Entangled With an Elf Prince Read online

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Thank you for reading!

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  ENTANGLED WITH AN ELF PRINCE

  Copyright © 2022 by Amanda Ferreira

  All rights reserved. Neither this book, nor any parts within it may be sold or reproduced in any form without permission.

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, and events in this book are the products of the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons living or dead is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Cover illustration by Reid Aster at kollapsart.com

  Cover text by Ren Tachibana at rentachibanaworks.com

  Interior formatting by Elizabeth S. Trafalgar at elizabethstrafalga.wixsite.com/website and Leslie Copeland at lescourtauthorservices.com

  First edition: October 2022.

  ISBN 9781778217401 (ebook)

  ISBN 9781778217418 (paperback)

  To all those who believed in my dream.

  Chapter One

  I woke up suddenly to the sound of soft rain, aching in all the wrong places from a dream I’d had about Bren.

  Blinking back sleep, I grasped immediately in the dark for my two swords, finding the hilts cold and heavy in my hands, but useless. Even as I kicked off my bedroll, turning over in my tent, I couldn’t distance myself from the ghost of my best friend in bed with me, his breath on my collarbone, his hips between my legs. He was everything, everywhere, all at once—in the shadows, in my head, against my hands, against my body. Even with my eyes shut tight, my ears ringing, my thoughts distracted, the flurry of feelings remained. And with them came a deep, uncomfortable sense of awareness.

  Because there, outside my tent—less than ten feet away—was Bren himself, his silhouette turned towards me in the dark, his broad shoulders and fine features like something out of a painting.

  “Seven gods, Keenyn,” he said quietly, the words slipping along the forest floor and into my tent like a tendril of mist. “Any louder and you’ll wake the recruits.”

  At the sound of his voice, I heard one of those same recruits—the young elven boy who was supposed to be keeping watch with him—jerk suddenly in place, his body flailing in the night, his sword clattering onto the grass. Then, in the hush that followed, the boy muttered something about having closed his eyes for only a moment.

  “For all the help you’ve been,” Bren replied, “you might as well sleep in earnest. Go. Keenyn will lend me his company in your place.”

  There was another awkward beat of silence, and in it I hurried to dress, aware that Bren was expecting me. Waiting. Eager. Like he’d been in my dream.

  Here? he’d wanted to know, his lips against my skin, over my pulse. I was sensitive there, and he’d found that out by accident, nearly a year ago, when he’d grazed his thumb across a growing bruise below my jaw. Or is that too much?

  I couldn’t stop it—stop the tremours, the sensations, from wracking my body. For every belt I tightened, every tie on my armour I fastened, the memory of Bren’s hands haunted me. With every shift of my body, every shuffle of my clothes, details of the dream came back to me, vibrant and clear.

  Do you want me to stop? he’d murmured, his hips in my hands, my knees on either side of his waist. If you do, you’ll have to tell me.

  Of course, my breathless response was how I’d ended up in this mess. No. This is everything I want, I’d told him.

  Everything? I wondered now, hurrying to pull on my boots, the leather straps at my waist and my thigh going taut with a tug. Surely my definition of everything would include—

  With a start, I heard Bren sigh and get to his feet, the sound of his footfalls drowning out the recruit’s as the younger boy headed to bed.

  “Don’t take your time, princess,” he mumbled, my tent shaking as he knocked on the poles. But in his carelessness, one of them snapped under his knuckles, then another, leaving the canvas to collapse in on one side.

  Affronted, but mostly surprised, I stuck my head out of the tent—only to find Bren’s face less than a foot from mine, an apology wrapped in the soft curves of his lips.

  It was too much, too soon. His piercing blue eyes, furrowed brow…

  “If you insist on using my formal title,” I said quickly, as sound rushed back into my ears, “the least you could do is give me some personal space.”

  At that, Bren snorted, leaning closer just to annoy me, his golden hair falling into his eyes. “Is that so?” he said, his voice low, his tone husky. And for a moment, I thought the sight of him smirking might kill me.

  “Bren,” I said carefully, trying to sound exasperated, but already, he was straightening up from where he’d attempted to right the broken poles.

  The real advantage to mocking him was forcing some semblance of distance between us, so I wouldn’t have to see his mouth in the moonlight or watch how his expression softened when he looked at me, his eyes trailing over the state of my hair. I couldn’t bear it—not when I could hardly keep myself from imagining his lips on mine, his fingers tight around my wrists.

  “I’ll be right out,” I said, glancing away from him, but by then, Bren had stalked back toward the trees, his shadow retreating from where it had lingered in my bedroll as if he’d only just risen from sleep and turned away.

  Shaken, I dropped my gaze to my hands and slipped the sheaths of both my blades across my back, crossing them where they met my hip on either side of my belt. I had nothing else to drag from the darkness of the tent save my breakfast, which was wrapped in a square of white cloth. Still, I took it, and when I sat down next to Bren near the outskirts of our camp, I offered him the bundle without looking.

