The Dark Queen (The Dark Queens Book 5)

by Jovee Winters

Learning of George’s true colors made her never want to bear one of his, and knowing what Galeta had told her, that one of her offspring would be the death of her—whether true or not—had infected her with fear.

  But she had hope of escaping, hope of someday being her own woman again. “Never?” she asked, voice reed-thin and scratchy.

  Galeta’s only answer was a terrible laugh. She tossed the vial at Fable, and without thought, she snatched it from the air, terrified of it crashing to the floor.

  The footsteps grew louder.

  “Decide quickly, darkness, for soon the matter will be taken out of your hands entirely.”

  Soon George would be here. Soon he’d force her to mate, and like Galeta said, she’d no longer have a choice in the matter. The thought of bearing George’s children, of knowing that they’d be as trapped here as she, as Snow...it wasn’t her eventual murder that decided her, but the fate of the beloved children she’d never know that steeled her nerves.

  This could all be a lie.

  A scheme concocted by a cold, and unfeeling heart. But time was not on her side, because if this was true, she had only seconds left to decide.

  With a sinking heart and trembling fingers, Fable uncorked the bottle, tipped it up and drank deeply.

  The thick fluid tasted of burnt cherries and made her gasp as she swallowed, feeling as though she’d consumed living flame.

  Galeta vanished in a puff of silvery-blue snow crystals, the echo of her laughter chilling Fable’s soul.

  Tears burned her eyes.

  The door opened.

  George stood on the other side, holding only a lit torch and dressed in his kingly robes.

  “Now,” he said deeply, “take off your clothes, female.”

  ~*~

  The nights were the worst.

  George had come that first night and every night since. He was not a sweet and caring lover. He did not hit her, but he did not tend to her either.

  He’d enter her, whether she was physically ready or not. Give several hard thrusts before grunting a release, collapsing upon her for a quick rest, and then resume his task over again.

  He was like a man possessed, consumed with her bearing him a child. A male heir, he’d always say.

  It didn’t take long for Fable to understand that he came to her out of duty and nothing more. No doubt by Brunhilda’s lead.

  Sometimes Fable thought it would have been preferable to feel wrath or anger come from him, as opposed to the oppressive nothing she got.

  He did not kiss her. Did not hold her. He simply shoved his cock into her with no regard to her comfort or pleasure.

  There were never any sweet words whispered, nor even petting of any kind.

  But those nights were not the worst.

  No, the worst was when George came to her room so drunk and half-cocked that he’d require help to “finish.” Charles, his ever-devoted knight, would guide George’s sometimes semi-flaccid penis directly into her.

  Tears of shame would run down her face, and all she could do to get through it was to look up at the ceiling and pretend that it was all just a horrible, terrible nightmare.

  And when it was done, and George had spilled his seed and collapsed in a heap beside her snoring heavily, Charles would give her a look that would split Fable’s heart in two.

  Pity.

  And she hated him for it.

  The days were better and made all the tortures of the night somewhat bearable. Galeta, as promised, returned every day. Now, months in into her training, Fable felt stronger.

  The other day she’d created fire with nothing more than a spell.

  She’d laughed and then cried, sensing the end of this miserable time here. And as she grew stronger, it became harder and harder to hide just what she could do. Every night that her bastard of a husband came to her she wanted to hurt him, end him.

  And the need for that revenge only grew stronger and stronger within her.

  But Galeta cautioned her not to. That she was still nowhere near as strong as Brunhilda and should the witch learn what Fable was really up to trapped in this tower of stone, she’d end it all.

  So Fable forced herself to lie still and take the abuse, repeating to herself over and over that when she was finally strong enough, she was going to make them all pay.

  Now, six months into her training, Fable was so lost in the learning of the newest spell—a killing curse—that she did not at first hear Galeta’s words.

  “Snap out of it, darkness!” Galeta snarled, shoving Fable so hard that she practically stumbled over her feet.

  Frowning, and furious, she glared at the miniature woman. “What?”

