Once Upon a Fairy tale: A Collection of 11 Fairy Tale Inspired Romances

by Danielle Monsch, Cate Rowan, Jennifer Lewis, Jeannie Lin, Nadia Lee, Dee Carney

  When he stepped into the hall, a guard was there to escort him to court. During the short walk, Ivan cleared everything from his mind, focusing instead on sliding into the role of courtier. It wasn’t a comfortable fit, it wasn’t him, but it was a role he could play.

  He followed the guard into the formal receiving room and had to fight to keep his expression neutral. It was unlike either of the other two courts he’d visited, and entirely different from his father’s court in the Northlands.

  The room was clad entirely in black amber and gold. Every wall surface, every furnishing, was worked in gold and encrusted in amber. It was more black amber than he had seen or even heard of, and it put him immediately on edge. Black amber wasn’t a stone used for beauty or healing like other amber. It was used specifically for psychic shielding.

  Even a cursory glance indicated there were protective spells woven into the black amber, shielding within shielding. The receiving room was effectively a black box to against scrying or seeing magic. Nothing in, nothing out. Why would the queen do that when she, herself, was a farseer? She hampered her own magic in this room.

  More than that, it was recently done. The gold was still smooth, the amber floor barely scratched. Ivan ran through mental possibilities, and none of them were good. This court either had powerful enemies about which he knew nothing, or the queen was paranoid to an extent that made her dangerous. Possibly both.

  Ivan approached the throne with his eyes downcast, as much because he was thinking hard as because protocol demanded it.

  He bowed, giving the Queen of the Rus precisely the correct amount and no more. His father had been clear that he was not to pander to Alina.

  “Welcome to Rus, Ivan Frostbreather, prince of the Northlands. Our Court is open to you. What brings you to us?”

  He remained in his bow, but lifted his head to see her. “Your generosity is most welcome, Queen Alina Farseer, Holder of the Crystal Staff. I am questing. Of late, someone or something has been taking the golden apples from my father’s royal garden.”

  The queen tapped one finger on the arm of her throne as she studied him. After a long moment, she formed her lips into what could only be described as a pout.

  “We have no knowledge of this.”

  Ivan didn’t allow his expression to change from polite blandness. Her response increased the clamor of alarm bells in his head. For her to assume he accused her demonstrated both lack of forethought and paranoia. Her tone, though, that was more worrisome. The pout combined with the dismissive tone indicated that she didn’t think it important that she or someone of her court might be suspected in this crime.

  Her advisors, ranged behind her in a loose semi-circle, did not seem so sanguine. Their posture was stiff, their faces stone. No, they didn’t like that implication at all.

  It had not been his intent to accuse anyone in the court of the Rus, but now he wondered. It was clear that the bird flew over the territory, but it didn’t follow that it was a creature of the Rus. In fact, their court seer had been certain the bird came from farther east than the Rus.

  Ivan held his unease. He didn’t want to push on this if it wasn’t necessary. For now, he had to defuse this situation. The insult of it would send his father into a fury. Making Yddris Icemage angry was near the bottom of the list of things Ivan wanted to do.

  “My apologies,” he said smoothly. “It was not my intention to imply it was any of your doing. I saw a bird, a magnificent bird, take the apples. I’ve seen it several times since, but have been unable to capture it. What we do not know is if the bird is a natural creature or one controlled by magic. It is my quest to find this bird and return with it to the Northlands.”

  The finger stopped tapping. “Rise, Prince Ivan. Describe this bird.”

  He straightened slowly, coming to his full height. A number of ladies of the court looked him over with interest, but the queen stayed focused on his face.

  She was pretty. Delicate and pale, like spun sugar. And just as brittle. A fairy-tale caricature of a queen. He found himself agreeing with his father’s assessment of Alina.

  “The bird is large, perhaps the size of a golden eagle, but with a longer frame and trailing tail feathers. It is all the colors of flame, the feathers seeming to shine from within. We call her the firebird.”

