Enchanting Beauty (The Twisted Villain Chronicles Book 1)

by Bianca Mckay

  Enchanting Beauty

  The Twisted Villain Chronicles

  Book 1

  Copyright

  Enchanting Beauty

  Copyright 2019 Bianca Mckay

  License Notes

  This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with other people, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this book but did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return this book to your book retailer and purchase your own personal copy. Thank you for respecting the work of this author.

  As a disclaimer, please note that this book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events, is purely coincidental.

  Dedication

  For Ally, whose fierce strength and determination are an inspiration to me daily.

  A Note from The Author

  Please note that this series is not meant for anyone under the legal age of adulthood. A pronunciation guide and map have been included for your enjoyment and to help guide you on your journey through Lidryn. Also, I have added snippets of Aribelle’s childhood conversations so that you may have a glimpse into her past.

  Pronunciation Guide

  Aribelle: air-eh-bell

  Thamyris: thah-mere-is

  Druas: drew-us

  Aeson: a-sun

  Nilzan: nil-san

  Thaddeus: thad-ee-us

  Tarja: tar-jah

  Jurot: jur-o

  Vildaheim: vil-duh-heim

  Olthaire: ole-th-air

  Sulann: soo-lan

  Welcome to Lidryn

  One: Witch Scorned

  “Momma, why can’t I leave the forest?”

  “Because, my beauty, the world is far too ugly for you.”

  "If we purchase anything else, my dear, we will need a bigger house!" A man said softly.

  Agatha Crowle looked up from her market stall, sweat trickling down her back. The autumn in Vildaheim produced sweltering heat during the day and nearly freezing nights. Today was no different; the sun was high in the sky, white fluffy clouds dotted the horizon, but none came close to blocking out the oppressive heat or casting much-needed shade over Agatha's stall. Her body was beaded with sweat, causing her black cloak to cling to her arms and neck. If it were not for the cloak, which bore the crest of her kingdom, she would not be so miserable sitting here. Alas, it was the law that any person from any kingdom could gather to sell, barter, or trade their wares in another kingdom as long as they wore their designated cloak, showing one and all that they were an outsider and thus could not be trusted.

  "Then, build us a bigger house!" A woman answered shrilly.

  Agatha observed the couple shrewdly, ignoring the sweat trickling down her forehead. It was clear that the man adored his spouse from the way he gently rubbed a hand on her back and from his eyes shining as he looked down on her. He had black hair, slicked back with some type of oil, gold-rimmed spectacles, and a square stubbled jawline. Strange as it was, the man wore a pristine suit with sparkling, gem-encrusted cufflinks at his wrists, and shiny black shoes. Agatha's eyes narrowed, her heart skipping a beat. There was only one reason someone would willingly dress in their finest for a day at the marketplace; only one reason why anyone would rather sweat their face off than be comfortable. The man was wealthy, possibly one of the wealthiest of Vildaheim. From the looks of it, his wife was a spoiled brat, no more an adult in mind than a teen, and her next words confirmed this suspicion.

  "Emrit built Lucia a bigger house when she was carrying their firstborn! Their babe had three chests full of clothes before he was even born!" The woman shouted, rubbing her protruding belly.

  "Is that what this is about, Hazel? Your sister and her husband have next to nothing! Emrit did all he could do as a cattleman, and as the wife of a cattleman, Lucia has nothing better to do than sew together old rags and tattered clothing to make new ones. I could buy this entire marketplace if I so wished. You have nothing to prove to people like them. Our child will be adorned in fabrics and spoiled with trinkets the likes of which Lucia and Emrit could never even dream to buy their children," The man soothed, his chest puffed out as he boasted of his wealth.

  Agatha resisted rolling her eyes at his show of arrogance, but still, her heart pounded. If she could convince this couple that her wares were worthy and true magic, she might be able to provide enough food for the children in her care for months.

