Rose: A Fairytale Reverse Harem Romance Series (Happily Never After Book 4)

by Plum Pascal

  My muted light of my signet ring begins to dim, confirming my suspicions. The bastard’s dead. His fate rests in the hands of a Shepherd now. Propriety demands we find one and hand his name over so retrieval is easier. Shepherds are drawn to death and will find him in the end, but it's common courtesy not to leave a body to bloat, both for the Shepherd and anyone who might come across it.

  But for this scum? I’ll make an exception.

  Spyros deserves more than the corpse of his attack dog delivered to his doorstep and alerting a Shepherd will alert the bastard that Guild activity has gone on within his city, bringing down swift and deadly retribution.

  I nudge the head to the side with one booted foot, grimacing when a hot sluice of blood washes over the leather. I do hate messy kills. This sort of thing tends to be more Titus’ style.

  Speaking of the conspicuous oaf...

  Titus lumbers into sight, coming in from the opposite end of the dungeons, carrying the unconscious body of a guard over one shoulder.

  “You’re late,” I say in a clipped tone, trying to hide my annoyance. This is not the time or place for a family squabble, no matter how dearly I wish to box his ears.

  Titus’ chin juts stubbornly, giving me that halfway petulant look he’s mastered. Kassidy can mirror it perfectly, though it’s more effective for her, given how she’s a tiny, attractive woman. In my experience, a woman throws a pout at a man and he tends to buckle easily. On Titus? It just makes my fingers twitch with the need to punch him.

  “Excuse the fuck out of me, brother,” he drawls. “I thought we might want to free Draven. But if you think he’s better off continuing to rot in the cell...”

  I purse my lips.

  “You could have just taken the keys from his belt after incapacitating him,” I point out.

  Titus’ massive shoulder lifts the man a few inches as he shrugs. “Maybe. Thought I’d try employing a little of that ingenuity you’re always preaching about.”

  “Ingenuity?”

  He shrugs. “We put this man in Draven’s manacles and we’ve earned ourselves at least an hour or two if he’s tucked away in the back of the cell.”

  “You think someone won’t be able to spot the difference between a headless man and Draven?”

  “You think human eyes will spot the difference in this piss poor lighting?” Titus quips. “And we’ll place his head in the proper spot. No one will tell the difference.” He pauses. “At least for a while. Until the smell becomes intolerable.”

  I nod, because he has a point, loathe as I am to admit it. Titus occasionally shows he has a mind behind the bulging muscle. Two hours is more time than we need.

  “You’re Draven’s brothers?” a small, feminine voice asks from behind us.

  I pivot slightly to face her, still keeping my sword at the ready. Just because I can’t spot a threat doesn’t mean it’s not there. I won’t be comfortable even marginally relaxing my guard until we’re clear of the Forest of No Return.

  The woman behind us has to be the huntsman’s mark, Princess Carmine Resia. At first, I can’t make out much of her. She’s still somewhat tangled in her dress, but when she finally bats the thing into submission, I get my first good glimpse and I finally get an inkling why the slip of a girl has been Draven’s ongoing obsession for years.

  She’s a study in contrasts, like an artist with only bold, opposing colors on his pallet. Her skin is milky white, and escapes being ghastly pale by a fraction. Her full lips and lustrous hair are true crimson like a cardinal’s feathers, not any of the orangey shades humans like to call red. Long, dark lashes frame eyes of a hypnotic mercury and the only indicator of her heritage I can see. They’re startling even to me, someone who’s met members of her kin before. I don’t doubt she’s been taught to keep them fixed on the ground.

  They’re not fixed there now. She’s staring at me in mixed awe and fear, her slim body shaking. Frightened of me or the scum that called itself Anon Lagois? Both seem equally likely. I did just behead a man before her eyes. It’s not something she encounters every day, I expect.

  I turn fully to face her, sinking down on my haunches so I don’t loom over her like some storybook villain and frighten her still further. Extending a hand to her, I attempt a smile. It’s not a skill I exercise often, and feels brittle and false on my lips.

  “I’m Sabre and you’re safe now, Princess.”

