By Laurell K. Hamilton
I'm Princess Meredith, inheritor to a throne of faerie. My day activity, as soon as upon a time, was once as a personal detective in la. regrettably, princess has now develop into a full-time occupation.
My aunt, Queen Andais, could have it no opposite direction. And so i'm almost a prisoner in faerie–trapped the following with many of the realm’s most lovely males to function my bodyguards . . . and my fanatics. For i'm pressured to conceive a toddler: an inheritor to be triumphant me at the throne. but after months of fantastic intercourse with my consorts, there's nonetheless no child. And no child ability no throne. the one walk in the park is dying by the hands of my cousin Cel, or his fans, if I fail to conceive.
Now Mistral, Queen Andais’s new captain of the safeguard, has come to my bed–defying her and risking her bad wrath in doing so. yet even she's going to hesitate to punish him in jealous rage, simply because our becoming a member of has reawakened previous magic, mystical strength so historic that not anyone stands opposed to it and survives. now not even my most powerful and so much favorite: my Darkness and my Killing Frost. no longer even Mistral himself, my hurricane Lord. yet simply because Mistral has helped to convey this magic forth, he may perhaps reside one other day.
If i will be able to reclaim regulate of the fey energy that after was once, there is desire for me and my reign in faerie. i'd but quell the darkish schemes and subterfuges surrounding me. notwithstanding shadows of obsession and conspiracy assemble, i could survive.
From the Hardcover edition.
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Additional resources for Mistral's Kiss
CHAPTER 1 I DREAMT OF WARM FLESH AND COOKIES. THE SEX I UNDERSTOOD, but the cookies…Why cookies? Why not cake, or meat? But that’s what my subconscious chose as I dreamt. We were eating in the tiny kitchen of my Los Angeles apartment—an apartment I didn’t live in anymore, outside of dreams. The we were me, Princess Meredith—the only faerie royal ever born on American soil—and my royal guards, more than a dozen of them. They moved around me with skin the color of darkest night, whitest snow, the pale of newborn leaves, the brown of leaves that have gone down to die on the forest floor, a rainbow of men moving nude around the kitchen.
Now he strode into the room and slipped on the mead, started to fall. Then it was as if the world blinked. One moment he was falling near the door; the next he was above me, falling toward me. He put his hands out to try to catch himself, and I put my arms up to keep him from falling on top of me. His hand caught the floor, but my hand touched his chest. He shuddered above me on his knees and one hand, as if I had made his heart stutter. I touched him through the tough softness of leather armor.
He was the cup, or what it contained. His tongue shoved inside me until I had to open my mouth wide or choke. And it was like swallowing the thick, golden honeyed mead. He was the intoxicating cup. I was on the floor with him on top of me, but he was too tall to kiss me deeply and press much of anything else against my naked body at the same time. Beneath us was a fur throw that lay on the stone floor. It tickled along my skin, helped every movement he made be something more, as if the fur were helping caress me.
Mistral's Kiss by Laurell K. Hamilton
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