  “If you insist,” he said, but after a quick count of the berries he stifled a laugh, his hand suddenly closing over mine, his fingers warm against my palm. “On second thought, you keep them. I’m not carrying you to Warrenhall if you collapse from hunger again.”

  Again. That was another memory I tried not to think about, especially now.

  “You worry too much,” I said, forcing myself to laugh, but after the night I’d had, even this small act of kindness from him made heat spread throughout my body.

  Smiling now, Bren looked away, his attention darting forward as we both watched the forest, our sheltered glade ringed by trees that had grown so close together that ambushing us from behind was almost impossible. Still, I used any excuse to turn around on occasion, watching the leaves and the undergrowth for signs of movement.

  But I had another reason for turning, whether I wanted to admit it or not. And each time, I found myself staring at Bren’s side profile like I’d never seen him before—like his square face, bold nose, and strong jaw were completely new to me, as opposed to achingly familiar.

  Seeing him like this, I realized I’d never thought of Bren as handsome before; it simply wasn’t something I’d paid attention to. But in his full battle regalia, his breastplate glinting in the predawn light, his face sporting an early dusting of a beard, his shoulders broad enough for two men, I almost considered it. He was obviously an attractive man, as far as humans went.

  Fuck. What am I doing? I thought, but it was too late—Bren had caught me staring. With a slight turn of his head, our gazes met, and we looked at each other in that middle place be
tween questioning and curiosity, pointed and patient. Then his expression turned vacant, like he’d rather do anything other than speak to me.

  “You overheard the recruit earlier,” he said, his voice flat. “It’s what woke you. Why you’re looking at me like that.”

  The non-question startled me. I had no idea what he was talking about. “What did the recruit say?”

  To my chagrin, Bren thought I was being sarcastic. “You’ve met my father,” he said, his expression pained. “You know it’s just a rumour. It has to be.”

  Knowing there was only one rumour that had dogged Bren for most of his life, I puzzled out his meaning. “What, they asked if you were an unkillable god?”

  On the surface, such a story was obviously untrue—or should’ve been, even to the wide-eyed boys we travelled with. But to their credit, to ignore the tiny fragments of truth—Bren’s godlike physical strength; his impossible, unending endurance; the whispers of his father’s fragmented memory of the woman he’d briefly loved—was a fool’s errand. Divine or not, Bren was extraordinary, and to forget that was to get your leg broken when he tapped lightly on your knee.

  “I know you’re not, for what it’s worth,” I said plainly, turning my attention back to the woods. Above us, the sky rumbled with delayed fury, but the rain only lightened, the wind suddenly dying down. “I’ve seen you naked as a babe. You’re as human as they come.”

  That, of course, was the wrong thing to say, but I couldn’t take it back now, and the image of Bren’s glorious body, carved like an offering to the gods, had not yet left my mind. If I’d been any less composed, I might’ve blushed.

  Thankfully, Bren took the comment without blinking, assuming again that I was mocking him. “You’re as bad as they are,” he said, jerking his thumb at the tents pitched behind us. There were five recruits in total, none of whom treated Bren like another random monster hunter hired to cart them from one city to another. If he said jump, they half expected he’d give them the ability to fly. “Be serious for a moment, Keenyn.”

  I regarded him, slowly and carefully, watching as the tension on his face eventually split into a small smile. I was annoying him, that much was clear, but his frustration often led to a laugh; it was how we’d survived so many jobs together over the years.

  “Yeah, all right,” I said, dragging my eyes away from his lips again. “I was being truthful before; I didn’t hear what the recruit said to you. You’ll have to tell me.”

  In response, Bren reached out and touched my leg, fiddling with the hilt of the dagger on my thigh. I assumed it was an unconscious thought, automatic, the result of nervous energy flaring up in his hands. But in the wake of my dream, the sudden contact made my breath catch.

  “He asked if you could kill me,” Bren said softly, drawing the dagger now, holding the sharpened point beneath my chin. He paused then, before raising the blade and tapping the bone there, tipping my face up toward him.

  “He’s eight,” I replied, taking the dagger from Bren’s hand instead of directly answering his question. “Of course he wants to know who’d win in a fight between us. Farmers at roadside taverns place bets on worse odds.”

  I’d expected Bren to snort again, but his reply was strange. Loaded. Guarded. “He’s worried I’ll turn into a monster,” he said, gesturing out into the forest, beyond our view. By now, the rotting deadwood mists were slipping away with the sun, so far from us they might as well have never been there at all. “I guess I’ve never really thought about it like that.”

  To avoid looking at him again, afraid of what my expression would give away, I pulled a length of woven cord from around my wrist, using it to tie back my hair into a top knot. But as I did, I remembered that Bren had been the one to buy it for me, and my cheeks warmed. The gift had been a small surprise after we’d run into a merchant on our way out of town. “Thought about what? Dying in the mists?”

  “No,” Bren said, his voice a whisper now, so quiet I had to lean closer to hear him. “What happens after. Would you be able to stop me, whatever I became?”

