Winter Princess: A reverse harem novel (Daughter of Winter Book 1)

by Skye MacKinnon

  I’m about to protest, saying that being with Crispin doesn’t mean I’m on my own, but one look at Storm’s stern face shuts me up. I know a lost fight when I see it.

  I sigh. “Okay then, what do we do?”

  Instead of going outside like I did with Arc and Frost, Crispin takes us upstairs, into one of the bedrooms. I’m beginning to love this cottage more and more. Everything is so tastefully decorated, quaint and cute. I’d imagine a little old woman to live here, not a demon diva. I’m totally going to call her that from now on. It fits.

  We sit down on the thick rug that covers most of the floor in front of a four-poster-bed. Storm stands in the door, watching. He’s making me nervous. With him here, I feel it’s like a self-fulfilling prophecy, a magic accident waiting to happen.

  “Would you please sit down,” I say tensely when he still doesn’t move. He huffs and moves across the room, sitting down on the bed. He’s just as tense as I am; poised to jump up and intervene. I hope that won’t be necessary.

  “Wyn, we don’t have much time,” Crispin interrupts my worried thoughts. “You’ve had your lessons with Arc and Frost, do you think you learned enough to use those elements tomorrow?”

  I think about that for a second. Despite the mishaps and disappointments, I have learned something. Hell, I managed to throw Frost across half the lake. And I kept Chesca out of my head - something I’m enormously grateful for. I feel like I’ve only begun to scratch the surface of what I could do if I had more time, but there isn’t any. We still don’t know who tried to kill me, and the longer we stay here, the easier it will be for them to find us. We need to get through the Stones, demon army or not.

  “Yes, I think the water will come in handy. Although, I’ve only used water magic while actually standing in the loch. How do I summon it while being on dry land?”

  Storm sighs and I cringe. I can feel his disappointment prickle on my skin.

  “Frost taught you to connect to the water’s essence, to recognise it. Now that you’ve done that, it’s easy. Stretch out your magic just now. There’s water all around you, in the air, in the ground, in the pipes. If you pull strong enough, it will come.”

  I stretch out my awareness and notice he’s right. I see the world around me differently now. It’s like I’ve developed a new sense - faint, but still there. I know that there’s a pipe just below my right foot; I know that there’s a little stream about fifty yards away from the cottage. I can even feel the water in the Guardians’ blood around me.

  My surprise must have been visible on my face, because Crispin gives me a wide smile. “You got it?”

  I nod, returning the smile. Finally, success.

  “Won’t it take a lot of energy though to summon water all the way from the stream?”

  “Not if you give it some leeway. Can you feel in what direction the water is flowing?”

  “Yes, away from here, towards the sea.”

  “Good. If you were to summon water from the sea to you, it would be against its flow, against its nature, so you would need a lot of energy. But if you take it from the other direction, it’s already flowing towards you, so you only speed it up a little. Doesn’t take much force to do that.”

  “Makes sense.” I think back to the water I felt around me. “Silly question, but can I get water from blood?”

  “No,” Storm thunders, making me jump a little. “Never, ever manipulate the magic within other beings unless you want to harm them.”

  “Of course I wouldn’t want to harm you, but what about the demons? Couldn’t I like... I don’t know, make their blood boil or something?”

  Storm opens his mouth to say something, but Crispin is quicker. “It’s a valid question, Wyn. One reason we don’t do that is because most people don’t have enough control to only affect the blood in one demon. They might injure or even kill their comrades.” He sighs. “It’s one of the few ways Guardians can be killed.”

  “Oh.” That shuts me up - for a few seconds, at least. “But if you had the control, wouldn’t it make sense—”

  “You’ve proven earlier that you do not have the control, so stop arguing,” Storm shouts, getting up from the bed. I gape at him, but then nod. He’s right. And it was his brother who I burned, so it makes sense that he’s angry. But still, why does it hurt so much to see the anger on his face? Anger that’s directed at me?

  “Storm, take a moment,” Crispin admonishes his fellow Guardian. “Go outside, Wyn needs to concentrate.”

