anything?”

Ryleigh backed off.

“Not much, I’m afraid. There is a small military team. Eight men. They are flying on an aircraft and must be retrieved.” Elijah rubbed his hands over his face. “Look, Jackson.”

Surprise slammed through Ryleigh. He never addressed Jackson by his first name. At least, she couldn’t remember him doing so since Jackson had taken his father’s place as king.

“You must move quickly.” He turned to Ryleigh. “If it makes you feel any better, My Princess, these men are going to die anyway.”

“How can you know that?” She choked back the anger, struggled for control. “There’s no way you could know that.”

Elijah gripped her ice-cold hands in his, sending a flow of warmth through her. “I promise you I am quite certain of that. I’m sorry, Miss Ryleigh. If there were any other way, I would take it. I can’t tell you why, but we will need these men. They are to play a crucial role in our kingdom’s future.” He held her gaze, his eyes stormy, turbulent, troubled. Then he released her hands and returned his attention to Jackson.

“If you do not intervene in time, the plane will be brought down in enemy territory. The men will be captured, tortured severely, and killed. Their bodies will be…displayed…as a warning. We won’t be able to retrieve them once any of that happens. That plane must be brought down, its occupants retrieved and transferred to Cymmera, before it reaches its destiny. You must hurry, Jackson. We’re running out of time.”

“Very well, Elijah. Thank you.”

“What?” Ryleigh gripped Jackson’s arm. “You’re not seriously thinking about doing this.” Ryleigh held her tongue while Elijah bowed before quietly retreating and leaving Ryleigh alone with Jackson. With the prophet gone, surely she could talk some sense into Jackson. Maybe he was just humoring the seer, didn’t really plan on following through with the plan. She took a deep breath. Counted to ten. Waited.

When Jackson turned to face her, she searched for the good humor, or the sarcastic grin she’d gotten used to. His expression was rock hard, deep lines bracketing his mouth. He was every bit the warrior. Her hopes fell.