  Galeta’s eyes were wide and with a flick of her wand, she vanished the book, herbs, and poisons now littering her worktable.

  “I said, the witch comes.” And then, just as she’d vanished everything else, so too did The Blue leave.

  Fable had just enough time to twirl in surprise when the doors were tossed wide and landed with a violent bang against the walls.

  Brunhilda, dressed in a moss green gown that fit snugly to her body, eyed the room critically, and Fable trembled, terrified that somehow the witch would know what had actually transpired just beneath her nose.

  Knowing that to act guilty would make her look guilty, Fable instantly transformed into a thing of regal and arrogant beauty.

  With the power she learned came now a new and innate strength she’d never known she’d actually possessed.

  “What do you want, witch?” she hissed.

  Snapping frosty blue eyes toward Fable, she lifted her nose and glared. “I’ve come to have a long overdue chat with you, woman.”

  She crossed her arms beneath her flat chest, causing them to swell and look bigger than they actually were. Brunhilda had wildflowers threaded together to create a garland upon the crown of her head.

  Fable recognized Snow’s handiwork and had to gnash her teeth not to say anything. Little Snow hadn’t come to visit Fable in near a month now, and it worried her that she’d not seen the girl. Not only that but why was Snow creating garland wreaths for a grandmother she loathed? A terrible, sinking feeling wormed its way through her gut.

  But until she grew stronger, she knew there was nothing she could do for the child.

  “About what?” she asked crisply.

  Brunhilda, without requesting permission, entered the room and snapped her fingers. Causing the doors to slam behind her with a thunderous thud.

  Fable didn’t flinch.

  To the witch’s credit, she did not beat around the bush or mince words. “You’re not pregnant. You should be pregnant.”

  The way she said it. Should be, Fable knew instantly the witch had indeed spelled George’s seed.

  The pain of not bearing children no longer bothered Fable, and she was suddenly grateful that Galeta had given her that potion. Snow’s mother had died, it was easy enough now to see that Brunhilda had definitely had a hand in her demise. Laughing on the inside, she said softly, “Some women can’t get pregnant quickly.”

  Brunhilda snorted. “Aye. Some can’t.”

  It was obvious by the way she spoke that she didn’t believe Fable.

  Lifting her brows, she shook her head. “Is there something you want to say to me, Brunhilda? Something you know that I don’t?”

  The dowager’s smile was vicious and cruel. “I know you’ve done something, little bitch.”

  Fable couldn’t quite hide the smirk. She sniffed and shook her head. “What could I have possibly done?” she lifted her wrist, showing off the damnable cuff still locked tight. “I have no magick. No one comes to me.”

  Not entirely true, but again, the witch didn’t need to know that.

  “Are you saying I’m more clever than you are?” Fable’s words were sugar dipped in venom.

  Fire burned through Brunhilda’s eyes, and a snarl transformed her pretty face into that of a monster’s. “Once I figure this out, and I will, you will pay, da
rkness. Mark my words.”

  “Get out of my room,” Fable said unflinchingly.

  Brunhilda stood exactly where she was.

  Curling her fingers tight to her side, knowing she was still no match for the witch, Fable screamed, “Get. Out. Of. My. Room!”

  The dowager stood there only a second longer, before snorting, turning on her heel and with a snap of her fingers, opened the doors and walked out without saying another word.

  Fable sank to her knees the moment she was alone again, trembling not from fear, but from such a fierceness of rage that she thought she’d be consumed by it.

  “Good on you, darkness. You will be a fine queen someday,” Galeta said, startling Fable with her return.

  Clenching her jaw, and snapping her own fingers to slam the doors shut and locking them this time, Fable glared up at the fairy. “I learn this magick so that I can leave here, I am no queen and I will not—”

  Galeta’s laughter was terrible. “You just keep on telling yourself that, darkness. Now come, you’ve still yet to master the killing curse.”

  Chapter 6

  Calypso

  Twirling, Calypso eyed her mate.

