“You do?” Ana’s eyes widened with interest.
“There is a legend in Liang. A man who drinks the blood from a dragon’s heart is a man who may live forever. But it is not so easy to claim such a prize. Dragons incinerate upon death. They burn and nothing remains but ash, so a hunter must be swift or his treasure is lost forever.”
Horror overwhelmed Ana and turned her belly into a cold, hard lump of sickness. It rose to her throat. “That’s abhorrent, Hora! How would someone know such a thing is true?”
“No one knows. I don’t believe anyone has ever succeeded, yet many believe myth and risk their lives to try.”
“No, my father would never do something so horrible.”
“Yet he has sent slayers, more than one, after Beast for a mere flower. One very nearly succeeded. The assassin I mentioned to you came the closest of all the mercenaries who darkened these grounds.”
Emotion clenched Ana’s heart with the unyielding power of an iron fist. “I never agreed with his vendetta against Beast,” she whispered, “but he did it with good intentions.”
“Have good intentions ever legitimized murder?”
Mute with shame, Ana shook her head.
She returned indoors with Hora, left her peace offering to Beast while claiming a small portion of the fruit to stock the ceramic bowl in her bedroom, and spent an hour up to her neck in a steaming bubble bath while she read a romance novel from the queen’s collection.
Wrinkled and relaxed, she tucked herself into bed with the same book, only for exhaustion to pull her under before the story concluded.
Anastasia had begun to look forward to her dreams of Prince Alistair. He never disappointed her and had become company in her otherwise quiet, lonely existence. Fleeting moments with Hora didn’t satisfy her need for human companionship, but her dreams with Alistair did.
The other side of her dreams delivered her to a place where sounds of activity and merriment filled the castle grounds with evidence of abundant life. There was a vibrancy and energy present that her waking world lacked. Birds trilled from the trees, butterflies and fat bumblebees flit between flowers, and laughter drifted to her on the flower-scented breeze.
As before, the smiling faces greeted her, but she did little more than smile and wave in return, moving on swift feet toward the back gardens where she always found her prince. He waited for her by a towering line of hedges.
“You came,” he said, taking her hands.
“Did you doubt I would?” What an odd thing to say, she thought, giggling at the ridiculousness of it all.
Arm in arm, they walked through the gardens and spoke of inconsequential things. Over the course of her many dreams, she’d discovered they shared multiple hobbies from favorite books to horse riding. Of course, such was to be expected of any prince she dreamed up. Why conjure someone boring or repulsive?
“Would you like to see a secret place, my beautiful princess?”
“What is left that we have not seen?”
His smile broadened as he gestured to a rose-covered arch, the entrance to the castle’s hedge maze. Ana had passed it by several times during her waking explorations. The hedges were overgrown and imposing. The maze was one of the few places that seemed unkempt and wild, allowed to grow free and untamed by man.
“Do you know the way to the center?” she asked.
“I do,” he told her. “But what shall I receive if I lead you there?”
Ana nibbled her bottom lip. She suspected he was fishing for another kiss, but if it was a dream, what did it matter what she said to him? Stalling, she pressed a palm to his chest and felt the strong rhythm pounding beneath her touch. She stroked downward and caressed him, thrilled when he voiced no complaints.
“Well?” he pressed.
“If you lead me to the center of the maze… you shall receive… me. All of me”
Chapter
KING MORGAN STEPPED from the carriage and onto Dalborovian soil for the first time since he and his wife abandoned Ana at Darkmoor Castle. Lorelei had been ill and more disagreeable than usual, and he’d been forced to spirit her away in the middle of the night. Now he regretted it. Perhaps if he’d waited out her shrieking spell, if he’d been in the castle, Anastasia wouldn’t have snapped.
Was she falling prey to her mother’s mania after all? Had she inherited the ugly sickness?
He could think of no other reason why she would perform an act of violence against their allies. The incident made their procurement of the twilight rose all the more vital, if both his daughter and his wife were destined to suffer from the fairy dementia.
