by Eve Redmayne
“I’d normally not discourage my men from fighting elves, but not today.” Braum leapt from his horse and grasped the man about the elbow. “It’s good to see you, again.”
“Good to see you, Sire,” the words tumbled from the giant’s mouth. “I mean, great. Great to see you. Your brother will be pleased to know you’ve returned whole.”
“My brother’s here?” Braum glanced around.
“Prince Klieg’s in the war room with the generals, battle-planning.”
Braum tossed the reigns at Burly. “Take care of these two.” He nodded to the witches, huddled deep in their cloaks. “They’re my guests.”
Without another word, Braum marched into the stone fortress. It was small and perched on a hill overlooking the elven territory, a couple hard days’ ride from Grayweather Keep. There were no towers, just a crenelated building made of granite with several smaller outbuildings for the animals and supplies. He entered the war room and every man grew silent before roaring with delight. He forced a smile as his men cracked jokes about needing to rescue his sorry arse.
While he tried to rib back, his heart wasn’t in it. Jessica was back in the elven dungeon—now was no time to jest. Even Klieg joined in the revelry, which wasn’t like him. Perhaps, his brother was just glad to see him… but Braum couldn’t help but stare a long moment at his brother.
“It’s good to see you.” Klieg strode around the map-strewn table. He clasped Braum’s arm and grinned.
Braum shook his head free of any doubts, this was his brother, after all. He embraced Klieg before taking his place at the head of the table. “We have much to talk about. First, we will not be going to war.” He explained how he’d handled the scouts and that they needed to plan a defensive strategy for the time being.
“What of Lady Jessica?” someone asked, voice rising about the chorus of concerns.
After smothering his pained gaze, Braum explained the witches’ plan. Several men argued they should rescue their princess now and to hell with witches and their schemes.
He agreed but needed Jessica safe. And while she was in elven hands, they must tread carefully. “But,” he assured them, “if it comes to it, we will call upon our army and go to war with the elves.”
The table reverberated as the men pounded it with their fists. They cheered and agreed to follow Braum’s orders, though only begrudgingly acquiesced to leave the witches unmolested. A messenger raced away to alert the castle of Braum’s return and to halt any plans for bloodshed as they waited for the witches’ scheme to play out.
When the meeting concluded, Braum and Klieg walked outside. Klieg, while darker than Braum, had the same golden eyes and broad shoulders.
The outpost wasn’t meant to be a strategic spot for the dwarves to fight with any real advantage, other than it sat on high ground. It simply provided a convenient spot to keep dwarven eyes on elven lands and alert Grayweather Keep of any trouble.
As the brothers looked out over the valley, Braum revealed his regrets regarding Jessica and the choices he’d made. After all, what better person to hear his confessions than his brother.
But something still felt off. Klieg seemed distracted and bored, which wasn’t like him. Normally he gave everything his full attention, no matter how mundane.
Braum cleared his throat. “At any rate, I’d do whatever it took to take it all back—”
“I’m sorry,” Klieg interrupted, looking at him with interest, golden eyes agleam. “What’d you say?”
“I’m standing here confessing my guts out and you’re not even listening? Gods, Klieg.” Braum brushed a hand over his eyes. “I blew it,” he repeated. “All this because I was a selfish arsehole.”
Klieg laughed, though it sounded more like a cackle. “I could’ve told you that.”
“Shut up.” Braum punched his younger brother on the shoulder. “Seriously, man, what’s going on with you?”
His brother shrugged, “Just glad you’re back, I guess.”
“Well,” Braum shrugged, “I’d give anything to take back the transformation. Give Jessica the chance to decide if she wanted to marry me and become dwarf by choice. I took away her humanity in a single moment, and I didn’t even think about what it’d cost her. Or what it’d cost me if I lost her.”
Klieg’s eyes seemed to brighten for a moment before a wicked smile crept across his face. “Anything, you say?”
Not looking at his brother, Braum said, “Anything.”
“Even give up your soul?” Klieg’s words were soft, almost anxious.
