Fantastical (Fantasyland #3)(35)
Author: Kristen Ashley

“Really?” I asked.

“Yes,” he grinned, “really.”

“So, your Dad gave it to you at birth or something?”

He shook his head. “No, Cora, I conquered it.”

I blinked yet again then whispered, “What?”

“I conquered it.”

“You conquered it?” I breathed.

“Yes, love.”

Holy crap!

I turned to face front and I could see why he would want to. It was amazing. But I didn’t get it. Why would he do that? Was he the marauding kind of warrior?

I didn’t know if that was good.

“I don’t get it,” I told him.

“Get what?”

“Why, when you stand to inherit a kingdom, would you conquer this land?”

“This isn’t the only land I conquered and all of it was my land, my birthright, wrested from me, or, more aptly, my father. I just took it back.”

I twisted again to look at him.

“What?”

His arm about me gave me a squeeze and he explained, “Remember what I told you about Dash not being a soldier or warrior?”

“Yes,” I replied.

“My father isn’t a soldier or warrior either.”

Whoa.

Tor went on, “He’s a good man. A kind man. A benevolent king, fair and generous. His people love him. But even though he has great skills in some ways as a leader, in others, he does not. Furthermore, he had the misfortune of finding, falling in love with and wedding women who were, by all accounts, lovely but who had weak constitutions. My mother died while having me.” Oh dear. “Dash’s mother died from flu six months after he was born.” Oh shit. “And Orlando’s mother never fully recovered from his birth and died two years after in her sleep.” God, that sucked. “My Father loved them all and became more and more heartsick with each loss. He was raising three sons alone and although he is king, he fully participated in our upbringing and therefore his mind was on other things. The ruler of the neighboring kingdom to our north coveted areas of ours and with my father’s heart not in it, this king was able to conquer vast tracks of my father’s, and thus my, realm. My father did what he could in his state to fight but did not succeed in keeping his kingdom safe.”

All righty then. Maybe everything about this world wasn’t hunky dory.

Tor kept talking. “King Baldur of the north is not a benevolent king. He is not fair or generous. He is greedy and ruthless. His taxes are high. His tactics are cruel. Therefore, our people, as ruled by him, were suffering. So, when I came of age and finished my training, I felt that not only was it my responsibility to re-secure the land that was my birthright, it was my responsibility to safeguard those living on that land who were still my people. Therefore, I petitioned my father to allow me to build a personal army of warriors to do these things. He agreed, I chose my men, trained them and then we advanced.”

His eyes went over my head as I struggled to wrap my mind around what he was saying and as he gazed at his personal princedom, he continued.

“It took five years and too many lives, but we did it.”

Five years!

Tor looked down at me and continued, “And now my people are thriving and safe. As this was the most beautiful of all the territory we secured, I petitioned my father, as a gesture of gratitude to my men, to confer Bellebryn onto me. All my men and their families live here. It is not just mine, it is ours, the sun, the sea, the forest, the town bustling with trade, a kind of tranquility after years of war, a gift for their sacrifice.”

I stared up into his beautiful, scarred facing thinking of the other scars on his chest and back, the way he wielded a sword, how armed his cave was and his recent words.

Oh Lordy. I was thinking that Prince Noctorno Hawthorne was not just not so bad but that he might be pretty freaking amazing.

And I was thinking after all my time with him, all I knew, all I continued to learn, that I was sinking into some pretty deep trouble.

I turned to face forward again and even though my heart was beating hard in my chest and I was finding it difficult to breathe, I felt something should be said.

So I said something.

“It’s beautiful, Tor. Every inch of it. In all the beauty I’ve seen since I’ve been here, this is by far the most beautiful. And I’m glad you have it after what you and your men endured. I hope it brings you peace, being home.”

He stilled behind me but after a second, his arm slid up to my ribs and tightened and I felt his lips touch my neck in a soft kiss.

Then, in my ear, he murmured, “It does, indeed, bring me peace to be home.”

I curved my arm around his, laced our fingers at my side and whispered, “Good.”

We fell silent and I watched the city getting ever closer as the sun set and more lanterns and streetlights were lit, illuminating the city and casting a cheerful glow into the darkening night.

And I watched this miraculous vision thinking I had an additional worry to occupy my mind.

It wasn’t just what Cora was getting up to in my world. It wasn’t that with every passing day it seemed less and less likely I was going home. It wasn’t that with every passing day I felt less and less like I wanted to go home. It wasn’t that I missed my parents and friends and I wished I had the opportunity to say good-bye.

It was that I was thinking I was falling for a black prince who conquered lands, took care of his people, gave in when I wanted to save a tiny bird and took time to show me his world.

And if that wasn’t bad enough, the possibility still loomed that I could go to sleep at any time and wake up back home. Which would mean, if I fell for Tor, I would leave behind the man I loved in a fairytale world I could never go to again.

Which would seriously suck.

Therefore I was thinking I had to guard my heart when another thought shoved into my brain and my body went solid when it did.

Shit.

Bellebryn was his home, his city, his princedom.

And I was his princess.

And I, or the other Cora, had been here.

Tor felt me tense.

“Cora?” he called and I twisted to look up at him.

“Do your people know me?” I asked.

He studied my face and answered slowly, “Yes.”

“Do they know I’m a bitch?”

He hesitated.

Oh shit! They knew I was a bitch.

I turned quickly forward again, chanting, “Shit, shit, shit.”

“Cora –”

“Stop,” I demanded.

“Pardon?”

“Stop!” I shouted.