Witches of Barcelona: A Dark, Funny & Sexy Urban Paranormal Romance Series (Blood Web Chronicles by Caedis Knight (hardest books to read .txt) 📗

even the glass tabletops and white mantels appear to be frosted with a thin film of ice. Which, considering I’m here to see the head of the Winter Court, is not surprising.

The many guards eye us warily as one of them disappears down a flight of stairs at the back of the room. Cabin. Whatever. It doesn’t feel like we’re standing in a yacht — it feels like an ice palace.

“Stay alert,” Luisa whispers in Catalan, knowing that the Fae are unlikely to understand us.

The guards dotted around the room stand unflinchingly to attention. Their navy-blue uniforms are all identical and pristine, each of them with icy lapels and silver snowflake buttons. They look like characters from Nutcracker on Ice but a lot less fun. In fact, judging by the angles of their bodies, I wouldn’t be surprised if they had torsos carved from ice too.

The prince joins us and sits regally on the white couch in the center of the room, knees spread apart straining against the white of his army breeches. I fight the urge to make a man-spreading joke. Fae-spreading. Nailed it.

The regent of the Winter Court smiles at us in a friendly way, and I breathe out in relief. At least we are starting out on an amicable note.

“Welcome, ladies,” he says, gesturing to the couch opposite him. His voice is melodic, his Dutch accent subtle.

“Thank you, Prince,” I say, feeling weird. I’ve never addressed royalty before. Am I supposed to say ‘Your Highness’?

By some silent command staff appear out of nowhere and start setting the frost-edged table with all the fixings needed for an… ice cream sundae bar? Bowls of various ice cream, nuts, fruit, cream, and sauces are laid before us. There’s even a plate of Dutch stroopwafels.

Okaaaay.

“Ice cream sundaes?” I reach for a frosty bowl, eager to load it with chocolate, raspberries and sprinkles of every kind. I haven’t had breakfast yet, but hey… this is basically a frosty yogurt granola bowl. Kind of. 

Luisa pulls my hand back.

Oh, right, that’s what she meant by ‘stay alert.’

You’re not supposed to accept food from the Fair Folk. There was even a children’s nursery rhyme about it growing up.

Good job I’m not here alone — being with Luisa always feels a million times safer. The prince furrows his brow, clearly annoyed we’re not accepting his hospitality, but as soon as I feel the tips of Luisa’s fingers brush mine, I know I won’t be tempted by any bad decisions today. Well, not regarding the Fae at least.

She shivers beside me, and I feel it too— the drop in temperature. It was the same at the ball when the prince pressed against me while we danced. He’s like one giant walking AC system.

“How nice of you to visit me,” he says. “And to bring such a lovely companion.”

“Thank you for meeting with us, Your Highness.” Luisa bows her head slightly, clearly more educated in ways of dealing with the High Fae than I am.

“My pleasure,” he counters. “To meet with such powerful Witches.”

I feel myself get hot beneath the intensity of his icy stare, but Luisa seems immune to his compliments. She looks at me, and I instantly feel calmer. The prince is looking intently at her, then at me, finally, realization flickers across his perfect feature.

“Delightful indeed,” he says with a slight smirk.

Is he insinuating there’s something between us? My cheeks glow warmer. What the fuck is this? One is making me feel hot, the other cold. I shiver and the prince waves his hand. Instantly two servants materialize with white cashmere blankets, handing one to me and the other to Luisa.

“How can I be of assistance?” the prince asks, taking a swig of his icy drink.

I clear my throat, pulling the cashmere tighter over my exposed shoulders.

“Someone told us you may be able to help us look for Maribel. We believe she’s dead.”

The prince raises one eyebrow, but the rest of his face remains unsettlingly still. “Dead? Who told you that?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Luisa says, saving me the trouble of stumbling over my own words.

“Yet I’m curious,” he drawls.

“A source.”

“Who?”

He won’t give up, yet I really don’t need a Fae prince to know we got a tip-off at a séance with my dead dad.

“Can’t you just… let it go?” I say.

Luisa snort-laughs, earning her a curious look from the prince. I don’t think he’s familiar with Disney’s back catalog. At least Rafi would have appreciated my joke.

“And what is it you expect from me?”

“Well…” I shift in my seat. All of a sudden, the question I came here to ask seems ridiculous. “Can you, like, feel things on the seafloor?”

“Depends. Maybe. The floor of most oceans is very cold. I can channel low temperatures, tune into it and feel disturbances, yes. But my magic won’t reach far. Only neighboring waters.”

“Like magical radar?” asks Luisa, giving me a look that says, ‘I told you so.’

“Your kind has a knack for simplifying the most complex and ancient of magics. But yes… like magical radar.”

“Would your magic pick up a disturbance in the water, like, say, a body?” I ask.

“You think Maribel’s dead body is in the sea?”

Luisa nods fast then stops suddenly, as if she knows what’s coming next.

“In exchange for any kind of retrieval, I would require a favor from you first,” says the prince.

He’s not looking at me; he’s looking at Luisa.

She sighs. “Why is nothing ever free with the Fae?”

“The powers of a Touchmage are rare to come by. The MA keeps you all very close,” he explains slowly, his icy finger tracing the lip of a crystal glass of gin.

I feel Luisa stiffen by my side. Perhaps she didn’t expect that the favor would be her magic.

“What do you need from me?” she asks.

 “I would like to soothe a particular feeling. I believe you’re able to isolate and mute a sensation, are you not?”

“Here? Right now?”

He nods.

It’s like they’re speaking their own separate language. The language of Touchmage, a language I have always found so terrifying.