The Golden Gryphon and the Bear Prince: An Epic Fantasy Romance (Heirs of Magic Book 1)

by Jeffe Kennedy

  “You never are, you grump. I swear you were born a grandpa in a baby’s body. Zeph literally took off. Zyr asked her to go flying, and she jumped at the chance.” Stella dipped her chin, giving him a knowing look. “She seemed happy to get outside the walls for a bit, burn off some energy. I think she was upset, too.”

  “She was,” he admitted. “I finally made it clear to her that we could never be together. In any way. Even before I set the morator—” No, he refused to call it that. It was a good rule, to protect them all from trouble. The word “moratorium” made it sound so dire. “Before we had the conversation about limiting romantic entanglements within the group.”

  “Ah.” Stella closed her lips and said nothing more. Her eyes held compassion for him, but also something else.

  “Did she talk to you?” he asked, suddenly suspicious.

  “I talk to all of my friends,” she replied coolly, “and I don’t gossip about them to others.”

  That was a turnabout. Very nearly a betrayal, since he and Stella had never had secrets from each other. “We tell each other everything,” he complained.

  “Don’t go feeling all betrayed like that. This is between you and Zeph. I’m happy to lend an ear to each of you, to offer what comfort and advice I can, but I won’t take sides.”

  “I’m your brother. Your twin.” He wanted to tell her she had to be on his side, had to put him first, but the deepening gray in her stormy eyes warned him against it.

  “Yes, and Zeph is my friend. You are my family by birth. She is my family by choice. It would be dishonorable of you to ask me to choose between you.”

  “I’m not—” He broke off, unwilling to lie, to be even more dishonorable than she accused. Honor was all he had. An accident of birth had made him heir to the high throne of the Thirteen Kingdoms. His own father, Prince Hugh, had died before he and Stella were born. Hugh had died young, his honor forever unstained. Astar didn’t know how he could ever live up to either his father’s noble legacy, or Ursula’s, but he was determined to try. Stella knew that about him. Implying that he would be dishonorable… Well, it was a low blow. “I see,” he finished stiffly.

  “You can stop worrying,” Stella said gently, not quite an apology. “Zeph is here.”

  He turned in the direction she was looking to see Zephyr entering the outer courtyard where they assembled. Not that anyone could miss her in that cape of golden fur. It swathed her from the deeply cowled hood to the ground, where her booted toes kicked out just below the hem as she walked, a longer section trailing over the snow behind her. Her sapphire eyes shone brightly against her pale face, crimson lips startlingly full beneath.

  More than anything in that moment, he wanted to pull her into his arms and kiss those lips. During the few hours he’d slept, he kept dreaming about her mouth on his throat, the way her clever fingers had found the sensitive place at the nape of his neck, the sensation going straight to his groin where he’d hardened embarrassingly.

  He should’ve kissed her.

  No, he shouldn’t have.

  It was right that he hadn’t, since he’d be seeing a potential bride at Castle Elderhorst in Carienne.

  But it had been his one chance, now forever lost because of his own moratorium. And it had been such a near thing, her mouth barely a breath away, her scent going to his head, reminding him of the crisp, pristine air of high mountains entwined with tropical flowers—an odd juxtaposition that was quintessentially Zephyr. Then, in his dream, he had kissed her, hot and passionate and wrenchingly sweet all at once. Quenching and scorching. Like coming home and taking flight. Utter bliss.

  Then he’d jolted awake, horrified at himself that he’d compromised his honor—only to realize it had been a dream, which sent him crashing immediately into disappointment that it hadn’t been real. When he fell back asleep, the dream claimed him again. Reliving the might-have-been, he kissed lovely, wild Zephyr—to awake and repeat the gut-wrenching cycle of bliss to horror to relief to crushing regret.

  With the snowflakes falling like lace around Zephyr, swirling in the mist of her passage, she might’ve stepped out of those dreams—and for a confused, roiling moment, he wasn’t sure if he was awake or asleep. Had he kissed her? Or… not.

  Those perfectly crimson lips quirked with amusement as she raised raven-winged brows at him. “Good morning, Willy and Nilly. Are you ready for our adventure?”

