by Amy Marie
Ryder grinned before pulling her into his arms. “As you wish.”
Part Fifteen
My Swan Prince by Maria Vickers
The Six Swans Retelling
Blurb
An MM Shifter Story based on the German fairy tale, Six Swan Princes
Witches, curses, shifters, hate, and a love that just might conquer it all.
Max hates his life and the curse he is forced to live with daily. He pushes his other form deep inside him, only allowing it free when he can no longer keep it at bay. Love and a life free from the swan are not in the cards for him.
Lorde has been sent to Chicago with one purpose, to get rid of the last swan shifter. Max's family doomed Lorde's, and the rivalry and hate go back a millennium, but one look into Max's eyes and something pulls at Lorde's heart. He was always taught that Max was his destiny, but what if that destiny was to love him and not destroy him?
Prologue
Max
As children, fairy tales taught us that good overcame evil, the princess got the prince, or in my case, the prince got the prince, and in the end, there was always a “and they lived happily ever after.” Wrong! Real-life didn’t work that way, and sometimes, the happily ever after in the fairy tales never happened. Sometimes, after hundreds of years, the curse still haunted families, generations paying for the sins of their ancestors, the punishment lingering long after everyone involved had died.
Me? My punishment began the moment I took my first breath. I was cursed, had been my whole life.
And now, as the silvery moon rose high into the black sky, it beckoned to me, luring me to it, begging me to shift. Pushing my balcony windows open, I stepped out into the night light and jumped, my feet never descending back to the hard, cold surface as I took flight.
A single white feather drifted toward the ground, floating on the wind. I barely noticed it. It wasn’t the first feather I’d lost; it would be replaced as the others had because this was the life I was forced to live.
Two witches, six princes, a princess, and a curse that could not be broken.
Lorde
Bloody hell, it was cold today. The frigid breeze on this dreary spring night caused me to pull my coat a little tighter around my body. I’d mistakenly believed it would be warmer here than it was in London. I was spectacularly wrong!
Why now? Why did it have to be now? My mother and her lessons and speeches about destiny and fate. Blah, blah, blah. The only thing I was doing right now was freezing my balls off. I did what the matriarch of my family said, as did everyone else in the family, and I came to Chicago to meet my fate head-on. Only, I was more unsure of myself than ever before. This bloody city was where my life began, the very place I’d begged my parents to leave twenty years ago. Supposedly, my purpose was here, and while I understood that, I also believed I might be cursed at the same time.
The sensation of something landing in my hair, or me walking through something, jerked me from my thoughts like a roller-coaster taking a turn. Had I just walked through a spider web? Damn! The very idea of it had my body moving of its own volition, dancing along the sidewalk to rid myself of the imaginary horror. Imaginary because the moment my body spasmed, a single white feather drifted down to the ground in front of me. I fought off my embarrassment, thankful the streets were devoid of much life…only the occasional straggler appeared here and there.
Picking it up, I held it in my hands as I searched the sky, trying to figure out where it came from. There. Across the moon, a solo swan flew with the wind. Instinctively, my hand tightened on the feather, crushing it in my palm. My destiny had appeared.
Chapter 1
Max
Once upon a time, an evil witch, jealous of the time her husband spent with his children, turned his six sons into swans. She’d only spared the daughter because the child had been away from the castle at the time, playing with one of the servants’ children. In time, she found her brothers and discovered a way to reverse the spell, but it would take a great sacrifice from her. She couldn’t utter one word, one peep or sound for six long years. Not only that, but she had to knit sweaters out of nettles, which would wound and scar her hands. She took on the task willingly and ran deep into the forest, hiding from her stepmother, praying she would be able to save her brothers…
I cringed inwardly, wondering why the library had selected this particular story for Children’s Hour. There were so many more that would be better suited for the crowd I’d reluctantly agreed to entertain. While this version had been “kidified,” it still wasn’t exactly the best story to read to children. Witches, curses, kidnapping children, princes turning to swans, etc. It was a story that terrified me as a child, a story I could never escape. Maybe it scared me because of the truth hidden in the story, or perhaps it was the witches and their power.
As an adult, the memories of my childlike reactions were faded around the edges, blending into the background. I could recall them and not much more than that. Now though, the story still played upon my fears, fanning the flames of my anxiety. I longed to reach up and loosen my tie, unbutton my collar, and run screaming from the library. My heart was thundering, and I barely heard my own voice as I focused on reading the words to a group of about forty children.
Yesterday, my secretary informed me that I had to come down to the library in the middle of downtown Chicago…something about supporting the future of tomorrow and supporting children, encouraging them to read more. My company gave money to the libraries; therefore, I didn’t understand why I had to come down here and read to them. Besides, I expected five kids, not a roomful, and I sure as hell did not expect this particular story to be thrust upon me. Any other story would have been all right, but not this one, not this travesty of justice. It only reminded me, I could not escape my family’s curse, that one person hundreds of years ago ruined my family forever.
