Rapunzel and the Griffin Prince: An Adult Fairytale Romance

by Savage, Vivienne

  He kissed her and hurried from the bed. “Thank you. I understand now what must be done.”

  “But I did nothing.”

  “You did plenty,” Joaidane assured.

  Five minutes later, he’d summoned Anastasia to her crystal ball. She settled in the chair opposite him. “Please tell me you call with good news.”

  “A lead,” he said. “This book was left by my mother. I haven’t yet finished it, but Zarina tells me of a fairy tale she read as a child. A story about a snow queen tricked by an envious goddess. There was a mirror in this story. I believe I know the way to defeat this mirror.”

  As he relayed the information he’d discovered in the book, he watched the optimism return to Anastasia’s eyes. She clapped both hands together and wept with such profound relief her reaction startled him. He’d never seen her cry before.

  “I… am reluctant to ask this of you, Joaidane, but I know of few other options. Would you be willing to lend your personal aid to Eisland?”

  He hesitated. “How could I possibly do more? Samaharan ships are not built for speed, my friend. We have many cargo barges and some pleasure ships, but none capable of reaching Eisland in less than a month. Two weeks if the weather is kind.”

  Anastasia scrubbed her cheeks with the back of her hand, but the hope still gleamed in her gray-blue eyes. “Sending James to fetch you would be no better. A week at the very least to reach you, and longer still to sail to Eisland. What of magic?”

  He stroked his chin and considered the risks of using magic to instantaneously travel thousands of miles. “Unreliable. A runic circle would deliver me to your castle within hours, but I hesitate to use such magic to cross a sea as vast as the Viridian.”

  “Damn.”

  “Not to mention, I have my own province to govern, Ana. As much as I would love to give my aid to Eisland, this war could endure for weeks. Even months. I couldn’t leave Ankirith unprotected for so long.”

  Anastasia scoffed. “As if it would be weeks if you were there to give your help. They are up against something I don’t understand. There’s no mention of these black eyes or dark shards in any of the previous Witch Queen’s books.”

  “What stops you from attending the matter or even sending Alistair abroad?”

  “Liang has been sniffing around our southern border,” she admitted, “despite the magnificent wall of thorns I created dividing our kingdoms. They say I overstepped our boundaries and went beyond what is considered Cairn Ocland soil. But Teagan claims otherwise, so we’ve held firm.”

  Joaidane caught a whiff of Zarina’s favorite perfume and glanced over a shoulder to find her framed in the door, watching him. Her lips pursed. “Princess Teagan is the last living soul who recalls the deal struck by her brother and the old emperor.”

  “Yes,” Anastasia said. “And they’ve called her a liar.”

  Joaidane winced. “In other words, war is imminent, and it would be a foolish choice for either of you to leave the kingdom.”

  The queen nodded. “It could begin any day. Alistair has been in the south with the clan leaders discussing our options and whether we should be the first to strike.”

  “I see. Would you not prefer I remain here to lend aid?”

  “I would, but my concern for Eisland is greater. They have no dragons or clans of shifters at their disposal. And if I could, I would go to them in a heartbeat,” she added in a rush. “But inclusion in either war isn’t what the fates want for me.”

  “You’re with child again.”

  Anastasia nodded, fragile smile fleeting. “I haven’t had the chance to tell Alistair yet. He flew to the south days before I realized.”

  “I suppose if someone must be responsible for the repopulation of a species, it must be you,” Joaidane said.

  An honest smile returned to her face, accompanied by a laugh gentler than fairy kisses. “Yes, I suppose so.”

  Zarina’s footsteps drew nearer until she was behind him. One of her arms wrapped around his waist, her palm against his chest. She set her chin on his shoulder. “Hello, Anastasia.”

  “Hello, Zarina.”

  “My husband will join you in a few days—”

  Joaidane jerked around. “Zarina.”

  “—once he’s drawn the appropriate circles to transport himself to you. How soon could you get him to Eisland?”