  “It’s past noon,” Astar corrected foolishly, his brain feeling too numb to come up with anything else. He felt like an idiot, however, so he must be awake.

  “Is it?” She peered at the cloud cover, snowflakes clinging to her thick black lashes. “I don’t see how you can tell. Morning, noon, evening—all winter light looks the same.”

  “You sound like Rhy,” Astar muttered under his breath.

  Her eyes glinted with wry acknowledgment. “There’s a reason for that.”

  He opened his mouth to say something—he didn’t know what, as the usually lighthearted Zephyr seemed to be in a dangerous mood—but she plowed on. “Speaking of shapeshifters being all alike, Gen, Rhy, and I have set up a scouting rotation, trading off every two hours. Does that meet with your approval, Your Highness?”

  Astar set his teeth, certain he heard Stella muffle a giggle. “Yes, thank you.”

  Zephyr smiled, a lethal curve that reminded him of her gríobhth form. He’d only seen her in that form a few times, and always in Annfwn, but something about her attitude, her feel, or the hard glint in her sapphire-sharp eyes, made him think of the gríobhth. Maybe it was the golden-furred cloak, so like her extraordinary coloring in that form.

  Maybe something else.

  “I don’t want to tell you your business, Your Highness,” she continued, “but when Rhy isn’t on scout duty, I recommend that you do not put him in the same carriage as Lena.”

  Astar glanced over her head where Rhy and Lena were still ostentatiously ignoring each other, and sighed internally. This was ridiculous. He could talk normally to Zephyr. Those two could be civil to each other also. “The whole point of the morator—the no entanglements rule,” he corrected grimly, “is to prevent exactly this sort of ridiculous maneuvering. We’re all friends. We have to work together. I expect anyone to ride with whoever, with no complaints.”

  Zephyr exchanged speaking glances with Stella, then shrugged in her elaborate Tala style—the gesture clear even in her enveloping cloak. “Have it your way, Your Highness. Just don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  Setting his teeth, he managed not to growl at her. “Stop calling me that.”

  “Your Highness?” She widened her eyes in mock surprise. “Isn’t that the correct address for the crown prince, heir to the high throne of the Thirteen Kingdoms? You know I get so confused by mossback ranks and traditions.”

  “Nilly, would you give us a moment?” Astar ground out.

  “Of course.” Stella simpered, far too amused with his suffering. “I see Mother and Ash anyway. They’ll no doubt have last words of advice and so forth. I suggest you join us after you’ve, ah, finished your conversation. You know Mother. She won’t wait long.”

  Astar took Zeph by the arm—the golden fur cloak even softer than it looked—and steered her farther away from any eavesdroppers. “What is wrong with you?” Frustration made his lowered voice sound harsh.

  Zeph jerked herself from his grip. “I’m practicing following orders and being a good soldier. Am I doing it wrong?”

  “I never said you had to—”

  “No, but you have been issuing plenty of commands, Your Highness,” she snapped back. “You made the difference in our goals and desires very clear last night. I’m abiding by your edict.”

  He swallowed back his anger, because he could see he deserved some of that. Raking a hand through his hair, he snagged on the icy wet snarls where snow had accumulated. Somehow that just figured, too. “It wasn’t an edict,” he said, searching for the words to soothe her ire. And hurt. It was there in her eyes, a sha
dow behind the sapphire hardness. “I just wanted you to understand why I—”

  “Oh, I understand, Your Highness.” She smiled sweetly, showing a hint of fang. Zephyr was a talented enough shapeshifter to do a bit of selective alteration—so he knew she’d done that on purpose. “You made yourself crystal clear. May I be excused?”

  “Willy!” Astar’s mother waved, jumping up and down a little, as if she might not be noticed otherwise. “Willy, darling! We’re here to say goodbye. You and Zeph can talk anytime, as you’ll be together nonstop for the next half a year. Come kiss your mother goodbye!”

  “She’s right,” Zephyr taunted in a velvet-smooth voice. “We’ll be together nonstop. We can have this exact conversation over and over and ov—”

  “I get it,” he bit out, cutting her off with a sharp gesture.

  “Oh, good.” She batted her lashes. “I just want you to understand.”