Tired of the odd behavior, Braum answered briskly, “Yes, goddammit, I’d give up my soul. What good does a soul do me when the woman I love is in an elven prison? Really, Klieg, stop pissing with me.”
“Done,” Klieg said. The word was simple. Stark.
Braum turned back. Klieg’s eyes glowed eerily, and a sinister smile scorched his face. “Klieg?” He frowned, feeling an electrified haze surround them, and knew, without a doubt, this wasn’t his brother. His mouth dropped. He’d just made a horrible mistake.
Klieg moved forward, left hand outstretched. Braum backed up as far as he could but ran into the rampart they’d walked onto. Trapped. He doubted he could escape this man who wore his brother’s face, no longer quick, thanks to his leg.
The glow about Klieg’s eyes intensified as his strides ate the distance between them, his face devoid of emotion. Adrenaline surged through Braum. He had to get away. Get help. Dread filled his stomach. There was no telling what Klieg might do to his men… or Jessica.
Deciding to take charge of the situation, Braum threw himself at Klieg. But the instant they touched, Klieg ripped Braum off his feet, with an unnatural strength, and flung him to the ground—wet with melted snow. Braum’s muscles stiffened to fight back. But before he could move or yell out, Klieg clamped his fingers closed, pinching air and yanked back. A searing agony pierced Braum as though his muscles peeled from his bones. He wanted to scream, wanted to fight, but couldn’t move for the blistering pain that stole his breath.
A strain wrenched Braum’s heart, and the beats began to falter. And somehow, he knew he was dying, though no wound marred his chest.
As his heart rattled painfully, his mother’s bedtime stories flashed through his mind. Old tales told of the fae wearing the faces of men, playing mischief, and making bargains. Men whose spirits split from their flesh. Well, he supposed he’d now joined their ranks, having just bartered away his soul to a goddamned fairy.
CHAPTER 38
The walls of Britarre castle loomed overhead, and Willow glanced at Orrin, feeling inconsequential and unprepared for their task. They’d left the dwarven fortress, following Braum’s wasting, and now waited for an audience with the elven king.
Willow’s mind raced over the past several days. It’d been no surprise to the dwarves their beloved prince should have a fouling of the body with her and Orrin present. Never mind that they’d rescued him twice over, the barbarians.
It was still unreal that five days earlier, Burly had found Braum alone on the rampart, not moving.
Orrin had first realized why Braum wasted in a catatonic state. He’d reminded Willow of how Jessica’s body had started to whither without her soul.
Unable to work the same spell to retrieve Braum’s soul, as she had Jessica’s, Willow paled, understanding they’d need a catalyst to bring him back. They needed Jessica.
But the dwarves had refused to listen, accused them of harming Braum, and promptly threw them into the fort’s dungeon.
When Forde arrived, a couple days later, he came to them at once, not bothering to disguise the concern on his face. “Witchcraft saved him before. Can you help him now?”
It went against his dwarven beliefs, asking witches for help, and neither took his request lightly.
Certain of their death before Forde arrived, Willow had never felt so relieved to see a dwarf in her life. Much to his horror, she’d hugged him and hadn’t let go until he’d physica
lly pried her from his person.
They’d described what ailed Braum and how they were at a loss for why it’d happened. Then they detailed their original plan to get Jessica released from the elves and explained how they needed to speed things up. Without Jessica—the most important thing in Braum’s life— they feared they didn’t have enough leverage to get his soul back. Forde agreed there was no time to waste.
And now, here they were in the front entrance of Britarre, in the best finery the dwarves could dredge up, waiting for an audience with King Aaron. Two imposters representing the Witches Council, here to ask for Jessica’s release, and ready to accuse the king of mistreatment.
Willow fussed with the badge pinned to her black velvet gown. It was critical the elves thought them, actual members. And no member of the Witches Council would go out without their badge of authority. Of course, it was all an illusion. The gown Willow wore was an old rag somebody found in a chest and the badge, a brooch fashioned from tin.
As a finishing touch, they’d placed glamours upon themselves to age their faces and give the appearance of grandeur. They still looked like themselves, only older.