  "I know all of this, Melvyn. Which is why I do not want our babe to have three chests full of the finest clothing, not when three chests were all Lucia could fill with scraps!" The woman named Hazel said through gritted teeth.

  Agatha could see the woman's face flushed with passion as her chest heaved with each breath. Hazel's face pinched with pain, her brown hair sticking to her damp forehead. The long, blue satin dress she wore hugged her thin frame, stretching tightly over her rounded stomach. Both of the woman's hands went to her stomach, as Hazel groaned low, her teeth still clenched. Seconds ticked by before Hazel's body visibly relaxed, her breaths coming in soft pants.

  "Are you alright, my dear?" Melvyn asked, his eyes wild as he rubbed his hands over Hazel's belly.

  "I'm fine, but perhaps we should move through the market quickly. I will need to rest soon," Hazel answered stiffly, taking a small step away from her husband's attentions.

  Melvyn appeared hurt by this slight distance, but quickly drew himself up to his full height and pushed his shoulders back, holding out his arm for Hazel to take.

  "Protection amulet for the babe?" Agatha called out, her voice hoarse and dry.

  Goddess, she needed water, and not the hot kind that was sitting in her pack. She would rather be in the north right about now, lying upon the frosted grounds of Alideigh, where the people were cruel and attacked outsiders without warning. A battle in the icy plains was preferable to sitting in this sweltering kingdom.

  "What?" Hazel sneered, stopping directly in front of Agatha's stall.

  Agatha looked up, surprised. Every other person to walk by had ignored her, not even bothering with polite conversation or to fake a glance at her wares.

  "Would you be interested in a protection amulet for your babe?" Agatha repeated.

  Hazel laughed outright, a cruel, high-pitched sound. Melvyn looked around, seemingly hoping that he would not be caught standing before Agatha's stall.

  "Amulets and crystals don't work anymore, and everyone knows that. The beasts who wielded magic are all dead," Hazel said through her mocking laughter.

  "This is not true. The enchantments on these objects are real and powerful. You may test them if you'd like," Agatha replied, a sickening feeling in her stomach.

  It was not unusual to encounter those who believed that the massacre at Meyorn destroyed every being who possessed magic. But there were plenty who believed so deeply or were so terrified of the truth, that they would become violent and cruel when told otherwise. Even if those who invaded Meyorn had succeeded in slaughtering an entire race of magical beings, Hazel's words would still be false. When magic is cast, it does not die, even when the caster perishes. Any enchantment, potion, or spelled object would remain intact, but it was apparent that those who had dealt with the witches and warlocks of Meyorn had spread fallacies of dead magic itself and not just the casters. This news was an interesting bit of information that Agatha would need to speak about
with her sisters.

  "You come here to cheat the good people of our kingdom! There is no magic!" Hazel leaned forward and hissed.

  Another low groan escaped Hazel's lips, her back hunching over as she clutched her belly. Melvyn's attention snapped to his wife's pained expression, and he was by her side in an instant, whispering words Agatha could not hear.

  "Perhaps instead, you would like a potion for the labor pains?" Agatha asked dryly with a quirked eyebrow.

  "You jest while my wife is in pain? Help me get her home!" Melvyn growled, grabbing Agatha by her cloak and yanking her so close to his face that his spittle splattered on her nose.

  Agatha glowered at the man for several moments before nodding. She did not think the couple was very deserving of her help, but she could not ignore the woman's continued grunts and groans, which were lasting longer and coming one after the other. She would help them home, send for the midwife, and then be on her way.

  "I want the fraud nowhere near my babe and me," Hazel snapped.

  Agatha glared at the woman as Hazel's knees went weak, and she gasped before unleashing a pained shout. A heavy hand struck Agatha's face, her cheek stinging so sharply that tears immediately sprung to her eyes.

  "What are you doing to her?" Melvyn demanded, his face flushed, and his blue eyes flashed dangerously.

  Agatha stared at his blurry form dumbly, unable to comprehend exactly what he was accusing her of doing.

