Lost Princess (8 page)

“Jackson.”

Her voice burned through him, like salt in an open wound.

He didn’t even slow his stride.

“Please, Jackson. Wait.”

He couldn’t talk to her right now, couldn’t face her. Would he have struck her? Of course not. He’d only lifted his hand to point a finger in warning. Was that much better? The internal battle threatened his sanity. Was the pressure so great he would lash out in such a way at the woman he loved? The woman he’d fought so hard to keep from claiming? Because she wasn’t ready?

Maybe that was the problem. Once he claimed her, maybe the jealousy would lessen. Maybe the fear of losing her would stop tormenting him.

Her hurried footsteps echoed off the damp stone walls, hammered through his pounding head.

He whirled to face her.

She stopped short, her hand flying to her chest. Her gaze fell on his hardened expression, and she gasped.

He ached with the need to pull her into his arms. To apologize for…well…everything. To claim what was rightfully his. He took a step toward her. Another. He could do nothing to soften his expression or his words, though he desperately wanted to. “I have nothing to say to you, Ryleigh.” He straightened his spine, strengthening his resolve.

“Jackson, please. We need to talk about this…” Her lower lip quivered. “I don’t want to fight with you. Please. We can work this out.”

Regret rode him hard. He inhaled deeply, the moldy odor, the dampness, and his runaway emotions practically choking him. He had to escape the underground tunnel, had to be free, needed air. Sensations he couldn’t understand threatened to suffocate him. They could talk later, once he’d calmed down, when he wouldn’t have to be afraid of saying something that might chase her away. Something he’d regret.

Tears streamed unchecked down her cheeks. Sobs wracked her delicate frame.

He buried the urge to protect her. Maybe she needed protection from him. Turning his back on her and walking away proved to be the most difficult thing he’d ever done. But he did do it. For the second time.

He jogged up the stairs and out into the light, greedily gulping the fresh, clean air into his aching lungs. He whistled, one long, shrill sound.

Ryleigh, Chayce, Elijah…all of them angry with him, judging him, condemning him. They knew nothing of the responsibilities weighing on his shoulders, crushing him.

The familiar black shape emerged from behind the castle and flew toward him. Nika.

Jackson stood still, waiting for the hound to reach him. His rigid muscles would have held him rooted to the ground even if he’d wanted to move. Some king he was.

Nika landed smoothly beside him and lowered his massive head to be pet.

Jackson weaved his fingers into the long, thick mane of black fur surrounding Nika’s head. The comfort was almost immediate, soothing the rawest of his nerves. He buried his face in the hound’s neck.

Nika nuzzled him, almost knocking him off his feet.

A small burst of laughter surprised him. “It’s okay, boy.” It would be all right. Everything would work out. He just had to reign in his temper, gain some sort of control over his feelings. He climbed onto Nika’s back. The giant hound took two steps and launched himself into the air, his giant wings spreading behind Jackson.

Jackson guided Nika toward the fields at the front of the castle, dipped between the spires, weaved between the towers, narrowly avoiding a collision. Adrenaline pumped through him, forcing the tension to recede. They rounded the last tower, and Nika dove. Jackson threw his hands in the air, his stomach lurching into his throat at the steep descent. The wind tore through his hair, whipping it behind him. They hurtled toward the ground, aiming directly for the place where his mother had once stood. The exact spot where she’d given her life to save her kingdom. His kingdom now. Could he find the strength and courage to rule as she had? As his father had? As they would both expect of him?

Nika leveled and skimmed across the field, inches from the barren ground. Circling the Tree of Hope, the last tree in the Kingdom of Cymmera to show any sign of life, brought a rush of pride. They were flying too fast for him to see the precious buds clinging so desperately to one branch, but he knew exactly where they were. The three buds that had held on since his mother’s death, and the three new buds that had emerged at Ryleigh’s touch. A sure sign Ryleigh’s destiny lay at his side.

Jackson guided Nika toward the castle. It was time to take his place on the throne. Time to bury the past and move on. Time to grow up. And once all of that was taken care of, he’d seek out Ryleigh and try to fix the mess he’d made of their relationship.

Nika landed smoothly, and Jackson patted his head before climbing down. He ran up the stone stairs and down a narrow corridor to the throne room.

