by Tara Rose
She yelled and grabbed for the frame, but it wasn’t there. Nothing was. The world was dark and empty.
Chapter Two
Prince Bramwell, son of Barric, who was a cousin to King Atheron of Ashdown, made his way to the hall where the portraits through which the women from the other world crossed over were located. His valet, Houston, walked behind him with River, Kelton’s valet.
Prince Kelton had been Bramwell’s best friend since the two were toddlers. Kelton’s father was Winston, Lyndon’s cousin, and Lyndon was loosely related to the king as well. All the princes and kings descended from Reginald I possessed the same magic that king had held, but no one knew how long that would last. Their legacy was convoluted and bizarre, and it was about to become the central controversy in the ongoing war with Enfield, the kingdom to their west.
“Here we are,” said Bramwell. He and Kelton entered the hall, which was literally a wide, long corridor, lit only by electric lanterns set into the wall at intervals. There were no windows the entire length of the hall. Their valets stayed near the entrance. Both men were very superstitious and had asked their princes earlier if they could refrain from entering the hall.
“So, what do we do now?” asked Kelton, as they inched along.
Bramwell shrugged. “I don’t know. Wait, I guess. It’s a full moon and no one has crossed over in fifteen months.”
“Just because the moon is full doesn’t mean it will happen tonight,” said Kelton. “The intervals between cycles have never been steady.”
“You wanted to come here today, remember?”
Kelton gave his friend a droll look. “So did you. Why are they so dim? The paintings, I mean.”
“I don’t know. They’ve always been like this. After a woman crosses over, the one she acquired in her world goes blank.” Bramwell pointed toward one. “Abigail Dawson came through that one.” Then he walked along and point toward another. “Brenna Rutherford came through this one.” He back-tracked and pointed toward another one. “And Chelsea Barrows came through this one.”
“How do you know all this?”
Bramwell grinned. “I asked the servants. The only person who was here when all three women crossed over was Oliver. I’m sure he’s around. He’s one of the guards who is supposed to patrol this corridor at all times.”
As if on cue, three castle guards came toward them from the opposite end, and then stopped when they recognized the men. Oliver bowed. “Begging your pardon, Your Highnesses. We heard voices but didn’t realize it was you.”
“No need to apologize,” said Bramwell. “We were discussing the paintings. The moon is full this evening.”
“Yes, Highness. It is.”
Bramwell didn’t care that Oliver gave him an indulgent look. He and Kelton were thirty-eight years old and they were both tired of seducing servant girls and peasants. They wanted what their second cousins now had. It was their birthright to claim a woman from the other world. While most of the other descendants of Reginald might be content to live a life of carefree sex and no obligations, they weren’t. They wanted a woman to love, and who would love them in return.
Abigail belonged to Jarrett and Colton. Jarrett was the king’s son, but he had fallen in love with Abigail. Both princes who had chosen her had. And she was with child now, as was Brenna. That alone was a new development in their history, and the speculation ran from the truly bizarre to the mundane on what it might mean for their future now that Reginald’s descendants were having children with the women from the other world.
Brenna had come along a couple of months after Abigail crossed over, and had been chosen by Parker, Colton’s brother, and Jaxon, Jarrett’s brother. She and Abigail were now good friends with each other, and with Chelsea.
Chelsea had crossed over fifteen months ago and had given birth to twins five months ago. Princess Angela and Prince Austin were the first babies born to a descendant of Reginald and one of the women from the other world in the history of Ashdown, so they were constantly talked about. Curious onlookers clamored to get close to the three, as if they expected the infants to look different somehow than any others did.
Chelsea had been chosen by three princes. Roland, nephew to Atheron, Denver, Lyndon’s son, and Archer, Mitchell’s son. All three princes adored her and kept her and the twins as isolated from the frenzy surrounding the births as possible.
Chelsea had survived a kidnapping attempt when she was with child, and shortly thereafter, Atheron had declared war on Enfield. She rarely ventured outside the suite she now shared with her three princes and her children, let alone outside the castle. Brenna and Abigail were a bit more willing to go outdoors, but they, too, were kept as secure as possible by their princes, and a constant contingent of guards who followed them everywhere.
Bramwell and Kelton both felt that time was running out for the magick of the portraits to work, and they wanted their chance to choose a woman from the other world before it did. If asked to explain why they felt that way, they wouldn’t be able to. They only knew that recent events in the conflict with Enfield had led the men to believe the mystery of the portraits and the curse surrounding all of them would soon be discovered, and then the magick inside this hall would cease to exist.
Bramwell slid to the stone floor near the center of the long corridor, and rested his head against the wall. “Did you see the blood on the moon as it rose earlier?”
“Yes,” said Kelton, taking a seat next to him. “Always a bad sign. Maybe we shouldn’t be here tonight? Would it be a good omen for a woman to cross over during such a troubled time?”
Bramwell shrugged. “No less of a good omen than Enfield spies in the castle made into guards by our own Council members. That was already going on when Abigail and Brenna crossed over and we never knew it. Who can say how far back it went, or how many women from the other world were in potential danger because of it?”
Kelton nodded. “Do you really think they’re gone? The spies inside the castle, I mean?”
