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

by Plum Pascal

  It’s all I’ve ever wanted.

  “Yeah,” Titus says, oblivious to my hopeful revelation. “Though we tend to call her Goldy, what with the thick hedge of blonde hair she sports. You might get to meet her, someday. She’ll be frantic when she learns what’s happened to Draven.”

  Thoughts of a happy marriage to Draven are curtailed by the reminder of Draven’s condition. I scramble onto my hands and knees, the shaking resuming but for an entirely different reason now. I climb to my feet, but my knees knock horribly, threatening to fold beneath me. Gods, how could I have forgotten for even an instant?

  “Draven! Is he…”

  Titus is on his feet in seconds, steadying me. I can’t help but be momentarily sidetracked by the calloused texture of them, so warm against my skin.

  I frown. Skin? The gown I escaped in was long-sleeved…

  A glance down reveals the blue dress has suffered a catastrophic reshaping. The palace tailor would have a fit if she could see it now. The sleeves are cut away, leaving only short puffed caps over my shoulders, the middle torn open to expose my midriff, though I’m not entirely sure if I’m not to blame for that. And the skirts. Gods, the skirts! The majority of the bluebell-shaped skirt is gone, cut away inelegantly by a knife. It’s scandalously short, hanging just above my knees, exposing the pale, slim expanse of my legs. Thank the Gods that my mother’s genetics allow for very little hair growth on the body. The thought of Draven seeing my bare legs... More heat floods my face.

  “He’s going to pull through, thanks to that madwoman,” Titus says, reminding me the madwoman is still with us. “It’s a good thing you demanded she come along.”

  “Why?” I manage.

  He shrugs. “She’s some sort of witch, I think. Brewed foul-smelling potions and set to work on Draven as soon as we settled in the woods. His fever broke hours ago and the burns are almost gone. It’s a damn miracle.”

  Some of the tightness in my chest loosens. Draven is healing. Thank the Gods. Just the thought of losing him brings stinging tears to my eyes. I blink them back, swallowing convulsively. My throat is almost glued shut, the relief so potent, it chokes me.

  “I need to see him.”

  For the first time since waking, I glance around. We’re at the edge of the wood, standing atop a hill that overlooks a shallow valley cradled between two very tall mountains. The stone is a deep grey that appears plum in this light. A dusting of snow covers the twin peaks. It’s pretty. The thin strip of land between has been blackened and the smell of char still lingers in the air, though the firestorm that ravaged the land appears to have happened some time ago.

  Only one structure still stands, untouched by the devastation. A tiny, thatched cottage.

  The Lordell Mountains.

  This is the place.

  My mother met her end here.

  “He’s in the cottage.”

  “The cottage?”

  Titus nods. “The woman is tending to him. Sabre lost the bet and he’s off hunting for supper. I’ll carry you, Princess. You look shaky.”

  The bet? I’m not sure which bet he references but I’m too exhausted to ask. That, and all I can think about is Draven. Seeing him with my own eyes—making sure he’s truly safe.

  Before I can protest, Titus has crossed over to me, sweeping my feet out from under me. Once again, I’m cradled in the arms of a strong, capable huntsman. Titus makes me a little nervous, with his incredible bulk. I feel like a twig, easily snapped.

  The short skirt rides up, threatening to reveal my feminine bits. I blush furiously and wedge my hands between my thighs in a desperate attempt to preserve my modesty. What are these men doing to me? I don’t think I’ve blushed so much in my life. I’m constantly flushed when around them, and I’ve known them for barely an hour. Well, at least Sabre and Titus, anyway.

  Titus just laughs, settling into a loping stride that’ll have us arriving at the cottage in minutes.

  “Don’t worry, Princess. I’m not going to ogle you. Draven will beat my face in.”

  “Oh,” I say, not sure what else to say.

  He chuckles again. “I’m sure it’s lovely between your thighs, but if anyone’s going to stare, it’s Draven.”

  “Draven?” I repeat, frowning. “I don’t understand.”

  Titus eyes me knowingly. “Come now.”

  “I don’t!” I insist.

  “He’s had blue balls for fucking years, watching over you.”

  The heat in my face intensifies and I swear I’m going to combust. “You must be… confused. Draven doesn’t think of me… that way.”