Orrin appeared to wear fine suede and silks, though he still wore his road-worn clothes. He’d also aged a decade and no longer sported a beard.
Willow had dulled her hair to a faded brown swept into a matronly bun. With pronounced crow’s feet by her eyes and pinched lips.
Though the afternoon sun flooded the massive stained-glass windows fronting the castle, hundreds of beeswax candles glowed upon golden candelabras. If the king was trying to show off the wealth of the elven people, he was doing a damn good job.
Feeling woefully underdressed, Willow hummed softly and tweaked the glamour. But bit her tongue as the herald appeared.
“His Majesty will see you now.” The doors to the reception chamber opened, and the herald bowed as they hurried through. If the king wasn’t convinced by their charade, Willow hoped he’d at least give her Jessica’s former dungeon cell and let Orrin have Braum’s.
King Aaron sat upon a golden throne, the royal color, plum, lavishly displayed on the cushions and wallpaper, with two guards posted on either side. No windows graced the walls, so Willow breathed a little easier that the king couldn’t observe them under careful scrutiny. They hadn’t the time nor equipment to properly build their glamours, and thus, they were a bit shoddy and thin in places.
“So, you’re here for the scarred girl, eh?” Aaron croaked, his voice brittle with age, not waiting for niceties.
“Yes, your majesty.” Orrin swept into an elegant bow. He gave Willow a sharp look, and she leaned into a curtsy, slightly wobbly, but sufficient. “We’ve received word that Prince Wycliffe has rejected our gift to him and declined to wed the lady Jessica, which was why we released her to him in the first place. We’d like her returned. Due to the altered circumstances, we cannot, in good conscience, leave her here.”
He sounded so regal, so articulate, as though he belonged in such a setting as this. Willow eyed him with barely concealed surprise. He’d always just been Orrin to her, but he actually sounded like a representative of the Witches Council, and it had nothing to do with the glamour.
The king grunted and rearranged the quilt over his lap. “Bloody cold chamber,” he mumbled before tossing the cover away to expose thin legs encased in brown hose, then said, “She’s been free to go since I returned.”
***
The king’s words rocked Orrin, and he shot Willow a sharp look. If Jessica had been free to go all along, why had she not returned? Had she changed her mind about Braum? He took an unconscious step closer, and the guards shot forward, swords drawn. He backed down a step, and Willow immediately took his place.
“May we at least ask if she’d like to come with us?” Willow asked, clearly unconcerned she spoke to royalty.
“I have no wish to keep witches on my land longer than necessary,” the king bellowed. “I blame you, after all, for this gods-damned predicament.”
The vein in Orrin’s forehead pulsed. How to convince the king to let them talk to Jessica? He had to hear with his own ears that she wanted to stay.
Then the king continued, “But I also have no problem giving the girl the opportunity to deny you herself.”
“Fine,” Willow said on a sharp bite, and together the three began the long walk up hundreds of steps into the castle’s tallest tower.
Orrin couldn’t believe the elven king guided them personally, showing no hint of his age, and spryly marching them upward. He thanked the goddess too, that Jessica was no longer imprisoned in the dungeon.
As they entered the top-most room, Orrin blinked. A pink sunset spread across the sky, lighting everything with a soft glow. His gaze fell to Jessica, sitting beside Wycliffe’s sister, her eyes wide.
That look told him everything he needed to know. She didn’t want to stay, was simply biding time until they came for her. He gave her a slight shake of the head. She dipped her chin in acknowledgement and set her teacup down. Beside her, the elven princess, Lyzelle watched curiously.
The two women wore identical white gowns. Jessica appeared more delicately feminine than Orrin had ever seen with her newly pink tresses swept in an intricate up-do.
His eyes narrowed as he considered her. Something was different, and it wasn’t just the transformation she’d undergone the night they’d saved Braum. Were her cheeks rosier? Perhaps a sparkle in her eyes he’d never noticed? Unable to put a finger on it, Orrin stared in stilted silence.
Only after Willow elbowed him sharply in the ribs did he step forward and bow. “Lady Jessica, I am Lord Keppwick of the Witches Council and this,” he indicated Willow, “is Lady Brunhilde.”
