Spark into Flame

By Evelyn Weibel

Sky has just married the prince, Ember, but she's terrified--not only because she barely knows him, but because of the unspeakable abuse she suffered from a man close to her. Will the prince live up to her expectations of what all men are like, or will he smash them, along with her fears, into oblivion?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Evelyn Weibel
• Release date: Sep 20, 2016
• ISBN: 9781370947294

Evelyn Weibel

I love writing science fiction and fantasy! I am working on more. I hope you enjoy my stories!!

Book preview

Spark into Flame

Evelyn Weibel

Copyright © 2015 Evelyn Weibel

All rights reserved.

ISBN: 1514239426

ISBN-13: 978-1514239421

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Chapter 1: Fear

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Sky lay on the bed, shivering. Scared to death, knowing how much it would hurt.

The door opened. The prince, Ember, walked in. Resplendent in the royal wedding cloak, purple, crimson, glinting gold, jewels spilled across his broad chest.

He stopped. His black hair softly brushed his shoulders, his beard carefully trimmed, complementing his golden brown skin. He was stunning.

A thrill rushed through her despite herself as she remembered how he’d looked during the ceremony. So beautiful, earnest, royal, even gentle as he took her hand, kissed it. Kissed her softly on the mouth. But she knew men--they were not gentle when it came down to it. She was bound to this man now and she’d have to make the best of it.

She tried to do like her father had taught her years ago. She arranged her arm above her head seductively, the other on her stomach, inviting.

She had to please him; that was her duty as the new wife of the Third Heir. If she didn’t please him, he could annul the marriage, but it would bring everlasting shame on her and her family. The DNA match had said they were compatible; the rest was up to her. If she failed, it would be her fault.

He took another step into the soft light falling from above the bed. His mouth dropped open, his eyes wide.

So beautiful, he said.

It took her a moment to realize he was talking about her. Many had called her beautiful, but she’d suspected them of pandering to her father. He had always called her plain, weak, frail. She was never good enough for him. But here--they were alone and there was truth in his eyes.

He sat down beside her. His eyes caught hers, and traveled over her body.

Here it comes, she thought. He’ll rip into me--

His eyes devoured her, licking down her body, back to her face. His golden eyes, fire burning deep in them like coals. She dropped her eyes with respect--he was the Heir. She had to respect him--please him somehow--

He slipped back off the bed and stood. Her heart skipped, hardened like a stone. Had she displeased him?

His fingers leaped to the clasp at his throat, fumbling with it.

The jeweled cloak fell to the floor in elegant furls, billowing down to a bubble of glittering stars. He shrugged off his jewel-encrusted shirt, leaving just his white undershirt, contrasting with the bronze-brown of his skin, sheened with powdered gold.

She drew in a breath. She could see the outlines of his body beneath--so strong, sculpted--would he totally undress? Her father had never--had only done what was necessary to teach her--

He looked at her and in his eyes was a note of apology. He actually seemed nervous for some reason.

He slipped the white undershirt over his head, its delicate fabric fluttering in the slight breeze from the window. It floated to the lush purple carpet.

She drew her eyes upward. And gasped. A stunning beauty stood before her, a god chiseled out of gold, flawless. She felt the desire to bow to him. How could she possibly give him all he deserved? How could she--in her inadequacy--ever hope to give him what he wanted?

Sweat sheened his skin, enhancing the glitter of the gold dust. A glistening god. A delicate dance of faint blue lightning laced down his form, and fear rippled through her. That was what hurt the most. It would give him pleasure but would tear through her--

She closed her eyes in dread.

I am sorry, he said in his strong, deep voice. Perhaps this is not what you want.

She opened her eyes. It does not matter what I want. Only what you want, Your Majesty.

This is your wedding night. I want to please you. Please her? What did that have to do with this?

"I want to please you," she managed, her voice husky.

He swept forward then and sat on the bed, his magnificent muscles rippling. Lean, toned, with biceps to die for and sculpted pectorals and abs--gold dust glistened over his body and she longed to touch it. But she dared not take the initiative.

He reached forward and ran his hand down her arm--a feather touch. Delicately sliding to her wrist--he flipped her hand over, traced its veins--

He brought his hand to her face, cupped her chin. His thumb traced her lower lip.

He leaned forward. May I?

She nodded, not knowing what he was asking. He leaned forward, pressed his mouth to hers. His lips were soft like petals, not rough, tearing, like--

Something hot clutched her heart, wrenching it. Grabbing her chest with its claws, suffocating her. The past welling up in her throat--she fought it--not now--not the feeling versus what she knew in her mind, detached from what her father had done to her—

He pulled back. Have I done something wrong?

Shame shot through her. Of--of course not, Your Majesty.

It’s just that--you did not kiss me back. Have I displeased you?

She almost laughed. He displease her? How could he? Even if that mattered. No, Your Majesty. You are--perfect. Beautiful. The heir to the gods.

He nodded, the hint of a wry smile on his lips. You don’t have to call me Your Majesty, you know. There’s no one else here.

But--you are my lord in all things.

He shook his head, his black hair swaying gently against his shoulders. "No. I’m sorry if that’s the impression you’ve gotten. I may be the Heir, but I’m not the king yet. Besides, when I’m king--if I’m king--I want us to