Bespelled: A Fae Fantasy Romance (Fae Magic Book 5)

by Jessica Aspen

If she wasn’t fae, he’d think she was lying. But just like him she couldn’t lie. And the panic and bewilderment on her face was enough to tell him the truth. Anyone could have left her there—it didn’t have to be the Black Queen. She really couldn’t remember. And that meant he was no closer to finding the queen than he’d been for the last ten months.

  He’d failed.

  He turned and headed out into the darkness of the forest, his anguish choking him like the noose that would soon be around his neck.

  “Where are you going?”

  “To check the perimeter,” he called out over his shoulder, not stopping and not looking back. He couldn’t stay here. He had to move or he wouldn’t be responsible for his actions.

  Hours later, unable to sleep, he curled up in his cloak next to the fire and aimed the compass again at the dark shadow of the tent. The needle pointed directly at the girl, as unwavering as Thorn’s insistence she didn’t know anything about the Black Queen.

  He got up and quietly made his way to the tent and unzipped the canvas door. Thorn lay curled on her side in his sleeping bag. Her head was pillowed on his leather jacket, the red curls bright against the black leather. Even in the darkened interior of the tent he could see the shadows of exhaustion in her face softened by slumber.

  She was beautiful. Too beautiful. He couldn’t let himself get distracted by the luminescence of her skin. Or the fall of auburn lashes on her cheeks. Or the color of her amethyst eyes. He, of all people, knew for sure that beauty could be only skin deep.

  He rubbed his hand over his face and ran over the facts again.

  Thorn had the coloring of one of the queen’s aspects, red hair and violet eyes. But she was too young, by hundreds of years, to be the Black Queen. She was powerful, much more powerful than himself. But not as powerful as one needed to be to rule a fae court of Underhill.

  Especially not the Black Court, with its crazy debauchery and wild fae. The Black Queen ruled with a whip and an iron fist. Looking down at the innocence and vulnerability sleeping before him, he just couldn’t believe this was her. But the damn black needle of the lodestone insisted.

  So where did that leave him?

  Dropping the canvas he re-zipped the door, adding a spell to let him know if she tried to leave. He stared up at the black branches cutting across the night sky, his heart heavy.

  He’d been wrong about women before. So wrong. Growing up the way he had was bound to skew his abilities to interpret the fairer sex but he’d wised up since hitting adulthood and being betrayed by the Winter Queen. He’d put everything he had into this last effort with the lodestone. This woman was his key to finding the queen. He had to believe that—or else he had nothing to look forward to except exile.

  Or death.

  He needed a new plan. And he knew exactly what that was. They had to go back to the Oracle, the man who’d directed him to find the lodestone in the first place, and demand to know what had gone wrong.

  Chapter Eight

  Aeval woke up dreaming of bacon. Hot, delicious, juicy bacon...mmm. Even in her sleep she heard her stomach rumbling. She rolled over and stopped, trapped by something wrapped around her, keeping her arms bound tight to her sides. Panicked and half-asleep she fought, finally waking up enough to realize it was the sides of the unfamiliar sleeping bag.

  Fully awake now, she relaxed curled up inside the warmth of the quilted bag and hid her nose from the chill, reluctant to get up and face the day. She’d half thought she’d wake up back in the dance, but she had to face facts—this was reality. Dirty. Confused. Feet hurting from too much time in strappy high heels. Backside hurting from too much time in the saddle.

  The only good thing about this reality was the smell of bacon enticing her out into the cold.

  The zipper on the canvas tent flap moved and she jerked and sat up fast.

  Ardan stuck his head in. “Good, you’re awake.” He tossed a bundle of clothes at her. “Here.”

  She barely caught them and they spilled awkwardly out of her arms. “What’s this?”

  “They won’t fit you, but you need something besides the dress.” A pair of short boots and a small bag landed next to the sleeping bag. “Best I can do for footwear. Comb and brush in the bag.” He eyed her skeptically. “If you can tame that wild hair.”