Jessica nodded, her lips twitching. His brows furred, warning her to keep her composure. When he took her hand and politely kissed it, he noted her blue fingers.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir.” Eyes crinkling at the corners, she presented Lyzelle to the two witches. “This is my good friend, Princess Lyzelle.”
Lyzelle blushed at Jessica’s kind words. With her thin physique and nearly white hair, her appearance bordered on innocent, like a woman-child cloistered away, all her life. She was pale with only a hint of color at the cheeks, once the blush faded.
Though he bowed to her as well, Orrin only had eyes for Jessica. The gown she wore was by no means indecent but showed off the curve of her breasts to perfection. A sudden ache to palm them grew within, and he cleared his throat as he felt himself stiffen. Banishing all thoughts of Jessica’s breasts to the back of his mind, he explained why there were there in a somewhat cohesive manner.
***
“So…” Jessica turned to Aaron for clarification.
“So, it’s up to you, child,” the king responded with a kind smile. “Lyzelle has expressed how much she enjoys your company, and I’d be delighted if you’d stay. But under the circumstances, I understand if you want to leave.”
Jessica smiled at Lyzelle in apology, stood, and curtsied. “With all due respect, Sire, I’d like to go. But it has nothing to do with you or Lyzelle,” she rushed to explain.
The king turned to his daughter and sighed, “Wycliffe.”
“I don’t feel safe after what happened,” Jessica’s said, eyes downcast.
“Very well, I said you could choose your fate and I won’t deny you that right, but”— he walked over to this daughter and patted her hand— “if you ever need somewhere to go, please consider our home.”
Jessica hurried over to give the king a peck on the cheek. “You’re too kind,” she said, grateful to all the Jane Austen books she’d read as she was putting the antiquated phrases to good use here.
Unable to help herself, she glanced at Orrin, still handsome as ever, but more distinguished. She’d never seen him so formal and couldn’t believe he’d shaved. Council Member was a good look on him. Willow, on the other hand, appeared a bitter woman who found no joy in life, which almost made Jessica l
augh. But she kept her cool, promising to be right back as she left hand in hand with Lyzelle.
In what seemed like no time, Jessica stood in the middle of her bedroom, staring open-mouthed at the bed. Every item she’d acquired that week sat piled high. She’d lived in luxury under Lyzelle’s companionship, with a new wardrobe already made up for her, including shoes, hats, and accessories.
Face stoic, Lyzelle squeezed Jessica’s hand. “Take everything,” she insisted.
“Hey,” Jessica smiled, realizing Lyzelle probably felt she had to buy her friendship, “you’ve been amazing. I promise to come back and visit, whenever Wycliffe’s out of town, and you can come visit me whenever you like at Gr”— she bit her tongue— “Moonstone.”
Lyzelle smiled coyly. “Very well, I can’t wait to see what you’re up to with all those witches.” She spoke the last word with an upraised brow.
Jessica pulled her friend in for a fierce hug and almost wished Wycliffe wasn’t such a tool. She’d love having Lyzelle for a sister-in-law.
“I’m so grateful your father found me that first night of my imprisonment,” Jessica said, twirling a loosened strand of hair about a finger. When Wycliffe found Braum had escaped, he’d railed and had a princely fit, accusing her of treason and espionage.
“It’s a mercy father was on his way home,” Lyzelle agreed.
Certain she’d spend the rest of her days in that dungeon, Jessica had cried in relief when Aaron released her himself with Wycliffe glowering in the nearby shadows. Wycliffe had stomped off, leaving Aaron to apologize for his son, and explaining he’d send him away with a band of soldiers. The boy needed discipline, he’d said.
“Seriously, I can’t take all this,” Jessica said, hands on hips.
Fyona burst into the room, tears in her eyes, wringing her apron with her hands. “Not again,” she wailed.
“You were just complaining about having too much to do, caring for both Lyzelle and me,” Jessica chided and grinned at the red blaze across Fyona’s cheeks. “Now you can devote all your time to Lizzie.”
