Crushing cinza, p.1
Crushing Cinza, page 1
part #3 of Sci-Fi Fairytale Fusions Series
Crushing Cinza
Sci-Fi Fairytale Fusions
Book 3
Leann Ryans and V.T. Bonds
Copyright © 2021 Leann Ryans and V.T. Bonds
All rights reserved.
Cover by Dazed Designs
Render Art by Merel Pierce
No part of the book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author.
Leann Ryans and V.T. Bonds
Crushing Cinza
Sci-Fi Fairytale Fusions Book 3
Chapter 1
Cinza
Pain shot into Cinza’s shoulders and infected her spine as she caught her fall with her forearms. The marble floor sapped the heat from her front, easing the agony in her bones, but the hall’s regulated air conditioning wafted the scent of her own fear into her nostrils. Gritting her teeth in embarrassment as her squeak of alarm bounced off the high ceiling, Cinza sucked in a breath through her nose before turning her head to look up at her tormentor.
Golden irises beamed from a face full of mischief, Armyn’s raised eyebrow mocking her even as his cheek twitched. An expression flashed across his features before he set them in a decidedly uncaring façade. It wouldn’t have fit on any of the other kids his age, but Armyn pulled it off with ease.
The privileges of royalty came with many perks, and since he was the King’s son, the eight-year-old oozed more strength and self-assurance than most grown men.
Cinza pushed into a sitting position and cradled her elbow to her torso, the sharp pain worrying her even as her eyes darted around to make sure no one had seen. Her class had only graduated to this side of the building two weeks ago, most of her peers turning six long before she had. It sucked to be the youngest in her class, but her teacher said she was a fast learner.
“Why’d you push me?”
His eyes darkened at her words, the bright blue of his flesh highlighting the change as he leaned over her.
“Did you just accuse me of something?”
“I-I… but you—”
“I was just coming over to help you up after you tripped over nothing.”
Prince Armyn stepped even closer, nudging her thigh with the side of his taloned foot as he extended his hand. Offering his palm, he stared into her eyes and waited for her to take it.
Remembering how he’d pulled her hair so hard she’d almost cried at the school’s year-opening ceremony, Cinza hesitated. He’d pretended like he hadn’t yanked her ponytail, but her scalp still ached from his tug.
But then he’d been really nice a few days ago, when she’d been late to class and had dropped her satchel. Her books had scattered all over the hall, and as she’d dropped to her knees to get them, he’d shown up out of nowhere and helped her pick them up.
He hadn’t said anything, but the way he’d searched her eyes before he’d walked away… Cinza still didn’t know what he’d been trying to find.
When she took too long to lay her hand in his, his eyes hardened. Cinza’s stomach dropped to her feet, but when he didn’t move his hand away, she tentatively raised hers so he could help her.
Before their fingers made contact, a derisive snort sounded from behind Armyn.
“Oh look! Cinza fell. Again.”
Quasim’s green feathers came into view as he sauntered around his best friend and flicked his wing in a display of annoyance. The gesture couldn’t have been more manly if the prince’s sure-to-be-bodyguard had been full grown. The males’ mannerisms mimicked those in charge, since their entire lives revolved around the responsibilities they’d shoulder in the future—they’d already begun training their bodies for battle.
Cinza fought not to cower, but having both older boys looming over her was frightening.
“You’re so clumsy, and frail.”
Armyn’s neck swiveled until he stared at Quasim’s profile, the hand so near to Cinza’s closing into a fist, but the other boy didn’t seem to notice.
“How is someone so stupid still ali—”
A flash of blue streaked across Cinza’s vision before Armyn’s fist landed in the very center of Quasim’s face. Flying backward from the impact, Quasim’s wings spread just in time for his butt to hit the floor. His hands hid his shock as he tried to stop the blood gushing from his nose, but crimson flowed down his chin and dripped onto his once pristine white shirt.
Turning to face his laid-out friend, Armyn balled his hands into fists again and scowled.
“No! You don’t get to be mean to her.”
After looking between his prince and Cinza a few times, Quasim’s eyebrows scrunched before smoothing into lines of acceptance. When he shifted to stand, Armyn stepped closer to him and snarled.
“You’ll treat her with respect and protect her no matter what. Understand?”
Quasim turned his gaze to Cinza, his eyes squinting in confusion again before he snapped his attention back to Armyn when the prince growled.
“I hear you, my prince. Understood.”
“Good. Now get out of here before I punch you again.”
Quasim stood and shook out his feathers as he stomped away, wisely keeping his mouth shut even though his nose left droplets of blood behind him.
Golden eyes swung back toward her before he shook the hand he’d clocked his best friend with.
“He’s got a face as hard as iron.”
Armyn offered his palm again as a smirk slid across his face. Cinza laid hers in his before she realized she’d moved. The zap of electricity running up her arm made her pounding heart ache, his touch so warm and full of strength she didn’t know what to do with it. Her cheeks heated, no doubt causing a bright red flush on her pale cheeks, so she looked away and tried to pretend she didn’t feel so weird.