  The queen lifted a hand, and one of the sidhe at her back stepped forward. He was a mountain of a man with a beak-like nose and a long, gray beard sporting braids. Most interesting was the hooded crow at his shoulder. The large black and white bird had a gleaming intelligence that reminded him of the ravens of Odin. Ivan could feel the power this sidhe held. He was elder fae, a creature of great power. Definitely more juice than his queen.

  “Stribog, have you heard anything of this firebird?”

  “Yes, my queen.” His face was still, but Ivan read tension in his arms and shoulders.

  The queen turned her head to look at the sidhe. “What do you know of this bird?”

  “She is a creature beholden to the Deathless.”

  Alina froze on her throne. She lowered her lashes just slightly, but Ivan caught a flash of fear in her eyes.

  “I see.” The queen met Ivan’s eyes steadily. “I counsel you to abandon this quest. The bird is beyond your reach.”

  Only years of training kept his surprise from his face. “Do you deny me safe passage through your lands, Queen Alina?”

  “No, Prince Ivan. If you are foolish enough to pursue this matter, you may go where you will, but I wash my hands of it. I will send a message to your father informing him I have advised you not to continue this quest. You may stay here until he replies. Perhaps he will see the wisdom of relieving you of this fool’s errand.”

  Anger roiled, threatening to erupt. His magic flared, pulsing along his skin, but he kept his face placid. He was a warrior of more than two centuries, not an untried youth. If she thought to send him back home to his parents with a flea in his ear, she was sorely mistaken. “I am certain my father would welcome any communication from you.”

  That was close to a lie, but not so close it wasn’t still truth. There was something going on here, something beyond the usual behind-the-scenes maneuvering of court. No one mentioned the niece that was supposed to take the throne, and he’d seen no hint of the princess. In the normal course of events, the heir would be standing with the queen’s advisors. The fact that she was not added to his uneasiness about this court.

  The queen sat back, studying him. Ivan was sure she sensed some of his disdain, but nothing showed on his face.

  Finally, she waved a hand in dismissal. “It is nothing. You may go.”

  He bowed again. “Your Highness.”

  He turned, giving the queen his back. It was a subtle insult, indicating his lack of concern over her, and it was noted by members of her court. But the queen did not call him on it. His father would not have let such a thing pass without at least a humorous comment.

  Outside the throne room, he stopped, studying the guard by his side and the others acting as guards. The warriors here were alert, much twitchier than the ones at home. It told Ivan that something had them preparing for war. That, combined with the black amber, had him moving the possibility of strong enemies up the list.

  “You are kind to guide me,” Ivan said to his escort as they walked toward his rooms. He needed allies and he needed information. In his experience, the guards had more information than courtiers.

  “It is no trouble.” The man’s lip twitched slightly.

  “I would be pleased if you would join me for dinner. I do not know anyone in your court.”

  The guard stopped in the corridor outside the door to Ivan’s room. Ivan stopped with him. He maintained his neutral expression as the warrior studied him.

  “I am Yuri Wingblade. You may join me in the training hall, if you so desire,” he offered. “The warriors generally eat together if there are no other duties. Both those of us still in the general guard and those who are more exp
erienced gather there.”

  Ivan tipped his head in acknowledgment. “If Queen Alina does not require my presence, I would be pleased to join you.”

  “I doubt the queen will wish to see you,” Yuri said, irony thick in his voice. “Be comfortable. I’m certain we will have much to discuss over food.”

  There was definitely something amiss.

  *

  It was a few hours before the evening meal. He’d considered trying to sleep, trying to recapture his earlier dream, but he was too keyed up. He still needed to purge his anger.

  Unfortunately, he couldn’t purge in his usual manner. Picking a fight or starting a brawl would undermine his goals, even if it would alleviate his tension. A good bout in the practice ring would also serve, but that was out until he could establish some rapport with either the captain of the guard or one of the practice masters.

  Left with few options, he stripped off his armor and set it aside. He dropped the big ring of office his father had given him at his majority on the bedside table. If he couldn’t beat it out, he’d sweat it out. Magic was useful, but so was muscle. Magic and sidhe metabolism might keep him healthy, but only work built muscle.

