Her Ugly Monster (book 1)

by Kaylee Rymer

  “The king’s already sent some guards to me tavern, anyway, a pair of goblins, so he must have some idea where she is.” Stannog met Weegel’s eyes. “Don’t worry, I didn’t snitch on ya, Goat.”

  Weegel backed away from him, his heartbeat rising. “Who was it? Who reported her to the guard?”

  All the faces from Stannog’s tavern rushed through his mind, and his blood bubbled. He would kill whoever it was.

  “The suspect has already been dealt with...”

  He inspected the ogre carefully. Suppose Bannog was right; Stannog did have his best interests at heart. If the brute had told the guards, he would have directly led them to Weegel.

  Something swelled inside Weegel, but before he could thank the barkeep, Ivy slammed her fists onto the table.

  Everyone jumped in surprise.

  “Why? Why is he doing this?” she cried. “What did I ever do to him? Whatever my grandfather did to him or anyone else is not my fault!”

  Her voice echoed through the room. All Weegel and the others could do was stare and watch. Where had her anger even come from?

  Bannog looked at Weegel, incredulously. “She... doesn’t know?”

  Weegel gulped, bracing himself for yet another round of guilt. He hadn’t told Ivy the complete story. Instead, he had focused more on the hows rather than the whys of her history.

  Ivy turned to Weegel. “What don’t I know?”

  Weegel didn’t even know where to start. Luckily, Bannog filled in for him. “Ivora, dear. King Astor... he’s your uncle.”

  Ivy’s face froze, and she leaned back in her seat, swaying left and right. Weegel held her up.

  “There, there, you have yourself another cup of tea,” Bannog said, pouring another cup. “Stan, pass me the tin on the second shelf.”

  Stannog scoffed. “What yer last slave die of?”

  “I mean it. It’s an emergency. The girl needs sugar.”

  The big oaf grumbled and snatched the tin off the shelf and threw it down. Bannog glared and opened the tin.

  Ivy stuffed more biscuits into her mouth, and Stannog laughed. “Really puts it away for a little girl, doesn’t she?”

  Weegel glowered at him.

  She finally finished and looked up, her eyes determined. “Tell me everything.”

  Bannog started. “Astor was your father’s brother, well, half-brother, on your grandfather Godwyn’s side. They say Astor turned up at the castle gates many years ago, claiming to be the king’s son. King Godwyn denied ever meeting a shapeshifter woman and ordered Astor to leave. Astor pleaded, begging for his love and compassion, but never received it. His mother had not long died so you can imagine what that kind of rejection would do to a grieving boy, and... well, the rest tells itself.”

  Ivy stared ahead, eyes vacant once again. Weegel could only guess what she was thinking.

  “It doesn’t excuse what he’s done,” she said, voice quiet. “He took my parents away from me. I’ll never forgive him.”

  Weegel felt a blow to the chest at the mention of her parents, and he rubbed his temples.

  Bannog looked up at Weegel. “It’s best you take her home. The girl’s had a shock, she needs to rest.”

  “The streets are brimmin’, cuz,” Stannog said. “Afraid they’re stuck here. The last festival went on for four days. Who knows how long this one’s gonna last?”

  Bannog drummed his fingers on the table, thinking. His eyes settled on the stack of boxes, and his entire face lit up. “Ooh!” He got up and moved towards the boxes, handing one to Weegel.

  “What is it?” Weegel asked.

  “You’ll see,” Bannog said, smiling wider.

  Weegel peered into the box, but Bannog flicked his face. “No peeking! Upstairs.”

  The ogre pointed at the ceiling.

  Confused, Weegel directed Ivy out of the room. On their way out Stannog said, “Yer a fool if ya think it’s gonna work. They’ll see right through her paper-thin disguise.”

  “Oh, shush. You’re just jealous because you could never think of an idea so brilliant.”

  “Pah! As brilliant as that stupid wig on yer head?”

  Bannog rubbed his hair. “It is not a wig!”

  Stannog smirked and ripped the wig clean off Bannog’s head. Now Bannog was just as bald as his cousin.