  She stares at my hand wordlessly, as though she’s frightened I may haul off and strike her with it. With a sickening lurch, I realize that’s exactly what she expects.

  If the kills were sanctioned by the higher authority, I’d find whoever has struck fear into this maid’s heart and end them. Unfortunately, the signet ring has returned to mundane metal. There will be no vengeance killing tonight, it seems.

  She shakes her head. “I can’t touch you… without my gloves...”

  “I don’t,” I start but Draven interrupts.

  “She’s right,” Draven croaks. His head is propped against the bars for support.

  That, in itself, is worrying. Of the three of us, Draven is perhaps the strongest. Not necessarily the most skilled. We’ve competed for that title for many years and we have no definitive answer yet. But he’s the strongest, which is why he volunteered for this post in the first place. To protect Leon’s daughters. To see him so weak he can’t stand? It’s a testament to just how badly he’s hurt.

  I don’t say as much out loud, however. Proud bird he is, he’ll puff up rather than allow us to help if we peck at this moment of weakness. I’d like to get of here in a timely manner, so I cut Titus off before he can make mention of it either.

  “What do you mean?” I ask.

  “Poisoned patches on her palms,” Draven coughs out.

  The princess pushes to her feet, most of her shock disappearing as she stalks over to the bars of the cage.

  “You knew?” she demands. “You knew and you didn’t say anything?”

  Draven tilts his head, so he can stare bleakly up at her. “Do you truly think now is the time to have this argument, Princess?”

  Princess Carmine drags her lip gently between her teeth in a manner so enticing, my cock twitches once with interest. The reaction is so surprising, I still for a moment, examining it.

  I’m not a virgin. Choosier, certainly than Titus, who’ll bury his dick in any woman who seems inclined to take it. Choosier even than Draven, who was much the same in his earlier days and only gained some sense of propriety as he aged. Now he only has eyes for the woman before me. I’ve been with perhaps... seven women in the forty years we’ve been alive. Perhaps that’s why I can’t stop staring at that full lower lip as she presses perfectly white teeth against it.

  I nod to myself. Yes, that has to be it. It’s time I found a woman to take the edge off. This woman is Draven’s. She’s staring at him with mingled frustration and adoration, which tells me she wants him too. If it weren’t for the complicated nature of their arrangement, he’d have been bedding her already.

  Yes, I will keep my distance.

  “No, I suppose now is not a good time,” she says, heaving a sigh.

  She flicks a glance at Titus for the first time, examining his bulky physique speculatively. For some reason, that glance sends a prickle of jealousy over my skin. Just beneath the skin, my feathers twitch, the desire to puff in indignation rising in me. Titus? She can turn that look on him, but fears me? It seems rather unfair.

  “Are you able to get the door open?” She asks Titus. “I had a key, but in all the confusion...”

  Titus nods, letting the guard slide off his shoulder. The man lands hard, a groan sliding past his lips as he meets the ground, but he doesn’t stir. Titus must have stuck him with tetrodotoxin to keep him still. Again, I have to admit I’m grudgingly impressed with Titus’ initiative. He has a tendency to be flippant about rules, but he’s not fucking around on this mission. I’m grateful. I don’t have time to herd him like an errant fledgling.

  T
itus fishes the key ring from the guard’s belt and finds the appropriate key in short order, slotting it in the lock. Draven doesn’t have the strength to prop himself up and falls limply to the ground when the door is opened. Titus’ reflexes are quick enough that he catches Draven before his head can knock against the stone.

  Fuck. We need to find a healer and quickly. This is worse than I thought.

  “Draven,” the princess whispers, voice tight with worry.

  “C’mon,” Titus mutters, heaving Draven off the floor as if he weighs no more than a babe. “We need to be going. Do you have the princess, Sabre?”

  I nod then step forward, offering the Princess my arm again.

  “We need to leave, and it’s faster if I carry you.”

  A shaky smile appears on her lovely lips. She truly is a beauty. “I suppose I have no choice then, do I?”

  Another shape shambles out of the cell, startling me. It’s a woman and she’s pale and grimy, with hair the color of ash and eyes that are a shade of violet so dark, they almost appear black. She’s wearing the tattered remnants of a dress that was once dark and sleek, but is now bunched and stiff with filth.

