Love Spell: Book 2 of The Grimm Laws

by Youngblood, Jennifer

  To make matters worse, there seemed to be no reprieve from the likes of Rush Porter or his mother. He’d come home earlier to find his dad and Wisteria in the living room. They were so intent on their conversation that they didn’t even realize he was there, so he hurried up to his room, so that he wouldn’t have to talk to them. The sight of his dad with Rush’s mom turned his stomach. It had been bad enough from the get-go to see them together, but now it was intolerable!

  He pushed the thoughts out of his mind and tried to focus on his science homework. He had fifty or more review questions that he had to answer in preparation for a test the following day. Thankfully, with some effort, he was finally able to concentrate fully on them, putting everything else out of his mind.

  Thirty minutes later, he was so intent on answering the questions that he didn’t realize what was happening until it was too late.

  There was a slight shift in the room as if something were creeping into the empty space around him, something indiscernible to the eye. He heard a slither the instant before the blackness covered him. Then he was choking as the powerful force squeezed unmercifully. He clutched his neck, gulping for air, but the giant fist of fear was clutching him in its iron grip, and there was nothing he could do. He tried to scream, but no sound would come. He tried to move, but he was utterly powerless.

  The room disappeared from his view, and he found himself in the courtyard of a castle. He looked down and realized he was holding something in his hand. It was a wooden sword. He held it up to the light to inspect it and in the next moment realized that an attacker was barreling towards him. He used his hands to shield his face in an attempt to protect himself, but the force of the assault pushed him back where he fell to the ground with a loud thump. The breath got knocked out of him, and he drew himself up into a fetal position, gasping to draw a sliver of air into his starved lungs.

  Then he heard hearty laughter and realized he was being hauled to his feet.

  “You are weaker than I thought.”

  He stood there, breathing shallowly, looking into the face of his attacker, a mere boy about ten years of age. He was dressed in strange clothing. His hair was the color of coal, and there was an intense look in his arresting blue eyes. Then he looked down and realized that he, himself, was but a boy. And he was dressed similarly to his blue-eyed attacker.

  “Nay,” came the voice of an adult. “Prince Edward is not weak. Only he hesitated when he should have charged. ‘Tis his uncertainty that has made him appear weak.”

  Edward turned to the man who’d spoken with the voice of authority, a cultured voice that was familiar. The disgust in the tone penetrated him to the core as a hot shame covered him. The man was his father. He was wearing a magnificent purple robe trimmed in gold thread, and a crown made of gold adorned his head.

  Echoes from another time reverberated around him, fusing into his bones and catapulting him back to another time. In the time it took to draw another breath, he once again became the boy he once was. “I’m sorry, father,” he stammered. “I did my best.”

  “You will do the exercise again,” he commanded. “This time, I trust you will remember the techniques I have taught thee.” There was a warning edge to his voice—a warning that said he must not fail this time.

  The boy standing before him crouched into an attack position and lifted his sword. “I remember the techniques,” he said in a confident tone. There was a hint of teasing in his eyes but no guile. “Surely you will not allow a squire in training to best thee, prince. It would be like fleecing a lamb.” His eyes twinkled in amusement.

  Edward got a good look at him then. His eyes narrowed. “Rushton. You are Rushton.”

  “Aye.” He flashed a smile. “I am he who will knock thee to the ground once more.”

  Edward lifted his sword as a hot anger coursed through his veins.

  Rushton surprised him by stepping up close and whispering in his ear. “Have no fear, for I will not embarrass thee in front of thy father. Charge to my left.”

  Conflicting emotions warred inside of Edward as he faced his opponent. Could he trust Rushton? Had he told him to charge to his left, so that he could best him more easily, or was he truly trying to help him?

  “Begin!” Aalexander clapped once, signaling for them to spar.

  Fury rose in Edward’s breast, and he charged to the right. Surprise flickered over Rushton’s face, but he quickly recovered as their swords hit. Around and around they went, leveling strikes back and forth. Edward soon began to feel weariness seeping over him. He’d exerted all of the strength he possessed and would soon be forced to yield. Just when he feared he could fight no more, Rushton gave Edward an imperceptible nod before losing his footing so that Rushton was on his back with Edward pointing the tip of his sword at his chest.

  Then, Rushton winked at him. “Well done, prince,” he said loudly.

  Edward lowered his sword, not sure what to think. On the one hand, he was glad that Rushton had not humiliated him in front of his father. On the other hand, it cut to know that Rushton could have bested him at any moment. Even though he was the crown prince, destined to be king. In the areas that counted, he would always come up short against Rushton. He loved Rushton like a brother and yet, a part of him resented him. Edward helped Rushton to his feet and then looked at his father who had a scowl on his face. He strode over and stood, towering over the boys, his arms tightly folded over his chest. He glared down at Rushton who had suddenly become fixated on a spot on the ground.

  “Squire in training, look me in the eye,” he ordered.

