Rapunzel and the Griffin Prince

by Savage, Vivienne

  His gaze dropped to her plump bosom and held for a moment, the stirrings of arousal stiffening beneath his kilt. Would it be so bad to indulge? He would never have to see her again afterward, if he could force himself to consider her as just a puppet to slake years of thirst.

  “I believe it.” Not even the women among his clan threw themselves at him this way, though many years had passed since his Fiona had died. Life without her had become a slow hell where no woman could ever hold a candle to her liveliness.

  The memory doused his interest like a bucket of cold water.

  The carriage rolled up to the grand manor set on a hilltop where the owners could look out over their vines—and their workers. As though they had to be above everyone and everything. All other buildings were further down the hill, and with his sharp eyes, his sight far superior to any mere human, he made out workers trudging in and out from the most rundown of them all. There weren’t even glass panes in the windows to insulate against the cold, only wooden shutters. The realization made him frown.

  Vintner Jarkon went down first, assisted by a stool and a footman. Fillian followed, leaving Muir to assist Linette from the carriage. He set both hands on her waist and placed her down beside him.

  “You’re awfully strong for a diplomat,” she said.

  “As a leader should be. My position as clan alpha requires me to be fit and strong for my people,” he replied, though he wondered how any of their scrawny nobles protected anyone. James was a man of reasonable size and impressive strength, and he’d held his own against them while sparring for fun before, but his countryman... Muir sighed. Linette apparently took it for pleasure and pressed closer. He tolerated it for a while longer despite the choking scent floating around her like a noxious cloud.

  “What is a clan alpha anyway?” she asked.

  “The undisputed ruler of a clan, though we all swear allegiance to the king and queen. I suppose among your people, the title would be…” He searched his memory for the terms he’d learned in Mordenian.

  During the pause, her eyes lit up. “A prince?”

  “More like a duke,” he corrected her, but the young woman’s excitement didn’t fade.

  She giggled again and led him inside. Her eyes flashed with girlish mischief above a beguiling smile no doubt intended to set him at ease. To trick him into lowering his guard. “Then perhaps we have erred by failing to refer to you by your proper title, Your Grace.”

  Like everything else in Eisland, the place was ostentatious, with wealth displayed in useless ways. As they crossed through the foyer, servants rolled up a carpet on the floor behind them and another stretched out a duplicate in its place.

  They reached the table to find a feast awaiting them, the dinner more lavish and excessive than anything he’d ever seen, piles upon piles of food brought to a table in such quantity they couldn’t touch a fraction of it. Muir tried, but short of changing to his griffin form, he couldn’t even put a dent in it.

  There were roasted chickens and platters of steak, serving dishes overflowing with bite-sized morsels of seafood wrapped in glazed bacon, and garlic-infused crackers smeared with dollops of savory, unidentifiable gray paste. If there was one thing done right in this country, it was food preparation. He tried some of everything until he realized Linnet was staring at him.

  In fact, everyone was. He dabbed his mouth with a linen napkin, wondering if he had food on his chin, but it came away clean. “My compliments to your cook. I have rarely tasted finer,” he said to fill the awkward lull.

  “If you like this, wait until dessert,” Linette said.

  “There’s more?” He blinked at them. How much food could anyone possibly eat?

  “Cook makes the finest soufflé. He used to make it for the princess herself, so there’s no one finer. Daddy lured him away from the castle after her malady. Such a shame, but our gain.”

  Muir aimed a sly smile at Linnet. “Princess Rapunzel, correct? There’s been little mention of her since I arrived. Perhaps you can enlighten me. I wouldn’t want to insult or offend my hosts while staying in their home.”

  “Oh, well,” Fillian said, dabbing his mouth, “it’s such a sad tale, really.”

  Linette waved her fingers and leaned forward in her seat, lowering her voice. “It truly is a sad tale, like out of a romance but without the happy ending.”

  “That would be a romantic tragedy,” Muir said.

  She bounced in her seat, jiggling her generous décolletage. “Yes, that! Our princess is beautiful, but heartbreak and betrayal took her from us.”

