Chapter 1

1

COLDEN

T he Eastland Territories are much like I expected, thanks to Alexus’s first-hand knowledge and detailed descriptions.

The Mishan port is as intimidating as he claimed, what with its near-constant shadows, spitting rain, and black, jagged mountains being the welcoming site. The people working the docks are watchful when we arrive. Curious and cautious, yet kind and accommodating. As we travel deeper into the kingdom, I find that same curiosity and hospitality with every stop, exceeding anything I could’ve imagined, even once we reach Quezira.

Our driver delivers us to an inn along the edge of the lower quarters, one whose owners have already prepared for our stay. People loiter nearby, as though waiting for a spectacle, but seeing us must be enough, because once we’re spotted, they scatter. It seems the whole of the territories knew we were coming.

After we’re settled, I head out into the rainy night and roam the cobbled streets and taverns for a few hours while Alexus burrows alone in his room with his books and journals. He insisted on accompanying me for this trip, but it’s clear that being on Eastland soil again, even after so many years, is difficult for him. He once had a life here, an existence he only partially remembers, though it seems he recalls enough to make this visit quite painful. Sadness and loss have etched their way into his expressions, ever since we spotted the Eastland shore from our ship.

Quezira at night teems with more people than any city in the North. I drink too much and flirt too much, but I end up chatting with a barkeep about the rainy and humid weather in Quezira and her favorite summer and autumn festivals before heading back to the inn.

The next morning, we leave just after dawn, much to my pounding head’s displeasure, careful to bypass Min-Thuret, a temple Alexus won’t even acknowledge with a glance, much like the rest of this city. Per my request—for my friend’s sake—we’re to meet the newly crowned Prince of the East at his home in Vale instead, a town further inland, and a place Alexus did visit as a child and later as a young adult, but one that holds no bad memories.

That he recalls, anyway.

We’ve already been on the road for eight days, and our driver says it will take another week to reach Shara Palace from Quezira. It’s a journey that leads us across rugged yet beautiful landscapes of forests and rolling green valleys, the land verdant and lush. Though our driver is determined to outride the clouds, we stop and rest a few times at various villages, each one just as prepared for us as the people of Quezira had been.

“I truly imagined they’d all want me dead,” I say as we begin the last stretch to Vale on a blessedly sunny summer morning.

Chin resting on his loosened fist, Alexus sits across from me, staring at his former homeland through the window of our fine carriage, a vehicle sent to the Mishan harbor by the prince himself.

The memories in Alexus’s eyes shine bright as we pass a few wary villagers shepherding sheep, watching our conveyance rumble along the road. “You’re a legend to them.” Like he used to be. “A mythical being mentioned only in their fireside stories about the Land Wars. Now they’re seeing you in the flesh, a man who bested King Gherahn’s forces. A man blessed by the gods.” He glances my way, his rugged face softening. “They’re fascinated, my friend. Not murderous.”

By his letters, their new prince seems fascinated too. No more fascinated than I am when it comes to him, however. This unknown prince who swayed an entire kingdom to seat him as ruler.

Not a king. A prince.

It’s strange, to say the least. Strange enough that I felt the need to leave Winterhold and investigate in order to ensure King Regner’s former treaty with the North would remain intact after his death. That’s the greatest security I have for my people outside of our meager defenses. We simply don’t have the masses to build an army that could endure war with the East. We have magick. Veils. Shields. And the Northland Watch along the coast. But I don’t trust that any of it is enough.

I’m asleep when we actually cross into Vale’s borders that afternoon. Alexus wakes me with a few nudges of his boot against mine.

“Damn,” he mutters as he stares out the window. “She's just as I remember."

I scrub my eyes and study the lay of the land. The landscape is flat, the city sprawling around what must be Shara Palace, a massive white stone structure perched regally on the only hill for what must be miles. At each corner of the edifice stands a round bastion tower, replete with tall cupolas crowned in shimmering gold. Multiple chimneys protrude from the central rooftop, and rectangular and arched windows delineate the six floors of this monstrous residence that has been passed down to Thamaos’s kings and queens for centuries.

We cross through the gatehouse and over the moat, until soon, our carriage approaches the graveled courtyard. As we circle toward the entrance, I spot an entourage spilling from the main doors.

Alexus points toward the palace. “That must be him.”

My gaze snags on a young man stepping from the palace into the sunlight, straightening his fine, green jacket as he runs his fingers through short hair that’s as thick and dark as the night itself.

“My, my. I certainly hope so.” When the carriage turns and the man vanishes from view, I look over to find Alexus watching me with narrowed eyes and a smirk. “What?” I shrug. “I didn’t picture such a dashing fellow, that’s all. It’s nothing.”

