Rapunzel and the Griffin Prince

by Savage, Vivienne

  “Perhaps you should lie down.”

  She flung the cup from her lap. “I don’t want to!” Colors blurred together, and the sunlight streaming through the windows burned her eyes. She flinched away and stumbled against the tea service. After that, everything faded into an obscure haze.

  Long after the fog faded, weakness persisted in her limbs and made her entire body feel as if she’d spent hours dragging lead weights by her ankles and wrists. When she finally rolled out of bed, night had fallen, and it was pitch-black outside aside from a few garden lanterns down below. Moonlight shone through her open window, and a gentle spring breeze rustled the diaphanous curtains.

  Where had the day gone?

  Rapunzel swung her feet from the bed and rose unsteadily. Dizziness planted her on her bottom on the bedside for a while longer, and some time passed before it faded and she was able to stand again.

  She must have taken ill at brunch. Perhaps something had unsettled her stomach, but she couldn’t recall. The entire morning was a blur in her mind.

  Mindful of her steps, she made her way down the spiraling staircase one slow step at a time. She paused three times, hands squeezed around the rail, to wait for the vertigo to pass.

  The whole tower was Rapunzel’s to do with as she pleased, the castle consisting of many of them, and each one a contained home for the many members of the household’s favored upper staff and distant relatives among the nobility. She’d lived on her own in one apart from the main castle for years, ever since she’d become of age to entertain friends—and close male friends.

  She paused again to rest at the base of the steps and drew in a deep breath. The walk, while tiring, had helped to clear her head somewhat. She lifted her hands to knead her pounding temples, and for the first time, she recognized the polished silver bangles on her wrist. She’d been so confused by awakening at nightfall that she hadn’t paid them any mind. When she reached out to find her magic, a numbing pulse ebbed through her mind and dispersed the power.

  They’d negated her magic, using tricks reserved for Eisland magical prisoners.

  Rapunzel flew to the door. The knob turned uselessly in her hands.

  What in the blazes? She pounded a fist against the door. “Why am I manashackled? Why is this door locked?”

  “Princess?” a voice called through.

  “Of course it’s me. Who else would be in my rooms? Now unlock this door immediately.”

  A moment passed before a click echoed through the room. Before she could open it herself, the door opened and a royal guard stood in her path.

  “Forgive me, Princess, but you should be in bed. I shouldn’t have opened this door at all.”

  “Under whose authority?”

  “Your father, Your Highness. The king and queen have both decreed that you be cloistered in your room until you’ve recovered.”

  “Recovered? I don’t understand.”

  The guardsman licked his lips and glanced back over his shoulder. When he returned his attention to her, he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “I should not be the one to speak of this.”

  “Please. All I remember is sitting for tea with my father.”

  “I’m sorry, Princess, but you… you were quite violent.”

  “Me, violent?”

  The guard nodded his head but remained a few steps away from the door. “There was snow and magic everywhere, Your Highness. You injured several royal guards.”

  A fist squeezed around her heart. She’d never hurt anyone before. “I injured someone?”

  “Several.” He glanced around before adding in a lower voice, “I shouldn’t be telling you all of this.”

  “Then release me and allow me to seek my father on my own. I certainly don’t feel violent now.” Had he poisoned her? No. There was no way her father would do such a thing. She moistened her lips. “Release me from this tower at once.”

  “I’m afraid not, Princess. Ahh, we’re under strict orders to leave you confined until a physician is able to confirm that you’re safe once more. It’s for your own good, he says.”

  “My father is a lying arse,” she spat out. “Go fetch him at once.”

  “I am forbidden from leaving my post. Please, Princess, take your rest and await the physician.” Pity shone in the man’s eyes. He pushed the door shut, and then the tumblers clicked into place.

  Hours passed as she paced the floors. No one else spoke to or came for her until after the sun rose over the horizon. She hurried down the stairs the moment she heard the door open. The king stood in the room below with the door shut behind him.

  “Father, how dare you do this to me? Why am I locked in my room like some disobedient child?”