  He dropped to the floor, pressing his fists into the stone. He emptied his mind and pushed up. His temper cooled as his muscles heated up. Every drop of sweat seemed to carry a bit of anger with it. By the time he switched to sit-ups, he knew he had it locked down. A good run would have been better, or a bout in the ring, but undiluted sweat worked, too.

  It took him the better part of an hour to sweat it all out, but when he rose from the floor, muscles trembling from exertion, he’d rid himself of it.

  He rolled his shoulders, took a moment to stretch, knowing from experience that if he didn’t stretch, he’d be stiff in the morning.

  After the stretches, he cleaned himself up and dressed in more appropriate clothing. He was meeting with soldiers, not courtiers, and the clothing reflected the difference. Ivan smiled. It was also significantly more comfortable. Amused at himself now, he left the room.

  *

  The training hall stood at the rear of the palace, behind the stables. He’d seen the men doing sword drills in the yard when he’d arrived and stabled his mount.

  If he read Yuri correctly, he should learn more about the situation at court from the warriors. It wasn’t a good sign that the warriors of the court felt they couldn’t speak freely in front of their queen.

  Swords rang and the air was filled with the sounds of warriors at work. He paused to watch them, noting how the senior guard in the ring used the flat of his sword to tap one man’s elbow, how he kicked another man’s feet into a wider stance. He’d seen combat and was good at his job. Ivan admired that.

  He longed to jump in the ring and have a go himself, but he had more pressing matters.

  The guards at the entrance sent for Yuri. He arrived, face grim, and motioned Ivan into the training hall and led him down a corridor.

  “Your facilities appear to be in a high state of readiness,” Ivan observed. In addition to the guards at the entry, there were magical seals on some doors and a general sense of dark anticipation. It was a very different feel than the training hall at home, with its laughter and good-natured sparring.

  Yuri inclined his head in agreement. “Yes. That is something we must discuss. We are meeting with some of the others.”

  Ivan wasn’t surprised by this news. He’d expected this. In fact, he strongly suspected much of the business of ruling here actually took place out of the sight of the queen.

  Yuri led him into a room where several others waited. He closed the door and addressed the advisor Ivan recognized as Stribog. The crow was nowhere in evidence. “Are any others coming?”

  Stribog shook his head. His gray hair fell in long braids at his temples and in matted plaits down his back. It was difficult to tell where hair left off and beard began.

  Yuri locked the door and moved into the room to take a seat.

  Ivan took a moment, studying the others in the room. In addition to Stribog and Yuri, there were two other men and one woman. One man and the woman wore armor, the other man was in court clothing.

  Yuri made the formal introductions. Stribog Stormbringer was Vizier to the court. Marzanya was thin to the point of emaciation, her dark hair hanging in ropes around her beautiful face. Hors, the man in armor, nodded briefly, but seemed distracted. Dobrokhot was a heavily bearded and very hairy little man who seemed quite shy.

  The room stank of power. He knew himself to be a powerful younger fae, but these were all elder fae, and their magic pushed at his skin.

  “I am honored to meet you. I have heard of some of you even in my own court.” He didn’t indicate which. He had no desire to insult any of these fae.

  “We are here because we all agree that the queen is too fixated on keeping the peace,” Stribog began.

  Hors made a sound of disgust. “She does not see that appeasement helps him gain power.”

  “He is not gaining power from the appeasement,” Marzanya corrected. “He gains power from the hostages. He gains time and creatures from the appeasement.”

  Hors waved it away. “It is the same.”

  “It is not. Creatures can be defeated, though they are many. If Deathless continues to drain others of their power, no one will be able to defeat him. That is why we must act quickly.”

  “That is not the only reason,” Hors countered grimly.

  Stribog nodded. “Hors is correct. The issue of tribute is more urgent than the sorcerer king’s growing power.”

  Ivan had to interrupt now. Neither he nor his father knew anything of a tribute.

  “What tribute?”