  “I understand, all right. You plan to punish me for what I said, when I was only trying to save us both pain and heartache, and you—”

  “No, Astar,” she hissed, dropping her façade and letting her fury shine bright, all gríobhth now. “You want to save yourself pain, because you’re afraid. You’re terrified of who you might be if you let go even a smidge. You call it honor, but that’s a shield you’re hiding behind. Your First Form is a grizzly bear for Moranu’s sake, not a mouse. But you’re so locked down, so determined to be a mossback prince in every way, that you stop yourself from embracing the ferocity of your nature—or of taking on any other form.”

  “That’s not fair,” he replied weakly, stunned by her vitriol. Zeph had always flirted with and teased him, never giving him a cross word before this.

  “Fair?” She snorted, focusing her gaze on him, the predator ready to deliver the killing blow. “Kids worry about what’s fair. You just don’t want to face the truth about yourself.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “Your hero is a man who died because he couldn’t see the truth. Mull that one over.”

  “Willy darling!” his mother called insistently.

  Zeph gave him a cool look. “Mommy’s calling.”

  Oh, she did not. A growl rose from him, the bear waking from sleep. He stuck a finger in her face. “You and I are going to talk,” he threatened.

  She cocked her head, looking at his finger from the side, and burst out laughing. “Anytime, Your Highness. But if you point that finger at me again…” She abruptly sobered, smile going deadly in a blink. “I’ll bite it off,” she hissed, then strode away, her cloak flaring out like golden wings.

  Gutted by the exchange, Astar dutifully went to join his mother and stepfather. Before he made it all the way, Ami flung herself at him, embracing him in a bright tumble of silken curls, fur-trimmed velvet, and a cloud of rose perfume. He still hadn’t accustomed himself to being so much bigger than she was. In his sense memory, his mother was a bulwark of love and fervent hugs. Some people underestimated Ami, with her dazzling, goddess-bestowed beauty and festive nature. But Astar and Stella knew the fierce side of her maternal love. Their mother might not be a shapeshifter, but she was a lioness in every other sense.

  Holding on, he hugged her back, closing his eyes and allowing himself to wallow—just for a moment—in her unconditional love. Her affection salved the stinging cuts of Zephyr’s slicing verbal claws. When Ami let him go, she framed his face with her velvet-gloved hands, violet eyes shimmering with tears. “You are the very image of your father, you know,” she whispered, then smiled tremulously. “But bigger.”

  Your hero is a man who died because he couldn’t see the truth. “Mom…” He didn’t know how to ask this. Behind her, Ash was showing Stella a dagger, both of them absorbed in their own conversation. “Was Hugh—my father… a fool?” He settled on the word uneasily, and Ami sobered, dropping her hands to take his cold ones in hers.

  “Why are you asking me this now?” Her twilight eyes studied him with keen intelligence. That was something else many people failed to notice about her, her lavish beauty distracting them from her canny mind. “Is there some other reason for this sudden trip that no one is telling me? Because I swear to Glorianna, if Her Fucking Majesty is lying to me, I’ll—”

  “No, no,” he said, hastening to stop her rising voice. “I’ve just been thinking about it. It’s just that everyone always speaks well of Hugh,” he explained. “How noble he was, honorable and good. How he died believing he was rescuing Aunt Andi from the Tala. But he was wrong. We know that now. So… did he die a fool?”

  Ami sighed, a heartfelt and wistful sound. “It’s hard for you and Nilly, that you never knew the real man he was. When someone dies, people tend to focus only on the good, they idealize the memory and forget the bad. To hear the stories, Hugh was Glorianna’s gift to the world, perfect in every way.”

  Astar nodded, a lump catching in his throat.

  “But he was only a man,” Ami continued, squeezing his hands. “A good man, yes, but one with flaws like any of us. Both of those things can be true. I loved him with all my heart, but I was only a girl, and he was no older than you are now. It’s not easy to explain how the world seemed to us then, compared to how it is now, but he believed—and I did, too—that the Tala were demons and monsters.” She grimaced ruefully. “Neither of us could see past our fears to the truth. In a way, I suppose you could call him a fool for not seeing the truth—that Andi was happily married and in love with Rayfe, who is also a man like any other, and a good one in his own right—but then you’d have to call me a fool, too. We were blinded by unreasoning hatred. If Hugh had lived…” She smiled ruefully. “Well, I’m sure he would’ve grown wiser with time, as we all do.” Her smile quirked with wry humor. “Hopefully, anyway.”