The guards bowed in acknowledgement before pulling open the massive wooden doors.

Jackson hesitated only a moment, offering a small plea to his father for guidance—his gaze fell on the prisoner—and patience. Jackson entered the throne room, his stride purposeful. Although his footsteps echoed loudly through the stone chamber, the soldier only stiffened his spine and remained still.

Two guards stood beside him, one on either side.

Elijah stood before the throne facing the prisoner and Jackson.

At Jackson’s approach, Elijah lowered himself to one knee, folded his hands over the other, and bowed his head in the traditional greeting for the king.

Jackson usually waved off such formalities, but this time, he bowed his head in acknowledgement and ascended the throne. Only then did he turn his attention to the prisoner.

The two guards bowed. One of them, Lucas, put his booted foot to the back of the prisoner’s knee, and together the guards forced the soldier to his knees in deference. No easy task considering the extensive way in which the man was shackled. Or the ferocity with which he fought back. It didn’t matter, though. The guards may have been able to force him to his knees, but they couldn’t wrestle the defiance or the fury from the gaze he pinned Jackson with.

“King Maynard.” Elijah faced Jackson with the prisoner behind him staring daggers at Jackson.

Jackson held the prisoner’s gaze.

The man didn’t even flinch. He knelt, back straight, chin lifted in defiance. His hands were shackled together, as were his feet. A chain ran through both sets of shackles and around his waist, then down through an iron ring secured to the floor. This man’s would not be an easy spirit to break.

Jackson would have had so much respect for the soldier, even though he’d tried to use Ryleigh as a bargaining tool…if the other man wasn’t Ryleigh’s friend. That changed everything.

“You are dismissed, Elijah.” He allowed his gaze to shift toward Elijah.

The prophet’s eyes widened, and his mouth fell open. “I beg your pardon, sir?”

“I said, you are dismissed. Thank you.” He turned his attention to the two guards. “Leave us, please.”

Lucas and the other guard looked at each other over the prisoner’s head, then looked to Elijah as if seeking permission.

The seer nodded once, and the three men turned and left.

When this was over, Jackson would have to establish more firmly who was in charge, though he couldn’t really blame the men for turning to Elijah for guidance. Jackson hadn’t been much of a leader since his father’s death. Well…that was all about to change.

The clang of the heavy doors falling shut jolted Jackson from his reverie. He focused his full attention on the task at hand. “What is your name?”

The soldier’s expression hardened, but he remained silent.

Jackson lowered himself to the throne, weary from shouldering the burden of his responsibilities. Or maybe just tired of trying to avoid them. “Look…” He rubbed a hand across the back of his neck, hoping to ease some of the strain. “I…uh….” The words stuck in his throat, but he forced himself to choke them out. “I apologize.”

The prisoner’s eyes widened. He cocked his head to the side and studied Jackson.

“I should have explained immediately. Forgive me. My temper got the better of me.” That was all the explanation the soldier would get. He should count himself lucky he’d gotten that much. “Why don’t we start over from the beginning?”

The soldier climbed to his feet, the shackles clanking loudly. He stood, feet planted wide—as far apart as the chains would allow, at least—hands fisted in front of him. His stare defiant.

When the man said nothing, Jackson continued. “I’m sure you have questions, and I will answer them, but I’d like to explain where you are first.”

The prisoner nodded once. Finally, an acknowledgement.

“You are in the Kingdom of Cymmera.”

The irritating smirk returned. “And you are the king?” He lifted a brow, the skepticism unmistakable.

“Yes. I am King Maynard.”

“You’re barely more than a child, and I’m supposed to believe you run a kingdom?” Derision dripped from each word.

This kid couldn’t be more than eighteen or nineteen himself. Who was he calling a child? “My father was killed in battle recently.” No point in lying. If the prisoner agreed to join the Cymmeran Guard, he would soon find out the truth anyway. They’d already started off on the wrong foot. No sense compounding the issue with a lie.

“Where are my teammates?” The man’s expression hardened. No sign of mockery remained in the scowl he now wore.

