Prince of Bears: Autumn Court #2 (Rosethorn Valley Fae Romance)

by Tasha Black

  “Well, obviously not until after our wedding tomorrow,” he said.

  “What?” she asked incredulously.

  “It would be unwise to travel before then,” he said.

  “No,” she explained. “Did you just say our wedding was tomorrow?”

  “Oh yes,” he told her. “Time is of the essence. With the possibility of war between Winter and Autumn at hand, there can be no delay.”

  19

  Willow

  Willow stood on a stool, a bevy of workers scurrying around her, measuring her limbs, draping fabric, and holding up swatches. They worked by the light of ornate oil lamps, since the session had already taken them well into the night.

  The attendants had blessedly allowed her to keep on her clothing up to this point. But she knew that at any moment they might ask her to remove it, which meant the gloves would come off to reveal her vine covered hand.

  What would happen if she just refused? She was the princess, after all.

  She wondered vaguely if Prince Harland would back her play if she tried to tell everyone they had gotten it on during their visit to the ice gardens. He seemed the helpful type.

  But even if he corroborated her lie, he wouldn’t have matching vines on his hand.

  Which meant there was only one thing left to do.

  The trouble was, Willow hated to do it. These people were only doing their job. And she was about to make it much, much harder for them.

  “Enough,” Willow cried, in imitation of the queen. “You have fussed with me enough, you have what you need. Go and prepare my gown.”

  “B-but, Your Majesty,” the lead seamstress stammered.

  “Now,” Willow said, gathering herself up in her best imitation of royal bearing.

  They all trailed out of the room.

  She stood perfectly still until the last of them departed. When the door closed, she carefully stepped down from the stool and went to the window.

  The ice capped mountains and frozen lake shimmered under the starry sky above.

  She had to save herself from tomorrow, but she had no idea how. She let her mind wander as she pondered the possibilities.

  A knock at the door brought her back to herself.

  “Your Majesty,” Iona’s voice was soft and gentle. “I’ve come to fetch you.”

  “Come in,” Willow replied.

  Iona entered slowly and approached her with a sympathetic expression.

  “Let’s go, my dear, the kitchen is sending up some tea for you.”

  That bit of kindness was almost enough to make Willow sob.

  She thought for a moment and decided to take a calculated risk.

  “Iona,” she said as they walked. “I do not wish to get married.”

  “I know, my pet,” Iona said sadly. “After what you went through with that Autumn prince, I cannot blame you for not wanting anything to do with a man. But the Spring prince seems kindhearted enough.”

  She chafed at the implication that Heath had abused her in any way, but she knew she couldn’t push that issue without arousing too much suspicion. She was supposed to be a born enemy of the Autumn Court.

  “He’s nice,” Willow agreed. “But I cannot marry him.”

  Iona stopped walking and took Willow’s arm.

  “I know this seems like it’s difficult,” she confided. “But your kingdom is relying on you, and you alone, to save them.”

  Willow opened her mouth and closed it again.

  “It’s one thing to rebel against your mother and father, but this isn’t just about you, sweeting,” Iona went on. “It’s about the people in the little houses on that mountainside. It’s about the children, like my Adam, who may be lost in this war if you don’t do the right thing and marry that mild-mannered hunk.”

  Willow’s heart threatened to break. If only she could be with Heath. She would help him convince the Autumn Court to make peace between Autumn and Winter, so that all the people could breathe freely once more.

  Poor Iona did know that it was only Winter’s wish for war that made it inevitable. And that she and her son would surely suffer if the Winter Court got what it wanted, win or lose.

  “I will remember your words,” Willow promised, unable to argue with Iona without giving herself away.

  “I know you will, my girl,” Iona said, her eyes crinkling with a smile. “You’re a good child. You always were. Do you remember the time you tried to make me a cake?”

  Willow shook her head and allowed herself to be walked down the corridor as Iona told her stories about things Ashe did when she was small.

  20

  Willow

  Willow awoke in the bright light of late morning.

  She had tossed and turned all night, trying to force herself to stay in bed until dawn. But she must have finally dozed off in the wee hours, and now she had overslept and had so little time left.

  She leaped out of bed and bathed quickly. She was still in her dressing gown when Iona bustled in with a tray of coffee and fruit.

  “Someone slept well,” Iona teased. “Feeling better today?”

  “Yes,” Willow lied. “And I want to speak with Prince Harland right away. I was shy with him yesterday. I’d like to see him privately before the ceremony, so he knows all will be well.”

  “Yes, Your Majesty.” Iona beamed at her. “I will send him a secret message. Where do you want to meet him?”

  Willow racked her brains for any place in the godforsaken castle that she knew how to get to.

  “I’ll tell him that I will bring you to meet him at the ice garden in fifteen minutes,” Iona said with a wink. “Does that give you time to dress?”

  “Yes, tha… that would be perfect,” Willow said.

  She rushed through the rest of her dressing, which she was already getting better at. By the time Iona returned, Willow was looking reasonably put together.