  Spelled out like that, I could hardly swallow down my shock. “Bren,” I said, shifting in the grass as I pushed out my legs, the heels of my boots driving streaks into the mud, “that would never happen. I’m always here. I would never let the mists get near you.”

  Abruptly—even before my answer was fully out of my mouth—Bren busied himself with getting to his feet, the back of his trousers stained from the long hours he’d spent sitting in the dirt and debating the possibility of his own death. For such a troubling line of thought, he seemed unbothered now, if vaguely annoyed.

  “You’re of no help,” he said, speaking into the air above my head, directing his words at no one. “Pack up, then. The sun’s bright enough; we should set out.” And with that, saying nothing else, he turned, and I watched him go.

  Chapter Two

  In my dream, hold on was the last thing Bren had said to me, the words breathed out like a prophecy, the closeness of his mouth pinning me down. I’d felt excitement then, as his hands roamed my body, but only a surge of anxiety now, the same words said aloud carrying a threat, a hint of danger. A warning.

  “Hold on,” Bren said softly, and I shivered, the reaction involuntary. “Do you see it?”

  “See what?” I whispered back, but he’d already side-stepped in front of me, drawing his sword and slowing our horse, his hand on the animal’s flank. The rest was automatic, honed after a long week on the road; I reached for one of my swords as the young elven recruits fell into formation behind me, the boys moving as Bren moved, wary but unafraid. As one, their attention lanced forward into the trees, searching for any sign of life.

  “Can any of you see it?” one of them whispered, drawing a longbow and nocking an arrow, aiming into the distance.

  In response, I touched the back of Bren’s arm, nudging him gently to the right so I could stand beside him, his shoulders pulled from my view. Ahead of us, in the direction of the rising sun, I saw low-hanging branches bunching together like children would, blocking the way. I shaded my eyes, but still, I saw nothing. There was overgrown greenery and the occasional yellow-breasted bird, but little else. “Where, Bren?” I asked, and he sighed.

  “There,” he said, and he leaned closer to me, nudging my cheek and tilting my head before pointing, his finger holding steady at some distant spot. I squinted, shifting in place—and finally, there, I could just see a vague, inky shape crouched low between two trees, the bend in its back cresting high above the undergrowth, its body little more than the impression of arms and legs. If it had a head, I couldn’t see it; at least, not from our elevated position on the road.

  “Maybe it’s sleeping?” one of the recruits suggested, turning the pummel of his sword over in his hand. He couldn’t have been older than fifteen, if that, and already, a life spent hunting monsters seemed to suit him, his features drawn tight with adrenaline. “We might be able to sneak up behind it, if we’re quiet. Or we could slip past it.”

  His enthusiasm aside, the latter was sage advice. And knowing there were children among the group of recruits as young as eight or nine, I almost considered it. But we were also less than half a day’s ride from the walls of Warrenhall, and the outpost was a newer one, built mostly from wood. To leave a creature this size so close to the front gate was much the same as asking someone else to fight—and die—in our place. And while Bren would never allow that, frankly, neither would I.

  “Gather the younger boys between you,” I instructed, gesturing farther back on the road. Together, three of the boys formed a loose ring around the others, their backs to the centre, their weapons in their hands. “Watch the horse, if you can. Watch the woods. And remember: never let one fight distract you from another.”

  Solemnly, the five of them nodded, and with that, I followed Bren off the road, between the trees.

  Immediately, the oppressive quiet of the forest pressed down on us, muffling our steps and the sound of our brea
thing. The branches, jutting out randomly but consistently in our way, sloped down too close, rubbing leaves and shadows against our shoulders like war paint, the underbrush turning black in the lingering pockets of shade. It was all I could do to keep my eyes from being gouged out, while of course Bren muscled onwards like nothing could stop him.

  For such a tall man, Bren could move as nimbly as any dancer, his steps light on the uneven forest floor, his footing steady. To stay behind him meant to mimic him, staying true to the path he cleared, my eyes aimed low in the shadows that twisted through the tree roots, watching his back and my own. In my hands, my twin blades were drawn, poised and ready.

  “It’s big,” Bren said, stopping suddenly as we neared a large, grey boulder in our direct path forward. Moss-ridden, it shielded us from view, and beyond, we could just see the top of the creature’s shoulders, its body doubled over, its arm emerging from the mess of green and brown surrounding it. Still, we saw no head, no hands, and no feet, as if every limb was purposefully hidden in the dirt. “Eight feet standing, I’d guess. Can you get behind it?”

  Nodding, I chanced a quick glance back the way we’d come, just to see if the recruits were still all right. But by now, they were gone, hidden by the closeness of the trees and the thickness of the branches that surrounded us. It was a testament to Bren’s keen eye that we’d managed to see any of the monster from the road, let alone enough to gauge its size.

  “I’ll try,” I said in reply, but as I readied myself to pass him, Bren caught my wrist.