  A hot flush burned her cheeks and she reached for her hair.

  “Hurry up. We have a long journey ahead of us today.” He was gone as fast as he’d been in, pulling his head out and zipping the door back up.

  “Of all the nerve.”

  “Did you say something?” came from outside the tent.

  Her cheeks flamed hotter. “No.”

  “Well then, Thorn, your breakfast is getting cold.”

  A flash of fear went through her as she remembered telling him to call her Thorn. She didn’t know why she felt she had to protect even this small slice of herself, but she knew she had to. He was hard, a soldier, and the only thing he’d really told her was his desire to kill a woman with her name.

  She pushed back the fear and left her warm nest. She sorted through the clothes—a soft shirt with a laced-up neck and long sleeves, black pants, and a belt with a silver buckle. No underwear, and nothing to hold her breasts up, but at least the garments were warmer than her gauzy dress and leagues more practical. Resigned to putting her corset back on, she got up and got dressed.

  She picked up the leather jacket he’d given her the night before and a waft of scent came with it, making her close her eyes and take in a deep breath. It smelled like him—like winter breezes and sword oil and hard work. She smiled, then jerked away from the jacket dropping it to the ground like it had bitten her.

  What was she thinking? She couldn’t possibly like this man. She knew nothing about him and what she did know wasn’t good. He said he’d rescued her, but he’d also said her name, Aeval, with such hatred and talked of killing that queen in the same breath.

  When she’d told him to call her Thorn, she’d reacted on instinct and fallen back on the only slip of memory she had so far, that of the woman who smelled of gingerbread and her talk of roses and thorns. The gingerbread woman had told her to give the world her thorns, so that’s what she’d done.

  Her soldier rescuer wanted to kill a woman named Aeval, some woman who was old and young all at the same time. That definitely wasn’t her. But she didn’t trust him, didn’t trust this cold hard world she’d woken up in.

  She would now be Thorn—tough, guarded, alert for danger. It didn’t really matter, she wasn’t sure she knew who Aeval was anyway.

  After ten minutes wrestling with her long curls and the comb, she tied the boots on as tight as she could and left the tent. “Do you have something to make holes in this belt with?”

  Ardan looked up from the saddle bags he’d been repacking. “Here.” He stood up, and walked towards her, pulling out his knife from its sheath.

  Suddenly, he was too close and reaching for the extra leather at her waist. Her breath caught.

  At the sound, he stopped. Something changed, and the look in his eyes became hot with intent.

  Her breathing quickened and she hastened to find something to say. “I think...I think it might be better if I took it off.”

  The silver in his eyes turned molten and she realized her mistake.

  She swallowed. “The belt, I mean.”

  For a moment she wasn’t sure he would let the strap go. His hand clenched and the leather around her waist tightened, but an impersonal mask fell over his face and he dropped the belt, backing away.

  “Of course, my lady.” The cool coming from him was now chillier than the frost that covered the last of the fall leaves on the ground.

  Thorn took off the belt and handed it to him, watching him work the hole into the leather with a competence that she couldn’t help but admire. She had no idea if she could do anything like this. She seemed to have no skills, she’d almost set the entire forest on fire the night before and if it weren’t f
or him, she wouldn’t even know that she knew how to sit on a horse, let alone ride.

  He gave it back with a small, stiff bow. “You’re belt, my lady.”

  “Thank you.” The words felt stiff and strange.

  Surprise washed over his face. “You’re welcome.” With a small smile he beckoned her over to eat and a warm glow started inside her. Maybe she could navigate this world. Maybe she just needed a little help.

  He handed her a plate and hunger struck her fiercely as the delicious odor rose from her the eggs, beans, and bacon. Lovely luscious bacon. “Oh.” She inhaled deeply. “I didn’t realize how tired I was of cake.” She sank onto a rock and picked up her fork.

  “Cake?” He placed a mug of hot tea next to her and she smiled up at him.

  “I’ve been eating nothing but cakes and cucumber sandwiches for as long as I can remember.”