He cocks a brow and folds his thick arms across his chest. “Are you really trying to lie to me right now?”

I begin fretting with my hair and inspecting my rumpled attire, wishing I’d made more effort this morning. “I’m not lying. I expected…” I check my breath and slip on my discarded blue jacket. “Fine, I don’t know what I expected. But it wasn’t?—”

The carriage comes to a halt, and there, just steps from my window, stands the most handsome creature I’ve ever laid my eyes upon. Hands behind his back, he eyes our conveyance, a warm and welcoming smile resting on a set of full, red lips.

He’s tall. Not quite as tall as me, but I can’t beat him by much. His frame is lean, though his shoulders are broad, his stance relaxed and his feet shoulder-width apart. His sun-warmed skin has a subtle olive tone that creates the most alluring shadows along his sharp cheekbones. And that dark hair? In the afternoon’s rosy sunlight, I can make out strands of deep bronze and copper, not to mention a pair of darkly lashed hazel eyes with bright flecks of green.

“Fuck me,” I mutter, and Alexus groans.

“I really hope he doesn’t,” he says. “But knowing you, he’ll be swooning before dinner. I give it three days before you’ve completely disarmed the poor man.”

I smile and slap a firm hand on his shoulder. “Now that’s the spirit! Who says wars can’t be won and rulers swayed with a little good-hearted flirtation? My gods. Where has this Alexus been all my life?”

He rolls his eyes and checks his clothing—his long sleeves and high collar—making sure every marking on his body is well covered. “Let’s just get this over with. I’m already missing Winterhold.”

With that, a footman approaches and opens the carriage door. Alexus steps out first, nods once, and bows to the prince. He then extends a hand toward me.

“My liege,” he announces.

The moment I exit the carriage and unfold to my full height, my eyes lock with those of the prince. An expression of utmost surprise crosses his face, and his warm, genuine smile spreads wider. I feel like an idiot, because I grin, too, and begin moving toward him with such ease one would think I’ve known him forever.

He moves toward me as well, like there’s a magnetic force between us, drawing us together. We stop once our boots are a short step apart, our gazes still fixed, our smiles still wide.

“The mighty King of the North.” He extends his hand in greeting, his voice a lovely sound to my ears. “It’s so good to finally meet you, Your Highness.”

I tear my eyes from his and stare at his perfectly manicured hand. He’s brave. Trusting. Everyone knows I’m the Frost King. They might not know all the details surrounding my immortality, and they may know nothing of mine and Fia’s curse, but they know I hold the power to harm with what they believe is a god-blessed gift.

A Neri -blessed gift.

As I take the prince’s hand in mine, he doesn’t so much as flinch at the cool touch of my skin. Instead, he looks me over, quickly though appreciatively. I know that look. He likes what he sees and wonders if there’s even more than meets the eye. If we were alone, I would assure him there is.

When his stare meets mine again, his fingers tighten gently around my palm. I can’t help but think how much I like the feel of his strong grip, so much power hidden beneath such soft skin.

His hazel eyes glitter in the sunlight, his stare expectant, and I'm snapped out of my thoughts. Say something, you imbecile. Speak!

Unfortunately, though I’m fairly certain I’m already smitten enough to tumble this man until neither of us can walk or think, I find myself at an unusual loss for words.

“Call me Colden,” I finally say. “I’m no one’s Highness. ”

“No one’s?” he asks with a curious tilt of his head.

I smile. Am I sensing innuendo? I certainly hope so.

“No one’s.”

I think to ask his name, what I might call him, but I bite my tongue. Rumor holds that he has no name, not one he shares, anyway, and no royal lineage. It’s a way of placing himself on neutral ground with the common people of this land, which is admirable, I suppose. A tactic I’ve never seen and one that clearly worked. Though as with all else surrounding his reign, something about it stings odd.

Alexus nudges me and clears his throat. I suddenly realize that we’re being watched by the palace staff and my closest friend, all witnessing me and the prince ogling one another like two pubescent boys.

Fine. It’s me. I’m the pubescent boy.

Reluctantly, I slide my hand from the prince’s grasp and look to my right where a hard, wide glare awaits me. “Pardon my rudeness, this happy gentleman is Alexus Thibault, an old friend and advisor. Don’t let that brooding scowl fool you,” I say drily. “He’s a ball of fun.”

Alexus indeed scowls at me as the prince turns and extends his hand, his hazel gaze changing from one of sparkling admiration to one of narrowed thought. “Alexus Thibault.” His dark brows crumple. “Have we met?”