“The curse was broken forever, and they lived happily ever after.” I closed the book, inwardly scoffing, Broken? Nothing was broken! This fairy tale was nothing except lies and propaganda spread by those damn Grimm brothers to line their own pockets.
Truth was indeed stranger than fiction. Lies and politics colored reality, painting an entirely different picture than the fairy tales—not that anyone actually believed anything they read in that collection of stories to be real. To most, they were nothing more than entertaining fodder to read and pass the time. Legends always have a small grain of truth in them, even the tales of the Greek gods contain a tiny snippet, which started everything. Some were warnings about what not to do because someone was dumb enough to do something, they shouldn’t. Others were gossip. A story begun because Mary’s daughter, Claudia, married someone of a higher station, or maybe Lydia’s daughter, Cindy, managed to reclaim her rightful place by marrying someone who would restore the family name and fortune after her father lost it all, leaving them with nothing except a title and worthless land.
My story was none of those and all of them at the same time.
“Thank you so much for coming and reading to the children. They enjoyed having you here,” Ms. Budley stated, grabbing my hand and shaking it vigorously. If she didn’t stop, she might rip it out of the socket, and that would do me no good. She was the head librarian in this branch, and she reminded me of the way books and movies portrayed women in her position: flat mousey brown hair with brown eyes covered with glasses too big for her face, and her clothes were dreary and drab. Maybe beneath the layers of potato sack she wore, she had a nice body—not that I cared. I looked her over again, perhaps not.
Staring into her eyes, I smiled and covered our joined hands with my other one, my fingers gently and politely attempting to pry her off me. Her cheeks began to glow pink as her pulse increased, the vein in her neck throbbing visibly. “It was my pleasure.”
“Oh…oh my. Uh…” I’d apparently driven her daft.
I pulled my hand back, but she clung to it like it was her lifeline. “Thank you for inviting me, Ms. Budl
ey.”
“Dinner?” she rushed, practically shouting that one word.
Another inward cringe. It wasn’t that she was plain, it was more the fact she wasn’t my type…at all. I preferred someone with a bit of facial hair that would scrape against my skin, maybe taller than me, and definitely someone with a dick in their pants. No package meant not for me.
Patting her hand, I lifted one side of my mouth a little higher, knowing it drove people crazy. “I apologize, but I do have other obligations. As you can imagine, running a large company is very time-consuming. However, I am going to recommend that other employees take turns and come here to entertain the children. It is a worthwhile event and one that should grow. Others need to be involved. I will make sure Mrs. Harris, my secretary, contacts you to make all of the arrangements.”
“You’ll come back too?” I didn’t believe this woman realized how loud she was being or how her voice carried through the space.
“Of course,” I agreed, not that I had any intention of ever returning, and finally, extracted my hand from hers. I’d lost feeling in it.
Before I could turn around and leave her standing there, she said, “I loved your rendition of The Six Swan Princes. There was such emotion behind your words.” I stiffened, but she didn’t seem to be aware of my distress because she continued, “Most don’t know that story, and the original is so much darker, but we are trying to expose the children to classics as well as other versions of stories. We offer a variety here.”
“And you are doing a fine job. May I ask why you selected that particular story today? There seemed to be younger children here in the crowd. Wouldn’t a Disney type story be better?”
Ms. Budley blinked and tilted her head as she narrowed her eyes. “I’m not sure. I’ve always loved that story, and…” her words drifted off, and she rubbed her head. Suddenly, her face cleared, and a smile appeared. “Right now, we are doing a Brothers Grimm theme and reading all of their stories, the simple version for children. When I found out you were going to be coming here yourself, I felt it was the perfect story for you to read.”
Something about her initial demeanor bothered me, but it had disappeared as quickly as it appeared, so I brushed it off. “It’s one I’ve grown up with. It surprised me because, as you said, not many are not familiar with that particular fairy tale.”
“You did? Was your mother a Grimm’s fan?”
“My father more than my mother. He read it to me when I was younger. My mother would select things less…grim.”
“Oh, but they did live happily ever after, and the curse was broken,” she exclaimed, beaming up at me and fluttering her lashes. Still not interested.
I forced a smile and nodded. “Yes, that is what they say.” Forcing a chuckle, I took a step backward and said, “Have a good day. Mrs. Harris will be in touch.”
My feet carried me through the building and out the door as fast as they could without being considered rude. Standing there, listening to her drivel had my heart pumping and my anxiety blowing through the roof. I wanted to scream and shout that the story was filled with nothing except lies and propaganda, but I didn’t. On the outside, I was cool and slightly detached, while on the inside, I was ranting and fuming, basically throwing an adult tantrum.
Diving into my waiting car, I instructed my driver to take me straight to the office and gave him the rest of the day off. Normally, I hated to use the car service, but my car wouldn’t start this morning, and I had back to back meetings up until the moment I left for the library, for which I still wanted to kill my secretary—the day was still young; therefore, it remained a possibility.
Safely sequestered in the back seat, I could finally breathe again. That damn story didn’t follow me. I didn’t have to think about it. I could block it out and attempt to forget about it…not that I ever really succeeded since this was my life.
