Read Online Carnal Magic: The Wraith Accords, Book 1 by Lila Dubois - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Lila Dubois
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Isabel.” High Queen Albha’s voice was higher pitched than Isabel had expected, younger sounding than the age and wisdom in her eyes. “May I introduce my children?”
Four people appeared on the dais, one step down from the rulers. This time Isabel was not startled by their sudden materializing and was able to keep a pleasant smile locked on her face.
Three men and one woman, each breathtaking in their beauty, stared down at Isabel. She recognized Cairbe, who wore a pale green jerkin and tawny pants tucked into rich leather boots. A half-cape hung from one shoulder, the elegant and pale garments showing off his gold hair.
“This is our oldest child, Prince Cairbe, Lord of Spring.”
Lord of Spring? She’d never come across a mention in literature or mythology of the prince referred to by that title, though Aed had used it when they encountered him. She’d assumed it was a title used only by the Fianna, but it seemed it was not. Once she was home she’d have to investigate the issue.
Cairbe bowed, his eyes glittering as he smiled, seemingly daring her to mention that they’d already met. She was once more stuck by an intense desire for him, but now that she knew it was born of some magic it was easy to control the feeling.
Isabel curtseyed and said nothing.
Beside Cairbe was a man whose features were practically a mirror of his, save for a scar that cut across his lower lip. It was crude in an otherwise refined face, pulling his lip down on one side so that his mouth didn’t quite close.
“Prince Oisin, Lord of Summer.”
The scarred man bowed. His gold hair, three shades darker than his older brother’s, was pulled back. He was the most modern of them, wearing black slacks and a white dress shirt open at the throat. A heavy amber velvet cloak hung from his shoulders. Besides the cloak, his garments were hardly court-worthy, and his bow was short and perfunctory. The Lord of Summer hadn’t dressed for the occasion and didn’t want to be here. Another interesting note.
“Prince Fionn, Lord of Autumn.”
Unlike his brothers, Fionn had rich, red-brown hair and a close-cut beard. He looked the most like the queen, but like his father he wore garments reminiscent of the medieval era—hose, tunic and boots. A sword hung from his hip. He had the air of a warrior, like Aed.
Fionn bowed solemnly.
“And my youngest child and only daughter.” Albha’s voice changed, tinged with both affection and weariness. “Princess Niamh, Lady of Winter.”
The princes, for all their size and strength, did not feel like a threat. Isabel could not say the same about the princess. Everything about her set Isabel’s nerves on edge.
White-blonde hair hung to her knees, blending with her snowy-white silk dress. She was the coldest day of winter made flesh, her cheeks and lips holding only the barest hint of pink. The only relief from the whiteness of her appearance was her eyes, which were such a dark blue that they were almost black.
When Isabel curtseyed in acknowledgement, she didn’t drop her gaze. Niamh returned her stare, her face impassive, giving no hint to her thoughts.
“It is an honor to meet you, Your Highnesses.” Isabel curtseyed one last time, choosing her words carefully, grateful they were using elegant Old French, which made niceties easy.
“Lady Isabel, will you join me for a meal?” Cairbe descended from the dais and offered his arm.
“She doesn’t eat, Cairbe. She’s dead.” A hush settled over the hall at Niamh’s words.
Isabel turned slowly, focusing on Niamh. With great deliberation, she let her gaze roam from the princess’s head to her toes and then back, ending her study by focusing on her neck.
Isabel smiled wide, making sure her fangs, which were fully extended, showed. “You’re concern touches me, Princess. I will not eat, but I enjoy the company of those who do. I’ll settle for having some wine.”
Again the onlookers whispered amongst themselves. Oisin and Fionn
Four people appeared on the dais, one step down from the rulers. This time Isabel was not startled by their sudden materializing and was able to keep a pleasant smile locked on her face.
Three men and one woman, each breathtaking in their beauty, stared down at Isabel. She recognized Cairbe, who wore a pale green jerkin and tawny pants tucked into rich leather boots. A half-cape hung from one shoulder, the elegant and pale garments showing off his gold hair.
“This is our oldest child, Prince Cairbe, Lord of Spring.”
Lord of Spring? She’d never come across a mention in literature or mythology of the prince referred to by that title, though Aed had used it when they encountered him. She’d assumed it was a title used only by the Fianna, but it seemed it was not. Once she was home she’d have to investigate the issue.
Cairbe bowed, his eyes glittering as he smiled, seemingly daring her to mention that they’d already met. She was once more stuck by an intense desire for him, but now that she knew it was born of some magic it was easy to control the feeling.
Isabel curtseyed and said nothing.
Beside Cairbe was a man whose features were practically a mirror of his, save for a scar that cut across his lower lip. It was crude in an otherwise refined face, pulling his lip down on one side so that his mouth didn’t quite close.
“Prince Oisin, Lord of Summer.”
The scarred man bowed. His gold hair, three shades darker than his older brother’s, was pulled back. He was the most modern of them, wearing black slacks and a white dress shirt open at the throat. A heavy amber velvet cloak hung from his shoulders. Besides the cloak, his garments were hardly court-worthy, and his bow was short and perfunctory. The Lord of Summer hadn’t dressed for the occasion and didn’t want to be here. Another interesting note.
“Prince Fionn, Lord of Autumn.”
Unlike his brothers, Fionn had rich, red-brown hair and a close-cut beard. He looked the most like the queen, but like his father he wore garments reminiscent of the medieval era—hose, tunic and boots. A sword hung from his hip. He had the air of a warrior, like Aed.
Fionn bowed solemnly.
“And my youngest child and only daughter.” Albha’s voice changed, tinged with both affection and weariness. “Princess Niamh, Lady of Winter.”
The princes, for all their size and strength, did not feel like a threat. Isabel could not say the same about the princess. Everything about her set Isabel’s nerves on edge.
White-blonde hair hung to her knees, blending with her snowy-white silk dress. She was the coldest day of winter made flesh, her cheeks and lips holding only the barest hint of pink. The only relief from the whiteness of her appearance was her eyes, which were such a dark blue that they were almost black.
When Isabel curtseyed in acknowledgement, she didn’t drop her gaze. Niamh returned her stare, her face impassive, giving no hint to her thoughts.
“It is an honor to meet you, Your Highnesses.” Isabel curtseyed one last time, choosing her words carefully, grateful they were using elegant Old French, which made niceties easy.
“Lady Isabel, will you join me for a meal?” Cairbe descended from the dais and offered his arm.
“She doesn’t eat, Cairbe. She’s dead.” A hush settled over the hall at Niamh’s words.
Isabel turned slowly, focusing on Niamh. With great deliberation, she let her gaze roam from the princess’s head to her toes and then back, ending her study by focusing on her neck.
Isabel smiled wide, making sure her fangs, which were fully extended, showed. “You’re concern touches me, Princess. I will not eat, but I enjoy the company of those who do. I’ll settle for having some wine.”
Again the onlookers whispered amongst themselves. Oisin and Fionn
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