A daunting sight loomed before him, a castle beyond cold iron gates that wouldn’t open to permit him inside. He lacked the manpower and the experience to take on the dragon of Benthwaite, and with no alternative to save his daughter, he turned to the only people who could.
Could he make them see reason and understand that Anastasia hadn’t been herself? He wanted to see Edward with his own two eyes and speak with the boy to find out what happened. But first, he had to get on the castle grounds.
Two impassive guards stared at him.
“I’ve come to speak with King Frederick. Did my message not arrive? I expected a royal welcome.”
“We are aware,” one guard stated in a cool voice. “But your royal welcome has long worn thin.”
“Please. I only wish to speak to them of peace and make amends for whatever has taken place,” Morgan said.
“You must wait for King Frederick’s emissary,” the second guard said. “Only he can determine whether or not our monarch finds you worthy enough to enter.”
It wasn’t in the proud king’s nature to be obedient, but with Anastasia’s safety at stake, he would do anything. He would walk on coals burned by the fires of the dragon’s breath if it meant his daughter would be returned safe from harm.
Morgan would even grovel to the king of another nation.
For her safety, he thought, making the words his mantra during the humiliating hour he was left to wait outside of Darkmoor. At last, a messenger arrived in the wealthy finery of King Frederick’s most loyal servants, a leather surcoat embroidered with the familial crest, a jagged dagger over a slaughtered unicorn.
“You have much courage to come here, King Morgan,” the royal emissary said to him. “His Royal Highness has decided to allow you to enter his audience chamber. I am to accompany you.”
“Very well.”
King Morgan’s guards moved to follow, but the emissary held up a hand. “You and only you. They must remain here.”
The elite soldiers of his personal guard regiment stiffened and bristled. Hands hovered over swords.
“We accompany King Morgan at all times,” one of the gruff men said, “and will not be parted from his side on foreign lands.”
“Your Majesty,” Williford murmured, “I do not like the sound of this, allowing you to enter a potentially dangerous situation.”
Morgan nodded curtly. “Neither do I, but we are mere guests in another land. My daughter’s life is at stake, Williford. For as long as the princess is in danger, we must each do our part to rescue her.”
Six uncertain glances were exchanged among the royal guardsmen, but Williford sighed and relented first. “As you wish, sire. We will await you here.” They stepped back and fell into formation as the messenger led Morgan up the long road to the castle doors.
Darkmoor Castle earned its name by being constructed from a black stone mined from a nearby mountain range. Windows fashioned from volcanic glass muted the light, shading the interior of the castle as an act of necessity. King Frederick’s skin was sun sensitive.
Their footsteps echoed through the bleak and empty halls, every inch of the corridors dominated by shadows. Black curtains bordered the darkened windows, used to rob the rooms of any light that wasn’t generated by candles.
Such a cold and dreary place, he thought. How could I ever have condemned my bright and vibrant Ana to such a plac
e?
As they approached the audience chamber, his heart slammed in his chest. How badly could she have possibly wounded the boy? She was only a girl, after all, and not particularly strong. While he had indulged her desire to practice archery, he had drawn the line at blades. Ana knew nothing of fighting or knifeplay beyond what she observed among the men during training or competitions.
Two men flanking the grand doors to the audience chamber pushed them inward, revealing the candlelit room of the king’s receiving room. Three high-back, onyx thrones sat at the edge of a high dais, its tall design intended to make the visitor feel tiny and insignificant.
It worked.
Frederick’s scarred and misshapen face glared down at him from the middle stone. None of the three spoke a greeting, and in a matter of seconds, Morgan lost his carefully rehearsed speech.
“I thank you for accepting my visit,” he said to the three royals.
Queen Brunhilda’s baleful gaze cut through Morgan then slid to the side. “What right does he have to be here when his little whore nearly killed our boy?” she demanded.
“Silence, Brunhilda. How unkingly would I be to send away our neighbor who comes in desperation once more to us?”