  “Instantly,” Anastasia said. “We have a magical item capable of transporting the wearer instantaneously across great distances. The problem is, it takes no less than two weeks to regain its charge.”

  “I never agreed—”

  Zarina touched her finger to his lips. “We will discuss this later, my husband. For now, be the wonderful, selfless man I know you to be.”

  An argument waited on the tip of his tongue, but he couldn’t bear to disagree with her. Not when she’d been the first person to believe he was more than trash, not when she’d single-handedly given him a second chance at life.

  “All right,” he agreed. “You have my help.”

  Anastasia’s shoulders sagged in relief. “Thank you.”

  “Don’t thank me. Thank my wife. I’ll see you tomorrow, Ana. In the meantime, Zarina and I need to have a very pressing discussion.”

  Chapter

  Muir watched the fireworks dance across the stars again. According to tradition, the Eislanders lit the skies for at least three nights following victories in battle, a strange but beautiful custom he’d watched the past two evenings after sunset. He had seen his fair share of fighting before, but they’d been embroiled in it for so long even he was grateful for a day of rest at the estate. Too bad it couldn’t last forever.

  Given the amount of time the commoners suffered under oppression, he couldn’t bear to tell them each day of celebration was a day Gothel licked her wounds and prepared to carry out the rest of her plans.

  Weary from the long days of leading the resistance, he trudged down the hall with an ale stein in hand and entered his room.

  He came up short a step and stared with his hand on the knob of the closed door. The stein tumbled from his hand and ale splashed on the floor.

  There was a woman in his room. Not any woman, but the most flawless specimen of feminine perfection to ever cross his vision, like a porcelain doll granted life.

  Rapunzel stood in the middle of his bedchamber in all her nude glory, wearing only a fragile scrap of pristine white around her waist, embroidered lace and silk trimmed. It was both the most detailed and diminutive piece of undergarment he’d ever seen.

  His gaze darted from her naked shoulders and arms to the rest of her body, finally realizing she wore stockings and ridiculous, flimsy shoes with a spiked heel that added at least four or five inches to her height. Beneath the spill of her hair, her breasts were pert and full, a hint of one rosy tip visible through the lush tresses.

  Muir dragged in a breath before forcing himself to speak. “What are you doing here?”

  She stepped forward, graceful as ever even in her strange shoes, and laid her hands against his chest. “Something that we both want.”

  “Rapunzel….” Muir circled his fingers around her wrists with every intention of nudging her away, but instead he ended up skimming his thumbs across her palms and lacing their fingers together.

  “You may be from a different world, but I know how I feel, and I know how you look at me. Maybe I should wait, let you come to me, but I’ve been waiting all my life for others to act. Waiting for my mother to love me. Waiting for my brother to save me. I no longer want to wait.”

  His back slammed against the wall, and then her lips were on his, impossibly soft and sweeter than sugar. The same smell was on her skin, honey and vanilla bourbon, an intoxicating aroma wafting off her silver hair. Her fingers wandered beneath his kilt and shoved it up around his waist, pressing lithe flesh to hard muscle. He groaned against her mouth, hating the way his body betrayed him. Her exploring fingers found him stiff as steel, aching against her touch.

&
nbsp; Damn it all.

  Everything in him shouted for him to send her away, but he couldn’t.

  His mind told him their marriage was false, but her smooth skin and the warmth of her against his naked lower half told him to claim what was his with reckless, wanton abandon.

  Because she was his. Because she had been his since the moment he stepped into the tower and found himself fascinated with its caged bird.

  When Muir dragged her closer, she squirmed against him in the most erotic way, in a kind of sensual shimmy, and then she guided his left hand between her thighs, beneath the silk. She was hot and wet already, slick against the tips of his fingers.

  Would the rest of her taste as much like honey as she smelled of it?

  * * *

  There was something empowering about taking the lead and watching Muir surrender to her. Of having a man larger and stronger than her reduced to malleable putty in her hands. Rapunzel knew he could shift their positions at a whim, but instead he relaxed beneath her and placed control in her capable hands.