  Hades—who sat on a burnished mahogany leather tufted sofa before his massive, flame-lit hearth—slowly set down his reading papers and gave her a raised eyebrow in question.

  Caly’s heart flipped. Even now, after so many lifetimes together she adored her male. With his dark hair, olive toned skin, and mysterious eyes full of brimstone and madness he was her perfect match in every way.

  He also knew her inside and out.

  “My jewel?” he asked, in that deep sonorous voice of his that never failed to make her skin tingle. She might have jumped his bones just now if she wasn’t so sick to her stomach.

  Clenching onto her middle, she worried her bottom lip.

  Calypso was never one to find herself tongue-tied, a fact that he knew well. Shooting to his feet, he marched toward her, the echoes of his shoes on the slate-gray marble floor of his mansion in the Underworld reverberated like cannon fire in her ears.

  Reaching her side just a second later, he gripped her biceps and squeezed gently. “My love, you’re worrying me, what is the matter?”

  His gaze was searching.

  Wetting her lips, knowing she needed to set his mind at ease, she shook her head. “It is...nothing. I don’t know.”

  He looked shocked. “You don’t know? Since when don’t you know something, my heart?”

  His grin was crooked, and she couldn’t help but respond. Calypso loved her bubble butt, but right now sex and mating and flogging the blowhole were the very last thoughts on her mind.

  Releasing a heavy sigh, she sagged into his comforting hold, running her fingers lightly up and down his spine to help soothe her own ragged nerves. “The truth is, Hades, I’m worried about Fable. And I have been for some time now.”

  Hades might not be her grandfather by blood, but he was definitely her grandfather by soul. His entire frame bristled at the notion of anything amiss with his beloved granddaughter.

  And suddenly even the underworld itself seemed to go cold with his displeasure. The wails of the trapped souls floating within the River Styx echoed down the great halls mournfully as all of hell grew aware of their master’s discontent.

  Patting his hair back down into place, Caly nibbled on her bottom lip. She hadn’t told Hades of her feelings because she’d not wanted to distress him unnecessarily.

  In fact, for several months after the girl’s nuptials to the handsomely aloof King George, Caly had thought her granddaughter deliriously happy and in love and thus why she’d made such little effort at reaching out to her clan.

  Why when Hades and Caly had finally sealed the deal they’d rarely left her chambers for several decades straight—and only when forced to.

  “What is the matter with Fable?” he growled, and in his anger, his face took on the hue and appearance of his other face. His true visage.

  That of death incarnate.

  His gorgeous features became more harsh and razor sculpted and a glow of crimson curled through his dark eyes.

  Planting her hand on his chest, she rubbed a soothing circle, to ease the now rapid beating of his heart.

  Shaking her head, and causing her octopi tentacle hair to undulate like a wave, she took a deep breath.

  “Probably nothing, my love. You know how I am prone to worry when my family is involved.”

  But there was no pacifying the beast now. As she’d said, Hades knew her dark soul as well as he knew his and Caly was beyond anxious right now.

  The flames in the hearth raged like a wildfire, leaving black markings behind on the ten-foot-thick river stone that lined it.

  “Calypso,” he growled a warning, letting her know that he wouldn’t allow her to try and lessen the significance of what was going on.

  Knowing that if she didn’t stop him now, he’d tear down the worlds to get at his granddaughter and make sure for himself that she was safe, Calypso forced a lighthearted laugh to spill off her tongue.

  “The truth is, my darling, that I really don’t know. It could be nothing.” She rolled her wrist airly, keeping her tone light and carefree.

  His eyes thinned, but the walls of the castle still stood, so her prime piece of man meat wasn’t totally losing his head just yet.

  Most of the world believed it to be Zeus and not Hades who wielded all the power in Olympus, but the truth of it was their powers were equal and should the brothers choose to war very little could survive them.

  “Then tell me now what is going on?” he demanded.