  Bannog patted his smooth head, and his face twisted with rage. “You’ll regret that!”

  A fight broke out.

  Alarmed, Weegel pushed Ivy out the room just as a cup went flying against the wall. He dragged her through the shop, passing between crowds of mannequins until they reached the stairs.

  Ivy looked back at the door. More smashing and crashing sounds could be heard from within. “Should we do something?”

  Weegel made a “pfft” sound. “You really want to break up a fight between two ogres?”

  She shook her head, white as a sheet.

  “Me neither.”

  They found a room on the second floor with a large four-poster bed. There was also a full-length mirror, a cavernous wardrobe, and a shelf lined with dolls’ heads. Each one wore wigs of various shades.

  A window looked out onto the street, and Weegel rushed over, pressing his nose to the glass. Hundreds of magical creatures had gathered to celebrate the festival. He had a real task of getting Ivy out tonight.

  A group of willowy women danced by the stage, their hands intertwined like ropes. Laurel was amongst them.

  Weegel groaned and banged his forehead against the glass. Laurel would do anything to get back at him. No doubt she’d try to exact her revenge on Ivy if she saw him out with her tonight.

  Laurel’s gaze moved to the window, and Weegel ducked. He’d fogged the glass, and he cursed himself. So much for being elusive.

  His eyes landed on the box, and he rushed over and peered inside. He found a leafy green dress, the most unflattering thing he’d ever seen. It was frayed and covered in holes. “Here... I think you’re supposed to put this on.”

  Ivy backed away from the dress. “I’d... rather risk being killed by pixies, thank you.”

  Weegel shook his head. “It’s no laughing matter. Pixie fangs are pretty sharp.” A changing board stood in the corner of the room, and he directed his hand. “Go round there and change.”

  Ivy sighed and yanked the dress from his hands. Weegel averted his eyes. Hopefully, she could get the dress on by herself, because he really didn’t want to go around and help. He needed to focus and not be distracted by her semi-nakedness.

  A strong smell of flowers caught his attention, and he turned.

  His heart skipped three beats. The dress had completely transformed. Leaves and vines sprouted out from the holes, entwining her arms and legs. Flowers swathed her hair, curling and producing new blossoms at every turn.

  She was the personification of spring herself, or in other words, a woodland nymph.

  Suddenly, he couldn’t breathe. Everything turned hazy, and he sat down on the bed.

  His heart thumped against his chest, and he swallowed, covering his mouth with his hand. The dress hugged her perfect slender frame, revealing every shape and curve, and it was more than he could take.

  Ivy approached him. “What’s wrong?”

  A floral scent wafted off the dress, mixing perfectly with her honeysuckle, and he closed his eyes, trying not to picture her naked.

  Curse that Bannog.

  A warm hand touched his cheek, and he looked up. The dress brought out the green of her eyes, and for a moment it was like walking through a meadow, soft and dewy after a morning rain, and his little heart thrummed again.

  Weegel rubbed his eyeballs and pointed at the mirror. “Take a look.”

  Ivy walked to the mirror and gasped. “Oh my goodness. I never expected the dress would look this amazing.”

  “Me neither,” Weegel muttered, resting his head in his hands.

  Ivy twirled before the mirror, and her whole demeanour changed.

  Weegel smiled. At leas
t the dress made her happy.

  She rummaged inside the box and found several tubes of paint. “Ooh, I wonder what these are for?”

  “I think you paint your face.”

  Ivy beamed and opened a tube. She grabbed a few brushes and started mixing the paint onto a board.

  She covered her face, arms, legs and chest, and before long a shimmering effect had taken over her skin.

  Ivy squealed and clasped her hands. “I can’t believe it! I look just like a woodland nymph!”

  Weegel gazed in amazement. Sure, the dress and makeup had done wonders, but she looked nothing like her former self.

  “I’ve never looked more beautiful.”

  “Actually—”

  He was caught off guard as she took his hand. “Come, let’s join the festival!”

  “You’re... not serious?”

  “Come on!”

  Ivy dragged him out the door and down the stairs.

  Weegel was too stunned to resist, so he stared at the back of her flowery head instead.

  What had the dress done to her?