  Storm gives him an annoyed look, but leaves the room, leaving us alone. Only now do I notice that my eyes are a little wet. Oh Wyn, why are these men making you behave like a hormonal cry-baby?

  “He doesn’t mean it, Wyn,” Crispin says softly. “What you asked... he lost a friend that way. It’s not a pretty way to die. When you’ve seen it once... well, you’ll only use that method when there’s no other choice.”

  “I understand,” I whisper, mortified at what Storm must have thought of me.

  Me, behaving like the murderer of his friend.

  “I know you do,” Crispin smiles. “Which is why I know you would have asked many other questions, am I right? We just chose to focus on the wrong one.”

  I frown. “But how am I supposed to fight if I don’t know anything? A day isn’t enough to prepare. Am I just supposed to drop a ball of water on those demons? All Arc taught me is how to shield my mind. That won’t help me when a demon is standing in front of me, trying to kill me. I need tools, weapons, something quick that will help us get through to the Stones without getting killed.”

  “And that,” Crispin is still smiling, “is why you’re here now. You know I’m a healer, but knowing how to mend a body also means knowing how to break one.”

  Understanding grows in me. And sadness at the thought of Crispin, this innocent, funny, helpful Guardian having to use his healing magic in such a way. It’s wrong. And despite his smile, his clenched fists tell me that there is a story here. One I’m not sure I want to hear.

  I’ve always known that there was more to Crispin than his cheery exterior. But now that I may be close to finding out more about it, and I’m pretty sure I don’t actually want to.

  “There are many ways people die.” Crispin’s voice has turned cold; his face an emotionless mask. How did he change so quickly?

  “Their heart stops, their breathing stops, their organs fail, their brain stops sending signals. So many different ways we can cease to exist. Even Guardians can die under the right circumstances.” He pauses for a moment and I don’t dare to speak.

  “And so can demons,” he continues with determination. “They can be killed, and I can teach you how.”

  I’m not sure I want to anymore. Not that I ever wanted to, really. I’ve never killed anyone in my life. In fact, I rescue spiders and put them outside before my mother finds and kills them with a fly swat. I’m that non-killing. And those demons haven’t threatened me yet, have they? All they’re doing is standing around the Standing Stones. Maybe they won’t even stop us?

  “Don’t lie to yourself,” Crispin sighs. I stare at him in shock, then look inside me, scrambling for my barrier. It’s down. He read my thoughts.

  “Why did you do that?”

  “Because you need to learn. You need to learn to keep your mind shielded, you need to learn to fight, you need to learn not to hesitate when a demon stands in front of you, ready to kill you. We need you to get through this alive. So, I’m going to teach you. It has to be done.”

  Now he’s beginning to scare me. Not in a he’s-going-to-jump-me kind of way, no, in a he’s-hurting-himself-by-helping-me way.

  “Take my hand.” When I hesitate, he reaches over and clasps my fingers with his. “Now, send some of your magic into me. Not into my mind, into my body.”

  “What if I hurt you?”

  “You won’t,” he says with such confidence that I close my eyes and send a single magic tendril through our clasped hands. When it flows into him, I get the
strangest sensation. I guess this might be what amputees experience when they feel their limbs even when they are no longer there. It’s like a have a second body, but it’s fleeting, like an echo of something that once was. I pour a bit more magic into it and the awareness of this other body becomes stronger.

  “Can you feel my toes?”

  Without even having to think, I know that I can. There they are, comfortably warm in his socks. I nod, fearing that speaking might break my concentration.

  “Can you feel how I’m sitting on the floor?”

  Yes, I notice how his bum touches the uneven rug. Ehm, strange feeling. For a second, I debate to try and see how some nearby body parts feel like - this might be the only chance ever to explore the male anatomy from this perspective - but I refrain from doing so.

  “Can you feel my heart beating?”

  With a single thought, I’m up there in his chest, feeling every contraction of his heart.

  This is so strange. I can see his heart contract, no, it’s more a kind of feeling rather than seeing it. And somehow, I know that if I reached out and touched it, I could make it stop.

