Hester is an aspiring musician, floundering through small gigs in London pubs. When an act of kindness makes her a viral sensation, she's swept up under the wing of wealthy superstar Sy Dage. She's finally made it--with one catch. she is actually a high fae of the Seelie Court, taking part in the time-honored tradition of her people to sojourn for a lifetime or so in the mortal plane, experiencing the mortal world and contributing to its arts. And Sy Dage is a fae of the Unseelie. The deep hatreds and tensions between their courts threaten to kill Hester's dreams--and the burgeoning connection, musical and otherwise, between her and Sy. What will she risk for mortal ambition...and for mortal desire? ** Prince from the Other Side is written by Bella Nichols, an EGlobal Creative Publishing signed author.
View MoreThe morning light struck in through the wide picture windows of the chalet bedroom. We were still firmly in bed, sticky with sweat and Sy's slow whiskey kisses from the night before. I couldn't stop touching him, even lazily half asleep. I kissed his jaw, the subtle rise of the dark laurel tattoo, his shoulder. I felt him nuzzle his nose into my hair. "We have to get up," he whispered, and I shivered with pleasure as I felt his hot breath against my ear transform into a teasing nibble. "People are going to start getting here soon.""Hmmmph…Just a little while longer."His palm slid up my rips, kneading distractingly at my breast."And you're not helping," I scolded, pressing against him. I felt his c*ck stirring against my leg, and we lay there together in the tender potential of what might come next. A gentle repetition of last night: my lips coaxing him to attention, his hips firm and strong against mine as he pushed deep, igniting all my most secret senses. He was careful aroun
My heart sank like a stone, hard into my gut. I took a half step, trying to put myself between that mighty silver sword and Sy, protected by nothing but his dignity and a ripped t-shirt. But Sy tugged at my hand, holding me back. His voice was firm and clear as he continued. "But Lord Raelen made a mistake in trying to frame me in this instance. I remember the execution of the killer from my youth. I remember his fruitless instance on his innocence. And I remember the one piece of evidence offered: the murder weapon itself. There was no doubt his essence was linked to it. A forensic certainty. But there was no consideration that this might be a trick of new magic, a magic developed and kept secret for the very purpose of pulling off the ruse. If I may…"And he leaned down, picking up the dagger from the stones. It dripped incriminating red at his feet. The Seelie Court stiffened around their Queen, watching the Unseelie wielding the bloody knife mere feet away from her. But Sy e
The magic caught at once: I felt it ignite like a dynamite fuse, searing towards unstoppable explosion. The Queen's attention was on us. It was like looking up at an impossibly tall ocean wave about to crash down on your head.But Realen moved fast. The next thing I knew, I had toppled out of his arms to the hard ground. The air around me was an explosion of silvery Seelie magic and the golden burst of Sy's invocation. I scrambled blindly forward over the broken stones, toward that sense of safe, familiar gold. Toward Sy. I had to get to him before…Song echoed to my ears, a song so delicate and lovely it shimmered against my skin like pleasure. The might of the Seelie court in its glory crashed like waves of thunder. The gray light of this place exploded into brilliant silver. Horse hooves, charging, shook the ground. The horses were spectral, cloud-like, too lovely to be physically real, as was the armored woman astride the lead mare's back. Queen Titania sat tall, impossibly, on
I felt pressure around my stomach, a powerful arm hooked across my ribs. Then I felt the swell of sweet Seelie magic all around me, the brilliance halo of silver and softness. My uncle was holding me against him, my back to his chest. And he was holding a knife at my throat. THE knife. Why was I still alive?Then my eyes focused, and I saw Sy.He was standing free of his chains—and the chains themselves lay in broken pieces behind him, splinters of black metal embedded in the wall. Sy was irredentist with golden magic, wrapped in it, as if he were standing at the center of a hollow golden sun. Magic sparked from his fingertips and his wrathful dark eyes. "Let her go," he snarled. There was granite in his voice. I waited for Jarrah to make a mocking retort, but there was nothing. I strained my eyes sideways, toward where I thought Jarrah would be standing. All I saw was a dark, sooty smear on the flagstones. One of his dark boots lay half melted at one end. I didn't have to as
There was only a second to act. Luckily, Jarrah hadn't seen me pull my phone from my pocket when he flipped me over. And he didn't see my thumb hovering over the 'play' icon until it was too late.A burst of golden magic ignited on the air as mine and Sy's recorded voices burned together in the stillness. I felt the rush of magic through my veins, against my skin, and I took hold of the energy at once, pushing all of it I could gather in that second against Jarrah.The Unseelie lord flew backward off me, the knife flying from his hand as he crashed into the broken flagstones behind him. He was on his feet in the next moment, but so was I. The music was still playing. I balled my hands into fists, pulling more and more of that magic to myself. I pushed the magic around me in another rush, just in time. I felt Lord Raelen's attack smash against my magic barrier from behind me. I shuffled quickly to get out from between the two powerful fae lords, pulling golden magic around me agai