  Titus scoffs, his brows bobbing up to touch his hairline. He’s got lovely hair. It’s long, like Draven’s used to be. Nowhere near the length Sabre keeps his, but similar in one respect. It’s ash brown, with a streak of unnatural color sweeping through it, red, instead of blue.

  “Are you fucking kidding me, girl?” Titus laughs another barrel sound. “Draven has worshiped the ground you walk on since you’ve been old enough to court. He’s not had anyone else since taking the mission because he wants you so badly. I imagine he’s tugged his cock to thoughts of you for years.”

  I really should tell Titus not to talk the way he does—he’s really quite rude, especially considering I’m a princess. But I don’t say anything. Maybe owing to the fact that I’m still shocked to hear the words. And maybe because… I like hearing the words.

  But, no… it’s not possible.

  If Draven truly wanted me, why hasn’t he ever said something? Can’t he see how much I want him? If he truly desired me, he would have expressed it. We could have been making love for years! I’ve dreamed of him stealing into my bedchambers at night, catching me with my hand beneath my skirts, stroking myself to thoughts of him. Draven seizing my hand, licking my fingers clean with a wicked smirk before replacing them with his own. His fingers inside me, and then his manhood, taking me roughly, claiming me as his.

  Desire clenches tight in my belly and I feel myself growing wet at the familiar daydream.

  Titus sniffs the air delicately, then smirks. “You want him as well, I take it? Shame. I really hoped...”

  But he doesn’t elaborate further. I’m squirming with discomfort now, both from the shameful wetness seeping into my smallclothes and the fact that he can smell it. I bury my face in my hands, whimpering in embarrassment. Does that mean Draven can smell it too? Has he smelled the musky scent of my arousal? And if he has, how in the name of Avernus couldn’t he have known? I’m wet every time I’m around him.

  We reach the cottage at last, and Titus sets me gently on my feet. My steps are still shaky, thoughts of Draven making my knees weak. I brace my hand on the door frame to steady myself before taking a deep breath, then twist the knob and step inside.

  The interior of the cottage is warm, with a fire already crackling in the grate. A black stew pot hangs over the fire, woefully dusty. The original owners haven’t been here in a while. In the center of the room is an equally dusty table and little else. Not lavish decorators then.

  The sound of voices draws my attention to a room just off the kitchen and I find myself walking toward it. The door is open and I burst through it, too eager to see Draven to care about politeness.

  A gasp escapes me. Titus is right. The change is nothing short of miraculous.

  Drave is sitting upright in bed, supporting his own weight with ease. He’s shirtless, slightly dewed with sweat and I stare for several seconds. He’s chiseled perfection, his pectorals firm, the abs so solid, it looks like you could bounce a spear off them. My desire returns tenfold and I almost crumple to my knees.

  His burns have faded to a barely perceptible pink. The sores I felt on his body are gone. The cuts are puckered pink lines on his arms and face. The vivid purple bruising on his eye has faded to yellow green, the only blemish on an otherwise perfect profile.

  I could kiss the mysterious woman. She’s dragged him back from the edge of death and returned him mostly
whole. If I ever regain the throne, I’ll give her a hero’s welcome into my kingdom.

  Draven turns toward me, relief easing the stiffness in his body, a perfect smile alighting on those lush, kissable lips.

  “Princess,” he breathes. “Thank the Gods. I thought we might have lost you in the forest.”

  “Lost me in the forest?”

  He nods. “You were screaming and then you went limp...”

  “I had… a terrible nightmare,” I said, trying to remember the particulars, but now the memories are faded.

  “That’s what the forest does… fills your head with ugliness.” He takes a breath. “I am so happy to see you well. I’ve thought about little else.”

  My smile threatens to break my cheeks. But uncertainty creeps in on the coattails of my joy. This doesn’t mean he loves me. He’s been steadfast over the years, a loyal friend and confidant. I believe he loves me, yes, but his love is limited. I believe I’m nothing more than a ward to him—someone he protects because such is his job.

  I cross over to the bed, climbing onto the narrow mattress with him. The dimensions are barely enough to hold us both, even though I tuck my knees up as close as the short skirt will allow. I press a gentle kiss to his cheek. It’s all my faltering courage will allow me to do. “I am so glad to see you’re well, Draven,” I murmur.