  “Very nice, Your Majesty,” Iona said.

  They set off down the corridor again. This time the way looked slightly more familiar.

  When they reached the doors that led out to the ice garden, Iona gave Willow’s elbow a squeeze.

  “Good luck, dearie,” she said.

  Willow nodded, then stepped out into the glassy gardens.

  A moment later, Prince Harland appeared in the doorway.

  “Good morning, Princess Ashe,” he said with a bow.

  Willow curtsied politely and then rushed over.

  “We have to talk,” she said.

  “Well, we don’t have much time,” he said. “Unless that’s your wedding gown and you’re already prepared for the ceremony?”

  “No,” she said, shaking her head. “That’s what I need to talk to you about.”

  To his credit, he nodded and walked with her.

  Willow took a deep breath to gather her nerves, then did the unthinkable. She told him the truth.

  “I am not who you think I am,” she said. “The woman you know as Princess Ashe is a changeling. She’s in the mortal realm now, where she was born. And I am actually Willow, the original Fae princess who was traded away for a mortal just after I was born.”

  “I don’t understand,” Harland said, his brow furrowed.

  “The most important thing to know is that my parents in the Winter Court want war,” Willow said. “That’s why they sent me away in the first place. That’s why they want to marry me off to the Spring Court instead of the Autumn.”

  “The prophecy,” Harland said, nodding. “But you can hardly blame them for not marrying you to Autumn after what has just happened to your sister, and to you.”

  “I am already promised to Autumn,” Willow said, sliding the glove off her left hand so that he could see the vines.

  “It’s impossible,” he breathed.

  “It’s true,” she said.

  “But if he took you against your will, the bond can’t have formed,” Harland said in horror.

  “He did not take me against my will,” Willow said. “I love
Prince Heath, more than anything. And now he’s in prison. Winter will ransom him back to Autumn while I’m stuck here, and I’ll never see him again.”

  The blood drained from Harland’s face, like he’d seen a ghost.

  “I’m sorry,” the prince said flatly. “But they have no plans to ransom him.”

  “What do you mean?” Willow asked.

  “As far as this court is concerned, he kidnapped a daughter of Winter and did…” Harland trailed off. “They’re going to execute him.”

  Willow staggered backward as if she’d been struck.

  “It will be seen by Autumn as an act of war,” Harland said. “After what you just told me, I expect Winter is counting on it.”

  21

  Heath

  Heath sat in his cell, back straight, eyes closed, picturing Willow. If he concentrated, he could see her dark hair sliding over her shoulders, and the way the corners of her mouth tucked up a bit when she was trying not to smile.

  He could hear her laughter, but he tried not to hear the sweet sounds of pleasure. That would be disgraceful to think about in a filthy prison cell.

  He wondered how long it would be before his brother came to pay his ransom, and how long after that before they could rescue Willow.

  He wondered how she was holding up. So far, he had not heard a whisper about her among the guards or new prisoners. Surely, that meant she had not yet given herself away.

  But it was only a matter of time.

  Breathe. Your brother is coming, he told himself for the thousandth time. They would not miss the chance to collect a ransom fit for a prince.

  They could demand almost anything for his return. They might even take the lands where his hunting lodge was located. Killian would never let him live that down.

  A clattering of boots from the stairwell caught his attention. A large group of soldiers headed for his cell.

  There were so many of them. Generally, there were only two or three guards on duty. But a wedge of at least nine men was headed his way.

  “Time to go, Yer Majesty,” one of them scoffed.

  He felt immense relief, even as he cringed inwardly at the idea of his brother having to come pay his ransom.

  He almost smiled at the idea of being razzed by his brother. He would not mind being teased, as long as Willow was by his side.

  This chapter of his life could not end quickly enough.

  By some mercy, the head guard was not at his desk to bid him farewell. The marks on Heath’s back were enough of a parting gift.

  He climbed the endless staircase, soldiers in front and behind, as if he might try to make a break for it at this late stage of the game.

  It felt steeper than before. Perhaps it was that he was going up, but it also didn’t help that he hadn’t been fed much and that he had been whipped and the wounds left undressed, with the iron manacles still burning his wrists and ankles.

  By the time they reached the top, he could hear the crowd gathered outside.

  The Winter Court must be making a meal out of humiliating Heath and Killian. But he would not have expected the common people to show up in such numbers for a simple prisoner exchange.

  Hopefully, it would be over soon enough.

  The guards grabbed him and half shoved, half carried him forward, through the doorway and out onto the plaza that overlooked the public courtyard.

  Hundreds of people had gathered below to watch.

  He scanned the plaza for his brother, but Killian was nowhere to be seen.

  There was only a huge man, dressed in black leather, a massive, iron axe between his gloved hands.

  An executioner.

  The world seemed to fade away and Heath had to will himself not to pass out or panic.

  There had to be a way out.

  He scanned the crowd.

  On a balcony overlooking the courtyard, the King and Queen of Winter sat, not bothering to hide their delight.