Edward sat in his throne to the right of his father, bulky and large bandages visible beneath his clothes. Sweat glistened against his pale brow, the aftermath of a horrible fever according to the information gleaned by Morgan’s spymaster. After several touch-and-go days, he was fortunate to be alive.
The king forced a smile. “My son still lives. For a time, we were not certain if he would survive the injuries your ingrate inflicted, but the healer has assured us he shall recover. The fever is almost past now, and though he should be abed, he insisted he should join us here to greet you.”
“Frederick, I apologize. I truly am sorry for whatever happened between them. I only know it isn’t in Anastasia’s nature to harm anyone. Anyone,” he repeated.
“You are wrong,” Edward said in a hitched breath. A servant hurried forward to assist the young man when he showed an inclination to straighten in the seat.
“Please, I would like to know what happened, to hear it in your words,” Morgan said.
“She attacked me without provocation,” Edward said. “Perhaps I was wrong to visit her bedchamber without a chaperone, but as it was the night before our wedding, I asked only for a kiss.” He groaned and slouched in the seat, tilting his head back. A maid dabbed his forehead with a cloth.
King Frederick and Queen Brunhilda listened quietly, but the latter shook with rage. Moving like a nervous bird, she hurried from her seat and tore the cloth from the servant’s hand to dote over her son instead.
“He should return to his rest,” the queen said to her husband.
“No, Mother. I will stay.”
While Anastasia had been unhappy with his decision to wed her to their family, nothing about her personality or even her behavior leading up to their travel had indicated she would try to take his life.
It didn’t make sense. Nothing about it added up.
“What happened next?” Morgan asked. “Certainly a girl couldn’t overpower you. You’re a strong, strapping lad.”
“She gave the kiss, and then she assaulted me with one of her hair ornaments before I realized what was happening.”
Morgan flinched. “Perhaps she was frightened—”
“Only a kiss,” Edward said again with difficulty. “It is only by great fortune I continue to live… a maid happened by her room and saw the door ajar.”
“Now why are you here?” Brunhilda demanded. “Certainly you’ve not come for aid.”
Morgan raised his chin. “I do. Perhaps I have no right to ask it, but the dragon has taken my daughter.”
“Then the beast is in good company,” Brunhilda retorted as she returned to her seat.
Frederick chuckled and patted her knee. “Never let it be said I am not a kind and benevolent man. I understand you fear for your daughter’s well-being, but you must understand my predicament, Morgan. She attempted to take the life of my only son the night before they were to be wed.”
“I don’t know what she was thinking, but I can hardly believe Anastasia would do such a thing.”
“And yet she did,” the King of Dalborough said imperiously. “And if you doubt the veracity of my son’s account so greatly, you may retrieve your spoiled princess by your own power.”
“No! Please. I believe my wife’s affliction may have affected Anastasia as well,” Morgan said with a heavy heart. “I ask—no, I beseech you to take pity upon me and understand she may have been wild with insanity. My daughter means the world to me, and I would do anything to protect her.”
“Then you must pay the blood price,” Frederick said, “and we will absolve her of the crime.”
“Of course.” He swallowed back his apprehension, not daring to imagine what price they would demand. He’d empty his coffers if it meant getting Ana back. “I want your word Anastasia will remain unharmed and unspoiled, returned promptly to my kingdom without punishment.”
“No,” Edward said. “I still want her.”
Morgan blanched, and Frederick raised a brow. “Even after she nearly took your life, son?”
The prince’s strained smile unnerved Morgan. “Yes, Father. It may take some time for me to recover from my injuries. When the time comes, I will hunt and slay this beast. But she is to return here with me. That is my price.”
“And if I choose to say no?” Morgan asked. A cold sweat cooled his skin.
“You take your chances with the dragon. Perhaps he will not eat her. Perhaps I’ll gain my strength, we’ll raid the castle, and we’ll claim her anyway but as a prisoner.”
