Captive Princess: A Dark Paranormal Romance (Feline Royals Book 2) Page 18

  Something snagged at the corner of my mind, but I couldn’t quite think of what needed my attention. Shadow’s hand caressed my hair, soothing me and sending shivers of comfort and warmth through me.

  “I love you,” I whispered.

  Shadow’s arms tightened around me, and his mouth dipped to my ear. “That’s the potion talking,” he whispered. “But I love you, too.”

  “How is it working on her?” Camila demanded. “Is she faking it?”

  “I don’t think she’s faking it,” Sir Kenosi said.

  “How would you know?” Camila asked.

  A long pause followed. I could picture Kenosi sitting there across from me, reclining like a king in his leather chair. He’d have a smirk on those gorgeous, full lips, and his lids lowered to give her his superior, hooded gaze from his black eyes that flecked with gold when he grew excited and showed his cheetah. It was like I could see every detail of the men on the helicopter in holographic detail even with my eyes closed. I wasn’t drowsy or groggy from the potion, but I didn’t want to talk or be interrupted from my mental perusal, either. I didn’t know what would come out of my mouth if I tried to speak, so I was glad when everyone lapsed into silence.

  Too soon, the chopper dipped, and Sir Kenosi’s words cut through the haze in my mind. “The Lion Nation is very traditional,” he said. “There are actually many clans within the nation, but this one has the amulet. Lions rely heavily on custom, so you would be wise to follow my lead, even if those customs are foreign to you.”

  “Of course,” Lord Balam said. “We appreciate your guidance. We would like to request an audience with Prince Kwame.”

  “He has the amulet?” Camila asked.

  “Yes,” Lord Balam said.

  The Lion Court had visited us once when I was a child, but I couldn’t seem to remember a lot about them. I had a picture of a tall, extremely thin boy with black velvet skin and eyes to match, but before I could drudge up more memories, Camila spoke.

  “Are you sure?”

  “The oracle is never wrong,” Lord Balam said, stroking his jaguar cloak with obvious pride.

  “Our king is very close with King Lion,” Sir Kenosi said. “Relations between our clans are excellent. You’ll be welcomed with open arms.”

  Because of his presence. He didn’t say it—obviously he was going to be all polite and modest in front of the real princess, the one who didn’t know better than to believe it—but I could read between the lines even in my drugged state. He was doing us a huge favor. Like when Lord Balam had offered his assistance, I just couldn’t figure out why. Come to think of it, I still didn’t know why Lord Balam had come with us. I trusted him now, maybe even loved him. I was in too deep to back out. If he was going to betray me, I was just going to have to suffer that blow. I couldn’t help it now that I’d fallen for him.

  Thirty-Six

  We climbed down from the chopper in what looked like a very remote safari camp. There were a dozen mud and brick houses with thatched roofs, some of them large but most only one or two rooms. Around us, shimmering waves of golden grass stretched as far as they eye could see, interrupted only by an occasional small, twisted tree. I inhaled the scent of warm grass in the sun, dirt, the sweat of a hard day’s work like I used to smell on Tadeu. The air was so dry and hot I could feel a crackle in it, like some kind of electrical charge, as if it were ready and waiting for us. Shadow kept his arm tightly around my waist, guiding me as we started down a wide dirt path that ran through the tiny village.

  A pair of small children with deep black skin and bright eyes jumped up and ran behind one of the buildings, only to take turns peeking at us from around the side of it. A few adults were working outside, but they stopped to stare as we passed. Sir Kenosi raised a hand and called out a greeting in another language, and they returned it, but they seemed more polite than overly friendly. Despite his boast that their clans had a great relationship, a knot of trepidation tightened inside me. Kenosi was the last man I’d trust.

  “Are we walking into a trap?” I hissed to Shadow.

  “If there’s anyone here more lost than you, it’s me,” Shadow muttered.

  I turned to Lord Balam, but he only shrugged. “One way to find out.”