  He turns his head, his lips brushing my cheek, as well. My heart thuds hard against my ribs.

  “Likewise, Princess.”

  Titus lumbers into the room after me, lounging arrogantly against the door frame. On any other man, I’d have found that posture irritating, but not Titus. He, and his brothers, have all earned a right to that arrogance.

  “Told you,” he says, giving Draven a pointed glance.

  “Told her what?” Draven demands.

  Titus smirks and says nothing. Draven doesn’t have time to make more demands of him, as Sabre enters the room moments later, clutching the carcass of a coyote. His somber expression softens as he catches sight of Draven.

  “Looks like you’re healing up nicely. I thought we’d have to put you outside to be consumed by our smaller brothers.”

  “Like they’d touch him,” Titus scoffs. “They have better taste than eating charred remains.”

  Draven’s face creases into a ferocious scowl. “Oh, fuck off, Titus.”

  The vulgarity is so unexpected, it makes me jump.

  Titus’ smirk only broadens, filling his boyish face with an impish sort of charm. “Glad to have you back, brother. You wouldn’t believe what’s happened with Kassidy while you were gone.”

  Draven sits up a little straighter, eyes flying wide. “Is she…”

  “Fear not,” Titus says and waves away Draven’s concern. “She accomplished her mission in the werebear compound. You won’t believe how. She got fucking married to their nobility! All three of the heirs. King Leith and his cousins.”

  “Married? To the werebears?” Draven repeats, frowning. “A political move?”

  Titus shakes his head. “No. For love. I’ve never seen the king so fucking happy.”

  Draven shakes his head incredulously. “Our little sister, Queen of the fucking bears!”

  “I was sure she’d end up a spinster,” Titus concurs. “Too headstrong to ever settle down permanently.”

  Sabre looks at Draven with interest. “I thought you already knew about Kassidy, given your message. Yet, you sound… surprised?”

  “Message?” Draven repeats.

  Sabre further frowns. “The missive you sent us. The timing was perfect—it saved Princess Carmine’s life.”

  Draven shakes his head. “What missive? I didn’t send anything to you. I haven’t heard a thing but the castle gossip from the guards. What’s happened to Kassidy?”

  “She’s Chosen,” Ia pipes up, matter-of-factly.

  All heads turn toward her, surprise and suspicion playing out on the brothers’ faces.

  “How the fuck do you know that?” Titus barks.

  “Because I was there when she discovered her powers,” Ia says, smiling softly. “Used them to leech the dark away. I owe her for that.”

  “What are you on about?” Titus demands. “Who the fuck are you?”

  She purses her lips thoughtfully. “I’m not sure, to be honest. But I know the who I was. The goddess that fell from grace, seduced by a monster.”

  “Who?” Sabre asks.

  She looks at him. “Harmonia. Then I was Discordia. Now, I am neither. Yet, I am both. It doesn’t matter though now. Thanks to your foul-mouthed golden seraph, I am reborn, here to serve a purpose.”

  “And what’s that purpose?” Titus asks.

  “I’m going to help you find them, huntsman. The Chosen Ten. There are four already found.”

  “Three,” Titus grits out, his face clouded over with irritation. “There are only three.”

  “Four,” she says mildly. “The siren, the omnifarious, the thief and the poisoner.” She fixes me with a chill stare as I feel my stomach drop.

  “The poisoner?” I repeat.

  “Welcome to the ranks of the Chosen, Princess Carmine.”

  SEVEN

  DRAVEN

  Blank shock creeps through my mind, blotting out rational thought.

  Impossible.

  If Carmine was chosen, I’d have known. There would have been signs. Yes, there are the poison patches on her palms, but they’ve been present for years. And I never really considered them as anything more than an anomaly. One in a thousand night hags has the genetic makeup for such. Once, a line of night hags bred with dark fae, resulting in the unique ability to produce toxin, poisoning the body as well as the mind. Neither Salome nor Spyros possess the ability though...

  “That’s not possible,” Carmine says, her voice a light, feathery whisper. Her mercurial silver eyes swim with unshed tears.

