Must Be Magic
Authors: Lani Aames
Must
Be Magic
To save his princedom
from the greedy Faerie King, the Prince of Pixieland must marry by the next
Equinox. A desperate spell hurls him into the realm of his Heart Match—who just
happens to be a mortal woman!
Cast into the Other
Realm—the human world—on St. Patrick’s Day, Prince Myghal pursues Kerry O’Neill
with physical pleasures beyond her wildest dreams. He has only three days to
convince her they are meant to be together.
Kerry has to believe that the man she had fantastic sex with and
is falling hard for is actually the Prince of Pixies. She
must
accept
it, because she has to brave the tunnels of the Troll who lives under the
bridge across the street to save Myghal. And her heart has known all along that
their incredible connection must be magic.
An
Ellora’s Cave Romantica Publication
Must be Magic
ISBN 9781419926174
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Must be Magic Copyright ©
2005 Lani Aames
Cover art by Syneca
Electronic book publication
2005
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This book is a work of fiction and any
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used fictitiously.
MUST BE MAGIC
Lani Aames
The rush of high winds displaced
the roar of furiously beating Faerie wings as Prince Myghal darted through the
doorway at the top of the tallest turret of Castle Faer. His trusted men,
Malthe right behind him, and Sirrin bringing up the rear, slammed the heavy
wooden door shut and leaned against it just in time.
Myghal relaxed. Two Pixies,
especially if one of them was his massive friend and personal guard Sirrin,
could easily hold back a horde of infernal Faeries.
As soon as Myghal stepped out
from the shelter of stone around the doorway, the gusting wind made it
difficult to stand, but he bent into the wind and made his way to the edge of
the parapet. Leaning over in the narrow space between the protective blocks of
stone, he looked down.
Winks of light, indicating cozy
homes, dotted the storm-shrouded landscape as far as he could see to the right.
In the other direction, there was nothing but the darkness that marked the edge
of Wildwood, the dense and treacherous forest separating the Faerie Kingdom
from his home, Pixieland.
Looking down, he saw that most of
the Faerie Guard had made their way outside and were fighting the gusting wind
to the top of the turret. The storm delayed them, but Myghal and his friends
had to think of something. Fast.
“My
liege,” Malthe shouted from his side. “It appears we’re trapped.”
Myghal
agreed with his Chancellor who had the most annoying habit of stating the
obvious. Still, Malthe’s habit allowed them both to look at a situation
clearly.
Faeries
at the door, Faeries swarming the turret by air, and even Faeries who probably
thought they might reach them faster than braving the wind were climbing the
side of the tower. Myghal had been held captive for nearly two moons, and he
was sick to death of Faeries.
Sirrin
joined them, his bulk blocking most of the wind. Beside him, Malthe was
dwarfed, even though the Chancellor was as tall as Myghal himself. Sirrin made
anyone in his vicinity look small and insignificant.
Myghal glanced back at the door.
Sirrin had moved a huge block of stone from somewhere to hold the door closed.
Myghal wouldn’t be surprised to find out that he had ripped it from the
sheltering wall. Unusually large and muscular for a Pixie, Sirrin’s strength
often came in handy.
“I’ll fight to the death,
Myghal.” Sirrin’s brown eyes sparked, and he punctuated his impassioned declaration
by drawing his broadsword.
“No.” Myghal laid his hand on his
friend’s shoulder. Sirrin had been with him since childhood and, since the
death of Myghal’s father had made Myghal ruler of Pixieland, the only person to
call him by his given name. “We’ve not spilled Faerie blood so far and we
won’t. They won’t be able to hold us responsible for this in any way.”
Sirrin slid his weapon back into
its sheath, but his wide forehead creased and his eyes narrowed. “We’re not
responsible at all. Who would blame us for defending ourselves and our prince?”
Myghal exchanged meaningful
glances with his Chancellor. Sirrin was his best friend, but the politics of
the princedom and their sometimes precarious position within the Faerie Realm
escaped him.