  Of course he wasn’t going to stop this. So far, he hadn’t stopped anything that had happened. He seemed willing and eager for everything that had happened. He’d gone looking for Shadow in the swamp with me. He’d hopped on the plane to Africa with me. I loved his willingness to go on any adventure. I couldn’t fault him for it now.

  Only the ocelots seemed concerned. Camila hung back from Gabor, clutching her tiny purse with her gloved hands, her face ashen, her eyes darting around. Gabor walked straight and stiff, his hand hovering close to his holster.

  Their suspicion calmed me slightly. I wasn’t the only one getting nervous about this.

  When we were almost to the end of the small street where the largest house stood, two women in brightly patterned wrap dresses emerged, big smiles on their faces. They greeted Sir Kenosi first, embracing him and speaking rapidly over each other. I didn’t have to know their language to see that he was a friend to them. Relief sank into me, and I relaxed a little.

  Not a trap.

  I swayed on my feet, suddenly fascinated by these bright, cheerful women. They reminded me more of birds than lions. Their wrap dresses were lightweight to combat the heat, and they both wore their hair shorn with patterns worked into the short length left on their scalps. A coil of gold wound around one of their necks three times, while the other wore gold bangles around her wrists and several gold hoops in her nose and lips. Both wore an assortment of gold, seashell, and bead earrings.

  Suddenly, they were greeting the rest of us, and I realized I had no idea what to do. I had zoned out on the beautiful women, not paying attention to anything else. I really hoped I’d have time to sleep off the rest of this potion trip before I met the king.

  “They don’t speak your language,” Sir Kenosi said, turning to us. “Do you speak French?”

  “A bit,” I said, suddenly wishing I’d paid more attention to the tutors instead of escaping to the stables to play with the servants.

  Lord Balam and Camila greeted the women fluently while Shadow shook his head. He and I stumbled through the introduction, and then we were led into the large, spacious house. Stepping out of the blazing sun was a relief, though I had to blink a few times to adjust to the unlit interior of the house. It was made up of one big, open room, though there were spaces at the back sectioned off with colorful sheets of fabric. Four doors stood open around the house, letting the hot breeze shift through the interior.

  A circle of at least a dozen people sat in the center of the room, most on straw mats on the packed earth floor, but two of them elevated on carved stone chairs. Damn it. I definitely wasn’t going to get a chance to sleep this off before meeting the king and queen. It was nothing like my entrance into the Cheetah Kingdom, though. This place was as far from Sir Kenosi’s as I could imagine.

  The women asked a question about staying, and Kenosi answered with words that meant small. Then we were at the edge of the circle. The king had small, narrow eyes, a wide mouth, and a high forehead marked with a series of raised scars that started at his eyebrows and rose to his hairline. A feeling of deja vous swept over me, and I had a vague memory of these people visiting the Ocelot Court when I was a child, years before our mother died, when our father hadn’t yet alienated the entire IFCN.

  As the two women who greeted us skirted the circle and took their places on either side of the king and queen, more of that visit came back to me. Those women were princesses. Plural. Unlike ocelots, lions had multiple children, though I couldn’t quite remember why. Camila had whispered it to me back then, and I knew it had something to do with their shifter ability.

  That fact had impressed me most about the lion visit, followed closely by my fascination with the king’s ritual scarring. When my five-year-old self c
ouldn’t contain her curiosity, I’d asked their son Kwame, who was probably in his late teens and had a set of his own scars, but who was far less intimidating than the king. Kwame had told me, but I’d refusing to believe someone would voluntarily receive dozens of cuts that would mar his face forever.

  For the rest of the trip, Kwame had teased me with stories about how they’d gotten the scars. A father-son hunting trip had gone wrong when they’d fallen on a porcupine. A lion had attacked his father, and Kwame had heroically defended him, getting scratched across the forehead before defeating it. They’d been struck by lightning while holding up a metal utensil—and on and on.