“Sir, your father called while you were in the library. When he couldn’t reach you by cell, he called Mrs. Harris, and she patched him through to me,” Devon, my driver, announced.
I rolled my crystal blue eyes, the ones that matched my father’s, and pulled out my phone, mumbling, “Seven missed calls. Is the sky falling or something?” I hit talk and waited for him to pick up.
“Maximillian!”
“It’s Max, and yes, it’s me. Is something wrong?” I loved my parents, and I knew they loved me and embraced the real me. They didn’t care who I loved or married as long as I was happy and lived an honorable life. However, right now, after the library fiasco, I was on edge, and he was the unlucky person who spoke to me right after my ordeal.
“Why would something be wrong?” he asked, his tone full of mirth as if he held back his laughter.
Clenching my jaw, I released a deep sigh. It didn’t help. “Father,” I growled, not in the mood for whatever he was plotting or involved in. Christoph Lux had retired and left the company to me the year before. Since then, the old man seemed bored and continually bothered me with trivial things.
“How is the planning coming along?”
“Planning?” My mind wasn’t working. I’d just been tortured in the library, and now, I had to deal with this lunatic who claimed to be my father. If it wasn’t for the fact, he suffered the same curse and shared the same eyes, I’d wonder whether we were related. Our only difference being, I’d gotten my blond waves from my mother instead of inheriting my father’s black as sin hair.
“The party? The ball? The gala? Whatever you’re calling it.”
Oh, that. Pinching the bridge of my nose, I sighed deeply. “Yes. Everything is scheduled and ready for next week.” Fifty years ago, my grandfather, Grover, organized a charity to help with literacy and education, The Sky’s The Limit. Even back then, before others jumped on the bandwagon, he understood that the ability to read could open doors, which would otherwise remain closed. It provided scholarships to teens who were going off to college as well as money to programs at schools and libraries, much like the reading I did today.
“It’s important,” he stressed.
He gave this speech every year since he’d placed me in charge of planning the damn thing. Honestly, it was nothing more than being forced to hang out with the elite from the city and around the world, while I smiled and tried to convince them to hand over their money. Did I think it was for a good cause? I did. Did I like the fundraising party? Not so much. At five hundred a plate, you would think some of these uptight assholes would be more willing to donate, but some were only there for the publicity, our party being one of the most covered events in Chicago every year.
“I know, Dad. It’s important. It’s for the children. It helps the future of the world. Am I forgetting anything?” I questioned, snidely.
His chuckle brought a reluctant smile to my face. Sometimes I wondered how he coped. We were both cursed, and yet, he and my grandfather had found love and acted so carefree at times. Not me. They had no qualms about not continuing the line, I refused to do it and subject my children to this horror. If they wanted grandchildren, it would not be my sperm producing them. My husband could donate his fertilizer. I’d been forced into this life, but I would not force another to participate against their will. The curse would die with me.
“I think that about covers it,” he said, laughing, pulling me from my thoughts. “Your mother has invited a few more people. We’ve already sent their names to your secretary.”
“Dad…” That single word was stretched across two blocks—with traffic.
“Don’t worry about it.”
“You know we have a set number of places and tickets for this event. It’s been sold out since the day the tickets went on sale.”
“And I also happen to know we hold back a set number of tickets for personal guests, which this man is.”
That caught my attention. “What man? Please, don’t tell me that—”
“Don’t worry. She’s not playing matchmaker again. Not after the last explosion.” Two years ago, my mother h
ad decided she’d met the perfect guy to pair me with, and it ended in a literal explosion. Fireworks, supposed to go off an hour later, were set off when I pushed him into the control panel the moment he tried to forcefully kiss me at my parents’ lake house for July Fourth.
“Good. So, who is this man?”
“It’s the nephew of our neighbor. He’s just returned to the States from England. Mrs. Jeffries thought it would be nice to bring him along since she was coming too.”
“She’s coming?” That surprised me. The old woman was nice enough but didn’t usually accept our invitation to attend the massive spectacle. I didn’t even know she had a nephew who lived in England. Then again, I never really talked to her because I always got a weird vibe from her.
“She is. She finally took your mother up on her offer.”
Pinching my nose again, I sighed and said, “Fine.” The car rolled to a stop. “I have to go, Dad. Give Mom my love, and I’ll call you later.”
“Max, it’s not good to make your whole life about work.”
Oh goody, the other regular lecture. Just because he found someone who accepted him, just because my grandfather had too, as had others for centuries, did not mean I wanted what they did. Out of the seven siblings, only one decided to have children and pass on this curse, only one chose to carry on the royal succession, only one doomed his descendants.
“Someone has to run this company, considering the person who started it and the person who inherited it both retired to live in the lap of luxury,” I joked. I only had my work. If I didn’t fall in love, I didn’t have to worry about anything. No one would find out my secret, and I could keep brushing my parents off. “I’ve really got to go, Dad.” I hung up, ignoring anything else he had to say to me and got out of the car.