  "Damn you, answer me, you worthless hag!" Melvyn screamed, his hand flying towards her again.

  Agatha's head snapped to the side as she fell to her knees, her other cheekbone exploding in pain. She knelt on the ground gasping in pain as Melvyn continued shouting above her, demanding to know what she was doing.

  "I-I don't k-know what you're t-talking about," Agatha breathed in fear, her body tensed for another blow.

  "My wife! She was not experiencing any of this until we neared your stall." Melvyn growled, advancing on her.

  Gone was the soothing gentleman she saw before. Now, this man was wild, crazed, and obviously had no second thoughts of beating on an innocent woman.

  "What is going on here?" Another voice demanded.

  Agatha nearly sobbed with relief when she saw the gold and blue crest upon the armored man. A guard of Vildaheim would protect her and enforce the laws of neutrality in the marketplace. This horrid couple would no longer be allowed to abuse her both physically and verbally.

  "My wife and I were walking this marketplace when this begging fraud began to harass us. She claims to have enchanted objects and would not desist in her desperate pleas for coin. I believe my wife may be in labor now from all of this beggar's nonsense! When I asked her for her help getting my wife home, she just stood there staring at us, as though she was trying to cast a spell on my poor wife," Melvyn explained to the guard, his words coming out in a frantic rush.

  Agatha's eyes widened in disbelief. How quickly this man had gone from caring husband to an abuser of innocents to a victim of harassment. It did not escape her notice either that Melvyn did not admit to believing she was harming his wife with magic, lest he be laughed from the market. The guard turned to her, his eyes wrathful and cold.

  "Is this true?" The guard asked harshly.

  Agatha took a deep breath, already knowing the outcome of this situation. She blinked back tears of pain and frustration. Her face hurt; she could feel the swelling building beneath her skin, the tight, uncomfortable stretching of her cheeks. It was difficult for Agatha to pull herself together long enough to answer the guard, her lips trembling each time she tried to speak.

  "Does it matter?" She eventually croaked out.

  She knew in an instant that her assumption was correct. The guard's eyes became alight with wicked satisfaction as he bared his teeth at her.

  "You will pack your things and be escorted from the kingdom immediately." The guard said in a booming voice.

  "I did nothing wrong!" Agatha blurted and regretted the words as soon as they escaped.

  It would do no good to argue with the guard or the couple. She knew this, yet she could not reel in the instinct to defend herself. If she were smarter, she would stop getting herself into these situations. Selling magical objects always draws attention, whether it be from believers or non-believers. Some days she would go home with a pouch full of coins. Other days she would go home bloody and bruised, chased away from yet another marketplace. Today would be the latter, she knew. She also knew by the lewd gleam in the guard's eyes that she wanted any other guard to escort her from the kingdom.

  "Nothing wrong?" The guard shouted incredulously. "You are begging for coin in exchange for magic that no longer exists."

  The gathering crowd laughed and jeered at her kneeling form.

  "A witch? A desperate scheme to swindle innocents!" An onlooker shouted.

  "You should get on your talking dragon and fly on out of here, crazy old hag," Another shouted.

  The shouts and whooping laughter continued to come from every direction.

  "You will not cry," Agatha whispered to herself, balling up her fists and pushing herself up off the ground.

  A loud shattering had the crowd laughing uproariously, and Agatha cringed.

  "Oops!" Someone giggled.

  "Hey, witch! I will barter with you," Someone hollered from behind her, where she was bent over picking up her pack.

  Agatha started shoving her more precious belongings haphazardly inside, paying no mind to those who were still mocking and laughing at her. The hollering man repeated his shout, his request to barter sounding like a trick, but one that Agatha needed to risk. She needed the coin, and as a few of the marketgoers had described her, she was desperate.

  "You truly wish to barter?" She asked, glancing over her shoulder, seeking the one who spoke.

  "I do," A deep voice said, stepping forward through the crowd.