  There was no woman in Cairn Ocland weak enough to suffer a loss of sanity over that, but perhaps that was what separated Cairn Ocland and Eisland stock. Sipping his wine, he let the words bounce around his mind for a moment before he tried another angle. “I told Hook he was a fool to leave behind a future and a woman over mere rumors. A true man would stand by his beloved to the end. I would.” He’d hate himself tomorrow for what he planned, but he stretched one leg beneath the table and nudged Linette’s ankle.

  Taking the bait, her slippered foot rose and dragged over his calf. “Not only that, Your Grace. He also killed the man she was set to marry years later. Sent her all sorts of ghastly things, I’m told, like the head of her suitor.”

  Her father cleared his throat. While her cheeks darkened pink, he didn’t utter a single rebuke, as if they thrived on the gossip but propriety required them to put on a show of civility for his sake.

  “Quite barbaric," Muir said, feeling physically ill. He’d never seen such selfish people before, and it turned his stomach to even talk like them.

  Servants came to remove the platters, the four of them dressed in matching uniforms of navy blue with bone-white lace trim—breeches and jackets for the males, miniature skirts and petticoats for the women.

  When the table was cleared, another team arrived with more pastries and chocolates than they could eat. Linette took a small truffle and bit into it, smearing creamy filling on her lips.

  She held his gaze as she licked it off in a gesture no man would misunderstand. His cock shot right up. The forkful of jam-filled tart he’d been lifting to his mouth hovered in midair inches away, forgotten.

  Jarkon clapped Fillian on the shoulder. “Come, my friend. Let us enjoy coffee while my daughter assists our guest with the sweets. My stomach can no longer handle so much sugar.”

  Sweet stars, I haven't had nearly enough wine for this, Muir thought before emptying his glass.

  And like a gentleman with a plan, he refilled Linette’s goblet. Perhaps if he plied her enough she would slip away to rest and leave him be. Or perhaps her lips would loosen enough to spill secrets he needed.

  “I have never seen so many sweets.”

  “The chocolates are my favorite,” Linette said. “Cook fills them with creams, cordials, honey, nuts, and many other delights. Then there is the soufflé, of course, fit for a princess. Do you not have sweets in your kingdom?"

  “I have only had chocolate once before,” he confessed. Even before the war, they hadn’t the trade with Eisland or Samahara to acquire it. He smiled at her across the table and took little caution with the wine. His drinking constitution was as great as his appetite, a thing of supernatural ability. “It isn’t that they’re a luxury for most of us, but that we’re only recently recovered from years of war and begun to make trade agreements with suitable kingdoms. We would like Eisland to be one. Tell me, what do you think are our chances?"

  “Oh, I wouldn’t know of such things.” She took another small dark morsel. “All that talk of trade and negotiations is far beyond me. I know only wine and grapes, though I daresay I’d love to see more of your countrymen if they’re anything like you. Did your wife not wish to accompany you?”

  A pang, like a chisel through his chest, stabbed right into his heart. A little wine lapped over the top of his glass until he steadied his hand.

  Fiona had never fallen so easily for his charms. In fact, she’d re
sisted him for months, pushing him off and claiming she didn't want an alpha’s son. Winning her over had been the greatest prize until the day she accepted him as her mate. On that day, he’d known he could never be happier. There was no greater treasure.

  Muir’s throat didn’t want to cooperate. He sipped the wine again, though it had turned bitter in his mouth. Sour. “I haven’t a wife actually. But aye, we’re all similar, though I’d say the males of my clan are among the largest, next to the bears.”

  “You have many clans then. How fascinating. They say your king is a dragon, though father believes that is a fanciful title.”

  Muir managed to grin. “Alistair comes from a long line of dragon kings. I’m afraid the story is rather long and would bore you, but I can testify to the truth of the rumors you’ve likely heard of my countrymen.”

  “A dragon. How exhilarating! And he’s the only one they say? But he has children, can I assume they also share his gift?”