“Remember that if you ever need to hit him, okay?”
Not understanding what he meant because she couldn’t remember what he’d said before, Cinza scrunched her nose and glanced at him.
“What?”
“If he ever messes with you, don’t aim for his face. Kick him in the balls.”
Cinza’s feet tried to shuffle away, the thought of hurting someone else making her feel queasy. Fingers pinched her chin and forced her to look into shimmering golden eyes.
“But he won’t mess with you ever again. I promise.”
Without another word, he slid his fingers off her face as he stepped away, his hand releasing hers at the same time. He turned and took a step away from her before a group of kids from his grade turned into the hallway. The noise shocked Cinza into movement, her shoes squeaking on the floor as she tried to hurry back to class.
Despite taking a wide path around Armyn to go down the hall, his wing shot out at the last second and knocked her sideways.
With his powerful punch replaying in her mind, Cinza bounced off the wall and twisted to avoid banging into him. His forearm shot out and stopped her descent, but her feet popped out from under her, leaving all her weight on his arm for a few heart stopping seconds. As she tucked her feet back under herself and regained her balance, silence spread through the hallway.
“Watch where you’re going, Tiny.”
Feeling the older kids staring at her as adrenaline coursed through her veins, anger rose so fast and fierce her entire face felt like it would burst into flames. Not knowing what to make of his actions, Cinza glared up at her future king and scowled. His mood swings were giving her whiplash.
Unable to form any words, she jerked away from his arm and fled down the hall, tucking her wings straight behind her and hunching her shoulders in hopes of disappearing.
Everyone always made fun of her because she was tiny. Maybe if she shrank a little more she’d become invisible, and Prince Armyn would leave her alone.
Except, as she turned the corner to flee to her classroom, her eyes sought his striking wings and proud stance. His golden eyes captured hers until the wall broke their line of sight, the myriad of emotions swirling in them too fraught for her to dissect.
She liked him when he was kind to her, which only seemed to happen when they were alone, but didn’t know what to do when he was mean. And she didn’t understand why he had punched Quasim—she heard much worse from other kids in the school.
Her parents were of the higher class through works, not blood, which painted a target on her thin wings whether she did anything wrong or not. Especially because she looked so different compared to most of them.
In a way, what Quasim said was true—she was frail. She’d had to visit the nurse last week when her wing had gotten a slight tear during their first physical education class of the year. It was healed now, but Cinza had wanted to crawl in a hole and die when she’d cried in front of the whole class because it hurt so much.
At least now she didn’t have to play any sports. She could just walk the garden or fly laps around the track.
Knocking on her classroom door before opening it, Cinza turned in her hall pass before sitting in her seat, nodding when the teacher asked if everything was okay. After thanking Cinza for being so responsible, the woman returned to teaching the lesson.
Cinza always sat in the front row, otherwise she wouldn’t be able to see around her classmates, and it helped lessen the distractions of the classroom. She couldn’t see the way they pointed and whispered if they were behind her.
While middle and lower class student
After flipping the pages of her book so she was in the right section, Cinza tried to push the events of the hallway from her mind but couldn’t get Armyn’s golden eyes and mischievous smirk out of her thoughts.
Why couldn’t he just leave her alone?
Chapter 2
Armyn
“So, the innocent little Fayrie does get naughty sometimes, and I caught her.”
Armyn leaned his shoulders back against the doorframe and crossed his arms as he watched the young teen shove the giant sweet-roll into her mouth. He’d startled her to see what she’d do, sneaking up close before making a sound.
He hadn’t had the chance to openly pick on her in almost two years, the longest span of time since he’d started eight years prior, so finding her doing something wrong was too perfect an opportunity to pass up. Huge silvery-blue eyes turned to stare up at him, the hand over her lips not covering all the icing smeared on her cheeks and chin.
He couldn’t help the smirk that crossed his face. She was adorable.
“I—”
Cinza tried to talk, whether to argue her innocence or plead forgiveness he didn’t know, but she choked before she could get out more than a word. Darting to the sink, Armyn grabbed a glass and filled it with water, passing it to her in silence when she continued to cough. She drained it, finally forcing down the last of the gooey dough.
“I-I didn’t mean… They just smelled so good.”
Armyn stepped closer, pressing a finger to her lips to hush her. Sticky sweetness smeared on his digit, and when she stopped trying to talk he brought it to his mouth, licking it off as he kept his eyes on Cinza.
Cheeks flushing a bright shade of pink, she looked away. He had to remind himself she was younger than him and stealing a kiss from those pouty lips would be inappropriate, even if he was only a teen himself.
“It’s nice to see you’re not quite as good as everyone thinks. Makes you more… mortal,” he said as he reached out and gripped her chin. Forcing her to look up at him once again, he grabbed the towel from the table beside them and reached back to the sink to wet it. Raising it to her face, he gently wiped away the evidence of her theft.