  He was a tall, thin man, with a haughty tilt to his chin that emphasized his pointed nose and sunken eyes. His skin was so pale that bluish veins could be seen along the length of his neck, though the skin beneath his eyes was a dark purple, almost as if he had been abused in the same way as she. The man was partially bald, only having hair on the sides of his head that was trimmed close to his scalp. The suit he wore was a dark blue, tailored to perfection, and Agatha briefly admired his muscular arms as he took off his coat, leaving him in a clean white button-down shirt that he rolled up on his forearms.

  "And what is it you wish to barter with?" Agatha asked, looking him squarely in the eye.

  The man gave her a charming smile, little crinkles forming around his brown eyes, which were alight with excitement. Agatha found herself relaxing the tiniest bit at his disarming charm, the corner of her mouth twitching into a reluctant smile.

  "Your life, of course," The man replied, his smile widening.

  The breath whooshed from Agatha's lungs, her heart thrumming a violent beat against her chest as she recognized the bloodthirsty look upon the faces in the crowd. Her magic would not help her here; if she used it against this kingdom's people, she risked the king of Vildaheim declaring war on her small kingdom, which would not survive another assault like the one in Meyorn. Her mind raced frantically, desperation clogging her throat. All she wanted was to get back home safely, to the children who depended on her, but that was looking more like a childish dream by the second.

  "Don't offer her mercy, Mitchell," Hazel groaned loudly. "Look at what she did to me!"

  The crowd gasped as their attention went to Hazel, whose legs were dripping with pink fluid. They swung accusing, condemning eyes to Agatha, who wanted to shout at their idiocy. The damn woman was in labor; of course, there would be blood! What in the goddess's name did they think was going to come out? Certainly, it wouldn't be unicorns or kittens!

  "You have a twenty-second start before I let loose the hounds, witch," The contempt clear in Mitchell’s voice as he spat out the last word.

  Agatha clenched her jaw, she
wanted to throttle every last person in the crowd, but she would have to run for the safety of the forest instead. She snatched wildly at her belongings and shoved a few handfuls of vials into her pack. Before she could stand up, the stall was flipped over, knocking her to the ground as it crashed into her side. Jars smashed to the ground, their luminescent liquids soaking into the dry dirt. Candles cracked and chipped as they thudded against the ground, crystals shattered, and Agatha's heart broke at the sight.

  She knew she didn't have long before the crowd grew murderous; they were warming themselves up for a night of tormenting her.

  "You deserve this," Hazel growled from above her.

  Agatha watched, paralyzed with terror as Hazel grabbed a bottle of lamp oil and matches from a young boy, who couldn't have been older than ten, and began dumping the liquid over the market stall. As the oil splashed Agatha in the face, arms, and stomach, she realized that Hazel truly was about to set her on fire. Agatha kicked with all her might, wiggling her body from beneath the stall, her fingernails digging into the dirt. Mud coated her cloak from the spilled potions, glass cut into her hands and side, but at last, she wiggled free. She gasped loudly as she got to her knees, shards of glass cutting through her pants and into her skin. She pulled herself to her feet and ran without a backward glance. The crowd's laughter rang through the air, louder and more boisterous than before.

  The ground quaked as the crowd gave chase, a thundering stampede of footfalls sounding behind her. Agatha's imagination went wild as she envisioned all of the possible horrible things they would do if they were to capture her. She pumped her legs faster, praying that she would make it to the shelter of the forest; there she could hide, there she would be back home, and the crowd would become the trespassers. Lungs burning, she pushed herself further, whimpering in pain as a cramp formed in her side. Her leg muscles were tightening, sending a fiery pain up her thighs.

  Something hard hit the back of her head, causing her to nearly tumble to the ground, but she regained her footing quickly. More objects were tossed at her in rapid succession, forcing her to run in a zigzagged pattern in a feeble attempt to avoid what she could not see. Her erratic switch in trajectory did nothing to hinder the more coordinated throwers; their lobbed objects still pelting her in the back.