  She directed her griffin backwards until he bumped into the chaise. Then she pushed him down onto the plush cushion and straddled his lap.

  “I’ve been dreaming of this,” she whispered against his ear.

  Muir slid his hands from her hips downward and cupped her bottom in both large palms. The heat of his hands seared through the gossamer thin lingerie, but even that diminutive barrier seemed too much. She wanted his skin against hers with nothing between them.

  “Oh? And what have you been dreaming?”

  She leaned back and said nothing, merely watched his face as she unbound the fastenings to his kilt. Without taking her eyes from his, she unwrapped the fabric until he was bared to the room and her touch.

  “This,” she said, taking his heavy cock in her hand, delighted in the sheer size of him and the vitality pulsing beneath her fingers. She’d always imagined he would be well-endowed, but fantasies didn’t live up to the real thing. “Your fingers weren’t enough, Muir. I want your cock and its every inch.”

  She shifted, rising up, and positioned herself over the blunt head. She dragged the smooth crown back, gathering her dewiness, and then she positioned him at the perfect angle and lowered her body. His girth stretched her, a satisfying burn after years of forced chastity within the tower. The moment was euphoric, and she sucked in a long breath. Muir’s grip on her cheeks tightened, and his body quivered with barely contained restraint.

  But he didn’t wrest control from her.

  Rapunzel sank down over him until she had it all. She leaned forward and kissed him, a gentle touch of lips but a bold slip of tongue. Muir made a surprised but pleased sound.

  She began to ride him in earnest, undulating her hips and flexing her thighs. She rose up until it seemed he might slip free then sank down anew, each stroke bringing more pleasure than the last. And when her pace picked up, Muir guided her, his fingers pressed into her flesh.

  “Muir—”

  He silenced her with a kiss. His tongue plundered her mouth, his lips firm and demanding, and in this she succumbed to his control.

  * * *

  How had he come to have such a woman? Rapunzel was as passionate as she was beautiful—her face rivaling the most radiant fae, her body built for worship and sin. Every rock and roll threatened to be the one to bring him to his end. They fit together in a perfect match, as if they had been created for each other by the stars themselves.

  But how could he begin to utter those words to her?

  So he kissed her instead, and when the need for air forced their lips apart, he bowed his head and lavished her breasts with his attentions. They were beautiful, high and full with rosy nipples that begged for his attention. He took one in his mouth and delighted in her quick gasp and the way she tightened around him.

  Their long overdue union drove him to a desperate frenzy. Raw, animal instinct urged him to mark and claim her as his own. He resisted. Their bodies would have to be enough for now.

  Her pace quickened to a frantic beat, and her fingers dug in against his shoulders. He felt the tension in her body and the desperation of her movements as she sought the release only he could bring her.

  Muir scraped his teeth against her sensitive nipple at the same moment he brought her hips down and in against his own, grinding their bodies together. A tremor ran through his wife’s body, and with it, tension snapped, bringing rhythmic clenches that urged him to his own climax.

  When Rapunzel tilted her head back and cried out, silver hair a gleaming waterfall down her back, Muir buried his face against her exposed throat and released his own exultant cry. The shared moment pulsed through him, a burning flood that seared him all the way to his soul.

  His. She was his and nothing could be allowed to take her away from him.

  Time lost all meaning. He didn’t know whether they sat slumped together for seconds, minutes, or even hours. With enough strength left in him, he swept Rapunzel up in his arms and carried her to the bed, where he stripped the lace and silk from her body while admiring every glorious, kissable inch. She curled into his side the moment they lay down and, eager to enjoy the comfort of her body a little longer, Muir cradled her close.

  A few hours rest was all he needed before he faced the consequences of their mating and what it meant for their future together.

  Chapter

  Sunshine shone against her cheeks, but the warmth was nothing compared to the heat emanating from the body beside her. She cracked open one eye and studied Muir’s sleeping face.