  22. Ivora

  The fresh air took Ivora’s breath away once she rushed outside, and lights dazzled her everywhere. Magical creatures of all shapes and sizes danced around the tables, drinking wine from shimmering goblets.

  She drank in the atmosphere, savouring the sweet music. It reverberated through her bones and spread to the tips of her toes. Next, she was swaying her hips, moving in perfect rhythm to the music.

  Ivora had never been much of a dancer, but the dress somehow made her move like liquid. From the moment she gazed upon herself in the mirror, her spirits soared. She could be whoever she wanted now in her new disguise. No one would be none the wiser that the Princess Ivora was in their midst.

  Weegel ran up beside her, panting and sweating. “Ivy... what.... what are you doing?”

  “I’m dancing!”

  A look of utter confusion spread across his face.

  “Come, dance with me.”

  She dragged him towards the crowd, but Weegel dug his heels into the pavement. “No... we need to go.”

  “But the night’s so beautiful. Look at the lights, feel the music.”

  Weegel leaned close and whispered into her ear, “These people want you dead.”

  She paused and searched the crowd. A blunder of trolls drank from tankards, roaring in laughter when one of the smaller ones choked on his drink. A drunken faery nearly flew into her head, but it swerved the last moment and hit a goblin. Then the goblin turned and punched a sprite, and the sprite fell off his stool.

  Everyone was too busy having fun to even notice her.

  Ivora faced him again, putting her hands on her hips. “No. This is the first time I’ve felt free and happy in a while. You can go. I’ll stay. I remember the way out.”

  Weegel’s face turned hard as stone. His yellow eyes glimmered, and Ivora smirked. It looked as if someone didn’t like being told “no” for once.

  He examined the crowd and let out an exasperated sigh. “Fine. We can stay, but for one hour. Then we go.”

  Ivora beamed and fluttered her lashes. “So, does this mean you’ll dance with me?”

  Weegel opened his mouth, and it appeared his voice was stuck in his throat. But then he closed his eyes and shook his head.

  Her heart sank. The night wouldn’t be the same without Weegel.

  “All right. I’ll just dance by myself.” She walked out onto the street, reached up to her toes, and spun. All the lights swam around her, making her feel light and airy.

  Weegel grumbled somewhere to her right, but she ignored him and continued to twirl. When she finished, it was not Weegel’s sombre face she met, but three of the most beautiful girls in the world.

  They were the dryads from Stannog’s tavern. The ringleader produced a flattering smile. A wreath of leaves sat atop her wavy brown hair, and her eyes shone a vibrant gold. The dryad flanked to her right had hair of the purest white and a similar wreath. And the one to the left bore drooping locks of light brown swathed in vines.

  “My, you’re a really good dancer,” the ringleader said.

  Ivora’s heart fluttered at the compliment. “Why... thank you.”

  “What’s your name?”

  “Ivy.”

  “Perfect name for a woodland nymph,” the white-haired dryad chimed, nodding her head.

  “Yes, of course,” the ringleader replied, eyeing Ivora up and down. “I’m Laurel. This is Aspen,” she pointed to the white-haired dryad, who gave a small wave. “And this is Willow.”

  The droopy-haired dryad never returned Ivora’s smile.

  Laurel gazed back into Ivora’s eyes, her smile as saccharine as ever. “I’ve never seen you around the village before.”

  Ivora faltered. What does she say?

  Weegel appeared, and Ivora was grateful for his arrival. “What do you want, Laurel?” he asked.

  Aspen giggled and whispered something into Laurel’s ear. Laurel pushed her away. “Not now. We’ll gossip later.”

  Aspen pouted and folded her arms.

  Laurel batted her eyes at Weegel. “Weegel, why haven’t you ever introduced us to your lovely friend?”

  Weegel chuckled. “I never knew I had to present all my new friends to you.”

  Laurel laughed, a sound like sweet music, and put an arm around Ivora’s shoulder. “Surely you don’t want to hide this beauty from the world? Just look at those lips.”

  The dryad grabbed Ivora’s cheeks and squeezed, making her lips pucker up like a fish. Then she let go and gazed at her fingers. “Ugh... what’s this? Makeup?”