  “Why, for your safety, my dear. You threw quite the fit yesterday when you learned about your former betrothed.”

  “Whatever are you talking about? What fit? The guard said I hurt someone.”

  “Several people, Rapunzel. You have magic beyond what I expected. Unusual magic. Where did you learn it?”

  Unable to betray Joren, she fumbled out a quick lie. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I know only what you’ve allowed me to be taught.”

  “I see. Well then, it seems you have untamed talent. Dangerous talent. The staff are quite afraid of you.”

  “I would never hurt them.”

  He spread his hands and adopted a patronizing tone. “Yet you have done exactly that. You even attacked me,” he said, holding up his arm to reveal frostbite across his wrist and forearm, the discoloration on the mend but still dark and mottled. “Such is the very reason why women are prohibited from learning the Deadly Arts.”

  “What? No! I would never! I would never hurt you, Father! You… you did something to my tea, didn’t you? I was fine until then.”

  A sly smile came over the king’s face. His blue eyes danced with mirth that clashed with the dire nature of their conversation. “I do what must be done for the future of Eisland, my dear. In time, you will come to understand and forgive me for this.”

  “Do you mean to leave me here, confined to my home as a prisoner?”

  “For however long it takes to convince you to see things my way, dearest.”

  “I will never relent. It is wrong.”

  “Then you will remain here.”

  “The people will never let you get away with this. Joren will ask where I am, as will the council. I’m your heir.”

  “No, my dear, you are a very heartbroken girl who has finally lost her wits. You see, James Hook has sent you a gift. The severed head of a Ridaeron lord coming to speak of alliances and marriage prospects. You were quite distraught over the loss of this friend, thus your breakdown.”

  “That’s a lie. I have no friends in that kingdom.”

  Her father continued in the same, patronizing tone. “Quite unfortunate, as the two of you have corresponded with one another via the post for nearly two years and grown rather close. So close you lived for the day of his arrival.” Her father sighed. “And now Hook has spoiled the occasion.”

  “You wouldn’t. You have no head as proof.”

  “Don’t I? Remember those expendable criminal slaves I spoke of?”

  A cold knot twisted her stomach until she thought she would retch. Her father, a veritable stranger to her now, laughed and turned his back on her. The door shut behind him, and the lock clicked into place with an ominous echo.

  Her only hope was that her brother would see through her father’s lies.

  Joren, I’m counting on you.

  Chapter

  It was a fine, brisk autumn morning, but nothing cooler than what Muir was accustomed to from a lifetime of living in the peaks of Mount Floraivel. The mountain range hugged the eastern coast of Cairn Ocland and created an impassable wall no invader could cross. At least, it had until a month or two ago.

  The bears of Clan Ardal had been instructed to create an eastern pass through the mountain as well as a bay to accommodate the kingdom’s fu
ture navy. With their earth and stonecrafting skill, they’d carved a grand tunnel through miles of rock before leveling an ideal foundation for the new city.

  They’d named the bay after the fairy who made it all possible, bestowing the great honor upon Tinker Bell for her courage. Now she was happily married to James Hook, and it was up to Muir to prove their claims against Eisland were true.

  James had cautioned Muir to watch his back while abroad in a kingdom of snakes and traitors, expressing a wish to join him but a reluctance to test King Harold’s promise to honor the amnesty granted by Queen Anastasia and King Alistair.

  Muir smiled. As if he’d allow any of them to take James. As if Tink would allow it. Woe betide the fool who tried to separate that sprite from her new husband.

  “Land ho!” The cry brought forth a bustle of activity aboard the Twilight Witch. After weeks at sea, everyone was eager for time on dry land, even if that land was covered in snow.

  Even at a distance, Eisland was beautiful. Sunlight sparkled off the snow and ice, making the approaching coastline appear like a glittering diamond. Muir stood at the forecastle and admired the view while the sea breeze tossed his unbound red hair around his face and shoulders. Every so often, the strong wind also kicked his tartan a few inches above the knee, which Captain Amerys Vandry took as an invitation to ogle him without remorse.