"Uncle!" I screamed, vision blurring with relieved tears. Lord Raelen turned his elegant, serene face toward me, wreathed in silvery Seelie magic, and I saw nothing at all in his expression. That's when I knew I'd made a terrible, terrible mistake."Lord Jarrah, I believe I was perfectly clear," said my uncle calmly. "I instructed that she be dead by the time of my arrival. I have no wish to see this."Maybe there was the smallest tremor in his voice. Maybe."Uncle?" I wheezed, straining to make sense of this—though of course it made perfect sense. I just couldn't admit it to myself. "Silence, child." Lord Raelen did not look at me, his face turned deliberately away to look instead at Jarrah's face. "This is necessary. It pains me, but it is quite necessary. Jarrah—""Why?!" I shouted, choking, hands scrambling against the stones. "Uncle, what is happening?!""War is a necessity, my dear child," whispered my uncle, and his composure did not slip an inch. "The Queen is weak. Th
Darkness and cold buffeted my skin, tangible malicious magics nipping at me like tiny insects. But all of a sudden, we burst out again into air and light—that same, no-man's-land gray light of the sky. I twisted, trying to grip Jarrah's wrist to relieve some of the terrible tension on my scalp as I dangled by the hair in his grip. My eyes swam with tears, but I blinked them away, trying to focus. We were in the overgrown, stony ruins of what might have once been the great hall of some ancient palace. The floor was broken by huge tree roots and the shifting of earth. This place had been empty for a long, long time—forgotten, in fact. I'd never heard of a palace in the borderlands between the Seelie and Unseelie realms. I heard a cry of distress and despair—in a voice I knew as well as my own. "Sy!" I screamed. "Sy, where are you?!"Suddenly Jarrah's hand let go of my hair, and I crashed, sprawled, onto the broken stones. I raised my head, mind swimming with pain and confusion a
I knew before I opened my eyes that it had worked. The sense of the air was entirely different here, the magical energy in every atom of the breeze against my face. But there was something strange and sour about the overwhelming tide of Seelie magic prickling against my skin. Something cold at its heart, where there should be summer warmth and vibrance.I opened my eyes. I was sitting on a vast, rocky plain. It was somewhere I'd never seen before. It wasn't Seelie land; neither was it Unseelie. This must be the barren no-man's land between the two realms, in the space where the Seelie's eternal summertime sank into Unseelie shadow. I stood carefully, gripping the iron poker, and slung the guitar over my back. I didn't like the raw sense of this place, its tangled sense of chaos and unbalance. But Sy was around here somewhere. I was sure. I'd spent so much of my energy getting here focusing on him, on my longing for him, that I knew the magic wouldn't have dropped me far off the
There were preparations to make first. I had the energy—the comments just kept coming—but now I needed direction. Wandering into Faerie with nothing but a lovelorn heart and bald desperation didn't seem like it would take me very far at all, and it certainly wouldn't do Sy any good. I gathered up the various mismatched scented candles from around the chalet's various over-designed bathrooms and arranged them in a careful circle on the living room floor. There was a convenient grill lighter stocked beside the wood stove. Then I descended down into the studio and retrieved the nearly empty whiskey bottle from last night and Sy's beater guitar, the less-than-tour-ready model he played around on for fun. Into the candle circle they went. I had the iron poker, but in a world of magic and fae forms, the iron wouldn't be doing any convenient banishing. It would certainly hurt any faerie flesh it touched, but in all likelihood that would just make the fae party pissed and pained rather t
The stage spotlights shone their eyes on me as I trailed off on the final warbling note of the finale song. I knew the magic was working. Cheers and applause erupted with earthquake force all around the tiny London bar; patrons banged on the bartop with the flats of their hands. This pub was an offbeat little venue that booked tiny local acts, like me. It was dusty, dark, and the spotlight was a spare, overworked bulb that would probably burst into flame any day now. I stood there with my second-hand guitar, my thrifted, flowy yellow skirt, and let myself enjoy the moment, no matter how pathetic.A few of my more loyal fans—I had a small but dedicated Instagram and TikTok following—cheered my name from their spot just in front of the little makeshift stage: "Hester! Hester!" I stepped back from the microphone, lowered my guitar. and put my hand over my heart. The magic of the music, of the small but attentive crowd, of the joyous outpouring of voices all snapped into their place. Th
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