Just A Little Wicked: A Limited Edition Collection of Magical Paranormal and Urban Fantasy Tales

by Lily Luchesi

  "I apologize, Princess." A servant bowed, a young man in a white jacket and dark pants. I recognized him right away and knew exactly what he wanted from me before he'd risen and requested my presence. "Your grandmother—" he began, but I silenced him with one hand.

  "Where is she?" I should have realized she would have had scouts looking for my return.

  The castle corridor was as deserted as the rest of the town. Even the flags with their golden crests seemed as exhausted as I felt. I couldn't understand how Bowen was standing, after using his power in the battle and then transporting us all the way here. He had to be running low, he hadn't eaten or even rested since then.

  "In her drawing room," the man said. "She requests your presence at—"

  "At once, I know." I always knew.

  And I was wondering if Bowen knew, too.

  He had just teased me about how unladylike I appeared, and my grandmother was about to lay into me for the same thing. Still, I didn't think psychic was a title Bastard Bowen had under his belt. Those sorts of powers did not exist anywhere—they were fiction, whereas things like fire were magic.

  "Do I have time to have a towel fetched first?" I asked.

  The man tried to keep his smile in place, but his face told me everything I needed to know. It was amazing how the anger of a family member could instill fear in my heart, although I could rage brighter than anyone in this castle.

  Bowen nodded. "This is where I take my leave then." He'd pulled off his wet cloak and handed it to another helpful servant, as it dropped on the cold stone floor.

  "Council meeting," I reminded him, "don't be late."

  He dipped his head again, but I had no doubt he had teleported here mostly for his own benefit. As a lord, he was on the council, and he no doubt thought his absence would lead to all sorts of anarchy. I didn't like the idea that the balance of our country seemed to depend so much on one man who could no longer stand to look at me.

  I followed the white jacket to my grandmother's drawing room. As a true lady of fire, she had no curtains of pink or frills. Instead, the room was done in a deep red, like eyes in the firelight, and golds. She sat atop a sofa with a metallic brocade, every bit the lady I was sure she wanted me to be. Her eyes softened, and I was convinced she was cataloging every scrape on me but relaxed as she realized I wasn't seriously hurt. Not at all. I had some cuts on my hands from where I'd ripped pins out of my own hair as we'd rode here, and the dirt, but I was mostly whole.

  Therefore, I was definitely in for a scolding. I should have asked Bowen to rough me up before he left. I'd likely have escaped a lecture and, instead, be forced into bed with a hot water bottle.

  I wished that was an option.

  The flames in the fireplace danced. The room was stifling hot, just as I liked it.

  "You aren't very big, my love, but certainly old enough to remember a cloak. You look like a drowned rat."

  I suppose that meant Bowen had been kind, comparing me to his favorite bitch. It was practically a compliment compared to the undressing that I was about to receive. Still, it only hurt because I knew she loved me. It would be more comfortable if we could hate each other properly.

  "I was in a hurry," I admitted. But I wasn't about to tell her why. My grandmother had lived her life, avoiding the business of our world. It would have been cruel to expect her to start now when the wrinkles in her beatific face were sharp enough to cast deep shadows of their own.

  "Bowen teleported us back. The rest of the Flame Bringers aren't due to return until later." The rain must have caught up with them—it was a safe bet to guess that would delay them further.

  "And how is Lord Bowen?" Grandmother’s lips were pursed in such a way that it surprised me. She had been quite a fan of Bowen's for so long, it was strange to see her distaste at saying his name.

  Though, perhaps it was for my benefit. Grandmother had wanted me to marry him, and I had expected I would never like to marry anyone, not until he had come along...

  "Go get cleaned up"—My grandmother waved her hand in dismissal—"but I'm not finished with you yet."

  I swallowed down a groan, and it sank through my gut like rocks. Of course she wasn't done with me yet. She had hardly even started on my lecture; she was just tired of me dripping on her imported rugs.

