The Fallen Princess

Fourteen and One Half

Amber left Zaria in the middle of the tavern. A corset-bound, skirt-wrapped, wide-eyed little elf tossed into the busiest night of the week, without so much as a final instruction. One moment Zaria stood alone, still processing the feel of leather biting into her ribs; the next, a roar of men’s voices demanded the very thing Amber had told her to expect.

“DRINKS!” “Mug over here!” “Refill!” The tavern erupted into a chaotic swell of shouting. Zaria jumped into motion, moving the way Amber had shown her, quick feet, weaving through legs and chairs, balancing the heavy pitcher of ale. She filled one mug, then another, then another. For a precious minute, it almost felt manageable. Almost.

Until a hand clamped around her wrist. Hard. And yanked her violently off balance. Her breath punched out of her as she toppled forward, straight into the lap of a very drunk young dragon. “Well look at this,” the man slurred, breath sour enough to sting her eyes. “A beauty dropped right into my arms.”

Zaria twisted, pushing and shoving to free herself, but his grip tightened. His fingers dug painfully into her skin. She could smell the alcohol clinging to him like a second scent. “You’re not from around here, are you?” he asked, lips curling into a lazy grin.

Zaria braced her hands against his chest and shoved with all her strength. After a short, chaotic struggle, she wrenched herself free, stumbling backward. “Looks like we got ourselves a little fighter,” the man laughed darkly. “Don’t worry, beautiful. I’ll be sure to find you later. I like it rough.”

Zaria stared at him with pure disgust. “Perhaps in another life,” she muttered, turning sharply and colliding with a wall of muscle. She stepped aside automatically. “Excuse me...” But fingers seized her arm again.

This time she ripped away instantly, every cell in her body screaming in alarm. She snapped her gaze upward and air fled her lungs.

Prince Callen towered over her, golden eyes burning like twin suns ready to scorch the earth.

“I told you to stay put,” he growled. Zaria swallowed hard. “I never left the tavern,” she rushed out. “It all happened so fast…”

Her voice cracked. She rubbed her forehead, exhausted, heart pounding in her throat. She hated how shaken she sounded, hated that she felt like prey again. Callen didn’t respond immediately. Instead, his gaze traveled down her body; slowly, deliberately, in a heated sweep that made her skin tighten.

The corset. The skirt. Her bare shoulders. Her flushed cheeks. Every part of her felt seen... Devoured. “What exactly do you think you’re doing, little elf?” he asked, anger tugging at his voice, amusement tugging at his mouth.

Then he snapped his fingers at a nearby table. “You. Give me your jacket.” The man blinked, confused... then recognized him. He nearly spilled his drink as he scrambled to obey, shoving the jacket into Callen’s hands with shaking fingers.

Callen nodded once. Then he swung the jacket around Zaria’s shoulders, covering the exposed skin in one protective, possessive motion. “How many men have paid for the night?” he asked. “Paid…?” Zaria blinked. “I’ve only served ale.” The prince’s expression went flat. Then he pinched the bridge of his nose.

“You escaped a life of being treated like entertainment,” he muttered, “only to walk right back into it of your own choosing.” Zaria lowered her gaze, cheeks burning with shame. She had sensed Amber’s offer was… strange. But everything had moved too fast. She hadn’t understood. Hadn’t stopped to think.

Callen grabbed her hand gently, but with unyielding purpose and led her toward the far corner of the tavern, where a woman stood beside a wooden podium with an old ledger resting atop it.

The noise around them dipped slightly the moment the woman looked up and saw Callen approaching.

“Have any men paid for this little elf’s night?” Callen demanded. The woman bowed deeply. “Your highness, it is truly an honor to have you-” “I asked,” Callen repeated, voice dropping to a dangerously quiet rumble, “if anyone has paid for her night.”

The woman’s eyes flicked upward to Zaria. She swallowed. “Y-yes, your highness.” Zaria’s stomach plummeted. “Remove her from your book,” Callen ordered coldly. “She’s mine.” Zaria’s heart lurched... sharply, traitorously... even though she knew he did not mean it romantically. Still, the words echoed in her head with far too much weight.

“I will pay triple what you would have made,” Callen added, turning away and pulling Zaria toward the stairs. “I haven’t even eaten yet,” she whispered, startled by the sudden realization of how empty her stomach was. How dizzy she felt. How hungry.

Callen stopped abruptly, so abruptly she almost ran into his back. He turned slowly, pinning her between his body and the wall with one seamless, fluid motion. The heat of him pressed into her front. The cold stone pressed into her back. And she was trapped.

“I can’t take my eyes off you,” he murmured, leaning in just enough that she felt the warmth of his breath along her cheek, “for a single moment without you creating trouble.” His golden eyes glowed, alive, hungry, fixed entirely on her. Zaria’s pulse fluttered wildly.

Without thinking, before she could stop herself, her fingers lifted. She brushed the stubble along his jaw. Swept her thumb over the sharp line of his cheek. Then drifted down… toward his lower lip. She tugged it down ever so slightly, studying him with darkened eyes.

Callen inhaled sharply. Very sharply. Something inside him snapped. He caught her wrist and pinned it above her head. Then with a fierce, consuming hunger, he captured her mouth in a kiss.

Heat shot through her like lightning. Zaria gasped against him. Her free hand flew to his arm, fingers sliding up toward the back of his neck. She curled her fingertips against his warm skin—

and Callen growled softly in response.

He deepened the kiss. Caught her lower lip between his teeth; firm, teasing, then soothed the bite with his tongue. Her body arched instinctively toward him, seeking more. His breath hitched, harsh and unsteady.

“Careful, little elf,” he warned, voice rough, teeth grazing her swollen lip. “Do not start something you are not prepared to finish.” For a heartbeat, her sapphire eyes met his molten gold. Then she lifted her free hand and pulled him down again, kissing him with breathless urgency.

Callen’s restraint shattered. He trailed slow, deliberate bites along her jaw... soft enough to tease, hard enough to mark... until he reached the sensitive spot just beneath her ear. His warm breath fanned across her skin. Pleasure rippled down her spine. He parted his lips against her throat-

“Excuse us,” a man coughed politely. Callen froze. Zaria stilled. Two men squeezed awkwardly past them on the stairs, grinning like idiots. Callen swore under his breath, dropped his forehead against the wall, and exhaled shakily as he tried, desperately, to wrestle down the fire burning through him.

Zaria shifted, attempting to slip away while he regained control but Callen’s hands snapped to her hips. “Just… give me a moment,” he muttered through clenched teeth. She nodded, cheeks a deep, betraying shade of pink. Because she could feel it. Pressed hard against her stomach. Hot. Solid. Unmistakable. Her breath shivered.

“I… didn’t want to stop,” she whispered—so soft she hadn’t meant to speak at all. Callen huffed a breath of laughter, strained and low. “Zaria… that is not helping.”