Not Your Ordinary Faerie Tale

by Christine Warren

  Praise for New York Timesbestselling author Christine Warren

  Prince Charming Doesn’t Live Here

  “Christine Warren’s The Others novels are known for their humorous twists and turns of otherworldly creatures. Like her other Others novels, Prince Charming Doesn’t Live Hereis an excellently delicious story with great characterization.”

  — Fresh Fiction

  Born to Be Wild

  “Warren packs in lots of action and sexy sizzle.”

  —Romantic Times BOOKreviews

  “Incredible.”

  —All About Romance

  “Warren takes readers for a wild ride.”

  — Night Owl Romance

  “Another good addition to The Others series.”

  —Romance Junkies

  “[A] sexy, engaging world…will leave you begging for more!”

  — New York Timesbestselling author Cheyenne McCray

  Big Bad Wolf

  “In this world…there’s no shortage of sexy sizzle.”

  —Romantic Times BOOKreviews

  “Another hot and spicy novel from a master of paranormal romance.”

  —Night Owl Romance

  “Ms. Warren gives readers action and danger around each turn, sizzling romance, and humor to lighten each scene. Big Bad Wolfis a must-read.”

  —Darque Reviews

  You’re So Vein

  “Filled with supernatural danger, excitement, and sarcastic humor.”

  —Darque Reviews

  “Five stars. This is an exciting, sexy book.”

  —Affaire de Coeur

  “The sparks do fly!”

  —Romantic Times BOOKreviews

  One Bite with a Stranger

  “Christine Warren has masterfully pulled together vampires, shapeshifters, demons, and many ‘Others’ to create a tantalizing world of dark fantasies come to life. Way to go, Warren!”

  —Night Owl Romance

  “A sinful treat.”

  —Romance Junkies

  “Hot fun and great sizzle.”

  —Romantic Times BOOKreviews

  “A hot, hot novel.”

  —A Romance Review

  Walk on the Wild Side

  “A seductive tale with strong chemistry, roiling emotions, steamy romance, and supernatural action. The fast-moving plot…will keep the readers’ attention riveted through every page, and have them eagerly watching for the next installment.”

  —Darque Reviews

  Howl at the Moon

  “ Howl at the Moonwill tug at a wide range of emotions from beginning to end…Engaging banter, a strong emotional connection, and steamy love scenes. This talented author delivers real emotion which results in delightful interactions…and the realistic dialogue is stimulating. Christine Warren knows how to write a winner!”

  —Romance Junkies

  She’s No Faerie Princess

  “Christine Warren has penned a story rich in fantastic characters and spellbinding plots.”

  —Fallen Angel Reviews

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Epilogue

  ONE

  Metal struck metal, sparks fizzing and shooting, scenting the air with fire and electricity. Clangs and grunts echoed off the smooth stone of the walls, bouncing down from the high vaults of the ceiling. Sweat beaded on brows and coated tense ropes of muscle with the sheen of exertion. Two forms, one tall and lean and elegant, the other huge and thick and powerful, stood locked in fierce battle, expressions grim, arms straining against each other’s strength. Neither made a move to end the struggle; neither possessed a mien suited to surrender. They had engaged, two warriors fit and fierce, dedicated to honor and to victory.

  But one had just realized that the tip of his nose itched like a son of a bitch.

  Shit.

  “I can see it in your eyes, Luc,” the slender one taunted, even as strands of auburn hair slipped loose of their confining braid and clung to his damp face. “You’re wavering. Maybe your skill becomes rusty, old friend. Too much time sitting at the Queen’s feet; not enough on the front lines.”

  “Shut it, Fergus,” his opponent growled, his twitching nose rather spoiling the effect of his fierce scowl. His dark hair and hard, chiseled features usually made the expression more than a bit effective against his enemies. “I’d not comment on seating arrangements if I were you. Your place seems to set your lips right at a level with the royal arse these days, doesn’t it? Though I suppose all that puckering is at least some exercise for you.”