  “I knew you must be from the courts.” He sat on his own rock and took a sip of tea. “Don’t they feed you better than that?

  She laughed, feeling relaxed for the first time since she’d woken up on top of him. “No, silly, at the party.” At his confused expression she explained. “My memories are all of a party in the woods. I danced and drank, and ate cake.” A wisp of music trailed through her head. The party...

  “It was nice, then.”

  She shook off the lure of the dance. “It was wonderful, but it didn’t stop. And there was no substance.” She took a bite of bacon, the salty flavor bursting on her tongue. “There was certainly nothing like this.”

  He tilted his head and frowned at her. “You look thin. It’s likely you weren’t actually eating at all, just in some form of hibernieth. Some party.” He took a sip of his tea, watching her over the rim of his mug. “What do you think would have happened to you if I hadn’t shown up?” He put the mug down and continued to eat, never taking his hard silver eyes off her.

  “What are you saying?” Her stomach clenched and her fork full of breakfast dropped back onto the plate.

  “No one had been there for a long time and I don’t think anyone was ever planning on coming back.”

  “You think they left me there to dance in my dreams until I starved?” The contents of her stomach formed a hard indigestible ball of panic as she stared at him and the harsh truth on his face. “That’s exactly what you think.”

  “You think this Black Queen did this to me, don’t you.” The panic flared into a spark of anger. “You think she left me here to die, alone, in that horrible place.”

  “It’s my best guess.”

  Somewhere, deep inside, she knew that her life before this, before the dream, had been different. But she had no idea how. The angry spark flared into a bright flame.

  “Ardan.” She looked at the man sitting next to her. “This is reality. I’m here now. I’m not dancing or dreaming or spellbound any longer. And I’m going to figure out who did this to me, queen or no queen.”

  “Good.” He stood up and took their plates. “I’ll pack up and we’ll get moving.”

  “Just where do you think we should start?” She had nothing but a name she was afraid to use and this man who was on a quest to kill.

  “I found you because I consulted the Oracle. I paid a hard price for the information, and it’s failed. I need to head back and find out what went wrong.”

  “Who is the Oracle?”

  “You don’t know?”

  She hadn’t disclosed to him the extent of her memory loss, and she wasn’t about to start now. She needed him, but she didn’t trust him. “I’ve been asleep, remember?”

  “But the Oracle has been around for longer than any other elvatian that I know of. It’s said he was old even when the Tuathan came to Underhill, how could you not have heard of him?” He shook his head. “No matter. He lives in the Golden Court, kept alive by King Oberon’s spells. He’s infallible. Or so they say.” His mouth twisted. “But in this case, he’s failed. Or I misunderstood. Mirrors don’t always reflect what they see.”

  She wasn’t sure which name it was—the Golden Court, King Oberon, or the Oracle—but one of them made her stomach heavy with dread. “Here.” She handed him the half-full plate. “Suddenly I’m not hungry anymore.”

  “You probably shouldn’t eat too much right away.”

  He dumped the leftovers and poured the last of the hot water on the plates. Then he took an old rag and wiped out the frying pan. Thorn watched in wonder as the frying pan, plates, mugs and utensils all disappeared into the tiny bag.

  So many questions she wanted to ask, but she still wasn’t sure how far to trust this man.

  “So, you think the Oracle can help me figure out who did this to me?”

  “He can only tell you the future, not the past.”

  “Then he can’t help me.” She sank down, dejected, onto her rock.

  “Likely not. And it will cost you. I don’t know what you have to pay with, but the price is steep.”

  “What did you pay?”

  Ardan’s face got even harder. “Never mind.” He kicked dirt over the dying fire. “We need to get moving. Can you pack the tent?”

  She stared at the tent. “Me?”

  His lips twisted. “Of course you can’t. Why would I expect a lady like you to do anything.” And with that, all the rapport they’d just created—shattered.