  “No, child,” she says in an absent, almost musical tone. “You don’t have a choice. Can’t fight destiny. Flies right to you, it does. Blue and brown and black, with pretty falling feathers.”

  Princess Carmine glances guiltily between me and the newcomer.

  “She needs to come too,” Carmine says, biting her lip again.

  Damn. I wish she’d stop that. My cock is stirring again and my hands itch with the desire to cup her face and see just how soft those lips really are. Would she gasp, if I bit her lower lip?

  “We can’t take her. We were only sent for you and I can’t carry two.”

  “It’s wrong to leave her here to die,” the princess argues. “She’s in leave of her sense and I’m sure my uncle will kill her if he finds her alone in the cell.”

  I grind my teeth. We don’t have time for diversions, but the princess’ face is so achingly earnest, I feel my will crumble, just a little.

  “I can fend for myself,” the madwoman says, sounding more lucid now that she’s out of her cage. “I’m stronger than I look.”

  “I doubt you can keep up with a huntsman,” I scoff.

  She smiles then, a flash of dazzling teeth. Mischief sparks in her dark eyes and glittering white orbs flares between her fingertips. Magic runs along my skin, itching as though I’m being swarmed by ants.

  “It’s a wager then,” she says with a laugh. “Last one to the Forest of No Return catches supper.”

  SIX

  CARMINE

  I cling to Sabre’s neck, winding my arms so tightly around him, I’m afraid he’ll choke.

  A squeak of terror is caught in my throat, but we’re moving too fast for me to give voice to it. If I open my mouth, I’m sure I’ll swallow a fly or mayhap a beetle.

  Sabre insisted I put my hair up before we left, which made no sense at the time. Now that we’re underway, I see the necessity. We’re navigating Ascor at an astonishing speed, leaping from rooftop to rooftop like some sort of sprite. I expect the motion to draw the attention of every citizen in the city, but despite his speed, Sabre’s footsteps don’t make a sound as he runs the length of the roof and then launches himself to the next. My weight doesn’t even seem to trouble him and he balances like a cat, even without the use of his arms.

  He’s not the man I want to be cradled against, but his arms around me are comforting, nonetheless. His chest is not as broad as Draven’s, nor rippling with bulky muscle like Titus’, but Sabre is strong. Held so close to him, I can feel how firm he is. Not an ounce of softness to this man. I dare a peek up at his face, instantly admiring it.

  He’s nothing short of a work of art. Closer to beautiful than handsome, the way Draven is. Sabre’s face is sharp, smooth, pale skin stretched over haughty cheekbones. His nose is long and straight, mouth a little thin, but still intriguing. His eyes are a light brown, almost the color of caramel. His hair is snowy and as long as mine, his braid reaching his waist. A stripe of vivid blue streaks through it, shocking in contrast to the pale color. There’s a feather tucked into the tail of it, held securely by a leather thong. It’s the same blue as the stripe in his hair.

  He’s Draven’s brother, which makes him a member of the Order of Corvid. He must be a Blue Jay.

  When he glances down at me, his gaze settles on the pendant between my breasts for an instant. A large scarlet stone nestled into a gold setting. He tells me it will keep the worst of what the forest can do from my mind. My heart hammers harder at the thought. I’m being ferried from one nightmare to the next. I’m secretly hoping this is all a dream I’ll soon wake from.

  My uncle tried to have me killed.

  Draven is dying.

  I’ve killed a prince and am now, consequently, fleeing the city, self-exiling to save my own skin, leaving my people under the reign of a phoebtor tyrant.

  It’s possibly the worst scenario I can conceive of, short of the seals splitting and unleashing Morningstar on the world.

  “Are you alright, Princess?” Sabre murmurs. His voice is soft and a little mesmerizing. Are all huntsmen so… charming?

  Heat seeps into my face, no doubt dusting my cheeks pink. I’m a wicked girl. I belong in Ascor. I love Draven. So why can’t I keep my gaze from Sabre?

  “I’m fine,” I mutter.