  Silver scraped and hissed as Fergus swept his sword arm down, dragging Luc’s blade with his. A quick step and turn and metal clanged again with hollow thunder.

  “Aye,” shouted one of the guardsmen ranging about the open space of the practice hall. “And you need all of that you can get, Fergus, seeing how fond I’ve seen you grow of the Queen’s honey-cakes.”

  Fergus parried a coming blow and stepped back to circle again, searching for a better opening. Luc breathed a profane thanks and seized the opportunity to swipe the back of his non-sword hand across his nose. Much better.

  “Better to eat a few cakes than drink myself stupid like some others,” the redhead retorted, his eyes never straying from his opponent. His lips curved in a sharp grin. “Or did you think no one had noticed you facedown in your wine the other night, Hamish?”

  The blond guardsman colored slightly but did his best to look superior. “I was merely admiring the fine bouquet.”

  Luc lifted an eyebrow. “And that requires snoring these days, does it, Hamish?”

  The seven men assembled in the hall guffawed, elbows nudging Hamish’s sides good-naturedly. The sight gave Luc, as captain of the Guard, a deep sense of satisfaction. The warriors in this room were his men, and he held responsibility for both their prowess with a sword and their cohesion as a unit. In Luc’s mind, each of them reflected on him, testament to his leadership and his loyalty. All of them, himself included, existed to serve the Queen. And the stars knew she didn’t suffer fools lightly.

  Well, at least none who weren’t related to her by blood.

  Blowing out a breath, Luc shoved the fleeting thought of that particular bundle of annoyance from his mind and took a step back. No sense borrowing worry when he suspected it would be handed to him on a platter soon enough. It was time to get back to work.

  “Good match, Fergus.” He lowered his sword arm and nodded to his lieutenant, stepping out of the bounds of the designated sparring circle. “Lead the others through their exercises. I’ve business to see to before we meet for assignments.”

  Fergus’s muscles tensed momentarily, as if the command needed an extra heartbeat to travel from brain to body. Then the tension bled out of him and he sheathed his sword, casting Luc a bland look. “Queen’s business?”

  Luc snorted. “Is there any other kind?”

  Fergus’s grin flashed. “Does that mean today’s assignments will feature tasks a bit more exciting than patrolling for boggarts around the castle walls or protecting Her Majesty from assault by the brownie emissary? Heaven forbid the little bastard should get out of hand and attempt to clean the throne room without leave.”

  “Getting bored, Ferg
us?” Luc adjusted the strap of his own weapons harness across his chest. “I’m sure I could find a garderobe for you to clean if you so long for variety in your work.”

  “And I’m sure I could drop you into one, if you’ve such a nose for shit—”

  “Children, please. You know I deplore squabbles among my Guard.”

  The voice from the doorway drew the pair up short. Being overheard didn’t surprise Luc, not here in the palace. After all, the Summer Court ran on the power of intrigue. Survival relied on assuming that someone was always listening. Fergus, though, looked as if he might have forgotten. Luc saw a small twitch in his jaw before he gathered himself to make his bow to their sovereign.

  She stood in the archway at the entrance to the room, flanked as always by the busy, buzzing swarm of her attendants. Ladies-in-waiting, advisers, entertainers, and supplicants followed in her train, elbowing and maneuvering for the privilege of adjusting the hem of her royal gown. It wouldn’t have mattered if that hem swept atop a dung heap. Wherever she went, the toadies followed, and wherever she went, she might as well have sat in state upon her gleaming marble dais of power. There, atop the silver throne sculpted in the shape of a breaking wave, ruled Mab of the Silver Bells, Lady of Many Blessings, Huntress of Spirits, and Queen of the Summer Court.

  Now she stood on plain, porous stone before an audience of rough, sweaty warriors, looking not an inch less regal, nor a shadow less powerful. As if she ever could. Only a fool underestimated Queen Mab, and fools died quickly in Faerie.