“They’ll find a way. They always
do.” Myghal looked out over the edge of the parapet again. The Faerie Guard
drew closer, but battling the stiff winds would keep them at bay a while
longer. Maybe long enough for them to think of something.
Sirrin snorted. “If I can’t kill’em,
can I clip their wings?”
“No!”
Myghal shouted.
Sirrin’s
growl of disappointment was his only response.
“Do you
have any dust?” Myghal asked when he turned back to his men. His supply of
pixie dust had been confiscated at the time of his kidnapping.
“My
liege,” Malthe began in a tone of voice that signified what he was about to say
was not good news at all. “Sir Sirrin and I brought as much as we could carry,
but the Faeries were taking no chances. They had half the Guard on watch and it
took all the dust we had to get past them and reach you. I used the last of it
on the six guarding your cell.”
Suddenly,
Sirrin drew back and swung his meaty fist toward Myghal’s head. Luckily,
Myghal’s reflexes were quick. He ducked and Sirrin’s fist smashed into a Faerie
face. The guardsman shrieked as he fell back.
Sirrin
looked at Myghal and shrugged. “I didn’t kill him and I didn’t touch his
wings.”
Malthe
frowned, his brows furrowing over his eyes. “We have to do something and soon.
It won’t be long before more than we can dispatch will be upon us.”
Myghal
agreed. But what could they do? Pixies didn’t have wings. They could fly, but
only for short distances. None of them would make it to the ground from this
height or through these high winds alive. They needed dust.
Sirrin
laughed and clapped Malthe’s thin back, nearly sending the older man to his
knees. “You have Myghal’s Heart Match dust.”
Malthe’s
pale blue eyes widened. “Of course. As required by law, I have the charmed dust
on me at all times.”
Myghal
held out his hand. “Give it to me.”
“But,
my liege—” Malthe began with a splutter.
“We
don’t have time to argue and we don’t have any other choice,” Myghal snapped.
Malthe
reached beneath his cloak and tunic, to a pouch fastened around his waist. “The
dust has already been charmed and can’t be used for anything else. You know
this.”
By the
laws set upon them when Pixieland broke away from the Faerie Realm and declared
their independence, a newly coronated prince must be wed by the next Equinox or
the princedom would revert to Faerie rule. Myghal had had his share of women,
but he’d never found one he favored over another. Having no preference, Myghal
had decided to invoke the ancient custom of using Pixie magic to find the
perfect mate to be his Princess.
The night before the ceremony was
scheduled to take place, he had been kidnapped by the Faeries. Norfe, the
Faerie King, had been trying to regain control of Pixieland for as long as he’d
been on the throne. The Pixies supplied the Faeries with dust, and rulers
before Norfe had recognized the importance of keeping the Pixies happy. Norfe’s
pride wouldn’t have him or his realm beholden to anything or anyone.
Malthe and Sirrin had managed to
infiltrate the castle and rescue Myghal, but now they all were trapped without
Pixie dust. Using the Heart Match dust was the only way.
“The incantation brings your mate
to you,” Malthe reminded him, still clutching the pouch. “Transporting an
unsuspecting maiden into the middle of this situation will only give King Norfe
a greater advantage in preventing your marriage.”
Myghal
nodded, but the idea had already formed. “Can’t I change the incantation?”
Malthe’s
eyes grew wide again. “My liege, that incantation was composed eons ago and has
been tested by time. To change the spell without careful thought is to invite
disaster.”
“What
could be more disastrous that the mess we’re in now?” Myghal asked and took the
bag from Malthe.
The
three men huddled around the small bag of dust as Myghal untied the knot.
“How
does it go?”
Malthe
recited the rhyme:
“In the
realm of Fae and Kin,
“We
have dwelled, alone, apart.
“Bring
to me, in good will and good faith,
“The
other half of my heart.”
Myghal thought a moment, then put
his hand into the bag and brought out a fistful of dust. “I'll change one line,
to take us to my Heart Match instead of bringing her here. That should be all
right, shouldn't it? Are you ready?”