  I pull back into my own body in a flash.

  “Why did you let me do that? I could have hurt you,” I accuse Crispin.

  “I knew you wouldn’t. But you need to know how you could do it.”

  “So how is that better than, you know, boiling your blood?”

  “It’s quick. It’s almost painless. And if you don’t want anyone to know... people die from heart attacks all the time.”

  My eyes widen. He’s no longer talking about killing in battle. He’s talking about assassinations.

  “Now, let’s try it without me touching you.”

  He leans back, his hand leaving mine. It’s cold where I miss his touch. I concentrate and send some magic his way. Entering his body is made more difficult without the physical contact, but it’s still fairly easy. Just a small push and I’m in. This time, I go straight to his heart, marvelling at how this small thing manages to power his entire body. I want to reach out, touch it, take away the pain that I know is hiding somewhere inside - but that would be foolish.

  I leave Crispin’s body and return to my own.

  Only to find that something is wrong. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but there’s this strange feeling in my throat, like some food got stuck there. I swallow, but the feeling isn’t going away. In fact, it’s getting stronger; my airways I slowly closing.

  “Crispin,” I gasp, but my Guardian is sitting still, his eyes closed. “I can’t breathe!”

  His brow furrows, but the pressure around my windpipe is increasing. I wheeze, trying to get as much air in as possible.

  “Cris...” My voice fails. Black spots are dancing in front of my eyes and I can feel myself sway, even though I’m sitting on the ground. In a desperate move, I open my mind, removing the barrier, shouting out for help.

  Not that I expect anyone to hear me.

  My last breath leaves me.

  I can’t breathe any longer.

  I slowly sink backwards, but I barely feel my head touching the floor.

  “Release her,” Storm’s thundering voice drifts through my foggy mind.

  “I can’t, she’ll kill her,” Crispin mutters.

  “She’s gone. She can’t hurt them. Now let her go!”

  A slap echoes through the room. My throat opens and I gasp for air.

  “Wyn, are you okay?” Frost is by my side, helping me sit up. I’m woozy and lean against him for support. What the hell did just happen?

  Slowly my vision returns to normal.

  Crispin is staring at me, wide eyed. There’s nothing but fear in his turquoise eyes, a panic that must be unbearable.

  “Arc, take him outside,” Storm commands, and the big Guardian lifts up Crispin, who is totally unresponsive, and drags him out of the room.

  Frost is gently stroking my hair while Storm is looking down at us, his expression more emotional than I have ever seen it.

  “I shouldn’t have left you two alone,” he finally says under his breath.

  “You didn’t know he would still be affected like this,” Frost says soothingly, still running his fingers through my hair.

  “What just happened?” I ask, my voice hoarse and crackly.

  Frost sighs. “Crispin has... issues. When he was created, it wasn’t to have a protector or even lover. No, his Goddess fashioned him to help her in other ways. She thought she could create a tool who would blindly follow her twisted wishes. But Guardians have an intrinsic sense of right and wrong. Even then, at the beginning, Crispin knew that what she asked of him was wrong. So, his Goddess made him a sister. He must have really loved her, cause he started to do what was asked of him. I don’t know all the details, but according to the stories she turned him into an assassin. An inquisitor.”

  “He did some terrible things,” Storm mutters.

  Frost waits for a moment, then continues. “When Beira heard about it, she intervened. But the Goddess didn’t give up easily. Somehow, Crispin’s sister died. He doesn’t talk about it, but it broke him. Beira sent him to Freya, to start a new life. It took him a long time to recover.”

  “Apparently, he’s not recovered yet.” Storm’s voice is a duet of sadness and anger.

  My heart breaks for Crispin.

  “What was her name? The Goddess who created him?”

  The twins stay silent for a moment. Then, Storm clears his throat.

  “She is the Morrigan.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  I wake with a feeling of dread burrowing deep within my stomach. There is no gentle awakening, no remaining dreaminess. No, I know straight away: today we’re going to have to fight. And if this goes awry, there may not be another morning for me and my Guardians.