  She wore a diadem of gleaming silver in the shape of a wreath of apple blossoms perched on her bright red-gold hair. A surcoat of russet velvet topped her gown of amber silk, each shot through with silver thread. Cunningly woven, the rich fabrics seemed to spark with every subtle movement. Her pale, slender feet peeked from beneath her hem, toes adorned with silver bells, and her graceful, ringed fingers moved unconsciously and restlessly at her sides. Luc noted the hint of impatience and braced himself.

  “You become slow to answer your Queen, my Lucifer.” Mab’s voice, low and musical, displayed a hint of petulance that made Luc wary. A petulant Queen was a dangerous Queen. Well, more dangerous than usual. “We might be tempted to interpret such a thing as a reluctance to serve us.”

  Beside him, Fergus moved as if to step forward and offer reassurance, but Luc kept his gaze firmly on the changeable green eyes of his sovereign. They shifted as restlessly as the sea and could be just as deadly.

  “Never think it, my Queen,” he said, bowing before her. “I am ever at your command, as are all of your Guard. We answer always to Your Majesty’s whim.”

  The formal language of court sometimes had a soothing effect on Mab. Even when it didn’t, it was always safer to treat the Queen with kid gloves. Her temper made her unpredictable; her power made her deadly.

  Mab shifted, her brows rising. “Is that so?” Her gaze turned to Fergus and sharpened. “Does the captain of my Guard speak true, my Fergus? Are all of the Seven as loyal to us as he would make them sound?”

  Fergus bowed low again, his gray eyes warming with mischief and flirtation. Of all the Guards, he liked to think of himself as Her Majesty’s favorite. Luc liked to think of him as her fool, since flirting with the Queen possessed the same inherent risks as poking a nightmare in the side—you might get away with it a thousand times, but sooner or later the creature would decide to take your head off. Fergus, though, seemed to think himself invulnerable.

  “Without question, my lady. To serve in the Queen’s Guard is an honor of which we Seven are well aware.” Fergus straightened and placed his hand above his heart in a salute of fealty, but his gaze remained teasing. “Your safety and the rule of your word are our only concerns.”

  Luc fought back the urge to groan. Talking to the Queen required one to walk a thin line, one Fergus seemed hellbound to test. If Mab perceived any insult as more severe than failing to flatter her, it was flattering her insincerely. When she paused for a moment and pursed her lips, the captain concealed a wince.

  Then her expression softened, and Luc felt the tension drain from his men like ale from the barrel.

  “Is that so, my Fergus?” She smiled. “Your devotion is ever a comfort to us. We appreciate the reassurance now more than ever, for a disturbing piece of news has come to our attention, and we fear we must turn to our Guard for assistance.”

  Lucifer maintained a bland expression even as he swore silently. This was it, the trouble he had sensed coming. But maybe fate would be kind and dump it on Fergus’s head rather than his own. A man could dream, couldn’t he?

  “Any manner of service to our Queen honors us,” Fergus said, drawing his shoulders back into a swaggering posture Luc had seen him use more than once on an unsuspecting Fae maiden. He probably thought it made him look strong and confident; it made Luc liken him to a rooster courting the female birdbrains in his yard. “I personally await your orders and will see them executed with all speed and diligence.”

  The royal lips curved slightly, accompanied by the lifting of her chin and an easing of the tightness around her eyes. Once again, the Queen had been appeased by Fergus’s nonsense. Luc might not understand, but he could be grateful. Especially if the fawning performance landed Fergus with whatever problem instinct told Luc he wanted no part of.

  Abruptly, the Queen moved, sweeping her robes behind her as she entered and began to pace around the large room.

  “My advisers have brought word of a small problem in Ithirthat must be attended to.” With everyone reminded of his or her place in the hierarchy of Faerie, Mab dispensed with the royal weand continued with a slight bend in her formality. “My Guard, of course, are the only ones I would trust to deal with such a delicate situation.”