Morgan felt sick to his stomach. This wasn’t how he imagined the outcome. He’d thought he could bribe them heavily with money and promises of attaining great treasure from the dragon’s hoard. Had he known Edward’s heart, he would have attempted to mount his own rescue efforts and save her with his smaller army.
“Very well,” Morgan whispered. “I agree to your terms. Help me get her back.”
“Then let us plan,” Frederick said with a quiet chuckle, “and determine what goods we desire from Creag Morden as the blood price for your daughter’s treachery.”
Chapter
FAILURE. AGAIN. NOTHING had gone according to Alistair’s plan.
The fairy was right. He had the temperament of a spoiled child, and if he ever wanted to become a man of two legs and two arms again, he’d have to learn to control it.
He hunted by evening and slept on the castle’s fourth floor by night, aware of her exploring the library below him. He looked in once at her and was almost certain she saw him. But she said nothing.
Today was a new chance, however, and a fresh morning. He chose not to pursue her, but neither did he hide, instead spending his time in the garden beyond the ballroom where he lazily watched the clouds and wondered what it would be like to sit in a chair again. To lie in a bed. To hold a woman in his arms. Something he’d only done twice in his human life before that ability was stolen from him. Sighing, he closed his eyes and imagined.
Alistair smelled Ana long before she walked into sight. Roses and night-blooming jasmine. The aroma of roasted meat and ripe cheese wafting from the oversized basket in her arms couldn’t mask Ana’s scent.
Raising his head, he watched her through drowsy eyes.
“Oh.” The princess came to an abrupt stop near the blackberry hedge. Fretful eyes gazed across the distance, and she backpedaled. “Forgive me, Beast. I didn’t mean to disturb your rest.”
“You haven’t disturbed me.” He lurched to his feet and bowed his head to avoid towering above her, but the sun cast his shadow over Ana’s tiny body. “Did you wish to use the garden?”
“Hora packed a picnic. I thought I’d enjoy it here.”
Wrong. Hora had nothing to do with its packing. They had no deliveryman and no workers and staff to milk livestock a
nd fetch eggs from the hens. The castle did it. The damned castle created everything, both a gift and his curse, providing anything he needed and, by proxy, anything Ana desired.
He glanced at the book also tucked under her arm. “You came to read.”
“I came to enjoy my afternoon. I can read about wind magic another time,” she assured him. “Now would you like to share this meal or not??”
“Aye, lass, that would be grand,” he stated firmly.
Ana closed the distance between them and set everything into its proper place. She shook out a blanket from the basket and spread it across the thick grass, then took a seat and situated her skirts. The indigo color, dark as the ocean at twilight, suited her fair skin and red hair.
But Ana could probably wear a bath towel and look no less fetching. He sighed, and the noise was so loud, it startled her. She jumped and gazed up at him with large eyes.
“Apologies,” he said.
“It’s all right,” she murmured, returning to her task. “I’m not sure there’s much in here to fill your belly, but I suppose we’ll see, yes?”
The enchanted basket yielded a veritable bounty of goods, their quantity too large to fit within a normal container. She removed a whole ham, thick slices of roast beef, one loaf of herb-studded bread, cheese, fruits, onion jam, and other light delicacies. A bottle of honey mead rounded out the meal, and Alistair promptly coveted her small hands and ability to partake of the fine vintage.
“Should I pour you some?” she asked him in a polite tone.
Skeptical, he raised the ridge above his left eye, doubting it would be enough to do more than wet his mouth. A splash on his tongue. He missed mead. Of all the mortal conveniences he no longer enjoyed, drinking ranked at the top. Though there had been a desperate time some years ago when he’d raided a village to the deep south, tore the roof from a tavern, and plucked two kegs from behind the bar.
“Your company is more fulfilling than any meal or drink. I….” He hesitated and snorted smoke, disused to taking responsibility for his actions. Hadn’t the blasted fairy told him to learn humility? “I apologize for my behavior. Frightening you wasn’t my intention.”
Beauty and the Beast: An Adult Fairytale Romance Page 9