Alexus’s face is a mask of calm, a facade of deception that hopefully no one but me can see. He accepts the prince’s hand, though he pulls away quickly. “We have not, Your Majesty. Much to my loss, I’m certain.”

The prince lingers a look on Alexus, as though he’s still trying to place him. At least I hope that’s what’s happening, because I’m not sure the direction this meeting will take if he delves into Alexus being the Witch Collector, a fact I’m sure isn’t news, but a connection his mind needs to make. I really don’t want to discuss the protections and fortifications we have in place.

After long moments, the prince turns back to me. “This is my staff,” he says, much to my relief, gesturing to the people half-encircling us. “They’ve been instructed to make certain your stay here is nothing short of splendid. I hope we can show you both not only the beauty of the Eastland Territories but the uniqueness of its people as well.”

Not a single face around us looks unhappy. In fact, everyone wears a smile, clearly glad to be part of the prince’s new rule. I want to tell him that I’m fully aware of the East’s unique qualities and even some of the magnificent people it has birthed, especially the one standing at my side, brooding personality and all.

But I am also aware of its darkness. The hold Thamaos has forever had upon this land. It’s hard for me to believe their path will change with one simple appointment of a prince. That’s why I’m here, though. To seek answers.

“We look forward to our stay,” I reply, lifting my eyes to the palace. “Shara is quite a lovely estate.”

“I’d love to give you a tour,” he says, and with the simplest gesture, his staff begins filing back into the palace. “But first, let’s get you both settled in your rooms. I’m sure you’re exhausted from your journey.” He motions again, and two footmen begin gathering our things from the carriage. Alexus, being the guarded man he is, grabs one of our bags as well—the one hiding his precious weapons and journals—and falls in step so easily with the attendants, following them inside.

Left alone, save for two armed sentries at attention near the doors, I expect the prince to guide me into his residence. Instead, we stand there, still trapped in this magnetic sphere that won’t seem to let us move away from one another. To make matters worse, a warm breeze washes over us, ruffling his hair and drenching me in his scent. Gods, he smells like the outdoors—all pine and moss and clear streams. Musk and sandalwood and… man.

“You’re much younger than I ever imagined,” he says innocently.

"As are you." I lift my chin a little. “But looks can be deceiving, can't they? And haven’t you heard all the tales about me? I’m over three hundred years old. You are the youngster in this dynamic, my friend.”

He laughs. “I suppose I am. I just meant… Well, I didn’t expect you to be so …”

“Handsome?” I eventually supply when he doesn’t seem to know what word to use. “Beautiful? I’m rather used to this conundrum when I first meet people. I receive both compliments, too, and I appreciate either one. So don’t feel uneasy.”

“Beautiful. Shockingly beautiful .” His cheeks turn a soft shade of red and his eyes go wide, as though realizing what he just said. He takes a deep breath and exhales, scrubbing a hand down his face. “Gods above, forgive me. I can’t believe I spoke that aloud. That was improper and much too forward.”

I shrug it off, flattered and encouraged. “It wasn’t improper. Very little will ever be improper with me. And, I rather like forward. The more forward the better, actually.”

He crosses his arms and leans in, clearly embarrassed, yet trying to recover. “Is that so?”

I match his stance, hearing the provocative tease in his tone. “Absolutely,” I reply, more than willing to play this game. “It makes things much easier.”

“ Things , you say?” He arches a brow, a sexy smirk at play on those kissable lips.

“Yes,” I say with a smile. “ Things.”

There’s no hesitation in his next words, words that fall from his lips low and smooth. Words that only fuel the spark already ignited within me as his eyes flick up and hold mine.

“I’ll have to remember that.”

My attention falls to where his tongue darts out to wet his lips, a pretty slip of pink, and my blood heats, my cock twitching in my trousers. I’ve been with my fair share of people and felt the tug of lust and attraction many times, though rarely so instantaneously as this. Fia is the only person I recall ever mesmerizing me so completely from the first glance. I was a young soldier with a desert princess gazing into my eyes. Anyone would’ve been utterly enchanted.

This is different. For one, I may appear as such, but I am no longer a twenty-year-old man learning his way around the world. There’s a pulse between me and the prince, a recognition I don’t understand, our bodies inordinately aware of one another.

Oh, the things I could do to this man—the things I want to do to this man—and we’ve only just met.

“Might I show you to your chambers now, Colden?” he asks, and I try to decide if he’s being bold or hospitable.

Only one way to find out.

I gesture toward the main doors and paint on my most wicked grin. “Why, I thought you’d never ask.”