Kelton had spoken in a low tone, but Bramwell moved closer just the same. This was no way to live, not knowing who could be trusted. They’d never known such danger inside their own castle, and it grieved his heart to know how many of their own Council members and guards had betrayed them recently. “You heard they were all listed in Dalton’s personal journal, right? He had detailed everything, including dates and key events.”
Dalton was a former Council member whose plot was accidentally discovered by Abigail. He, among other princes and guards, had been working to undermine Ashdown from within. Dalton and everyone who was sympathetic to Enfield had since been executed. Speculation still ran high as to whether there were those who supported Enfield living inside the castle walls undetected.
“What a fortuitous but careless thing for him to do,” said Kelton. “Write all that down.”
“He never thought he’d be caught. None of them did. Those who suspected Dalton and others weren’t entirely loyal to the king had no actual proof. The men who did this believed they were above it all, and they had insulated themselves with many layers, including castle guards. If Archer had not finally turned his brother’s journal over to King Atheron, we would still be infiltrated from within.”
While Archer had never shared his brother’s political views or participated in any activities that could have been considered treasonous to his king, he had taken Dalton’s journal out of his room shortly after that man had been tossed into the dungeon.
Archer had not read the journal. He’d only kept it hidden, and had never realized what he held in secret all that time until Chelsea’s kidnapping. The events were discovered to be related, and it was only after Archer gave the journal to Atheron that their king had the information he needed to sweep his castle clean of Enfield spies.
Or so they all hoped.
It was rumored that guards loyal to the king, as well as part of the Ashdown army, were still roaming the countryside looking for those who backed Enfield. They
had been doing so for nearly five months now. Bramwell couldn’t help but wonder how they would ever discover all of them.
No blame had been placed on Archer for concealing Dalton’s journal. He had only been trying to protect his dead brother’s memory. Nearly losing Chelsea and her unborn babes had been considered enough of a punishment for him by their king, and by Denver and Roland. Anyone who knew Archer also knew his loyalties lay squarely with Ashdown.
Bramwell closed his eyes and let his thoughts wander to happier times when the most pressing events he and Kelton had to worry over were their exams with a hard-nosed tutor who insisted that royal princes be able to read, write, and study the stars. Even though it was tempting to desire to return to such times, he didn’t want to be a youth again. He was a grown man, and he would gladly take his place beside his king to fight if called upon to do so.
He also wanted to love someone, the way so many of his fellow princes now did. There were over sixty women from the other world still alive inside the castle, and Bramwell had only heard of a few who weren’t in love with the princes who had chosen them. The princes he was closest to were very happy, and Bramwell wanted that as well. It was time to stop living his life for his own pleasure and take his place among those who lived to cherish and protect a woman of their choosing.
* * * *
Kelton was lost in his own thoughts when they were interrupted by a bright flash of light and a loud sound, like thunder. Since there were no windows here, and the night sky was cloudless, at any rate, he knew it wasn’t storming.
He and Bramwell both stood, glancing up and down the corridor. Kelton’s pulse raced. Had it really happened while he sat here, dreaming of the day when Enfield would finally be defeated and the curse on their women lifted?
The three guards came running from the opposite end. Kelton held up a hand in their direction as a woman materialized in front of one of the paintings. “Materialized” wasn’t quite the correct word. It was more like she fell out of the portrait, but she was standing when her form took complete shape.
Kelton and Bramwell exchanged a glance filled with awe. This girl was stunning, but they needed to get her some shoes. She had on what Kelton knew were called a sweater and jeans in her world, but her feet were bare. “Bring her footwear.”
One of the guards bowed and sprinted out of the hallway, and then Kelton took a better look at the woman’s face. Very pretty features, with big green eyes and dark blonde hair that hung just past her chin in stylish waves.
She stared at him and Bramwell with an expression that was half disbelief and half fascination. She eyed their clothing slowly, and Kelton tried to control his hormones. “Are you the two men in the painting I took home today?”
It was a common question. The women all told the same story of having felt compelled to acquire the twin to the portraits in this hallway. Once they took it home, it began to form shapes of a woman and two or three men. As more time passed, it began to move. The women told stories of watching the men use floggers or other sexual implements on the naked woman, and they almost always assumed the portraits told the future, or depicted the princes who eventually chose them.
“As far as we know,” said Kelton, “we are not. The paintings do not work that way.”
She glanced behind her, but now the portrait was blank. “Where did the picture go?”
“They do that,” said Bramwell. “When you cross over, it disappears. We don’t know all the secrets of them yet.”
“This is real…” Her voice had a faraway quality, like the kind one often heard in dreams.
Kelton smiled. “Yes, quite real.” He stuck out his hand. “I am Kelton, son of Winston, and this is Bramwell, son of Barric who is cousin to our king, Atheron. We are both princes of this land called Ashdown. Welcome.”
She stared at his hand for long moments, and had just extended hers toward it when the guard returned with a pair of ornate slippers. He held them out, and then she cut her gaze toward him and Bramwell, a question in her eyes.
