by Tasha Black
So she wasn’t the only one who’d learned a few secrets while she was gone. She had been more than a little nervous about how to break that news to them. And she was still worried about how they would take it.
“You are our sister,” Duncan said, his voice deep and rusty-sounding, as if from disuse. “That doesn’t change.”
“Duncan’s right,” Torsten said, nodding. His familiar face, usually so cheerful was pained as he tried to find the words to tell her what they’d learned.
“I already know as well, brothers,” she said, sparing him the trouble. “I am a changeling. I saw the original princess on my way into the other realm. She is called Willow, and she should be in our realm somewhere.”
Ashe assumed that meeting Willow was exactly how they’d learned of her troubled past.
Duncan nodded once and sat back.
“She is safe with us,” Torsten said, confirming her suspicions. He looked into her eyes as he took her hand. “You understand that this changes nothing between us. We love you. You will always be our sister.”
She blinked back the tears she hadn’t expected to shed.
“Our parents, on the other hand, are in real trouble,” Torsten went on. “The people are furious that this was done, and more so that it was done in order to send our men to die in a needless war.”
“Have they been taken into custody?” Varik asked.
“They ran,” Torsten said. “The king and queen are gone. They know what fate holds for them, so we are unlikely to see them again. Though I am committed to begin the search to bring our parents to justice. I leave tomorrow.”
Varik let his head fall into his hands at Torsten’s words.
Ashe wrapped her arms around him and Ronan licked his cheek, oblivious to why his father had been brought so low.
“Is he okay?” Torsten asked.
“We need the queen back,” Ashe told him quietly. “Only she can lift the curse on his son that makes him a wolf when Varik is fae.”
“His son?” Torsten asked.
“His adopted son,” Ashe said. “This is Ronan.”
“The Prince of Wolves,” Torsten said in hushed awe. “He didn’t die in the fire with his parents.”
“Varik saved him,” Ashe said.
“But he should be almost as old as us,” Torsten replied, his forehead creased.
“It’s the curse,” Ashe said. “He can’t age as long as he’s trapped this way. We have to get the Queen back so she can lift the spell.”
Torsten bit his lip and sat back.
Ashe gazed at her big, blond brothers. They were her only hope for the happiness of her little family now.
The sleigh pulled swiftly into the courtyard and Ashe looked out to see a bevy of curious guests approaching in their finery. In all of the hustle, Ashe had forgotten to ask who was getting married.
Her brothers hopped out of the sleigh, followed by Varik, who offered her his hand.
“Oh,” Duncan said, noticing the vines on their hands. He elbowed his brother who did a double take.
“Congratulations, sister,” he said with a big grin, eyes twinkling.
Duncan squeezed her shoulder.
She couldn’t help but smile. If only Ronan could have his curse lifted, Ashe felt she would be the happiest person in two realms.
“That makes you my soon-to-be nephew,” Torsten said to Ronan in a playful voice.
Ronan panted at him, tongue lolling.
The crowd parted and Ashe saw herself approaching.
Except that it wasn’t herself, of course. It was Willow, the woman whose life she had just stepped into, if only for a few days. She was followed by the bear-prince of the Autumn Court. He must have been the one to bring Willow back to Faerie.
“Ashe,” Willow said warmly, her hands out in greeting.
Ashe took them and they gazed at each other in wonder. They were so alike, right down to the vines that twined around their hands.
“I understand we both found love during these short days in each other’s worlds,” Willow said, her eyes dancing. There was a warmth in her, one that no doubt came from not spending her entire life in the Winter Court, where cold, in all its forms, was a way of life.
“This is Varik,” Ashe said. “And his son, Ronan.”
“His son?” Willow asked, looking at the pup.
Ronan looked back at her, tilting his head so that his floppy ear flopped even further.
“The queen placed a curse on him,” Ashe said, hearing the heartbreak in her own voice. “Only the crown of Winter can lift it.”
Willow blinked at her.
“What is it?” Ashe asked.
“I… think I am the crown of Winter now,” Willow said quietly.
Ashe’s jaw dropped.
“Did I get that wrong?” Willow asked, turning to the Autumn prince Ashe now realized must be Willow’s new husband. That explained all the festivities. A royal wedding was a big deal in any kingdom.
“No, my love,” he replied. “The king and queen have fled. You are the oldest wedded heir. You are the crown of Winter, lass.”
Willow smiled and Ashe smiled back, still feeling like she was looking at her own reflection, but already noticing the smallest of differences in her changeling double - the crinkle of her smile, the mischievous twinkle in her eyes, the almost invisible scar on one ear. Ashe and Willow had lived different lives, and that made them different people, no matter how alike they looked.
“How do I do this?” Willow asked, looking around at the gathered crowd.
“Place your hands on the child,” Ashe told her.
Varik handed Ronan to Ashe.
Willow set her hands on Ronan’s furry back.
He licked her on the nose.
There was nervous tittering in the crowd.