  She questioned him as fine as any interrogator, asking about the royal family and their plans for the children. And she did it all while trying to distract him with the way she ate, sometimes sucking chocolate from her thumb. Muir pitied any lesser man who might have faced her charms.

  “It’s hereditary, and I’ve yet to see a circumstance where it isn’t passed on.” He raised his brows at her suggestively. “Even among human women such as yourself. So you could say that dallying with one of us runs the risk of an interesting motherhood.” Would that be enough to deter her? She’d either flee the table screaming or the very idea of it would intrigue her more. He needed to present a strong and powerful Cairn Ocland, enough to intimidate his hosts into realizing they were better off making friends with them—not enemies.

  She didn’t scream, but she did lean forward further. “I think any woman would be pleased and lucky to marry into your kingdom and bear your children. Perhaps you'll find a wife here in my kingdom. A lovely way to seal alliances, don’t you agree?”

  “Is that so?" He considered what he'd learned from Anastasia regarding noblewomen, wet nurses, and nannies—governesses who raised the child for a high-born mother as she spent her own time throwing parties, hosting galas, and generally being too selfish to raise her own offspring. He didn't want a woman like that and couldn’t imagine it. Again, a sharp pang of heartache stabbed him in the chest.

  Fiona would have been an excellent and caring mother. If she hadn't been taken too early from him.

  “Definitely, Your Grace.”

  “Although I’ve yet to become a father, I have it on good authority that our children can be entirely demanding.” He smiled. “As can husbands. We like large families, and it keeps a wife quite busy in both the bedchamber and labor bed.”

  She blinked, a momentary lapse of the charming mask and wit meant to ensnare him. In the next heartbeat, it raised again with another coy smile. “Ladies of worth are lucky to have those to aid them, then. Shall we see the gardens? Or is there something else you’d like to see?”

  Blast. He’d expected that to be enough to scare her off.

  “The garden then. Shall we?” He rose from the table and crossed to assist her, offering an arm. How far could he take this for his king and country before feeling like the worst kind of ass? “Tell me more about the royal family. Does this mean Prince Joren is next in line to take the throne?”

  “He is, yes. Such a handsome, accomplished prince too. Trained in magic, you know. A sorcerer. After his sister fell ill, he took it hard, but he’s stepped up to defend our kingdom and succeed his father when the time comes. Have you met him yet?”

  “I haven’t had the pleasure.” The prince was probably the desire of all the eligible young women and many of the married ones too. According to James, monogamy was an optional feature in Eisland.

  “Silly me, of course you haven’t. He’s still out and away. But, I’m told he’s due home soon.” She lowered her voice as she shared her tidbit. “I know one of the sailors aboard his ship, and his recent letter told me they’re due home in a few days’ time. Isn’t that lovely?”

  “I look forward to our introduction. My king and queen hope to strengthen the alliances, and I'm rather willing to do whatever it takes to see their will done.”

  Linette kept her pace slow, lingering near the stairs, but when he showed no interest in veering off course, she led the way to the gardens. It wasn’t long until the men rejoined them. After another hour of conversation, Fillian finally provided an excuse to leave. Muir bid Linette goodbye with a kiss to her fingers and had never been happier to end up stuck with Fillian once more.

  They headed back to the castle with little to show for his efforts except a distinct discomfort about the people he was surrounded with. He knew the prince was coming home, not that it did him much good. He'd have to return on his own to get to the truth about the vineyard workers. After seeing the yields in the cellars, he reasoned there was no plausible way so few workers with gloved hands could have harvested them all.

  * * *

  Rapunzel hadn’t seen her mysterious griffin again in the gardens, but Sebille arrived with the newest gossip. Now she had a name. Muir of Clan Leomlaire.

  “Did he bring servants with him? Slaves?”

  “No. None, Your Highness. He came to the palace without an entourage. His ship remains in our harbor, and word has it the captain is none other than Captain Vandry herself.”

  “The pirate sorceress?”

  Sebille dipped her head. “Yes. From what I overheard in the royal chambers, his king and queen have given amnesty to almost all of the scourges who once haunted the Viridian Sea and made honest sailors of them again.” She hesitated a moment, fanning her hands before adding, “Even James Hook.”