  I searched the group for Kwame, that teenage boy who hadn’t been too proud to tease a kid, probably because he had kid sisters of his own. I could imagine him now, thirteen years older, with the same inky black skin and eyes as his father, the same tall, whip-thin build, the same spark of humor in his wide smile. But I couldn’t tell which of the men around the circle was the boy I’d met back then. All the men had scars, though not as many as the king. They each wore a simple strand of gold around their necks and loose tunic-style shirts with beading across the chest.

  We stood before the circle of people, waiting for something, though I wasn’t sure what.

  “How you have grown, little golden child,” Queen Lion said. “How is your family?” She spoke slowly enough that I could understand her French, but she wasn’t speaking to me. I wasn’t the golden child—Camila was. I remembered the lion princesses’ fascination with Camila’s white skin and blonde hair when they’d visited, and how left out I’d felt when they braided her hair and put beads in it like their own. That might have been the first time I realized that I was less desirable than my sister for reasons beyond her magic.

  “They are well, Your Majesty,” Camila said with a prim curtsy. “It is a pleasure to visit your fine kingdom. Thank you for welcoming us so graciously.”

  Back then, my sister had sucked up the attention of the princesses, and I had gone off to pester Kwame with more questions. Now, she performed the role she’d been born to play while I stood there high on panther potion in a slutty dress. Some things never changed.

  Instead of answering, Queen Lion glanced sideways at her husband.

  “You are looking well, Lord Balam,” King Lion said. “How is Lady Zuleima?”

  Fuck. Was that his ex-wife? Or his daughter? If I hadn’t felt like a token piece of ass on this trip before, I certainly did now. I didn’t even know my lover’s child.

  “And you look quite strong and healthy yourself,” Balam said with a deep bow. “I see your family is as beautiful and plentiful as I remember. How are your herds this year?”

  King Lion smiled, his narrow eyes crinkling at the corners, and inclined his head slightly before turning his gaze to his cheetah guest. “Sir Kenosi, you are looking as fine as ever. How is your king?”

  “You look like a million bucks,” Kenosi said, a grin on his face. “And your family looks like twelve million. My only question is, when are you going to let me marry one of those daughters?”

  King Lion laughed, a big laugh that came up from his belly, waving a hand at Sir Kenosi. Clearly it wasn’t just their clans had an excellent relationship. As the king began to address Gabor, I caught the pattern of their speech and address. They were addressing each of us in order of our status. Camila, being the heir to a shifter throne, was of the highest status. I, being a human, was lowest in the hierarchy of shifters.

  Only after her husband finished addressing all the men did Queen Lion turn her unreadable gaze to me. While King Lion seemed friendly and welcoming, I couldn’t read his wife as well. She had only given Sir Kenosi the smallest smile, otherwise remaining solemn, even cold, as she studied us each in turn.

  “And you must be Princess Itzel,” she said. “You have grown into a handsome woman since I’ve seen you. How is your king?”

  My mouth opened, an answer to her question rising automatically to my lips. But no one else had answered the questions, so I steered my response to match the others. “You and your family are even more beautiful than I remember,” I said, bowing deeply as the others had.

  Fuck. I was supposed to ask a question, but I knew nothing about these people. All I could think to ask was, “Which one of your handsome sons is the patient Kwame I remember from your visit?”

  There was a beat of silence, and I knew I’d fucked up. Why hadn’t I asked about the weather?

  “Prince Kwame is a lion now,” King Lion said. I was relieved to see that his eyes were warm and sympathetic as he addressed me. Suddenly, a lion was lunging at my face, a snarl furrowing its nose, its long fangs exposed and gleaming.

  I lurched backwards, a cry caught in my throat, but Lord Balam’s strong arms caught me. “Forgive her, Your Majesties,” he said to the monarchs. “She didn’t know.”

  “Didn’t know what?” I asked, glancing around the circle of sober faces, trying to shake the hallucination of the lion from my mind. “Aren’t you all lions?”

  Queen Lion folded her hands calmly in her lap, her inscrutable black eyes fixed on me. “Our eldest son spends his time in this world in lion form,” she said. “I’m afraid there is no way for you to see him in human form.”