  I turned around and strode out the door with all the internal calm that a woman of my station was meant to have, but as soon as the door was shut behind me, I ran. The familiar hallways were a blur. I'd been sprinting down them and hiding in them, too, since before I could even remember. No one stopped me—no one dared.

  Chapter 3

  I flew into my room and shut the door before I even realized someone else was there.

  It seemed my luck was up at first, but it wasn't the red face of my old nurse who poked her head from the bathing room. It was a young girl, with dark hair and a pale face. Whiter than a snowdrift she was, and she wore the plain-brown dress most of the low servants did.

  "I was told to run a bath for you, Princess," she said with a rushed curtsey. She wouldn't meet my eyes, either. I was quickly growing tired of that. On the battlefield, Camden, and all my fellow soldiers met my gaze, and rose with the fire they found inside them. All but Bowen, but things had been strange with him for a while, and I wasn't one of the men, not really.

  "I'm told you prefer to bathe alone." She wrung her petite hands in front of her.

  A small mercy, I'd have hated to scream and throw the poor thing out. She already appeared like a kicked dog. If there were anything left in me after this journey, I would have been furious as I wondered who had harmed her. We did not treat servants like that in this house.

  "I will lay out your dress for you, my lady, and brush it out as well."

  I bit my tongue before I could wag it at her. Undoubtedly, the world had been far crueler to her than it was to me. It wasn't her fault that I didn't want to wear a dress as was expected of me.

  I paused, one hand on the wooden door to my bathing room. "What's your name?"

  The girl's white-moon face grew even paler at my simple question. "My name, Miss?"

  I turned around to face her, making her meet my eyes by dragging them to my face with fluid motions. "Yes, your name. I don't like to have people working for me whose names I do not even know."

  Cecilia, my previous maid, had recently been married. She'd married up and left this world of fake smiles and curtseys behind. I was happy for her but miserable for me. It had taken a long time to get the former girl comfortable around me, and she hadn't started quite so broken as the one before me now.

  Her hands were trembling. Her whole body was.

  "Whitney," she said, her voice mousey. "My lady," she added after the fact, as if I cared.

  "Thank you, Whitney, I will be out quickly, as I have an important date that cannot be delayed. Please be ready."

  She dipped down low for a moment. "With Lord Williamson's nephew, my lady?" she asked before clamping her hand over her mouth.

  Neither of us could decide who was more shocked by her forwardness. Where she seemed infinitely ashamed, turning an alarming shade of red all over, I was quite pleased. Perhaps she would not need as much pushing as I thought. I was a bit surprised that word of my and Daniel's... involvement, had reached the servants’ gossip rounds. Gossip was the fastest burning fire there was.

  But we hadn't exactly been discreet. Even though Daniel was not a lord, he was a far better gentleman than Bowen would ever be.

  I had to admit, at first, that had been a bit of a turnoff. I had no need or want of a gentleman, and Bowen, for his many faults, did not seem to have any in bed.

  "No," I gave her a wry smile, "not with Daniel. Not that kind of date. I'm off to the council meeting. I am sure it will be quite dreadful, and I need something that makes me appear..." I trailed off, hoping she'd pick up on my wants. The pale girl's embarrassment had faded, replaced by a light smile.

  "Something more proper, then," Whitney suggested
.

  I nodded once. "Something that makes me appear less wild."

  The girl again threw her hand over her mouth, but this time, I believed it was to keep from laughing out loud.

  "Best if it's black." I stepped into the bathing room where I dipped myself into the warm steam of a bath.

  I bathed quickly, relaxation would have to wait for another time, a time when I could afford it. My meeting with my grandmother had delayed me more than I wanted, and those aging coots on the council waited for no one. Not even with Bowen there to waylay them a bit, if he was still on my side in such matters.

  I couldn't believe that he wouldn't be, even after everything.

  He might not be a gentleman, but Bowen had his own brand of honor.