  Begrudgingly, Rushton lifted his eyes to the king.

  “Was that a fair match?”

  A look of panic came over Rushton’s face as his eyes met Edward’s. Then he straightened his shoulders. “Aye,” he said, jutting out his chin.

  Aalexander turned his attention to Edward. His eyes seemed to be cutting away the flesh and searing into the deepest part of him. “Was it a fair match?” Edward’s heart began to pound as he looked at Rushton who was pleading with him to back him up. “Edward? I beseech thee to tell me the truth.”

  Edward swallowed hard. “Nay.”

  Rushton’s shoulders fell.

  “Nay,” Edward repeated looking straight ahead rather than at his father. “Rushton showed me mercy because he did not want to humiliate me in front of thee.”

  Aalexander’s jaw hardened as he looked back and forth between the two. His eyes settled on Rushton. “Is this true?”

  He reluctantly nodded.

  Aalexander clenched his fists as his lips drew into a tight line. He turned on Rushton. “‘Tis not thy place to coddle my son! If he is to be a proper king then he will have to face his adversary on his own accord. His adversaries will show him no mercy!”

  “I am not his adversary,” Rushton countered, “Edward is my closest friend.”

  Hot tears stung Edward’s eyes. “Father, Rushton was only trying to protect me.”

  “Protect thee?” His voice rose. “He is making thee weak!”

  Edward felt smaller than the insignificant fly, buzzing around his head. At that moment, he wished to be anywhere but here, but all that he could do was to stand mutely and endure the berating. His eyes shot up when he heard Rushton speak.

  “Mercy is not weakness,” Rushton said quietly.

  Aalexander’s mouth dropped as he eyed the young boy standing before him. “Do you dare question me, thy king?”

  Rushton looked up at him, a quiet challenge in his eyes. “I am simply stating, sire, that Edward is a good swordsman, one of the best I have ever encountered. My strength is in no way indicative of his short failing.”

  “So say you.” Aalexander stroked his chin thoughtfully. “Am I to understand that sword fighting is thy greatest strength?”

  “Nay, ‘tis not my greatest strength.”

  A look of surprise touched Aalexander’s features. “Then tell me, young lad, what is thy greatest strength?”

 
“The joust,” Rushton answered with conviction.

  “The joust?” Aalexander chuckled. “I would wager that you are scarcely large enough to mount a horse, much less participate in the joust.”

  “Not only can I mount a horse, but I can out joust any squire in the kingdom,” Rushton countered, a defiant look on his face.

  “Is that so?” Aalexander mused.

  Edward caught the trace of admiration in his father’s voice, and it caused a spark of jealousy to ignite in his breast. What he would have given to have his father look at him the way he was looking at Rushton.

  “Absolutely,” Rushton said looking him in the eye.

  Aalexander gave him a speculative look. “And what does thy mother think of thine ambition?”

  “My mother is my greatest advocate. She tells me that if I will work hard and stay the course then perhaps one day I will make my father proud.” He looked down and made a motion of crossing his chest. “God rest his soul,” he said reverently.

  A dark look came over Aalexander. “I see.” He turned to Edward. “I will not tolerate anything less than perfection, is that understood?”

  Edward’s mouth went dry, and he wondered why his father was suddenly so angry. “Aye,” he mumbled.

  “You will do the exercise again.” He gave Rushton a warning look. “And this time, you will both fight as if your lives depend upon it, for one day they will. Whether it be friend or foe, we live and die by the sword!”

  As Edward raised his sword to fight, the courtyard disappeared, and he found himself alone in a large hall. The blow seemed to come out of nowhere, sending a blinding pain shooting through his head as he tumbled to the floor. He looked up to see Rushton towering over him, a sword in his hand. “You are weak!” The accusation reverberated throughout the empty room. “Your father has always wanted you to be more like me.”

  Edward attempted to rise to his feet, but Rushton put a foot on his chest, pressing him down. “Let me go! You are nothing! A lowly squire that has been cast into the dungeon! I trusted you, and you have betrayed me!”

  A sneer twisted over his face. “I was always the better man. Cinderella loves me. Thy caution has made thee weak! A weak coward who has been given everything!”

  “Nay! I have done the best I could with that which has been entrusted to me. I have tried to be just and levelheaded. Whereas you had the luxury of being bold and reckless, I had to consider the kingdom. I had to put the needs of my people over my own!”

  Rushton removed his foot. “Arise to thy feet and fight!”

  Edward jumped to his feet, and suddenly, a sword appeared in his hand. He grasped it with all of his might and struck Rushton’s sword, the sound of clinging metal echoing around the room. He leveled blow after blow while defending himself against Rushton. Then his feet grew heavier and heavier until they were impossible to move. The ground seemed to open up, swallowing his feet. Rushton lifted his sword to strike. Edward held up his sword, but Rushton came down hard, causing Edward’s sword to fall to the floor. Rushton struck again. Edward held up his hands as a shield, but the sword sliced through his flesh, eliciting a moan from his lips.