“Then simply say, As the crown of Winter, I lift your curse,” Ashe told her.
“That’s it?” Willow asked, looking skeptical.
Ashe smiled and nodded.
“As the crown of Winter, I lift your curse,” Willow said.
At first it seemed that nothing had happened.
Then Ashe saw that Willow’s eyes had gone icy blue.
A tiny gust of winter wind swirled in Ashe’s hair and Ronan’s soft fur. Blue sparkles flashed like fireflies, swirling around the pup and gusting around his father until Varik’s hair lifted and danced around his shoulders.
In an instant, the air went still.
And Ashe was holding a baby instead of a wolf pup.
“Ronan,” she breathed.
“Mah,” he replied, yanking her hair in greeting.
Then Varik’s arms were around them both and there was great rejoicing among everyone, and many handkerchiefs were lifted to streaming eyes.
“I know it’s late,” Willow’s husband said to Varik. “But I think we have time for one more wedding, as long as we have everyone here.”
Varik glanced over at her, pain and hope were one in his eyes.
“Yes,” she murmured. “Yes, yes, yes.”
He smiled and wrapped his arms around her and Ronan again as the crowd burst into raucous applause at the idea of another celebration.
“Then you should have this,” Varik said, pulling back and reaching into his satchel until he pulled out the necklace he’d given her earlier, the one with the enchanted ice that had counted down her time in the mortal realm. But the ice was gone now.
She watched as he held it between his palms, a blue glow encircling them as he worked his magic.
“Another timer?” she wondered aloud.
“And I will stay by your side until this one has melted away,” he said with a wink.
When he opened his hands, the necklace didn’t hold an orb of ice, but a dazzling blue diamond.
He leaned down to kiss her as he placed it around her neck, and for a moment, Ashe forgot all about the gathered crowd as she basked in the love of her newfound family.
24
Varik
/> Varik walked through the ceremony with Ashe, his mind swimming with joy.
At last, the words were said, and he kissed her long and hard as the people of the Winter kingdom cheered.
Much as he had worried about his status, it seemed the people loved a redemption story. And with Ronan and Ashe’s help, Varik was indeed redeemed.
When it was done, they were led to a table groaning in delicacies to talk with Willow and Heath.
“Do you plan to reclaim your place at court?” Willow asked Ashe. “The people will rejoice. There are two princesses of Winter now. And the little Prince of Wolves has returned.”
Varik wondered how she would reply.
She had made other plans back in the mortal realm, but now that she knew the king and queen were gone, and her position at court was safe, perhaps then she would decide to stay.
“No,” Ashe said, smiling faintly. “We’re going to help people. That’s something I learned in your old realm. There isn’t enough of it here.”
“You mean you’ll give coin to the poor?” Heath asked, leaning forward. This made sense, the Autumn Court was generous with their poor, with coin at least.
“We want to help them in every way we can,” Ashe said. “Not just with money.”
“Is there anything we can do?” Willow asked.
Ashe glanced over at Varik.
He nodded to her.
“Willow, you know how in your old town, there was a thing called a public library?” Ashe asked.
Willow smiled as Ashe described her ideas.
Varik leaned back in his chair with Ronan falling asleep in his arms, listening to the woman he loved lay out her plans for helping the people of Faerie, not just the royals, but everyone - sharing her own love of learning and sense of fairness with every member of the kingdoms. At one point, Willow even suggested keeping her apartment in the mortal realm, in case Ashe ever wanted to go back and visit her newfound friends for more inspiration. Ashe’s face lit up at the idea.
Varik touched the pad of his finger to his son’s pillowy cheek in wonder. He hadn’t been able to do that for so long that he’d almost forgotten the simple joy of it. And now he could enjoy it once more, thanks to his brave, beautiful wife.
Whatever they did next, wherever they went, whoever they helped, the Prince of Wolves would no doubt learn to be a great leader with a mother like Ashe.
And Varik would be the happiest former bounty hunter in every court in the land.
***
Thanks for reading Prince of Wolves!
Are you ready for more steamy Fae action?
Want to find out the deal with those hunky Fae Kings that Varik runs into, the ones that protect the town of Rosethorn Valley from the monsters that have escaped from the realm of Faerie?
Then you’re in luck! You can find the stories of ALL FOUR Fae Kings in the Rosethorn Valley Fae series!
Keep reading for a sample of the first book, King of Midnight, or grab your copy now:
King of Midnight:
His darkness fills her world, but only her song can fill his heart…
https://www.tashablack.com/kingofmidnight.html
King of Midnight (Sample)
1
Sara
Sara Mason pushed open the big chestnut door with what she hoped was a showman-like flourish.
It squeaked indignantly, but swung inward to reveal a sweeping entry hall with a curved staircase. The ceiling soared upward, perfectly showing off the enormous crystal chandelier. An intricately carved and imposing grandfather clock overlooked the whole scene like a silent sentry.
The effect was impressive.
