Page 1 of Randall
Prologue
Randall cursed, fumbling the stack of books he carried. He righted himself and looked down to see what he’d tripped over. An ornately carved wooden box lay in the middle of the floor. A box that wasn’t his and certainly hadn’t been there a few moments before. It was the kind of unexpected event that had plagued him since his arrival at the castle.
The King had asked his clan to send someone, and he’d drawn the short straw, so to speak. He was young but talented, powerful, a child of two magick wielders. Randall had been using his magick even before he could speak. In other words, at eighteen, he was bored, andtheywere nervous. At least once a week, the mage council, led by his mother, called him to task over something he’d done that he knew he shouldn’t have, but did anyway.
So he’d packed up his belongings and made the trek to Onamond, the capital city. The moment he stepped into the presence of the queen and infant prince, he could feel the Fae power radiating from the child. From her as well, though it was so faint, anyone below him in rank wouldn’t have noticed.
“He is the reason I’m here?”
The queen nodded. “I wasn’t expecting someone so young, but I’m glad you are. Valter will need training.”
“And in the meantime…?”
“I’m sure His Majesty will have a use for you.”
The seneschal showed him to the stairs in the north tower. Randall gazed at the winding stone stairs and sighed. “How cliché,” he muttered before casting a levitation spell over his belongings and sending them upward. He trudged behind, listening to the snickering of the servants below.
He raised his voice. “It’s silly to laugh when you might be the one having to climb these stairs to summon me.” He grinned when their laughter cut off.
Months later, he was still organizing because King Sulter had kept him busy scrying into every part of the country. This was between using him as a tutor for Valter’s three older siblings, sending him into the city to investigate paranormal claims, and requiring him to facilitate any issues between the humans, wolves, and vampires, who also called the city home.
And then there was the cat.
The first time he saw her was when she poked her head through his door, a bright light in the grey void of the unmagicked. Randall had felt her power before, fleetingly, often around Valter, but hadn’t pinned down the source until she appeared.
A sleek, mostly black feline, she sat in his doorway, the tip of her tail flickering as she peered into his room. He waited until her violet gaze settled on him before speaking.
“Hello. I’m Randall DeCarin, though you probably know that already. Are you a shifter?”
She shook her head, her whiskers sweeping right and left.
“Your violet eyes give you away.”
She sneezed dismissively, then lifted a paw and began cleaning it.
Randall chuckled. “Sorry. You’re right. Most people wouldn’t think twice about the color of your eyes. I’ve been… feeling you. Your aura is very strong, but… clouded. Trapped?”
She froze, her sharp gaze cutting to him. Slowly, she stalked to where he was sitting on his bed. She gracefully leapt onto the mattress beside him before settling on his lap.
He laughed as he stroked her soft fur. “We’ll be friends, you and I, hm?”
She, of course, didn’t answer except to purr loudly. The “gifts” began appearing after that.
Randall had no idea where their friendship would lead, but his gut told him he had a long while to wait while Valter grew up.
Chapter 1
Darvon
Darvon—Prince Darvon of the Fae—paced the confines of his room. Not even the tranquil landscapes he’d painted could soothe his inner turmoil. Jarrah had crossed the barrier.The prodigal son returns…Darvon’s lips twisted.
As the second son, his life had been relegated to learning all he needed in order to assist his older brother. While Jarrah could traipse across the human realm as an ambassador for the Fae, he’d been stuck at home, where for the last thirty-six years he’d known his mate was somewhere on the other side of their borders.
He paused at the window, looking out past the gardens to the fields and forests surrounding his parents’ home. During his few forays across the barrier, his mother had ordered an accompaniment of guards, like his magick wouldn’t be enough to protect him.
Ridiculous. His skills were as good as Jarrah’s. While Jarrah had been gallivanting across Obrusa, meeting with the King andQueen, dining with the wolves, and chatting with the vampires, he’d been learning and practicing. Sort of…
Darvon sighed as he shifted to look at a meter-long waterscape. His skill with a paintbrush was definitely better. Magick, probably not. He hated practicing the rote spells. None of it interested him.