  Then Rushton began to laugh. His howling laughter circled around him until it became a shrieking sound. He covered his ears and crouched low to the floor as a bleak hopelessness encircled him, squeezing his heart like a vice. The room began to spin, and then there was darkness.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The Weak Spot

  Alexander marveled at how despite all that was wrong between them, he could still feel the taste of Wisteria on his lips. He had to keep reminding himself that the kiss was not meant for him, but rather it was a cruel demonstration that was orchestrated to make Loreena jealous. Also, he was furious with Wisteria for not telling him that he was Rush’s father. She’d kept it from him all of this time.

  Even as he ran the litany of grievances through his head, he couldn’t help but notice how arresting her large violet eyes were and how they were so deliciously shrouded with those thick lashes that fluttered softly against her cheeks. Or how her diamond earrings dropped from her ears like raindrops, casting glittering lights when she turned her head.

  Ever so often, she would wet her lips when she spoke, drawing his eyes to her mouth. He longed to touch one of the thick tresses of hair that curved her face. She seemed to be reading his thoughts, and even as her eyes turned to marbles, his desire for her kept burning inside him. He had to force himself to concentrate on what she was saying.

  “Griselda and Ruben will attack us at our weakest spot. We need to be prepared.” She shot him a frustrated look. “Have you heard a word I’ve said?”

  “Yes, I’ve been listening. I know you think that your magic is the only thing that will protect us, but it’s not true. Merek will help us, and so will Adele. Merek didn’t send us here to fail. He partly sent us here to come to terms with our past and to work out our differences.” He touched her arm. “Can’t you see? We’re stronger together than we are apart.”

  She blew out a breath. “I came here for one reason,” she said tartly, “to save my son.”

  “Our son,” he countered firmly.

  Her mouth puckered like she’d bitten into something sour. “Our son,” she amended.

  He gave her a wounded look. “How could you keep that from me? I deserved to know the truth.”

  “You threw him in the dungeon! You were going to have him executed!” Bitterness settled into her eyes and she shook her head. He could tell from the way she was pressing her lips together that she was trying to gain control over her emotions. “Alexander, we can’t keep reliving the past. If we are to have a shred of hope of defeating Griselda and Ruben then we have to focus on the here and now.”

  “Agreed,” he said, locking eyes with her. “I know you don’t want to hear this right now, but I need to clear the air.”

  “Alexander, don’t—”

  He held up a hand. “Hear me out … please!”

  She clamped her lips shut.

  He looked her in the eye. “I know I have done terrible things …” He hesitated when he saw her stiffen. “Things that I will regret for the rest of my life.”

  Tears filled her eyes, and she looked away.

  “But we have a chance to make things right between us.” He reached for her hand. “I have loved you my entire life.” His voice broke. “I cannot imagine a life without you. We obviously can’t live apart, and we can’t keep ripping each other to shreds when we’re together.”

  She bit her lip and nodded.

  “Look at me,” he urged. “Please, look at me.”

  She turned to face him.

  “I’m sorry for the hurt I’ve caused you. I’m so sorry for what I did to Norman.”

  Tears rolled down her cheeks.

  “Wisteria.” He began rubbing circles over her arm.

  “Don’t.”

  He stopped. “Don’t what? Love you?”

  Her eyes were shining with tears. “Do you really think a simply apology is going to erase all that has happened between us?”

  There was a hard edge to her voice that let him know he was treading on thin ice. She was retreating from him. He lowered his hand. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I don’t have all of the answers.”

  She seemed to relax.

  If only they could’ve left it at that, but there was more that needed to be said. Inwardly, he stumbled around, trying to figure out a way to broach the topic. There was no other option but to come right out and say it. “We need to talk about Rush.” He cringed when he saw her expression harden. “He is my son, and he deserves to know the truth.”

  She slung her head, causing her hair to fly backwards. “There’s no way to explain this to him! In this world, his father died! He thinks the two of us have only just met. He’s been through so much already, I can’t put him through more.”

  “He’s strong and resilient, Wisteria. He will adapt. He is my son!” His voice rose like thund
er, but she was not quelled in the slightest.

  Her eyes met his, and he was startled by the fierceness burning in them. “And mine!”

  The haughty tone in her voice let him know she was not going to back down, but neither was he. It was a case of two ships on a collision course, neither of them willing to alter their course an inch. “I will not yield on this,” he muttered.

  Her face grew a shade darker as she growled. “You are impossible!” Without thinking, she clenched her hands and thrust them toward the fireplace. The piece of pottery on the mantle exploded into pieces.

  Shock registered on Wisteria’s face as she looked at her hands. Alexander was equally astonished. “Did you really just do that?” he asked, wide-eyed.

  “Yes, I believe I did.” A new light had come into her eyes, making her look like the young maiden she once was—a tender meadow that had not yet been scorched by the merciless sun. She caught hold of Alexander’s hands. “I did it!”