“It’s all right,” said Kelton. “Put them on. They are yours to keep. The floors are stone and will be too cold on your bare feet.” She had very pretty feet, and had even painted her toenails, but he didn’t want her to stub her toe or cut herself on a loose piece of slate or tile.
She put on the slippers. “I’m Dakota Larson. Where am I? I mean, I know you said the name of the land, but those are electric lights.” She pointed toward the lanterns. “So I didn’t travel back in time, did I?”
It was a common misconception among the women from the other world. Apparently castles and the discovery of electricity in their world didn’t coincide.
“You haven’t traveled back,” said Bramwell. “You’ve traveled through a wormhole. This is what you would call an alternate universe.”
Her mouth opened, and her eyes came alive with excitement. He and Bramwell exchanged another glance. Neither man had expected that reaction.
“Are you teasing me? Please tell me this isn’t a joke. Please tell me it’s real.”
Once again, Kelton held out his hand, and this time, she shook it. The spark that traveled up his arm at her touch was unexpected, and he knew if she glanced at his crotch she’d see how aroused he was. That couldn’t be helped. “It’s as real as you are, Dakota. I do like that name.”
He cut his gaze toward his best friend, who also looked ready to jump out of his skin. “Shall we escort Dakota to someplace more comfortable where we can try to explain what’s happened to her?”
“I would love to do that.” Bramwell smiled at her and held out his arm. A tiny pang of jealousy passed through Kelton as she returned his smile and wrapped her free hand around Bramwell’s arm. He’d need to tamp that down, and quickly. They’d just chosen this beautiful girl, and that meant they would be sharing her in and out of bed. There was no room for envy in a dynamic like that.
Chapter Three
If this was a dream, Dakota never wanted to wake up. The events leading up to falling through that painting and landing here were all jumbled up in her head, and as she walked along, she struggled to remember them. Could this possibly be real?
The stone walls and flooring looked like the insides of real medieval castles she’d seen, but this place certainly didn’t smell like one. She detected a faint odor of mustiness once in a while, but no urine or animal smells. The windows set into the stone walls were wider than the mere slits she’d expected, and the building definitely had electricity.
Tapestries adorned some of the walls, but they didn’t appear worn out or moth-eaten. She caught sight of richly-appointed rooms and elaborate furniture that reminded her more of the Victorian period than any other. She also spotted sinks and toilets, so there was indoor plumbing as well.
The twists and turns took them down both dark and bright hallways, and up and down wide staircases with marble flooring and wooden railings. She couldn’t keep track of it all, and she knew she’d be lost in a few moments if she tried walking around unaccompanied.
Bramwell and Kelton were two of the most handsome men she’d ever met in person. She clung to Bramwell’s arm and Kelton’s hand as they walked along, too overcome with conflicting emotions to ask questions.
They finally stopped before a set of thick, wooden doors. She tried to study the intricate carvings on them, but two men dressed as servants opened them, and her escorts ushered her inside.
“The rooms will be ready in about two hours, Sire,” said one of the servants.
“Thank you, River,” said Kelton. “Will you have food and drink brought to this room? I’m sure Dakota would like some while she asks her questions.”
River bowed, and then he and the other servant, plus the guards who had followed them, retreated, closing the doors behind them. She stood in the center of the room and tried to take it all in. “This is incredible. The entire place is just amazing. Are those two men your servants? Are you always surrounded by guards?” She’d surmised they were guards b
ecause of the way they were dressed, and the fact that they carried weapons.
“We are these days,” said Bramwell. He pointed toward a sofa. “Please take a seat.”
“Thank you.” She sat in the middle and Bramwell seat next to her. Kelton took the seat in a chair close by that faced her. “This is real, right? I’m not dreaming.”
Kelton grinned and her heart raced. What a charming, sexy smile he had. It made his eyes twinkle with amusement, and evoked images of sweaty bodies rolling around in bed. Whoa. Where the hell had that come from?
“It’s as real as we are, and I know I’m not dreaming my life.”
She studied both men. Their clothing was more elaborate than that of the guards, or of the men she’d seen in the painting. It also looked more expensive, as she’d imagined it would if they were truly princes. But how was all this possible? “I don’t even know what to ask first.”
Bramwell leaned back slightly and crossed one ankle over the opposite knee. She took a good look at his boots, and wondered if either man ever dressed in comfortable clothing. As beautiful as their waistcoats, linen shirts, and breeches were, she couldn’t imagine they were cool or easy to move around in.
“That’s all right,” he said. “We’ll talk, and when you have specific questions, jump in and ask them.”
She nodded, studying their faces. Both had dark hair, pulled back with what looked like satin ribbons. She couldn’t tell how long it would be hanging loose, but certainly longer than hers. Bramwell had eyes the color of deep chocolate, and Kelton’s were as blue as a cloudless summer sky. They both looked muscular, too. The clothes couldn’t hide that. Her nipples tingled at the idea of seeing them naked. They wore no rings. Were they married?
“We are two of the princes descended from King Reginald,” said Bramwell. “Two hundred years ago, he was the king who had the original portraits painted. Some say they were of the women he’d seduced, but no one really knows their secret, or why his descendants still have the power to entice women from your world into ours through them.”