  “Are you ready for this?” she asked.

  “As ready as one can be, I suppose.”

  Vandry chuckled and patted his arm. “Don’t worry, Lord Muir, we’ll sort this all out in due time.”

  “Lord?”

  She grinned. “Better to become accustomed to saying it now. I’ve given the order to the rest of the crew to follow suit.”

  “Fine. If all goes well, we can be gone from this place within a week. Surely something like this cannot be hidden.”

  “You would be surprised how much intrigue and deception is carried out in a court, my lord. But yes, let us hope this can be sussed out without unnecessary delay. You worry about the palace and nobility. I’ll put my eyes and ears to the common folk. If there’s slavery in Eisland, we’ll discover it.”

  Slavery couldn’t be allowed to flourish anywhere on the Viridian Sea, but his queen’s father wanted cold, hard proof about his ally’s wrongdoing.

  If proof was what King Morgan needed, proof was what Muir would acquire. He shaded his eyes from the sun and waited, restless as the ship pulled into port. Crewmen hustled across the deck, readying the lines and lowering the sails. The dock appeared equally as busy with uniformed sailors standing ready to receive them.

  He stood apart while they all handled mooring the ship. As much as he desired to help, and had learned much through participation during the journey, Captain Vandry had advised him to put on a show of superiority for their noble neighbors. And nobles did not offer helping hands to their inferiors.

  Although he’d accepted that she wanted him to behave like an ingrate, he didn’t have to like it.

  Once the ship was secured and a gangway slid in place, Vandry approached him and bowed. “All is ready, Lord Muir, and your welcoming party awaits you pierside.”

  “Thank you.”

  He swept past her and disembarked, only to pause once he spotted his escort. Were they jesters or greeters? Between their colorful garb and outlandish hairstyles, he wasn’t entirely sure.

  A tall, thin man in an orange velvet frock coat stepped forward. His hair may have once been fair and blond, but it had been colored lilac. He bowed deeply at the waist. When he straightened, he clicked his heeled boots together and smiled.

  “Lord Muir of Clan Leomlaire, I bid you humble welcome to our glorious city. I am Fillian, steward to His Royal Majesty King Harold. It is my pleasure to escort you through Jonquilles to the palace.” He spoke in the language of Creag Morden, a tongue known between all the northern kingdoms of man.

  Muir bowed his head and placed his fist over his heart. He replied in the same language. “It is my pleasure to meet you. Thank you from the bottom of our hearts for receiving this visit into your warm kingdom.”

  Three months of lessons among James and his crew had given Muir a head start on learning the Eislandic tongue, but he’d chosen not to play his hand just yet. Better for them to think him a fool and absolutely oblivious to any words uttered in his presence. Who knew what secrets they’d reveal if they didn’t realize he understood them.

  “Lovely. Just lovely,” Fillian said. When he clapped his hands, two pink-haired men moved past them toward the ship. “I will ensure your belongings arrive in a safe and timely manner. Until then, please, come with me.”

  The steward led the way to an ornate carriage with an open top and gilded accents, pulled by two white horses barded in sapphire blue.

  “As you can see, my lord, our port is a bustling hub, rich with trade from all over the Viridian Sea,” Fillian began. He spoke with enthusiasm and pride. “We bring in silks from Liang and spices from Samahara.”

  “A true wonder.” Muir despised small talk, but even he could admit the port was impressive. He hoped, one day, Cairn Ocland could rival the north.

  “I trust your trip was a pleasant one?”

  “Aye. The Twilight Witch is a fine vessel.”

  “Ah, yes, I suppose she must be. I must admit, my lord, we were a touch concerned about the nature of her crew.” Fillian leaned forward and lowered his voice a notch. “Is it true she was a pirate vessel?”

  “Tamed, I assure you.” Muir grinned, having prepared to address the question.