  My greatest sadness came from the fact that I'd have to wash my hair. There was a layer of dirt on my scalp. It was from the beach, from clouds of it being kicked up from horses’ hooves, and from who knew what else. There were leaves in my hair in cut-up bits, and something that looked like seaweed.

  I hadn't appeared like a lady, but I wasn't really one, anyway.

  Yet, I would soon have to pretend.

  "You're not properly dry, my lady,” Whitney said, upon my leaving the bathing room. “You'll catch your death of cold." She snatched up my discarded towel, but I waved her off.

  I knew magic for drying my hair. Some might say it was a waste, but some might also say using other magics except fire was an abomination. There was no way to use magic or not use magic and make everyone happy all the time, so as a general rule, I didn’t even try.

  It was a great philosophy.

  In two half-circles with two fingers each, my damp hair was bone-dry, and so was the rest of my body.

  Whitney stared at me with wide eyes. I hadn't expected her to comment, but she kept on surprising me. "Now that's the kind of magic I wish someone had taught me," she said. "Useful magic. Nothing like this, ‘burning people alive from the inside’ business."

  It was my turn to laugh. Whitney was turning out to be an absolute delight, and I'd surely have to tell the staffing manager I expected to keep her. It had only been a short while, but she was mine already.

  "What dress have you chosen for me?" I prompted her, and, remembering herself, she whirled around and snatched a wrapped dress from the hook behind her.

  "Black as you requested, Miss." She unwrapped it carefully.

  It was black and had a proper neckline and a subtle train. "It's exactly what I needed, thank you."

  Whitney, who obviously was not used to being complimented, blushed scarlet again, but it seemed good to draw any sort of color in that white skin of hers. Even if it was red.

  I slid on my own underthings, and Whitney turned her gaze away. Clearly, someone had trained her to be a maid, likely because she had a pretty face.

  With practiced fingers, she slid my dress over my head and buttoned up the front—it was a row of jet-black buttons like little beetles.

  "What shall I do to your hair, my lady?" she asked, but sensing my hesitation, she'd already started piling it around my head.

  "I prefer to do it myself," I admitted, and watched with horror as her face fell in the mirror.

  She's sat me on a low bench in front of a black and glass vanity. "But if you like, you could pull a little bit up, and leave the rest down."

  Admittedly, my head did still ache where I'd pinned it up to make a crown, but it had been such a powerful effect.

  Whitney said nothing more as she quickly went about her task.

  I couldn't keep my foot from tapping as I waited. Time was slipping by. I dreaded heading into the council meeting only as much as I dreaded missing it.

  Strictly speaking, I wasn't exactly invited. I was confident there would be more than one loudmouth there to tell me about it.

  Not many lords held me in the highest regard. Although most noblewomen in my generation had been trained in magic and combat, most of them did not wish to see women in those roles. I enjoyed making them eat their words, and they truly hated it. I let the fire in my belly burn as I raised myself and started out of the room. Whitney said nothing to stop me, and there wasn't a soul in any hall to bear witness to what I was about to do.

  Too bad. I probably could have used an audience. Giving empowering speeches was something of a skill of mine. More powerful than magic, and more deadly than any blade. The councilmembers were not very likely to be swayed by any pretty statements or forewords. They wouldn't care, and likely they'd heard all my speeches, anyway.

  Two guards stood on either side of the large red council chamber door. Scorch marks climbed up the red-stained wood like black vines, from a time I'd thrown a particularly nasty temper as a child. I’d forgiven myself for that outburst a long time ago. My father had just died, and I wanted revenge. The men who filled those chairs then, had been nothing but cowards.

  I thought they might stop me as I strode toward them in my black dress, chin held high. They jerked their hands as if to keep me back by force, so I raised my palm and called fire to my fingertips.

  But they didn’t stop me, instead pulled the doors open wide. I let the flames on my fingers go out in a small wave of smoke. Hopefully, no one had noticed.

  Only I wasn't so lucky.

