Claimed by Prince Daddy

EMBER A snarl lodged in my throat as I caught sight of the stone terraces spanning the length of either wall of the Great Hall I sat in. On one side sat various werewolf nobility. But what snagged my attention was on the other side of the room. Seated within the terraces were the Shadow Fae. The room was filled to the brim with elves, werewolves, and shadow fae. Dark-skinned and having varying shades of dark hair, the fae were taller than their elven cousins. And I knew how dark and wicked their souls were—dark enough to match their countenance. My claws sliced out as my thoughts turned to the mortal enemies of werewolves. The shadow fae were one of the Lanair that inhabited the otherworldly realm alongside werewolves. Our races were entangled in -old warfare decimating both the fae numbers and the werewolves. Thus we had agreed upon a peace summit that was to take place in the elf kingdom—a neutral zone between the shadow fae and werewolf territories, where it would be unlikely a battle would erupt. I sat in the Great Hall. The room was long, spanning hundreds of feet, rectangular in form. Ornate arches and undercrofts with richly embellished pillars of gemstone supported the high ceilings. The undercurrent of voices peaked at the vast ceilings, resounding off the walls—the sound akin to a discordant sea breeze whistling through the plains. Oyster-colored stones comprised the walls, magnificent tapestry displaying the various landscapes of the elven lands—ranging from steep cliffs and shimmering oceans to lush forestry. It was a lovely room—that is, if the shadow fae weren’t present. Their appearance sullied the atmosphere. Bloodthirsty murderers. My fangs lengthened as if they itched to sink into the throat of a shadow fae. My best friend and lady maid, Alain, sat tucked close to my side, her frame trembling. One of the Shadow Fae, a slender female with deep brown hair and cool gray eyes, slid her gaze toward my parents, the werewolf king and queen, seated in the row in front of me. Her eyes narrowed a fraction before they fell upon me. Stiffening, I found my waist-length auburn hair spiking at the fae’s cold stare swiping over my body. A low snarl tore from my inner wolf’s throat. The she-wolf’s grey hackles were raised. Her upper lip peeled back to expose wicked fangs. “Easy, Ember,” my mother, Queen Lunatha, hissed at me. I glanced at her blue eyes so, identical to mine, flashing with warning. Then I felt the shadow fae female’s glare and whipped my head in her direction. My claws sliced out. “Ember,” Queen Lunatha said again, her tone hard—that of an alpha female. With reluctance, I tore my gaze from the shadow fae female and looked to my mother. “Remember,” Lunatha warned, “this is a peace summit.” I frowned, willing my claws to slide back under my fingernails. “Then why are your fangs punched out?” I shot back. Lunatha’s brow rose in surprise as if she didn’t realize how close her own wolf lurked beneath the skin, readying for battle. King Asar stared ahead. His curly bright auburn hair glistened under crystal waterfall chandeliers that spanned the length of the ceiling. The light from the chandeliers gilded the room and various Lanair in soft silver. King Asar’s emerald eyes hardened as he eyed something. Or someone. I attempted to follow my father’s glare and find who had arrested his attention, yet there were too many hostile stares from the shadow fae to single any one out in particular. The air in the room thickened with tension, heating to near boiling point. A small bead of sweat rolled down my spine as I assessed our numbers in comparison to the fae. Could we take them out should tensions spill over? I thought. A figure emerged at the top of the minstrel’s gallery stationed above the Great Hall toward the front of the enormous room. Wolves and fae alike turned their gazes toward the tall masculine form. Nazarril, King of the elves, stood proud upon the balcony. His silver gaze took all those in attendance. I froze when his eyes flitted across me. It felt as if he could see into me, discern my intentions, my thoughts not lingering anywhere near peaceable, in a summit that was supposed to bridge the hatred between the two races. Alain fisted my dark blue skirt, drawing closer to me in an attempt to seek comfort. I brushed a hand along her arm in return. “Werewolves,” King Nazarril spoke up, his tone silkened like river water, “and shadow fae…let us now commence this peace summit.” I lifted my gaze to the royal fae family seated on the other side of the room. The King, Tridar Evenus, sat with a deep frown marring his dark brown complexion as he glared openly at King Asar. Leaning forward, I eyed my father. King Asar’s eyes narrowed to thin slits, the irises going amber—his wolf looking through his eyes. The shadow fae Queen, Alaria, jutted her chin, her imperious gaze settling on my mother, who returned her perusal with contempt. Behind the King and Queen of the shadow fae were three fae: two males and one female. Realization dawned within me. They must have been the princes and princess of the shadow fae. My breath fled from my lungs as my gaze landed on the male in the middle of the trio. I’d know that male anywhere, the color of his eyes so rare; only he and the Shadow Fae king possessed the iris hue. The shadow fae prince, Drakegeon Evenus—known as Drake—had dark caramel-colored skin. High cheekbones met a sharp jaw. Pointed ears peeked out from a gleaming curtain of raven hair that cascaded down his back. I blinked at the feeling of my heart pounding against my chest so intensely that it was in danger of breaking forth. Then his amethyst eyes found mine. Our gazes collided from across the room, and I felt the contact as if I had slammed into his muscular frame and broad chest. Delicious heat bloomed low in my belly, the skin along my arms tingling. Drake’s gaze snapped wide upon catching sight of me. His nostrils flared, and he stiffened. I tried to tear my gaze away, conscious that others could be watching what unfolded between the male and myself.