  He went inside the tent and came out with her sleeping bag and her discarded party dress. After stuffing them in another of the small bags, he touched the tent. It folded up into a tiny rectangle small enough to hide in his palm.

  “We’re leaving in five minutes for the Golden Court. I suggest you use the bushes before we go.”

  A rush of anger filled her. “Now see here. I don’t think this Oracle can help me. I want to go back to the house.”

  He stopped. “Why?”

  “It’s my only tie to who did this to me. There have to be clues. Something must be there.” Something that said who she was and where she belonged. “I’m cold and sore and dirty. This isn’t my world, it isn’t my life. I want my life back.” Whatever it had been, she wanted it back.

  “The house collapsed. There’s nothing there. We go forward.”

  Power rushed through her. The hair she’d worked so hard on began to lift. “We go back.”

  For a moment she thought he’d refuse and she’d be forced to either back down, or do something. What, she didn’t know. The power that had instinctively rushed to her hands tingled. Somehow she knew she should have more of it, but what was there lay coiled inside her, ready to be used.

  “What are you going to do, Thorn?” His voice was calm, his hand hovering near his sword.

  What was she going to do? She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “I don’t know.” She shook off the power, letting it rush away, leaving her panting with the effort.

  Ardan’s hand eased away from his sword, but his body was still tight with tension.

  “I need to go back. It’s all I have. Can’t you understand?”

  A flicker of compassion crossed his face. “One day.” Then, the compassion was gone as if it had never been. “But that’s all I can spare. If we can’t find any clues as to who did this to you, then we go to the Oracle. Agreed?”

  Relief rushed through her. “Agreed.”

  He finished putting the tent and supplies away and she let out the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. She looked around at the bare branches of the trees, the hard cold rocks, the pure white stallion snatching up last mouthfuls of fading grass. It wasn’t pretty here. It was cold, and scary, and harsh. But at least it was real.

  Her stomach was still too tight, and she was still lost without any idea of what and who she was, but she’d won this battle. She’d win each and every single one until she had her memory back. And until she knew otherwise, she’d take the risk and stay with Ardan. She had no other choice.

  Chapter Nine

  The ride back to the valley and the house was quicker this time. Ardan was rest
ed and he could tell even Thorn felt better after her night of real sleep. She seemed more alert, less foggy. Almost as if she’d shaken off the heavy weight of the spell and could think again.

  Heading back to the valley and the cottage was a waste of time, he was sure of it. But when she’d begged to go back he’d seen something he recognized in her face—the dark shadow of loss.

  He was a sucker for women. Especially women who stood up to him like Thorn had. So, against all his better judgment, they were retracing their steps. And with every mile they got closer his anxiety got worse.

  At the forest’s edge, just outside of the valley, he stopped Triton and twisted back in the saddle, offering Thorn his hand. “I’ll leave you here.”

  “Why?” Her brows crinkled with suspicion.

  “I’m going to go ahead, just in case.”

  “No.” She shook her head, her red curls bouncing with the motion. “I’m going with you.”

  She was his only lead on the queen. He didn’t want to risk losing her before he’d even figured out if he needed her or not.

  “Look, whoever set that spell took a lot of time and trouble to be sure you’d stay there. They’re bound to have also set something to tell them if something went wrong. We have no idea what we’re walking into. The only thing we can count on is that it will be dangerous.”

  “Leaving me here could be dangerous.” Her chin lifted in that mutinous tilt he was beginning to recognize. “You need me. You wouldn’t have made it out of that hedge without me.”

  “Hey, I got in without you—”

  She cut him off with her hand. “Besides, you may not recognize something that I would.”

  Despite her power, she seemed vulnerable to him. He’d been raised to protect women, to fight for them. It went against the grain for him to take her with him into battle. But he also had been raised to obey.

  “Fine.” He urged Triton back to a walk. “But if anything happens you need to let me do the fighting.”

  She rolled her eyes as she nodded. “Agreed. I’ll be better off at a distance with you whipping that sword around. I’ve seen the way you attack the shrubbery.”