  I was immediately conscious of three things as the guards shut the doors behind me. The first was that my grandfather had seemed to age, even in the little time it had been since I'd seen him. The second was that most of the council members had seen me use fire magic in the hallway, and the third was that Bowen was nowhere to be found. I only had a moment to wonder where he was before he teleported his way into the room behind me.

  It was a pleasant thing, watching all the council members jump. I wondered if I could learn that trick, or if I could ever train myself not to get sick.

  "My liege," Bowen said with a slight bow.

  My grandfather's gray hair was cropped short below his black-and-silver crown, but at least his eyes were still bright.

  I slammed my fist on the excellent black council table, delighting as the old bats jumped again. "Who authorized the Huron campaign?" I glanced around the room, accusations manifesting themselves as a fire in my eyes, I was sure.

  "What is the meaning of this?" Lord Wellington’s voice tended to squeak when he was angry at me, which was pretty much all the time.

  "I did," my grandfather said.

  I focused my eyes on him, but I did not believe his words for a second. He may have signed the papers authorizing it, but I had no doubt it was someone else's idea.

  "And did you authorize the burning of the entire town? Children and untrained civilians, as well?"

  That certainly got his attention. I heard Bowen suck in a breath from where he took up his place on the opposite side of the table. This was undoubtedly not how he had intended to address these concerns, but Camden wasn't a strategist, and I was a shit one, as well.

  The councilmembers weren't mumbling amongst themselves, which meant they already knew. I didn't have to slide my gaze across them again to search for a guilty party. They were all guilty it seemed, in their own way.

  "We decided..." Lord Wellington began, and I knew a practiced speech when I heard one.

  "You decided." Lord Bowen interjected. "I wasn't consulted on any of it."

  "A majority decided," Wellington tried again, "that we had been too lenient on the other kingdoms for far too long. That they must be taught a lesson."

  Wellington was a wicked, wicked man. The only remorse he held was for himself, for he knew I was about to lay into him.

  "And Huron was that lesson?"

  Sparks flew from my mouth and bounced off the old stone floor like a firework. Driving back the dark shadows of the room, but the darkest things in the whole place were the men who sat around the table looking self-important.

  "Children? My God,” my grandfather said. “Wellington, this is not our way."

  So, he hadn't known. It was not a comforting thought as
it should have been.

  "No, it is not your way. You have never been heavy-handed, but sometimes there are circumstances that require a little more force."

  It wasn't Lord Wellington who had spoken, but a younger man, Lord Parker, and Bowen called him on it.

  "We do not stoop to such atrocities. You do not snuff out wickedness with wicked deeds. We have always been above such things."

  Lord Wellington stood, but he was no threat for Bowen, who was bastard-born but could best all the men here and likely all at once, and Bowen didn’t even spare him a glance.

  "Our methods have not worked. I will not be made to abandon the city again, to see our country ransacked because we have decided we are the nice ones."

  I snorted.

  I wouldn't have gone that far. I felt far from nice, beating back a small group of town soldiers without even one magic-user among them, and I said as much.

  "You sent me, the crown prince, and Lord Bowen to handle country boys who would not know magic if they were being drowned in it, and then one of your loyalists burnt down the whole damn place accidentally on purpose. It sounds to me some of you are likely scheming.

  Of course, they were always scheming.

  "It looks that way to me, too, your highness," Bowen said, and when he glanced at me, then it was as if he was stabbing me with a knife for my own good. "Perhaps you should consider sitting out the next campaign to keep an eye on them."

  Bowen was a bastard, in far more ways than one. How dare he suggest I stay behind when he knew I detested it? And I couldn't even deny that he was right; that someone did need to keep an eye on them. I just wasn't as convinced it had to be me.

  "How dare you insinuate that we have anything but the council's best interest at heart," a man shouted from down the table. It was Daniel's uncle, and his words made my chest ache.

  I knew damn well he did not approve of me.

  "We could never—" Bowen began, but his words were hollow before being sliced off.

  "At least Camden is as bloodthirsty as they come," Wellington said, as though he was paying my cousin a compliment, but to me, it was anything but.