  For the hundredth time, I am asking myself if we really have to do this. We could just hide out somewhere on Earth, waiting for our mysterious pursuers to give up. Apparently, the Guardians have access to quite a bit of money; surely, they could afford a flight to an exotic island somewhere.

  But Arc was right last night when he argued that this demon horde wouldn’t stay by the Stones forever. They would get hungry and would take to the nearby villages. People would get killed.

  We need to get rid of them, and travel through the Gate in the process. Preferably with all our limbs intact.

  I sit up, looking around the room. My Guardians are camped out on mattresses on the floor; after last night, they all felt they needed to be close to me. It’s cute, in a way, but I wish that it wasn’t because Crispin was suffering from a homicidal case of post-traumatic stress disorder.

  It had been a very quiet evening. The absence of our usual banter and laughter made me go to bed straight after dinner, and the guys followed quickly after. We hadn’t talked much about what had happened. The twins refused to tell me more about Crispin’s story. And Crispin was in no state to talk about it - and I wouldn’t have asked him anyway. If he ever decided he was ready, he probably would. For now, he had to deal with the guilt of almost killing me.

  I didn’t blame him, but he wouldn’t listen. He had sat in a corner, not meeting my eyes, not speaking, hardly even reacting when one of us addressed him.

  I search for him in the dim room. His mattress is empty, the duvet neatly folded on top.

  The other guys are still sleeping - okay, ignore that, Storm is awake, watching me from his place close to the door. His face is hidden in shadows, but I can see tiny specs of light reflect on his open eyes. I sigh and get up. Storm lifts his head.

  “Where are you going?”

  “Looking for Crispin,” I whisper.

  For a moment, I think he’s going to stop me from leaving, but then he throws his blanket back (his abs look even more chiselled in the dark) and gets up as well. He puts on a shirt that’s lying in a heap on the floor next to his mattress, but he doesn’t do up the buttons, giving me a full view of his muscular body. Did I mention he’s only w
earing boxers?

  Well, if he wants to play it that way... I’ll stay in my pyjama top and shorts. Not that I’ve got a body like him, but maybe it’s enough to make him just a tiny bit uncomfortable.

  He opens the door. It creaks and Arc lifts his head, but when he sees that Storm is with me, he lies back down again.

  Good. I don’t need them all to come with me.

  I follow Storm through the quiet house. The first light of the morning is illuminating the rooms just enough that we don’t need to switch on the lights to find our way.

  “Where are we going?” I whisper.

  “I know where he is,” Storm replies simply, and I don’t ask any more questions.

  When we reach the main door, I regret my choice of clothing. I hadn’t thought that far ahead. It will be freezing outside.

  But if I go back to our room now, Storm might just go to Crispin on his own. I sigh and slip into my shoes. There’s a coat rack in a corner, and I randomly choose a jacket - judging from the slightly perfumed smell, I assume it belongs to Chesca.

  Storm only put on his boots, not taking a coat. He still hasn’t buttoned up his shirt. Yeah, real manly. Show-off.

  When he opens the door, an icy wind welcomes us. Looks like autumn is slowly turning into winter.

  The sun is rising over the hills in the distance. It looks like it’s going to be a beautiful day.

  I step outside and breathe in the crisp air, trying not to think that this may be my last sunrise.

  My last chance to talk to Crispin.

  Storm walks around the house and follows the same path to the loch that I took with Frost yesterday afternoon. He’s quiet; all I hear are our footsteps on the slightly frosted ground and some birds singing their morning songs.

  By the time we reach the loch, I’m freezing. Not putting on proper clothes was such a bad idea. Storm halts at the banks of the lake and turns around, taking in my shivering form.

  He shoots me a wolfish grin (yes, he can smile!). “Maybe we should turn this into our first lesson.”

  Suddenly, the air around me begins to warm. My shivering stops and I move my arms through the hot air, soaking in the warmth. Just when I’ve almost reached the perfect temperature, the air turns cold again.