The Beginning
Page 9
“Soon. There is one more thing, Verte. I know you haven't had many lovers.” In fact, there were only two. Neither Cocoa nor Roan inspired her passion and they experimented rather than loved. “We will need to witness your union,” he finished.
That brought new arguments from her brothers, loud and heated. She wanted to yell with them, deny this possibility, claim she wasn't able to do it. But that would be a lie as well. She had modesty, but what was baring flesh next to opening it in war?
Her throat rasped when she shouted, “I will do it! I will sacrifice for the peace.”
They all stared at her and she turned. The Winter army left and she eagerly fled the neutral ground of the Briar where thorns grew to fill the space between seasons. She wanted her home more than ever. Meeting her sisters' eyes, she found remorse, pity, but greatest of all, gratitude.
She gave them a tight smile. To protect them and her brothers from the armies of Winter, she could do this.
***
It was a tentative truce. None of the fey were armed, but all were deadly, wary. The Winter Queen regarded Verte and her father watched Mab. Verte tried to ignore both, to ignore the entire guard. Her eyes were on him.
The grey faerie stood stolid, resigned. He was a middling grey, like rain clouds. What kind of husband would he be, what kind of father?
Her father released her shoulders and gave her a gentle push to start her walking. Her green eyes flicked between the guardsmen, unable to ignore them as she passed near.
The grey faerie shook out silvery hair and took a pace in Verte's direction, symbolically and literally meeting in the middle.
The last marriage of Winter and Summer, between Bruno and his bride, ended disastrously, initiating this war. The casualties on both sides grew until the royal courts saw the desperate need to end it. It would be centuries before either side recovered from the loss.
Verte's eyes locked on his. These last few steps seemed the most difficult in her life. More dangerous than traipsing with the humans, more frightening than the endless Briar. That same Briar, which formed the border between Summer and Winter, surrounded them as it did when the truce was brokered. It was held back by the magic of his Queen and her father.
She stood toe to toe with him, looking up with fire in her eyes. He might be her husband, but he would never be her master. His lips curled into a smirk. He lifted one hand and placed it near her cheek, watching and waiting for permission.
Verte leaned her face into his hand. So cold and icy, she thought she might weep. She would never be warm again.
He took hold of both her cheeks and placed his lips on hers.
Verte jerked her head free, skin burning with cold. Fae on both sides muttered and shifted. He grabbed the nape of her neck and hip, preventing her from turning or fleeing.
“You would shatter the peace so quickly?” he asked in a whisper before kissing her again.
Her lips were bruised by his forceful kiss, her mouth invaded by his tongue. Worse, she knew it wouldn't stop there. Both sides required they witness the consummation. The act bound them together and the separate kingdoms as well.
“I'll keep it brief,” he promised, lifting her skirt.
Verte gripped his shoulders roughly, letting her nails dig in as she climbed his hips. Her skirt afforded a very small privacy by draping over both their waists.
Verte screamed and bit his shoulder as his icy rod punctured her. She was not aroused to smooth his passage and he was cold, constricting her further. It had to be done, however, and he pushed harder, entering her. His fingers left bruises on Verte's hips as his grip tightened. He cried out as well. Moments later, huffing, he dropped her to her feet.
Fear and dread flooded Verte. He continued to cringe and hold himself lightly, looking at his member with squinting eyes. Could they have children? That had been painful for both of them. How had the other couple done it? They had been happy together, lovers, until one day, he found her dead in his bed. Winter blamed Bruno for it, but no one had ever clearly defined what killed her.
“It is done!” the Winter Queen decreed.
“It is done,” her father agreed, less jubilant. The thorns began to grow back as Tristan turned to go.
Verte was wrong. The steps to the middle were difficult, but this, walking into Winter, shut away from her family, from the sun. It seemed impossible. Her feet dragged and she stumbled, something no faerie ever did.
Her husband swept her up into his cold arms and Verte's hands instinctively circled his neck. A shock of pain ran down her arms and he flinched as well. With small effort, she pulled her magic back, keeping it from hurting him. He must have done the same, because his hands didn't send pain down her legs and back.
“I think I can carry you over.” He stepped across the threshold and cold Winter embraced her.
He carried her to a black sleigh pulled by large white dogs. She sat on the bench and he pulled a white fur pelt over her shoulders. “That should keep you from freezing,” he said, not grabbing anything for himself. He took the reins in his pale hands and flicked them. “We thought you wouldn't want to walk all the way back.” Behind them, the rest of the Winter fae did just that, many gliding across the ice.
“Thank you,” she said, huddling in the fur. It wasn't so different from the pelts at home, but from a large creature. A bear perhaps? Pulling her knees up, she leaned a little into the grey faerie.
He turned to look at her and smiled wanly. “So, what sin are you guilty of?”
She sat up, startled. “What do you mean? I—”
His smile turned to a frown. “No, I only meant, why are you the unlucky one sent to live with us?”
She relaxed a little. “I volunteered.”
His hands twitched on the reins and dogs sped up. “Why would you do that?”
“Why did you?”
He scoffed. “This is my punishment for not besting my brother last season. His magical displays and prowess surpassed mine. Pewter gets to be Mother's favorite and I get to marry the Summer princess.”
She leaned into him again. “I'll try not to be too big a burden.”
His smile returned. “I know you won't. Volunteer.” He scoffed, shaking his head.
“I spared my sisters,” she admitted. “They were so scared when Father asked. I'm older than they are.”
“Perhaps they wouldn't burn me,” he muttered.
She chuckled. “I burned you? You tore me open.” She shifted her legs where it still ached and stung.
“I'll be more gentle next time.”
“Thank you.” She watched black trunks and snow covered limbs pass. There was no color anywhere. All black, white, and grey. “How do you stand it?” she asked.
“What?” he asked, sounding less friendly than earlier.
“There's no color. Can you see color?”
“Yes, green faerie, I can see color. I can see more subtle colors than you.”
Green faerie? Well, she supposed she called him the grey faerie all this time. “Verte. My name is Verte.”
“Grey,” he answered.
“What makes you different from all the other grey faeries?”
“I am the exact middle. Neither more black nor white. Grey.”
She remembered the rain clouds, dark and stormy. They were grey. “Not Stormcloud?”
He chuckled. “Nope. I suppose you can call me Storm. That doesn't sound too bad.” He looked up and she followed, seeing the darker clouds on the horizon.
“Rain?” she asked.
He laughed. “Snow. We don't get rain here.”
She knew that. She sighed and pulled the fur up over her face. “Let me know when we arrive.”
He laughed again. “Of course, Princess Verte.”
About the Author
Angelica Dawson is the USA TODAY BESTSELLING and award-winning paranormal romance author of Blue Moon House, which has been in the top ten titles at Naughty Nights Press for over five years, as well as its prequels, Blue Moon H
ouse: Kitten, Blue Moon House: Gentleman, Blue Moon House: Slave, Blue Moon House: Investor, Blue Moon House: Vampire, and Blue Moon House: Harlot.
She has also written Not Your Bitch, Switching Up, Ethereal Protector, Ethereal Witness, Woman's Best Friend, Cardiac Melody, Winter's Embrace and numerous other stories included in upcoming anthologies and collections.
Where To Find More Of Angelica Dawson
She contributes flash fiction to several blogging collectives and excerpts from work in progress can be found on her Blog. Angelica is active on her Facebook Author Page, and Twitter
Angelica has been writing for several years and having sex a lot longer than that. She is a wife, mother, and environmental consultant. Her love of plants and the outdoors is not diminished by the bloodsucking hoards—mosquitoes and black flies, not vampires.