  “Why not?” I asked, my confused thoughts tumbling over each other. “Forgive my ignorance, Your Majesty. I’m not well acquainted with shifter politics.”

  “Not politics,” Lord Balam murmured. “It’s their nature.”

  “Lion shifters can only use their human form in the spirit world,” Queen Lion said, her eyes as sad and old as time itself. “I’m not long for this world, and for that, I am glad. For soon, I will be with my beloved son again.”

  I blinked at her, trying to unravel her meaning. “He’s…”

  “I’m sorry to disappoint you, Princess Itzel. But Prince Kwame is dead.”

  Thirty-Seven

  “I messed up,” Camila wailed, flapping her hands like a bird and sucking in shallow, quick breaths. “Oh, god, Itz, I messed up so bad. I forgot the proper etiquette with them, and I had to go first, and I just panicked. I made such a bad impression. What am I going to do?” She broke off with a hiccupping gasp, her blue eyes wide as she scanned the savannah where we had gone to walk after the painful introduction to the Lion Court.

  I knew what I should do. I should comfort my sister, tell her she hadn’t messed up, that she’d done fine. That she couldn’t be expected to know how to greet foreign dignitaries in their country. And then I should fix it for her, tell her how to make it better. I should calm her the way only I could. So why did I feel like grabbing her shoulders and shaking her, telling her to get herself together?

  “At least you didn’t bring up their dead son,” I said, crossing my arms and staring out across grassland, trying to make out a lion in the shimmering mirage of heat. But though my head was still woozy and tumbling with strange thoughts, I hadn’t seen anything since the snarling image had leapt at me from thin air.

  Camila rounded on me, her eyes narrowed to slits. “You’re not the heir to the ocelot throne,” she hissed. “You would do well to remember that, Itzel.”

  “Oh, trust me, I remember,” I said. “No one lets me forget for a second. Don’t think it escaped me that they greeted me last.”

  “Who cares when they greeted you or what you said?” Camila said, throwing her hands up. “You’re not even a shifter!”

  “So, I don’t matter,” I clarified. “That’s what you’re saying. That’s what you’re all saying, all the time. I’m getting really, really tired of being treated like the ugly stepchild of the group just because I happen to be human. It would be nice if my sister didn’t have to remind me, too.”

  Camila blinked at me like I’d slapped her, but she quickly hid the hurt with a cold stare. “You really have changed. You used to care about me. A few months ago, you would have been devastated if I made such a blunder. Now all you care about is yourself.”

  �
�No,” I said. “I’m just starting to care about myself, too.”

  “You never lacked that,” Camila said, a bitter edge to her voice. “Running around with Tadeu instead of doing your lessons so you could make a good impression where I didn’t. A brilliant answer from you today might have shown our kingdom’s class and smoothed my rough start. And how can you say you’ve been ignored? Lord Balam and Shadow can’t keep their hands off you.”

  “I think I’ve done a pretty good job picking up the slack on this trip so far,” I said through gritted teeth. “I can’t always be there to save you. I make mistakes, too.”

  “See, there you go making it all about you again,” Camila said. “You used to think about me, too. Ever since Lord Balam paid attention to you, you think you’re all that. And now that delusional panther is making your head even bigger.”

  “Shadow has nothing to do with this,” I said. “And neither does Lord Balam. Except maybe they’ve made me start to believe someone could value me despite my lowly human status.”

  Camila gawked at me. “Itzel, you can’t be serious. You can’t actually believe you’re the mate of a shifter.”

  “Well…” I said with a shrug. Was it crazy? Was Shadow?

  Camila let out a short, sharp laugh. “Wow, Itz. You really are naïve. At least Lord Balam has a title. Shadow is an unhinged nobody.”

  “I’m a nobody,” I said. “So why can’t I be his mate? We can be nobodies together.”

  “Itzel,” she said, putting her hands on my shoulders. “You’re tripping on potion. Shadow is not your mate. It’s impossible. He’s either delusional, or he’s playing you.”