“Are you going to tell on me?”
She trembled in his grip, her arms wrapping around her ribs. As a diplomat’s daughter, anything she did reflected on her father, and while Armyn knew Administrator Glashu was a fair man, he was also stern. He might ban her from coming to the palace with him, and Armyn didn’t want that. Their age difference meant they shared no classes, and the extra time she spent in the halls was his only chance to get close to her.
The stomp of footsteps coming down the stairs on the opposite end of the room stole their attention. Cinza’s breath caught, her trembling growing more intense. The theft of a roll might not seem like much, but Cook ruled the kitchen with an iron fist, and he wasn’t shy about whacking people with his wooden spoon. The thought of seeing her flesh turn purple from the alpha’s hit made Armyn want to punch the man, even though Cook had never had reason to strike Cinza before.
The burly male would also drag Cinza straight to her father, which meant Armyn might not see her for a long time. He already didn’t get to see her as often as he’d like.
Sliding his hand to Cinza’s shoulder, he reached down and lifted the cloth covering the table beside them.
“Hide,” he hissed, giving her a push.
“But…”
Those silvery-blue eyes locked on him, lips parted and tempting him once again. Shaking his head, Armyn gave another push down on her shoulder, forcing her to drop to her knees. He released the tablecloth as she shuffled underneath, reaching for a sweet-roll with the other hand and cramming a huge bite into his mouth.
It really was delicious. He wondered if Cinza’s lips would taste as good.
Being sure to smear icing on his cheeks and drop crumbs on his vest so it looked like he’d had more, Armyn pretended to turn to run as Cook came into view.
“Stop right there.”
Cook’s voice boomed through the small kitchen. He used the larger one across the hall when they were entertaining and he needed to cook for hundreds of people, but preferred the smaller kitchen when he was only cooking for the royal family and the few invited to share meals at their personal table. It didn’t make sense to Armyn since the man was an alpha and seemed to take up too much space in the little room. He’d caught up to Armyn in three steps, meaty fist clamping around Armyn’s forearm.
“Prince or not, you know you’re not allowed in here. And stealing my rolls? Your mother’s going to hear about this.”
Armyn raised a brow and let a smirk pull up the corner of his lips as he licked icing off them.
“Yeah, at some point Majordomo Meanu will get around to letting Mother know you complained I stole some rolls. By then I’ll have eaten five more at dinner.”
Cook’s face flushed a darker shade of purple. Armyn didn’t know what species the man was or where he came from, only that he looked a lot like the unbaked lumps of dough resting on the counter, with two sets of beady black eyes mashed in near the top.
“I’ll take you to her right now and be sure she bans you from having even one more. You’ll learn that you’re not above the rules.”
Armyn let Cook turn him and drag him to the doorway, shooting a quick glance over his shoulder toward where Cinza hid. His mother likely would ban him from having any of the rolls at dinner, but at least he’d saved Cinza from grief. As drawn as he was to pick on her every chance he got, he didn’t want her in real trouble. Her reputation of sweet innocence would remain intact.
His mother kept him in her office for hours, making him help her as part of his punishment. He also was banned from having dessert for an entire week, but it wasn’t like it would kill him. He still thought it was worth it.
Especially when Cinza pulled him through a doorway into an empty meeting room the day after he’d sacrificed himself for her.
Blood immediately rushed below his belt, and he had to remind himself that this was Cinza. Sweet, innocent, easy-to-pick-on, utterly too naïve Cinza. He may have been old enough to have dallied with willing maids, but she was still only fourteen turns.
“What happened? Did you get in trouble?”
Her words were breathy, as if she’d been running or expected him to say he was going to be executed. Chuckling at her worry, he brushed her pale blonde locks over her shoulder.
“No dessert for a week, banned from the kitchens, and I had to help with paperwork. I’ll live.”
Her eyes seemed to search his face, the tenseness in her body melting away before her eyes narrowed.
“Why did you take the blame? You’re no hero. You go out of your way to make my life miserable.”
He chuckled again, wings flaring as he shrugged. Reaching out and capturing another lock of her hair, he toyed with the silky strands as he searched for what to say.
“I can’t help picking on you. You’re so cute when you’re angry. But I’m the only one allowed to make you miserable.”
He tugged her hair, leaning in close to her ear before continuing.
“I can’t have anyone taking my toy away because she got in trouble. Then who would I torture?”
Cinza jerked away, eyes narrowing as he laughed. He wanted to stop her as she moved to stomp past him, but he knew he shouldn’t. If anyone caught her in a room alone with him, it would lead to worse punishment than what would have happened if Cook had caught her stealing the roll, and her reputation would be ruined.
She stopped in the doorway, turning back to glare at him.
“I was going to say thank you, but I guess I shouldn’t since you did it for yourself.”
She dug into the satchel hanging across her chest. Pulling something out, she threw it at his face, his hands raising on instinct to catch.
“I made that for you, so you don’t have to suffer without dessert.”
