Prince Fenrir

Wynter stared at the Prince unable to tear her gaze away from his casual nonchalance. He straightened up, upon his throne. Leaning back against the tall wooden back. The carvings lost from sight behind him. Above the Prince a large stained glass window threw a rainbow of muted colours onto the pale stone floor.

It was a huge room and she wondered if it had once been a ballroom. To the right was a large double staircase that emerged from the balcony that overhung the space. They met on a landing before sweeping down and opening up onto the floor.

There was space for over a hundred people to dance. But Dorien loitered at the doorway, leaning against it with his hands folded across his chest, smug. Other than the three of them, the room was bare.

‘Approach,’ his voice was as cold as the stone itself. His face unwavering as he extended a hand over the arm of the chair, tapping his fingers upon the wood. Impatient. She bristled, fighting against her desire to run once more.

Running away from Fin, only meant running towards Malachi. Although at this exact moment, she couldn’t be sure what would be worse. Shocked by the sight of him, it took all her willpower to force her limbs to move forward. Weapons still gripped in her hands before Dorian reached out, catching her by the arm.

She turned, staring at the man with his cool smile and followed his gaze to her sword and bow. Wordless, she passed the stave and quiver to him before unfastening the belt around her hips. Of course he wouldn’t let her approach the Prince, armed as she was.

Vulnerable once more she turned back to Fin. He hadn’t moved, had he even breathed? It was hard to tell with such space between them. It was just a room but it felt like a chasm. One she did not want to cross, but had to.

Wynter spun and let her skirts settle around her ankles ragged as they were. Her corset was fastened loose around her body and the sleeves of the shirt beneath had been reduced to useless strips of cloth that hid nothing. She was still dirty, bloodied and had the taste of the man upon her tongue.

Her lips were dry, cracked from dehydration and she was hungry. Fin had left their bed without a second glance and now she knew why. She’d been an amusement to him. Truly, how could a Prince have found interest in her? There was nothing that she could offer him. Yet she needed his help.

Heart hammering in her chest she crossed the stone floor. Her boot steps ringing out through the otherwise empty room.

‘Dorien, out,’ Fin dismissed the Knight and the door slammed shut behind her. She shuddered, cringing at the way loud noises seemed to affect her these days. Malachi had been a fan of slamming doors, the sound of them hitting the walls would signal his return home.

Or a particularly foul mood. Not his worst moods though. Not when his anger burnt cold. He’d never been loud then. She shivered, fighting against her silent past as she approached the man she’d given herself to, just a few hours before.

The dias raised him above her. His clothes were of the finest quality. Had they been last night? He wore black breeches tucked into black boots that were polished until they shone. His blonde hair had been slicked back from his hair in waves. His blue eyes were dark with intensity. His shirt was midnight blue, parted in a v over his chest.

With nothing to hold, she pulled her hands behind her back. Gripping tightly. Resisting the urge to flex her fingers, to remember the feel of him beneath her palms. Because they’d made love over and over after that first time. She’d been able to explore him. To run her fingers through the curls of blonde hair that covered his beautiful chest.

She was lightheaded, dizzy with lust and the tangled sickly feeling that came from meeting him again. Standing at the bottom of the dias she stared up at the man. What could she say to him? She wanted to slap him for leaving like that! For treating her like a whore, without so much as saying goodbye.

She didn’t dare. She needed his help, she couldn't afford to offend him.

‘Have you nothing to say to me?’ He lifted an imperious eyebrow and she clenched her hands into fists. Fury rose through her body and she took a breath.

Calm down, Wynter, she told herself. Calm down. Treat him like a stranger. He is a stranger.

‘Your Highness,’ he was a stranger. She reminded herself and he was a Prince. He didn't know who she was. Not really. So she dipped into a curtsey herself. Sweeping ragged skirts and dipping low, head bent gracefully before she straightened.

Drawing on all the hours of practice that her Step-Mother had drilled into her over years and years. In the hope that Wynter Alana, would never disgrace the name of her family. Of course her Step-Mother had been utterly wrong, but at least she knew how to curtsey to a Prince.

But how did you curtsey correctly to a man that you’d ridden like a stallion the night before? Her cheeks were flushed with embarrassment as she fixed her gaze on his shoulder. She had imagined her desperate petition of the Lord of wherever she managed to flee to. SHe had gone over it in her mind a hundred times.

‘Out with it, woman,’ he demanded, terse.

She grit her teeth. Even in her internal arguments, it hadn’t gone well. Never, had it gone this badly.

‘Your Highness,’ he’s a stranger, he’s a stranger, she lied to herself and forced what she hoped was a sweet and inviting smile. Even if she did want to punch him in the face. Her anger was quick to rise and hard to subdue. ‘I have arrived in Whire, to petition for your protection.’

‘My protection?’ He lent back in his chair, hands outstretched on either arm as he studied her coldly. ‘You didn’t even know that it was Whire you were travelling to. You haven't come for my protection.’

‘So kind of you to acknowledge our prior meeting,’ she snapped back. She couldn’t help herself. Her nails were digging into her palms hard enough to leave little moons where her nails dug in. Any more and she’d be drawing blood.

‘It’s not every night I meet a seductress from Gryff in my forests,’ he returned and she glared at him.

‘A seductress?’ She demanded and took a step up the dias, forgetting herself.

‘What else would you claim to be? Or will you deny that you’re from Gryff as well?’

‘I’m not -’ she bit back the words before she could say them. She was from Gryff, or as close as could be damnit. How dare he try and pick apart her lies so quickly. How dare he call her a seductress. ‘Your forests are unkempt and wild,’ she shot back at the man, ‘they’re filled with thorns and completely impassable!’

‘As if we’re trying to keep people out!’ He was on his feet, stepping down towards her.

‘I didn’t intend to come here!’ It was the truth and it saw him pause, hesitating in his own frustration. She caught herself once more, ‘I did not come here to seduce you,’ she tried to steady her voice, ‘I didn’t know who you were, Fin.’ She finished. His name tasted bitter. It was a lie. The man she’d met the night before, had been a lie.

‘Fenrir,’ he corrected with a nod, ‘or your Highness is just fine.’

‘So kind,’ she replied bitterly. She felt as though she’d been running up and down the mountains. Wynter lifted a hand, pressing it against her chest. ‘I didn’t mean to come here,’ she repeated.

‘Where are you heading? We can see you on your way, rather than give you our protection.’

‘Anywhere,’ she answered instinctively. The truth again. ‘Anywhere away from -’ her voice caught. Her eyes stung with the sudden wave of emotion. Anywhere away from him, she’d meant and couldn’t bring herself to say the name aloud, Malachi. Wynter searched the high vaulted ceiling above, bringing herself under control.

Fin, or his Royal Highness, Prince Fenrir stood far too close. His own breath uneven, despite the stony expression upon his face.

‘In the name of Breyn, I ask under lore for your protection,’ she spoke the proper words and forced herself to meet his gaze. ‘Please help me.’

He growled, reaching towards the exposed skin of her arm but fell away before he could touch her. The door flew open again, crashing against the stone and she jumped. He was further away, striding back up towards his throne.

‘What is it?’ Fenrir demanded

‘More visitors,’ Dorien smirked.