  “Alina took the throne as regent,” Stribog told Ivan. “Though Dazbog had sons, they had sworn not to take the throne. Alina entered negotiations with the sorcerer king to save the Rus. Deathless demanded tribute and the rightful princess as a guarantee for the tribute. Alina agreed to his terms and sent the princess to him without consulting the court. She was already gone by the time we learned his demands. It has been seven years since the queen gave the Deathless the heart of the court.”

  He had questions. Many questions. When it became clear no one would add more to the story, Ivan repeated his question.

  “What tribute?”

  Marzanya gave him an approving nod. “Carrion ooze.”

  Ivan blinked. There was only one source for that, and harvesting it was tricky business. Harpies were territorial and viciously protective of their nests. “I see. How much?”

  “Thirteen casks,” Hors said grimly. “Every year.”

  Ivan frowned. That was a huge amount of carrion ooze. To support that sort of output, you’d need a population of hundreds of harpies.

  “How?”

  Dobrokhot looked at Ivan sadly. “We had a large population of harpies to the south, enough to provide the tribute. Two years ago, something happened. Many harpies abandoned their nests or were killed. We don’t know. The remaining harpies were enough to fulfill the tribute, but no more. It meant that we left the harpy nests too close to bare. This year when we sent our harvesters, the harpies were gone.”

  “Have you found them?”

  Hors leaped from the chair to pace. “No. And instead of preparing for the war that must come, Alina wastes time sending more parties out seeking them. Better the men spend time training.”

  “The queen is convinced we can locate the harpies and gather the tribute in time. She wishes to avoid war,” Stribog said without inflection.

  The very lack of emotion told Ivan that no one in this room believed that would happen. If it didn’t happen, Hors was right. There would be war.

  “Why tell me this?”

  Stribog sighed. “The firebird is tied to the Deathless. The only way you will capture the bird is by going to his castle.”

  Ivan rolled his shoulders. “It would be very convenient if I killed him.”

  Marzanya cackled. There was
really no other way to describe her laugh. “That would be lovely, young prince. But he is the Deathless.”

  “That means nothing to me. Why is he called such?”

  “He enslaves the souls of captured fae using death magic. Through the enslaved souls he drains their powers, using them for his own. As to why he did not fall, no one is certain. We believe that the same magic which allows him to steal others’ souls also allows him to hold his outside his body. If that is the case, he cannot be killed so long as the soul is undiscovered. Discover the soul, kill the Deathless.”

  Ivan closed his eyes. Gods. What a mess. “And you are certain that the sorcerer king has the firebird?”

  “Yes,” Stribog answered.

  “Is it possible to obtain the bird without killing the Deathless?”

  “Maybe,” Dobrokhot said thoughtfully. “I have heard beasts sometimes traverse his lands. Can you shift your form?”

  Ivan shook his head. “No. That is not one of my gifts.”

  “Grandfather,” Yuri said quietly, “the prince has yet to have a meal.”

  Stribog grunted. “We have nothing further at this time. Go eat.”

  Ivan turned to look at Yuri. He hadn’t realized the relationship between the guard and Stribog. Yuri shrugged.

  “Your willingness to share information with me is appreciated. I hope I will be able to return the favor,” Ivan said formally.

  This time, Ivan bowed out of the room. It would be unwise to turn his back on those three.

  Chapter Three

  ‡

  Ivan sat up in the bed, disoriented. For a moment he was sure someone else was in the room with him, but a quick pulse of magic confirmed he was alone.

  It must be the dream. This one had been very different from the earlier dream. In this one, he’d been standing in a castle he’d never seen in a woman’s room. The room was bare but for a bed and a large trunk. There were no rugs, no tapestries, no decorative objects of any sort. The only beauty in the room was the woman who stood by the window. She was clearly sidhe, with dark hair falling in waves around her tall, sinuous form. She wore a thin gown that molded to her with every soft breeze. He hadn’t spoken to her; she hadn’t said anything, just looking out the window as if waiting for someone. Her profile was fine-boned, with stark cheekbones and skin like the petals of snowdrops. Finally, she’d turned to look at him, her eyes a chaotic mix of colors that spun and danced, making him dizzy. He held her gaze for a moment before he slid into darkness and out of sleep. He wasn’t surprised he’d woken hard as stone.