“They are still in the dungeon. I will speak with each of you individually and explain your situation.” Jackson shrugged. “I figured it best to start with you, since we’ve already…” Already what? Tried to kill each other? His father had made this look so easy. “All right. Here’s the deal. You are now a…resident…of Cymmera. That is not negotiable, but your role here is. At the moment, you are a prisoner. That can change. If you agree to join the Cymmeran Guard and fight for our kingdom, you will be given not only your freedom, but all the respect and honor due a warrior. Do you have any questions?”

The prisoner laughed. “You’re kidding, right?”

“I’m afraid not. Can you give me your name at least?”

He pursed his lips, and Jackson thought he would refuse to answer, but he finally did. “Noah. Noah White.”

“All right, Noah. Ask away.” Jackson waved a hand and sat back.

“Where exactly is Cymmera? I’ve never heard of it.”

“It’s another realm.”

Noah looked around the chamber, but his gaze shot back to Jackson. “Explain.”

“Cymmera is a kingdom in another realm. You were transferred here because we need soldiers. Our prophet had a vision in which your team existed here, so a team of Death Dealers was dispatched to…uh…acquire you.”

A grin lit Noah’s face. It erupted into full blown laughter. “This is…is…some sort of joke. Right?”

Jackson kept his expression somber. He shook his head. “I’m afraid not.”

“So…you’re saying you’ve taken us prisoner.”

“Sort of.”

“What do you mean sort of? Can we return home or not?”

“You cannot.”

“Why not?”

Ahh…the part he’d been hoping to avoid explaining. Oh well. So be it. Better to have it out in the open. “Do you remember the battle which claimed your life?”

Noah stiffened. His eyes widened but studied Jackson’s intently. A frown creased his forehead.

Prisoners often couldn’t remember their final moments until they’d been gently reminded. Of course, the real King Maynard had been much better at softening the news. Who knew? Maybe Jackson would get better with time. And maybe he hadn’t tried to soften the blow for Noah…Ryleigh’s friend.

Noah lunged for Jackson. He gave no warning, simply launched himself toward the throne, a look of pure hatred marring his—unfortunately handsome—features. The chains secured to the ring in the floor brought him up short. They held fast no matter how violently he fought against them. “I’ll kill you, you bastard.” Spittle sprayed from his mouth.

“I see you remember.” Jackson remained seated. No sense further provoking the man. He obviously wasn’t ready to surrender to Jackson’s demands.

“When I get my hands on you, you are a dead man.”

“Yeah…about that. I should explain that Cymmerans are infinitely stronger and faster than humans. We are also…difficult to kill.” Jackson shrugged. There was no reason to explain that Cymmerans were pretty close to immortal. He’d figure it out on his own soon enough. Or someone would tell him. He grinned. “But you are certainly welcome to give it your best shot.”

“You think you’re funny?” Noah stopped struggling against his bonds. “Release me, and we’ll see who has the last laugh.”

“I can see you’re not yet ready to accept my terms. Therefore, you will be returned to the dungeon until such time as you change your mind.” In a way, Jackson was relieved the soldier hadn’t given up so easily. It showed the strength of character Jackson had expected. He reached for a rope, which hung beside the throne, but the grin that spread across the other man’s face stilled his hand.

“What about Ryleigh? Is she a prisoner as well? Did she give in to your demands to keep from being imprisoned for the rest of her life?”

Jackson curled his hand into a fist. He allowed it to hover an inch from the rope that would sound a bell calling the guards to return the prisoner to his cell. Blind rage seared his brain, clouding his thoughts. He stood and let his fist fall to his side, descended the two steps in front of the throne, and crossed the short distance to the prisoner. He stood toe to toe with the other man and lifted a finger to point in his face. “Don’t you ever mention Ryleigh’s name in my presence. Do you understand me? You leave her out of—”

Noah moved with the speed of lightning, opening his mouth and grabbing Jackson’s finger between his teeth, grinding down.

Without thinking, Jackson punched him in the temple.

Noah’s jaw loosened, releasing its hold on Jackson’s finger as he fell unconscious to the ground and smacked his head against the stone floor.

Well…that could have gone better.

He strode to the rope, rang for the guards to remove the prisoner, and studied the wound on his finger. Not that it hurt—having already begun to heal—but he couldn’t believe the other man had bested him. Jackson was a Death Dealer. He’d trained for hundreds of years to achieve that calling. Yet he’d been attacked by a human, because he’d gotten too close, had allowed his emotions to get the best of him because of…