  “Oh.” Fillian cleared his throat and continued with the tour. He pointed out each district as they passed through it. From the port they moved into the merchant quarter and then the entertainment district where, he proudly proclaimed, they had three different theaters.

  “Should you desire a more intimate experience, the Silken Road caters to such needs. In fact, our finest mineral spring bath is located just down the way, at the House of Eternal Roses.”

  Fillian gestured to a road protected from the elements by a vine-covered trellis. Two red lanterns flanked the archway entrance. Muir’s heightened eyesight perceived every detail, from the fancifully decorated doorways to the beautiful young men and women dressed in sheer silks. They lounged in hammocks crafted from flowering vines or leaned out of windows, calling to the few patrons wandering the avenue. As the carriage circled around for a second pass on the way out of the square, Muir noticed two people stretched across a cushion on an open terrace, neither of them clothed.

  What sort of place was this? Fillian watched him with a smug smile.

  “Of course, as a guest in the palace, arrangements may be made to bring such luxuries to you.”

  “I will keep that in mind,” Muir replied, praying he’d veiled the disgust in his voice.

  From there they wound through the residential area of the city, though it was easy to tell at a glance that this was where the rich and entitled lived. Large homes with wide lawns lined the curving road.

  The castle loomed above them at the top of the hill, a stunning creation of white stone and silver that glistened beneath the noon sun. Towers of various sizes arose from a palace twice the size of Castle TalDrach. There were even ice sculptures of fanciful beasts and unicorns decorating the bridge separating the castle from the rest of the city.

  “This is the garden proper.” Fillian gestured to the sprawling grounds. Red and pink roses bloomed against dark bushes despite the cold, and a fine layer of frost covered the grass.

  “It is quite beautiful, but I thought your roses were ivory and silver.”

  “Those would be the frost roses, found in the private gardens. You’ll have full access, of course. King Harold wishes you to enjoy every aspect of your stay here at Icedale Castle and feel as if it is a home to you.”

  More men and women dressed in garish, bright attire met them at the front entrance to the castle, but Fillian ushered Muir past them and into the carpeted halls.

&nbs
p; “The king is most eager to meet you,” the steward gushed.

  “And I to meet him.”

  The hall ended at a pair of tall, wide doors. A rose design had been etched into the silver metal. Guards in blue livery pulled them open in unison.

  Fillian stepped forward, paused on the threshold, and announced, “Lord Muir of Clan Leomlaire, Cairn Ocland’s emissary.” He gestured Muir to move forward and bowed low.

  The throne room had been designed to impress and awe, and it succeeded in both counts. But only for an instant, the moment shattered once Muir’s gaze focused on the man seated on the sapphire throne.

  The king was withered and frail, long past his prime and certainly incapable of leading any army. He had a long, aquiline nose set in a slender face with sunken cheeks warmed pink with a liberal coverage of makeup, much like the steward guiding Muir inside.

  Muir proceeded forward down the cobalt carpet running down the center of the room toward a raised dais at the far end. His attention wandered to the three crystal chandeliers overhead then back ahead to the throne. Obsidian planters overflowing with frost roses provided the only other decoration in the room.

  It was indeed beautiful, but to him, it also appeared cold. Lifeless. In Benthwaite, he could feel the love and welcoming warmth of the monarchs in every facet of the throne room. Here he felt nothing. It wasn’t alive.

  He came to a stop a few feet from the bottom of the dais and swept into a respectful bow. “Your Majesty, I bring greetings from King Alistair and Queen Anastasia of Cairn Ocland, with the hope that our great nations might find friendship.”

  “You are most welcome to Eisland. I look forward to learning more of your people, Lord Muir. Your country has long been a mystery to us, with only whispered tales of fantastical proportions reaching our shores.”

  “Some may not be so far from the truth, Your Majesty. I would be honored to answer your questions, should any arise.”

  “Good, good.”

  The king retook his seat on the throne and gestured for Muir to approach and join him on a bench placed by a servant. Once Muir was settled, the king leaned forward, hands clasped loosely in his lap.