It would have been more impressive if the movement of the door hadn’t sent a collection of dry leaves dancing across the black and white marble tiles.
“Someone must have left the balcony door open again,” she said to her clients. “That latch is a little tricky.”
She strode in, flicked the switch for the Waterford chandelier, and spun back to the couple, hoping they would be able to see past the current state of the house and appreciate the amazing architectural features of the old mansion.
“Gross,” the wife remarked. “What’s that smell?”
“The property has been closed up for a while,” Sara explained. “The greater Philadelphia area has a high-water table, so it’s common for homes this age to be damp if they aren’t lived in.”
“Mold,” the husband said wisely, tapping the side of his nose. “Deadly black mold.”
Deadly black mold was extremely unlikely in a house this drafty. The drafty original windows provided too much unintentional ventilation for the place to ever really be sealed up.
But she could already tell her clients weren’t interested enough to care about a detail like that. Sara restrained the desire to sigh as she moved toward the next room.
“I’m going to pop around and get some lights on for you. Look around a bit. I’ll circle back to see if you have any questions.”
It was probably a wasted effort to turn on all the lights when these two would want to leave without seeing the whole thing.
She had known when they asked her to set up the showing that it was the wrong property. Al and Amy Martin were great buyers, but they weren’t the fixer-upper types. They had surely been attracted to the old place by the call of the rock bottom price point and the immense square footage.
And Sara had been eager to show it to them - to anyone.
A developer was poking around, threatening to do something with the whole stretch of land. This lot, sans the house, was supposedly the crown jewel of his plan. The walled garden outside would certainly be leveled to make space for parking.
The idea seemed awful to her. But she could hardly blame the trust that owned the house if they accepted an offer from the developer. The property had been vacant since Sara was a little girl.
There had been offers after the for sale sign finally went up a few years ago.
But something always went wrong.
The first interested buyer had lost his job before the offer was finalized. The second was in a car accident. And the third simply chickened out, forfeiting her deposit.
Around Rosethorn Valley, the rumors about the old house ranged from creepily campy to downright terrifying. The local kids tended to avoid the whole area. Some of the agents in Sara’s office even refused to show the property altogether.
She flicked on lights in the conservatory, which overlooked the garden and the koi pond, then made her way through the enormous dining room.
The Martins were following close behind her. They were moving too fast to be seriously considering the house.
“Wow, they sure left a lot of old furniture,” Amy said, looking at the massive wood dining table.
Sara loved the table’s heft and clawed feet. She had never seen anything like it.
An ancient painting of a man with dark hair and pale grey eyes wearing a stiff collar loomed over the scene from the wall at the table’s head, as if he were waiting for servants to bring his meal.
“My cousin can get us a dumpster at cost,” Al said proudly.
Sara almost swore the man in the painting winced at the words - probably a reflection of how she was feeling inside at the thought of throwing away all the wonderful pieces in the house.
“Some of these items may have historical value,” Sara pointed out.
Al grunted noncommittally and kept walking.
Sara made a mental note to get in touch with the Rosethorn Valley Historical Society. Her friend, Tabitha, was a co-curator there. Surely the society would take an interest in the furnishings. Hopefully, they could get the worthwhile pieces out before the house was torn down.
She approached the mantel of the fireplace and picked up a ceramic bud vase that held a single dried bloom. The pottery was cool and the weight of it was satisfying in her hand.
Al and Amy had begun arguing in the kitchen about whether or not they could remove a wall. Sara decided
to give them some space.
Movement outside the window caught her attention. A small, brown bird was making a home in the ivy that climbed the side of the house.
The window looked out over the rose garden, which was dormant now. Soon the buds would appear, tipped in red.
Sara hummed the silly song she used to sing to those roses when she snuck up here as a child.
Blooms bursting into color
Leaves so green exploding from their stems
Footsteps told her the Martins were finished arguing. It was time to put the vase down and get to work.
Before she could, there was a surprising crack, like a gunshot.
She looked down at her hand. The vase had broken into several pieces.
Her mouth dropped open and she let go of the shards.
They hit the stone hearth and shattered into smaller fragments.
She instinctively knelt to retrieve the pieces. But as soon as she reached out for them, a sharp edge pierced her left index finger.
She hissed in a breath as she stood.
“What was that?” Amy asked on her way back through the dining room.
“Oh, I just knocked over a bud vase,” Sara managed. “Nothing to worry about.”
She straightened, clutching her hurt hand, but not before a single drop of blood fell to the hearth to join the broken pieces of pottery and dried petals.
“Need any help?” Al asked.
“No, thanks,” Sara replied. “I’ll be right with you.”
Amy nodded and headed out toward the conservatory and Al followed.
Sara made a mental note to mention the broken vase to the listing agent. Hopefully, it wasn’t valuable.
She was more puzzled over exactly how it had broken. She’d been holding it so gently.
Sara grabbed a tissue from her purse and pressed it to her finger. When she pulled it away it was clean. She didn’t seem to be bleeding anymore.