  Her head snapped up, and her eyes widened. “Really? James is in Cairn Ocland now?” So many years and she’d never heard a word from him. Her maid would have at least told her if he’d tried, even if she never received the letters. Time had dulled the pain and left a bitter ache behind instead. “Have you spoken with him at all?”

  “Only a little in passing, but he seems amiable. A friendly giant with a kindly sort of grace about him when he acknowledges us. I overheard him saying Hook is now the admiral of their navy and that a fleet is underway, over two dozen fine ships to be built in Creag Morden with the best enchanted canvas imported from Samahara. It'll be a thing of beauty, Your Majesty.” She wrung her hands together.

  “You needn’t worry for my feelings, Sebille. I’m not going to break down on you, if that’s what you think. I’m glad James has found a new life for himself, even if it is with pirates and foreigners. He has a ship, that’s all that matters I suppose. He loves the sea.”

  “Are you certain, Princess? They say time heals all wounds, but... you and James were to be married.”

  “Nearly thirteen years ago. And he never saw need to come for me so... I’m quite certain his feelings waned or he assumed I agreed with Father. It is what it is, and I’ve moved past it. If he is living a good life, then so be it. I know he’s hassled Father for the last few years. That’s something, at least.”

  “He has,” Sebille agreed. She bit her lower lip then murmured in a gentle voice. “He’s married, they say. To a fae. A grand ceremony took place only months ago in Cairn Ocland.”

  “Oh….” No wonder Sebille had looked hesitant to tell her. The news struck a painful blow despite the cushion of years. He’d left her, never come back, not even sent word, and now he had a wife of his own. “Oh, I see….”

  “I’m sorry, Princess.”

  “Thank you for telling me, Sebille. Your visits are always the kindest.”

  “Is there anything special I can bring you next time? A soufflé perhaps? Wine? I’m sure your father would allow you a bottle.” If it meant she kept quiet. The silent words hung between them and Rapunzel forced a small smile.

  “No, thank you. I need nothing special. Take care of yourself, Sebille."

  “And you, Your High
ness.”

  Once her maid left, she dropped her false sense of cheer and lowered to the chair beside the window. Tonight, she would seek her griffin again.

  Moments later, Rapunzel was flying through the light snow on a winter breeze, hidden in the snowflakes. She paused when she spotted Lord Muir seated in the garden with his hands clasped and a look of concentration on his face, as if he were lost to deep thought.

  Cautious, she swirled up into the trees and watched him from above. Just when she thought to venture closer, he brought out the most unexpected of objects. Moonlight shone against the small mirror cradled in his large hands. Was he so vain he needed to admire himself like a bird studying its reflection in a pond?

  No. This man was far different from any lord born of Eisland, with his brawny shoulders and muscled arms, long hair without added color or stiff curls. Then he began to speak into the mirror in an unfamiliar language with a lovely cadence. Were her heart real and not composed of snow, it would have sped.

  Then a voice spoke back to him. She drifted over and dared to peek over his shoulder. A lovely woman stood there in his view, with a golden-eyed man beside her. They both wore crowns atop flame-hued hair and had to be the most handsome couple she had ever seen.

  So painstakingly beautiful it hurt, and she envied them, wishing with all her soul she could be a free queen of her own domain wed to a husband with even a fraction of their king’s beauty.

  But that future had been robbed from her.

  * * *

  The night gave Muir the best time for thinking, so he weighed the recent events in his head along with everything he'd seen. Was there something he had missed? Some clue or little tidbit of information that had seemed inconsequential at the time? Ana and Alistair would be waiting for him to report in, but so far he had nothing aside from food waste and materialistic gentry doing what their sort were known to do.

  Positive he was alone in the privacy of the garden, as he’d seen no one wandering at night, not even the servants, he drew a small mirror and traced his finger along the edge. Speaking in the castle wasn’t as easy when there were walls to disguise eavesdroppers. Even his room didn’t feel secure. Here, at least, he’d smell them approaching.