The Fallen Princess

Eighteen

“I thought you said the King was in charge of what happens to me when we arrived at the castle,” Zaria said as Callen dragged her down the corridor. “And I thought elves were agile creatures who didn’t need their hands held to walk down a hallway,” he shot back without slowing.

“Well, obviously not when we’re being yanked around by an angry, long-legged dragon,” she muttered, trying and failing to match his pace without stumbling.

Callen stopped so abruptly she bumped into him. He turned, still holding her wrist, and pulled her in front of him so they stood almost chest to chest. His golden eyes locked onto hers, sharp and unblinking.

“You are not,” he said quietly, each word clipped and controlled, “to go anywhere with my brother without my prior permission. Do you hear me?” She glared at him, her chin lifting a fraction in silent defiance. but nodded once.

“Good.” He turned and resumed walking, tugging her along. “Why can’t I stay with my brother?” she demanded as they climbed the stairs, his grip still firm around her wrist.

“Because,” he said simply, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, “you will be kept by my side.” Having had enough, Zaria twisted sharply out of his hold and planted her feet, forcing him to stop again.

“I do not wish to stay beside a married man,” she snapped, the words sharper than she meant them to be, but her pride still throbbed from hearing about his fiancé in the garden. Callen’s jaw tightened. A muscle ticked near his temple.

“Why? Are you jealous, little elf?” he asked, something dark and amused curling around his words. Her jaw clenched. Heat crept up her neck.

“You stole my first kiss,” she burst out, then immediately whipped her head around to make sure no one was within earshot. The corridor was empty, but her face still burned. Callen moved in a heartbeat.

He pressed her back against the wall, caging her with his arms and body. The world narrowed to the scent of leather and the warm heat radiating from him. Her breath hitched. She turned her face away, but he leaned in, his mouth so close to her ear that his breath ghosted over her skin when he spoke.

“If I remember correctly, Princess,” he murmured in that dangerous, velvet-soft tone, “you offered that kiss to me on a golden platter. I stole nothing.” He stepped back, but only just, giving her space while still blocking her escape.

“Now stop brooding,” he said, glancing down the hallway. “Come on.” They continued in simmering silence until he stopped before a tall, carved door. Dragons and mountains wound together in layered wood, intricate ridges catching the light.

Zaria brushed her fingertips along the grooves, admiring the craftsmanship. “It’s beautiful,” she whispered as Callen pushed the door open.

A large, warm room lay beyond with rich stained wood, dark fabrics, thick fur rugs, and a massive four-post bed draped in soft blankets. A fire crackled in the hearth, filling the room with gentle heat and the scent of pine.

Zaria stepped inside. She pressed her hand into the top blanket; it gave way like clouds under her fingers. “Is this where I’ll be staying?” she asked, hope flickering in her chest as she wandered toward the fireplace.

She picked up the iron poker, tracing lazy shapes in the embers. “No, Princess,” Callen said, amusement wrapping around the words. “This is my room.” Zaria froze.

She set the poker back with unnecessary care, then turned on her heel and strode through the sheer curtains onto the balcony, away from him. The cold stone under her palms grounded her as she leaned forward, staring out at the kingdom below.

It was stunning. There were lights like fallen stars; roofs dusted in pale frost, the line of the mountains cutting a sharp silhouette against the darkening sky.

Callen joined her a moment later, his presence a steady weight at her side. “Planning to escape?” he asked dryly. She ignored him. “You’ll need another route,” he added, glancing over the balcony’s edge. “This drop would kill you.”

Silence stretched between them. The wind tugged at her hair; lifting the strands as if trying to coax something, anything, out of the space between them. “Are you still upset with me?” He asked at last, quieter now. She glared at him briefly, then turned her eyes back to the horizon.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he sighed, tapping his fingers lightly against the stone rail. He studied the mountains for a long beat, then said, almost grudgingly, “Her name is Juliana.” Zaria’s pulse skittered. “And I hate her,” he continued flatly. “Actually… loathe is a better word.”

She didn’t look at him, but every part of her listened. “When we were fourteen,” Callen said, “one of our servants spilled a drop of tea on her stuffed bear. She screamed like she was burning alive. Her father threw such a tantrum that mine ordered the servant put to death.”

Zaria’s stomach twisted. “For a toy?” she breathed. Callen hopped lightly onto the balcony ledge, balancing with infuriating ease.

Her body moved before her mind did... her hand reaching out as if to pull him back. She caught herself and snatched it back to the rail, cheeks flushing. He’d noticed. A faint smile ghosted across his lips before his expression hardened again.

“That’s only one of many stories,” he said bitterly. “Her father is the wealthiest merchant in the kingdom. Wealth built on more back-door trades and dirty coin than anyone wants to admit. The man has half the nobles in his pocket and the other half afraid to cross him. His fortune nearly rivals our own.”

