Claiming the Prince: Book One Read Online Free Page B

face neutral.
    “Nothing will compel me to return to Alfheim. I am not going back. Ever. If you’re going to stay, then I need you to accept that now. And don’t ask me to change my mind.”
    “I thought you wanted me to be forthright,” he said.
    “Can you be forthright without pestering?”
    “You should not be wasting your life in this . . . iron prison of a world. You were too young when you fought Alanna, a child. That is why you lost. But look at yourself now. How can you not see it? You are a Rae. Even if the troll had not brought me to you, I would have found you. And if that furry little knocker is frightened, it’s because of you, Magdalena, not me.”

A TREK INTO THE canyon from down by the highway was no small feat. But fortunately, a Pixie had stamina and strength far surpassing a human’s.
    They ran most of the way, keeping their pace steady so as not to draw too much attention. Though they received a few passing glances as they moved away from the city proper and up into the hills, where the high fences of the gated communities began to hem them in when the steep hillside didn’t.
    Finally, late into the afternoon, they rounded a private drive. Before them, a massive iron gate stood. They came to a halt in the shadow of the metal menace.
    Swells of nausea rolled through her as the force of the bars, spiked black cast iron, hit her. Her head swam.
    This was why she lived and worked where she did. So much of this world was made of some iron alloy: the buildings, the cars, the pipes, the wires . . . everything. Frank had lived here a long time and had made certain that as little iron as possible was used in the homes on his land. Some of it couldn’t be avoided, but one could build up a tolerance, as she had for the washer and dryer and the appliances.
    Damion stepped back, swaying. Riker caught his arm. Damion tore away and then vomited, crashing to his knees at the side of the drive.
    “Names,” a voice said through the speaker attached to the gate.
    “It’s Magda, Kirk,” she shouted from where she stood, some eight feet away. “Tell Python I have someone who needs to see him.”
    “Who?” Kirk sighed in his ever put-upon voice.
    “A warrior of my kin,” she said.
    A long silence followed, punctuated only by Damion retching again.
    “We don’t want any trouble,” Kirk said finally.
    “Damn it, Kirk! Just open the gate! This iron is going to make us all sick if we have to stand out here much longer.”
    “Hmmm . . .” Kirk said. “Let me just see if Master Python is home.”
    She clenched her teeth, measuring her breathing, fending off a wave of dizziness. Kirk, like so many of the races of Alfheim, enjoyed his petty torment of other races, particularly the ruling ones, since his kind were almost exclusively servants.
    Riker hung as far back as he could, almost at the main road. After his stomach had been emptied, Damion continued to heave and spit
    “I’m sorry,” she said to him. “I should’ve warned you.”
    He wiped his chin with the back of his hand. “I thought it was bad in the troll’s truck . . .”
    “Corbin uses magic to mitigate some of the iron's power. His kind aren’t bothered by it.”
    “I suppose the Oracle is not bothered either,” he said, panting.
    “I never asked,” she said.
    Finally, the locks clicked. The motor hummed as the gates slowly opened wide.
    She hooked Damion under the arm and helped him up. “It will subside once the fence is behind us.”
    Practically carrying Damion—no small task—beyond the fence and up the long sloped drive, she experienced another flare of indignation.
    Back in Alfheim, Pixies were the most powerful creatures, aside from the reclusive Elves. But the way they lived now, chased by iron at every turn, their magic dampened by the overwhelming force of it . . . The better-forgotten voice inside of her growled that Damion was right. This was not how she should’ve been living. Better to die in the