  “You are wise, indeed,” he said, pulling her into another hug. “I’ll miss you.”

  “Yes, you will,” she informed him sassily, giving him one more squeeze and letting him go. “But this trip will be good for you. Go have fun with your friends. It’s past time for you to escape Essla’s talons for a while. Go sow some wild oats, live a little.”

  “Mother!” he said, shocked.

  She laughed gaily and punched his arm with her delicate fist. “Hey, I was a virgin when I married Hugh—so was he—and I can vouch that it was not a brilliant start.” She glanced back at Ash, a light flush gracing her cheekbones as she turned back to Astar and leaned in confidingly. “I recommend finding someone totally unsuitable to teach you the really filthy—”

  “Please stop,” he begged her.

  Her eyes danced with mischief. “Fine. But only because you’re bright red.” She patted his cheek. “Keep it in mind, however. I know Essla has given you the list of potential brides—and yes, I looked it over—and that you’re to scope some out on this journey. Just…” She stopped herself, pressing her lips together and holding up her palms in surrender.

  Ash clapped him on the shoulder, his scarred face twisting with his lopsided smile. “Has your darling mother embarrassed you enough?” he inquired in his ruined voice, sliding Ami a look when she beamed innocently. “You looked like you needed saving.”

  “Yes,” Astar replied fervently. “Thank you.” He looked into the corrugated face of the man who’d been his father in every way but biology, and seized him in a bear hug. “Thank you,” he repeated roughly.

  Ash tensed, startled by the unusual show of affection, then chuckled and squeezed Astar in return. For a lean man, the older warrior could produce a considerable amount of strength, and Astar felt a couple of joints pop in his spine. “It’s a good time to tell you, Willy boy,” Ash said. “I’m proud of the man you’ve become.”

  Astar manfully swallowed back the tears that pricked his eyes. This was apparently a day for him to be tossed from one emotion to the next, drowning and tumbling in them like the time Lena tried to teach him to surf in Nahanau. He even felt like he’d drunk a bellyful of seawater, the way it ached.

  “I have a gift for you,
” Ash said, letting go. He held out a sheathed sword, the hilt and sheath echoes of the dagger he’d been showing Stella. His sister held up her dagger to show him, smiling happily, while their mother fussed with Stella’s hair, talking to her rapidly—no doubt issuing more inappropriate advice.

  Astar slid the sword from its tooled sheath and whistled in appreciation. “Is this the White Monks’ make?”

  “Good eye.” Ash took the sword by the hilt, tilting it in the winter light so the chased design showed on the blade’s folded metal edge. “Silversteel.”

  Astar raised a brow. The White Monks kept to themselves—and kept their own counsel. Though they served Glorianna, they had nothing to do with the common observances of the goddess. With the return of magic to the greater world, the monks had grown even more secretive, though rumors of arcane rituals had been making their way to Ursula’s ear of late. Did the high queen realize Ash still kept in contact with his former brothers? Judging by the wary expression in Ash’s bright green eyes, probably not. As Ursula’s heir, Astar was duty-bound to report this. His stepfather, however, was the man who’d carved Astar’s first sword out of wood—a Feast of Moranu gift, in fact, which included sword lessons—and Ash had risked this secret to give them these extraordinary blades.

  “An odd gift to give for a pleasure trip,” Astar said quietly.

  Ash met his gaze soberly. “I think we all know there’s more to this sudden jaunt than whim, even if we can’t know what exactly. Ursula knows what she’s doing, so I trust in that. And I trust in the blades I’m giving you and Nilly. The edges will never dull, and Silversteel can be used in magic rituals.”

  “But I have no magic,” Astar pointed out, taking the sword, sheathing it discreetly, and holding it inside his cloak.

  Ash nodded, an acknowledgment of Astar’s discretion. “You might surprise yourself,” he commented, sounding as if he speculated on whether the snowstorm might clear off. “Free of Ordnung and your duties to the high throne, you’ll have a chance to spread your wings some.”