Callen’s jaw tightened, a muscle ticking as he stared past her, as if seeing the weight of his future laid out like a political map. “My father thinks marrying her will keep him under control. Tie his ambitions to the crown. Make him… manageable.”

He dropped back down to the balcony floor and rolled his shoulders, as if trying to shake off the weight of obligation. “And of course,” he scoffed, “she can’t marry my brother... Can you imagine a woman like that a Queen?”

He shook his head, jaw tight. “I will put off the wedding as long as possible…” His eyes darkened. “And then I’ll bleed them dry.” Zaria’s anger, sharp and immediate moments before, eased like steam fading into the air. Something softened in her chest, something unguarded.

“You should have told me about your engagement,” she said quietly as he turned to go back inside. “Even if it was political.” He paused. “But at least now...” she continued, a small, wry smile tugging at her lips, “I don’t regret kissing you.” There was a teasing glint in her eyes as she spoke.

“So… when will my room be re-” She never finished the sentence. Callen’s mouth was on hers in a heartbeat. This kiss was nothing like the first. They had been teasing each other then, testing the edges of a line. This was hungry. Fierce. Unrestrained. It stole the air from her lungs and left her clutching at his shirt for balance.

Without breaking the kiss, he swept her into his arms and carried her inside. The curtains brushed against them as he crossed the threshold, the firelight throwing flickering gold across his features.

He laid her gently onto the bed, his hands on either side of her, hovering close but not crushing. “You really don’t like letting me speak, do you?” she laughed breathlessly, not sounding even remotely upset.

“If I let you speak,” he murmured, voice warm and wicked, “you might say something sensible and we can’t have that ruining the moment.” His grin was dangerous and boyish all at once, the kind of expression that made her pulse stumble.

He leaned down to steal another kiss... slower this time, deeper, as if savoring the taste of her. Her lips parted willingly, and the world narrowed again, to the warmth of his breath, the slide of his mouth, the dizzying heat pooling low in her belly.

He guided her back with a gentle but unyielding pressure, and Zaria felt the mattress dip as she sank into it. Before she could draw another breath, Callen followed, bracing himself above her.

“Zaria…” He breathed against her lips, drawing back only enough to rest his forehead against hers. His thumb brushed gently over her swollen lower lip. Then, mischievous as ever, she caught his thumb lightly between her teeth.

Callen grinned as a single, sharp breath escaped him. “Careful…” he warned softly “If you bite me again, little elf, I’ll take it as permission.”

“I’m yours, if you want me.” She arched into him, deliberately, her meaning unmistakable. Something in his expression cracked. His eyes darkened, molten and intense... “Remember you said that,” he growled softly.

His lips trailed from her mouth to her jaw, then lower to the delicate skin of her throat. When his teeth closed gently over that tender place where her pulse fluttered, a small, sound tore from her lips.

Fabric shifted. Ties loosened and fingers found their way between her legs, slipping inside with a fullness that made her whole-body tremble. Her legs fell apart without thinking as he pressed against something that felt so good; it stole the breath from her lungs.

He continued to stroke and press, pulling her deeper and deeper into the spiraling rush of sensation until... his fingers slid out, and she moaned in protest. “Please Callen...” she begged. A dark, low chuckle vibrated against her lips. Dangerous, hungry, and entirely unrestrained.

He captured her mouth in another kiss, one that stole every thought from her mind as he pulled at her remaining clothes, tearing them away and tossing them aside. Another rustle of fabric and then she felt something hard and hot nudge her.

“Zaria…” he murmured against her skin, voice rough with need and barely controlled hunger. “Last chance... tell me to stop and I will.” She didn’t. Her fingers curled in his hair, pulling him close; her answer clear without a single word.

Callen exhaled sharply, all control finally unraveling as he pushed inside her deep and unhurried; his mouth caught the breath that escaped her lips, stealing it as though it belonged to him.

He started slowly… not hesitant, just savoring each moment, each shift of her body beneath his. But soon the slowness melted away, replaced by a deeper, more urgent rhythm. She moved with him in a fluid, natural cadence, each motion answering the last.

Zaria lost track of how long they stayed that way... how many times he drew her closer, how many soft laughs or whispered words passed between them, how many times he kissed the hollow of her throat just to feel her shiver.

Eventually, they collapsed together in a quiet tangle, her cheek resting over his heart, his arm draped protectively around her waist.

For a long moment, neither spoke. Their breaths mingled in the warm air between them, soft and shared. Callen reached up, brushing a strand of hair from her face with a touch so gentle it made her chest ache. Then he tilted her chin up, eyes dark and intent. “Again?” he murmured. And the night gathered them up once more.