  Ashe’s three brothers, the Winter princes, were there as well, looking stone-faced and grim. At least Willow was not present for this horror.

  There was no easy escape. The first thing to do was break his chains. Then his only hope would be to fight his way out.

  Heath held his palms up and called on his magic.

  He could feel it try to surge within him, the warmth of it comforting even as he strained to bring it to life.

  But it only sputtered and sparked inside him. The iron manacles had weakened him too much.

  He looked up at the executioner, realizing that this must be his destiny after all.

  He hoped the Autumn Court would not react in the way that Winter obviously hoped they would, by starting an endless war in retaliation.

  He closed his eyes and began to prepare himself for the inevitable.

  He was only a few steps from the executioner when a single word split the air.

  “Stop.”

  22

  Willow

  “Stop.”

  Willow stood before the crowd, still panting from her sprint all the way from the ice gardens to the plaza with Prince Harland by her side.

  He waited for her now, watching from the wings. Though they had only met yesterday, she already knew he was a good and loyal friend. He was risking a lot to support her.

  “People of the Winter Court,” she called, moving between Heath and the man with the axe. “You think you are about to witness justice, but you have been tricked.”

  There was stunned silence.

  “Twenty-seven years ago, two baby girls were born,” she went on. “One was mortal, and one was fae. One was born to the Winter Queen, and the other to Al and Wendy Ryder of Rosethorn Valley.”

  The queen stood from her spot on the balcony. Even from across the plaza Willow could see her eyes were furious.

  “My name is Willow,” she went on. “I am your true princess. The woman you all know as Ashe is the mortal who was raised by your court in my place.”

  She was answered by whispers of general confusion. But Willow knew how to make them understand. She peeled the glove from her right hand and lifted it, palm toward the grey sky overhead.

  She closed her eyes and inhaled, summoning all of her inner strength.

  When she opened them again, a ball of azure magic sparkled in her hand.

  She moved her arm in a wide arc, and a shiver of snow fluttered out over the crowd.

  This time, there were murmurs and expressions of awe.

  “I have another secret to reveal as well,” Willow said, all eyes on her. “The man beside me in chains is Prince Heath of the Autumn Court. But he did not kidnap me. He came to find me so that he could ask me to be his princess.”

  The Queen eyed her with open animosity, but no one moved to stop her.

  “He and the Autumn Court want peace more than anything,” Willow went on. “They have no argument with you, the people of Winter. But your king and queen want only war. They traded me, their own child, away to assure it. They did not want me to fulfill the prophecy.”

  Hundreds of lips moved with hers as she recited it.

  “Animosity will grow between Autumn and Winter. A daughter of Winter will bring peace to both kingdoms.”

  An unhappy grumbling began to move through the crowd, growing louder as it did.

  “But they are too late,” Willow cried out triumphantly. “I am already betrothed to the Prince of Autumn.”

  She pulled her left glove off, and then raised her arm in the air, the winding tattoo that signified her bond with Heath plain for all to see. A few people near the front began to applaud, and more of the crown joined in as they realized what was happening.

  “And I already carry the heir to both kingdoms,” she called out above the cheering crowd.

  Willow glanced over at Heath.

  He stood in chains, his big body covered with dirt and bruises. But his posture was still that of a prince of Autumn. And he gazed at her with the light of pure love in his eyes.

  “No,”
the queen screamed from the balcony. “Kill him at once.”

  Heath tried to run, but the chains tripped him up, sending him down on one knee. The executioner stepped around Willow before she had time to react, tightening his grip on the axe.

  The world moved in slow motion as Willow’s heart beat hard as a drum.

  Heath looked into her eyes, and she saw no fear, only love.

  The executioner raised his axe.

  There was no way to stop it. The weight was too much for her to even slow it down.

  Willow flung both hands up so that her palms faced the heavens.

  “Freeze,” she screamed.

  For one last thundering heartbeat she thought all was lost.

  Then the executioner’s eyes went wide and his expression locked in place as glittering ice encased him from head to toe.

  The crowd thundered its approval.

  Heath scrambled to his feet, but staggered forward, and she caught him in her arms, pressing kisses to his wet cheeks as he sobbed and clung to her as if he would never let her go.

  23

  Willow

  Willow perched on a stool by the infirmary bed, holding Heath’s hand tightly as the court physician dressed his wounds.

  Heath was uncomplaining, but each swipe of the doctor’s cloth on his injuries made Willow wince in sympathy.

  “These could have been worse,” the doctor said as he worked.

  “That dungeon is a disgrace,” Willow replied. “Jail is meant to be a place for rehabilitation, not torture.”

  The doctor chuckled.

  She barely resisted the impulse to throttle him.

  He’s helping Heath…

  “I look forward to a Winter Court under your influence, Princess,” the doctor said in a friendly way.

  Heath chuckled at that too, though Willow failed to see what was so funny. Prisoners should not be hurt. No one deserved to be treated that way.