  Sabre launches himself off of the last rooftop and within seconds, we’re wading into tall grass, the poofs of fescue tickling my bare feet as we pass. I repress a giggle. This isn’t the time. Laughter feels wrong, with Draven’s life tipping precariously in the balance. Up ahead, the gnarled branches of the black oaks rake through the night sky, as if trying to claw their way from the ground and climb toward the heavens. Dense fog curls out from the treeline, as does a creeping sense of menace. I shudder, drawing my knees up in a childish attempt to get closer to Sabre.

  I don’t want to go inside the forest. I almost beg him to take us around, though the journey would take days that we don’t have. My uncle is nothing if not thorough. Anon won’t be the only avenue he’ll have pursued to dispose of me.

  “Brace yourself, Princess.”

  We clear the line of tall prairie grasses and then we’re plunging into the fog, darting through the trees and the terror piles onto me. I squeeze my eyes shut as visions assault me, but it’s no use. The scenes play out behind my eyes just as well as if I’d kept them open.

  Screaming wind. Blood pulsing thick and hot behind my ears. That’s all I can hear.

  Vines wind around me, thick and poisonous. Fire begins to burn through my veins. Drecaine. They grip my throat, tightening like a noose.

  The cold is so shocking, I can’t draw breath. It flays the skin off me, leaving me raw and exposed to the elements. I try to scream to the dark void, but can’t give voice to it. There’s no air in my lungs. The vines drag me down to the ground, tethering me there as shapes begin to move in the darkness. Huge, beastly shapes.

  A young woman sits idly by, watching me with pity in her gaze. She’s cross-legged on the muddy turf, amber eyes assessing me. She’s familiar, in a way. A fringe of curly ebony hair peeks out from beneath the hood of a royal blue cloak. Her lips are scarlet and her skin is the same translucent ivory as mine. She’s hauntingly beautiful.

  Skin white as snow, lips red as blood, and hair black as ebony. That was what her mother had wished for.

  “Neva,” I gasp, somehow managing to loosen my lungs from the stranglehold of the cold. “Neva, please help me!”

  “You have to wake, Carmine,” she whispers, her voice strained and faraway. “Wake and find me.”

  “But you’re gone! To a place I can’t follow.”

  “No,” she says gently. “I’m not. Find me.”

  And then I make out the shapes behind her, and I do scream.

  Dragons. One gold, another midnight blue, and the last an onyx that al
most blends with the starless sky.

  “Find me,” she whispers.

  And then I’m bolting upright, screaming so shrilly it hurts my throat.

  Strong, calloused hands grip my shoulders and hold me fast, trying to still my frantic thrashing. I didn’t realize I was thrashing until this moment. I jerk my chin up, somehow irrationally expecting to be face to face with a dragon.

  No, just a huntsman, which is only marginally less frightening.

  Titus loosens one hand to rub at his jaw, a sunny grin spreading across his face as he stares down at me. Somehow, despite the angry red mark my knuckles have left on the side of his face, he looks happy. The expression lights up his face, fills his eyes with a secret, boyish sort of joy. His eyes are strange though. A sort of... wine red, a shade or two removed from Anon’s.

  That thought sobers me at once and I edge away from him just a little.

  “Huh. With those soft little hands, I didn’t think you’d be up for defending yourself, Princess. Good to know you can throw a decent punch, if need be.”

  My cheeks flame with embarrassment and I drop my eyes to my hands. Sometime whilst I was unaware, someone had outfitted me with a new pair of gloves. These are leather riding gloves several sizes too large for me, but they’ll do until I can find a better pair.

  “Sorry,” I mumble. “I didn’t mean to hit you.”

  He shrugs, that easy grin only growing wider. “My little sister hits harder.”

  “Kassidy?” I venture.

  Draven has talked about her in the past, always with a wistful smile that I secretly envied. I want to make him as happy as she does. But Kassidy is his family.

  My heart throbs hard, creeping into my throat, choking me with the world of new possibilities now open to me. Am I truly a princess now? I have no throne, unless I can reclaim it from my uncle. That makes me…

  I’m just a common woman now. And common women can marry common men. I give a rueful little shake of my head. No, that’s not right. Draven’s never been a ‘common man’. But the possibility still exists. If I can somehow make him see... if he would have me... we could be together in every sense.