  Aspen giggled again, but Willow remained quiet and despondent.

  “Looks as if she’s not a natural beauty after all,” Laurel sighed, wiping her hands.

  Ivora’s eyes pricked at the insult, but she raised her chin, refusing to cry. It seemed fae girls were as cruel as human girls in the end; Laurel and Tabitha could be best friends.

  Weegel yanked Laurel away by the arm, his claws digging into her iridescent skin, and moved her to a quiet corner.

  Ivora wrapped her arms around her body, feeling alone and exposed. She cast her eyes around. A few of the fae gave her odd looks, and Aspen and Willow completely ignored her.

  Joining the festival was a bad idea. Weegel was right. It was time they went home. The fae would never accept her, just as her own townspeople had never accepted her, either.

  Laurel soon returned to her friends, looking as if she’d smelled something rotten. “Let’s go.”

  The dryads left, and Ivora had never felt more relieved to see the back of someone.

  She met Weegel’s eyes and sighed. “You were right. It’s best we go home.”

  He watched her for a few seconds, and then a small smile played across his lips. “No. Stay. Finish your dance.”

  “But... what about Laurel?”

  Weegel scoffed. “What about her? She’s not in control of your happiness. You want to dance, dance.”

  “I’m afraid she might—”

  “Don’t worry about her exposing you. She may look good on the outside, but I know things about her that would make your toes curl.”

  “What kind of things?” Ivora had never been one for gossip, but she couldn’t resist. What had the perfect Laurel done?

  The corners of Weegel’s mouth twitched. “Enough to ruin her perfect image of a sweet forest maiden. I blackmailed her.”

  Ivora eyed him strangely. “How do you know so much about her?”

  His cheeks turned bright crimson. “We... have a colourful history.”

  Her own cheeks flushed. “Oh.”

  A tense silence passed between them. Ivora wished she hadn’t asked. The last thing she needed was an image of Weegel and Laurel kissing, hugging...

  Something dark pricked inside her, and she glared up at Laurel. The beautiful dryad laughed and danced with her friends, every one of her movements so effortless, and her chest ached.

>   Ivora would never compare.

  “Well, aren’t you going to dance?”

  She startled and looked at Weegel. He had both of his eyebrows raised.

  “No, I... feel so silly now.”

  Weegel put his hand behind her shoulder, taking her by surprise. Their noses were inches apart, and she started sweating. The feel of his warm body pressed against her sent her legs into a spasm, and her mind reeled.

  “Well, shall we?” he asked.

  Ivora nodded. He grinned and twirled her around the dance-floor. He moved with grace, and she gazed at him in fascination.

  “You know how to dance?”

  He pursed his lips. “Well, I have read about dancing in books.”

  She snorted, and several fae looked their way.

  “What’s so funny?” he asked.

  “You can’t learn to dance from a book. Where did you really learn? Tell me.”

  A small smirk crept across his lips, and he tapped her nose.

  She narrowed her eyes. He truly was an enigma. What would he do next? Breathe fire?

  The music changed, and an upbeat melody banged about the stage. More dancers gathered, and Ivora whipped her head around.

  “What... what do we do now?”

  “Dance faster, I suppose...”

  He twirled faster, and the world transformed into a swirling sea of lights. They waltzed around the dance-floor, and it seemed a path had been cleared for them.

  Had everyone stopped to watch like they do in fairy tales? She hoped so.

  They soon waltzed to a stop, and Ivora’s belly hurt from all the laughing. She’d never had so much fun in her life.

  She leaned against him, her skin drenched in sweat. His heart pumped through his chest, and she held him close, breathing in his scent. Pine mixed with leather, and her head spun in circles. Nothing but Weegel intoxicated her now.

  “Ivy,” he whispered.

  She looked into his eyes and drowned in his pools of honey. “Yes?”

  He released a trembling breath. “N-nothing...”

  Ivora stared at him confused a moment and rolled her eyes. “Weegel?”

  “Yes.”

  “When are you going to kiss me?”

  Weegel’s entire face froze. “Huh?”