  He snored sometimes, but they were soft, gentle noises, reminding her of a purring cat with a little rumbling in its throat. Or even a fluffy dove cooing in its cozy nest.

  She leaned in and kissed his jaw, delighting in the golden-red scruff growing there. When he didn’t stir, she continued her inspection, delivering light pecks across his high cheekbones and stern brow.

  “Is this a traditional wake-up in your kingdom?” Muir asked without opening his eyes.

  “I wouldn’t know. Is it pleasant?”

  “It is.”

  “Then perhaps it can be our tradition.”

  He was quiet, and that silence, that uncertainty, wove a tense knot deep in her gut.

  “Muir?”

  “Where did you get those bloody things anyway? The sheer stockings with the little straps and bows. I like them.”

  The abrupt change in subject took her by surprise, but she welcomed it anyway, preferring any talk over his brooding silence. Deciding to go with it and let him come around in his own time, she pushed up on one elbow and trailed her fingers over his pecs, pleased by the breadth of his chest and shoulders. “When I visited the town, the tailor was so happy to see me again, he wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

  He cupped a handful of her bottom and squeezed. “He just forced the fripperies upon you, did he?”

  Her face flushed warm. “Not physically, mind you, but quite insistently. ‘A princess shouldn’t be in rags,’ he said.”

  “I agree. It pleases me to see you somewhat happy again.”

  “And did last night please you?”

  Muir had a way of going quiet in more than speech, but also in his manner. He became still and hid his feelings behind an unreadable mask. “It did,” he answered after a long moment.

  “That’s all?”

  Muir rolled until she was tucked beneath him, propped up on one elbow above her. With his free hand, he traced his fingers down the curve of one breast and circled his thumb over the tightening tip. Then his lips claimed it. Gods, his mouth was sin. He explored more, taking a southern route down her flat stomach, and when his kisses reached the crux of her thighs, nothing prepared her for the slip of his tongue or how well he used it. Her breath quickened until she squirmed against the sheets, restless and needy.

  At the height of her pleasure, Muir granted her silent request and joined their bodies together once more, this time slow and gentle. And when the climax overt
ook her at last, she surrendered to the sleep that followed.

  The sun had travelled to its highest point in the sky when she woke again, alone. Had that been Muir’s plan all along? Thinking back, she realized he hadn’t answered her question, and it left her torn by uncertainty.

  Would that be all there was between them? Did he merely need more time?

  Their lovemaking had created more questions than answers, but she resolved to show patience and understanding, to hold firm to her belief that he cared for her.

  Love, she hoped, would come in time. For them both.

  “Muir?”

  Rapunzel shot upright in bed and looked around for the voice. He’d left his satchel behind. Odd, for she had rarely seen him without it.

  “A moment!” Rapunzel called out. She hurried from the bed and shrugged into the robe she’d left out the night before. When she fetched the mirror, Queen Anastasia looked back at her through the enchanted pane.

  “Good morning, Queen Anastasia.”

  “Please, call me Ana, Princess.”

  “Only if you’ll call me Rapunzel.” She smiled and sat down on the bed.

  “Easily done. I hope I didn’t disturb you.”

  “Not at all, though I’m not sure where Muir has gone. I can look for him if you wish.”

  “No need, I only wanted to check in, and you’re more than capable of assuring me all is well.” Ana smiled, cheerful, but that warm look faded into concern after a moment. “Is everything all right, Rapunzel? You look like you have something on your mind.”

  “Where would I even begin?”

  Ana gazed at her in sympathy. “I cannot imagine what all you’ve been through. If you want to talk about it, I’m here.”

  “I wouldn’t wish to bore you with my personal problems.”

  “Ah, so it’s to be one of those talks.” The background behind Ana shifted, as if she were moving through her room. A door clicked shut, and then Ana settled down near a window overlooking a garden. “Talk to me, Rapunzel. Has Muir been a stubborn arse?”