  And normally, Calypso would bristle to hear his high-handed manner, but she also knew her spouse well, and Hades’ sharp tongue was more a sign of his fear rather than of anger.

  Exhaling, she forced herself to finally speak her worries. “For some time now I’ve wondered why it was that Fable hasn’t reached out to any of us. Not her parents, us, not even Hook—who we both know she’s terribly fond of.”

  Hades’ eyes narrowed, but he remained silent. This was his thinker’s pose, he was ingesting everything she said and would mull it over before giving his final thoughts.

  “Of course, she is a newlywed, obviously. So I was content to merely sit back and relax and think no more of this.”

  “Then what is the problem now?” he asked, and his voice now sounded much less animalistic and more thoughtful and contemplative.

  Even the fire in the hearth had settled down, and the flames in his eyes were mostly extinguished. Though the sharp bones and lines of his face hadn’t smoothed out yet.

  Laying a loving hand upon a slashing cheekbone, she gave him a soft smile. “The problem is I worry, my dear.”

  Calypso wasn’t sure whether she should tell him the next part because now that she thought about it, she felt silly and foolish for jumping to conclusions. The only problem was she’d always considered herself to be a good judge of character and situations, and though there seemed to be a rational explanation for all of this, her brain continued to nag at her that all wasn’t quite right.

  He tenderly kissed the meat of her palm, nibbling on it just slightly, enough to make her hiss and tremble with an immediate wash of need.

  Calypso’s emotions were as temperamental as her seas—flighty, would be one way of putting it, and yet she’d never once grown bored with her male and truthfully doubted that she ever would.

  He grinned a wicked grin, and she couldn’t help but mimic it.

  “So this is simply a case of nerves then? Is that all, my love?” He stepped in close, so close the heat of his body washed against her own, making her primordial form of glass-like water tremble.

  Her thighs shook, and her insides quaked with a tsunami of desire. Talking to Hades and being able to think matters through was doing a miraculous job of easing her worries.

  In all likelihood, she probably really was suffering from a case of empty nest. To be gone so many months with
out a word or a letter was unusual for Fable, but her granddaughter was part god. She had powerful magick to her. Powerful enough that nothing and no one could harm her.

  Hades curled her octopi tentacle around his wrist, bringing her face scant inches from his so that she felt the roll of his minty breath linger along her lips like a delicate kiss.

  “My, dear, sweet Calypso, the primordial goddess of great passions and power, brought low by the thought of our beautiful little granddaughter.”

  He said the words with an echo of great fondness and love and she couldn’t help but snicker, feeling suddenly silly and foolish for worrying so.

  “I do love you, woman,” he said in a thick, raspy burr full of heat and longing.

  Caly had forgotten to mention to him that when she’d attempted to get in touch with Fable this afternoon by sea orb, the image inside of it had been nothing but blackness.

  Someone—and no doubt it could only be Fable since you’d have to be a powerful magick wielder—had blocked the sea orb’s access.

  In all likelihood, her precious darkness was busy corrupting the mind of her gallant King and did not wish to be disturbed by her meddling family of gods.

  Hades palm cupped her breast, hefting it in his palm and Caly could not help but gasp her pleasure as her fingers curled into his jacket.

  The length of his cock suddenly poked her hard in the thigh, and Caly knew her devil of a husband had much pleasanter ideas on his mind.

  “Mmm,” she moaned incoherently, and he smirked.

  “Give her a few more days, love, if we do not hear from her then, I shall send one of my spies to seek her out just to assure you that our little granddaughter is fine and is no doubt desperate to do with her male as I now wish to do to you.”

  The husky tenor of his voice nearly made Calypso come. Her gown spun of colorful beta fish swirled around her trim body as they too responded to the heat in the Lord of the Underworld’s voice.

  “Okay?” he asked her.

  And she nodded with a gulp when he flicked his wrist, using his own power to rid her of her gown so that she stood gloriously nude beneath his sharp and predatory gaze.

  He was like a ravenous wolf ready to pounce, and she couldn’t wait.