  Foreboding tickled its way down Luc’s spine. Ithirwas the Fae word for the human world, which made the Queen’s statement more than a little remarkable. Mostly because the Fae kept so much distance between themselves and humans that one might be surprised they even had a word for the neighboring realm. His sense of unease only grew when Mab turned her gaze on him again, clearly waiting for some kind of response from the captain of said Guard.

  “Of course,” he managed, willing his jaw to unlock enough to speak. “It is our duty and privilege to serve in any way Your Majesty requires.”

  “I would be honored to deal personally with anyone foolish enough to disturb my Queen,” Fergus offered, stepping forward with another bow. “I would indeed consider it a privilege.”

  Mab’s face softened, and she lifted a hand to the warrior’s face. “You are good to me, my Fergus. Good and true. But there is more to the story you have yet to hear. You and my captain.”

  Her gaze flicked to Luc. He nodded grimly. He had the worst feeling he knew what she was going to reveal. Lately, all the trouble to be had at the Summer Court seemed to emanate from a single, senseless source. A source the Queen held close to her royal heart.

  “I have kept a closer eye on the mortal world since news reached me of the…incident in Dionnu’s court earlier this year,” Mab continued. “The indiscriminate use of gates into our realm by humans is something that I, of course, cannot allow.”

  Luc nodded sharply. He, too, had heard about the trouble the Queen referred to. The details were sketchy—unsurprising given the intense antipathy Mab held for Dionnu, King of the Winter Court, the man she considered her archenemy. And ex-husband. The situation made the flow of information between the two courts somewhat shaky.

  Still, the story suggested that two human women had made it through a gate near the Winter Palace, one of whom had wandered undetected and unsupervised around Faerie for days before being discovered and returned to Ithir. The other human woman had at least reportedly been accompanied by a changeling with ties to one of Dionnu’s attendants. They had all returned to the human realm, but whispers of troubles quickly covered up continued to circulate. At both courts.

  The Queen might refer to the whole thing as an incident
,but Luc took his defense of the Queen seriously. To him, it represented a security nightmare.

  “I can only repeat my earlier advice, my Queen,” he said, taking care to keep any hint of impatience or I-told-you-so out of his voice. “If we were to seal the gates, I could arrange for patrols to keep them secure. Use could then be monitored and regulated for your safety and that of your people.”

  She slanted him a narrow look. “I believe my people would dislike the feeling of being jailed, Lucifer, no matter how pretty the prison. I won’t take such a step unless I have no other choice. But at the moment, the security of the gates is not my concern. Rather, it is what I have seen on the other side of them that disturbs me.”

  To Luc’s knowledge the Queen hadn’t traveled to Ithirsince before the mortals had concluded it to be round, but he could guess where she’d come by her information. She had looked into her scrying pool, and he had served her long enough to know that this alone usually spelled trouble.

  “Surely whatever mess the humans have made for themselves this time is no problem of ours, Your Majesty,” Fergus put in, his expression a well-thought-out balance of concern and charm. “They’re such troublesome creatures, after all. You yourself have always said that if we stepped in to save them once, they’d never leave us alone. They’d be popping up looking for our aid for every little thing they could think of.”

  Mab’s glance both measured and indulged. “I should hardly like to disagree with my own words of wisdom, but in this case they remain beside the point. Of course the problems of the mortals don’t concern me. What does is the knowledge that one of my own dear hearts has left my court, and I have reason to believe he has crossed over to their world.”

  And there it was, the sucker punch Luc had been waiting for. There was only one group of Fae whom Mab referred to as her “dear hearts”—her family. Specifically her nieces and nephews, the ones who lived in the hope of one day being proclaimed her heir and who therefore made it their lives’ work to ingratiate themselves deeply within her favor. Where the hopefuls went, trouble followed, but Luc knew that it rode particularly hard on one set of heels in particular.