  Though I know I shouldn’t touch her, I can’t help myself. I hook an arm around her waist and pull her into my side. She’s so incredibly fragile. She draws every protective instinct I have to the fore. This is what I’m built for. Hunting those who hurt the innocent. And if the woman is telling the truth—that she’s Discordia—then she’s one of the most vile monsters to ever plague Fantasia. It doesn’t matter if the rumors are true. I don’t care if Morningstar tainted her. It can’t excuse the evil she’s done. I should kill her here and now…

  But... she saved my life and healed my battered body. And that means I owe her the chance to explain her tale, even if she’s completely mad.

  Carmine nestles her head in the crook of my shoulder, pressing her body against mine. I almost moan. This is closer than I’ve ever been allowed and it’s fucking glorious. If we were alone, I’d take her face in my hands, and kiss away the tears slowly spilling down her cheeks. Until I reached her mouth, then I would claim it, tasting her until her breath became rough and shallow. I’d roll her beneath me on the bed and...

  Fuck. It’s not the time to be thinking about this. I’m hard already and only saved from discovery by the heavy blanket draped across my lap.

  Furthermore, I can daydream all I like but I know the truth—even if I were alone with Carmine, I wouldn’t act on my urges. Just like I’ve never acted on my urges—purely because she’s a princess and I’m her protector. It wouldn’t be right to treat her otherwise.

  I can smell her arousal, her scent clinging to Titus like the sweetest of perfumes. Titus, Sabre and I have adopted each other as brothers—swore a fellowship of blood and vengeance and I’d happily lay down my life for him. But I fucking hate him at the moment. She wants him. She’s wet for him in a way she’s never been for me.

  My thoughts are forced back to the situation unfolding.

  Discordia... Harmonia... Ia, isn’t finished. She gives Carmine a faint, supercilious smile and begins to recite in an almost sing-song voice.

  “Nightshade, Hemlock, Aconite, the Queen of Poisons she shall be, and leach the life from a goddess, who taints the world tree.”


  I recognize the verse. I’ve had it memorized since the oracle spat it up years ago. I’ve come to hate it, since I’ve met precisely one Chosen and for years I assumed she was dead. I still don’t know if Neva survived the battle with Lycaon.

  “It’s not possible,” Carmine repeats, getting paler by the second. When she’d come in, she’d been rosy as a schoolgirl, no doubt due to her newest infatuation. Now, she’s adopting an ashy shade that’s almost akin to her sister’s. “There would have been signs. Perhaps there is poison in my hands but that’s witchery. I’m just Carmine. Just a girl.”

  Ia quirks an imperious brow. “You haven’t noticed new... growths in your little bower, Princess?”

  Carmine hesitates, and I tilt my head toward her, examining the look of dawning horror on her face. I watch her struggle to deny Ia’s claims and when she can’t, the look of bleak desperation steals in to take its place.

  “Princess?” I prompt gently.

  She burrows her way deeper into my side, as though by doing so, she can protect herself from Ia’s chill stare. I wish I could save her from this. If it’s true... Gods, if it’s true, it means she’s in more danger than even my worst nightmares have ever conjured. Forget failing to save her from a dirk in the back, if she’s Chosen, she’ll be a target for Morningstar, himself.

  I have the grisly image of the giant winged form of Morningstar plucking Carmine from the ground like a wild rose and crushing her with ease. My body chills with an echo of her horror.

  No. Never. I won’t allow it. I’ll die a thousand bloody deaths at Morningstar’s hands before I let him lay so much as a finger on my Carmine.

  “There have been... new growths,” she admits. “I didn’t think anything of them. I assumed... I assumed someone brought them in and planted them without consulting me. Or that perhaps they cropped up naturally.”

  “What were they?” Ia asks, still giving her a knowing smile.

  “Drecaine vines and those rude Wonderland blossoms. One blossom called me a...”

  Her cheeks color prettily. Gods I want to kiss her, want to rip the remnants of her dress right off her to see if the flush extends to the rest of her ivory skin if I were to spend the evening between her legs. I do like the fact that her dress has been shorn, even if Carmine seems uncomfortable. It’s fucking incredible to feel so much of her bare body against mine.