Rapunzel and the Griffin Prince

by Savage, Vivienne

  When Joren had chased the old man down, King Harold had only chuckled and said it wouldn’t come to death. Muir was too wise a creature to risk the alliance between their countries.

  As for Rapunzel, their father had merely shrugged and said he saw nothing inappropriate about it. Muir had done nothing to Rapunzel she wouldn’t have done on her own. Perhaps, he’d even suggested, she was happy to have a man’s attention again and to foster intimacy between their kingdoms.

  Too disgusted to continue the exchange, Joren had left, still wondering about the monster wearing his father’s face.

  Muir arrived with Captain Vandry and two other stocky sailors with feral features like animals given a man’s shape. One had ice blue eyes like glacier chips and a slim face with a pointed chin, all framed by shaggy white and gray hair. The other glared at them all with a keen yellow gaze. Though both were armed with swords, Joren imagined both were more at home with using their teeth and biting their opponents. Maybe ripping their throats out and reveling in the spray of hot blood in their faces.

  Gods, why had he let his hotheaded temper bring it to this?

  “Prince Joren, if I could have a word with you in private?”

  Fillian stepped forward, the man wringing his hands together. “Lord Muir, communication without seconds is quite unprecedented. Is Captain Vandry unable—”

  “Captain Vandry is quite able,” the woman said. Her stare could curdle milk. “But these words are for Prince Joren’s ears alone.”

  Muir nodded. “Would you deny me so simple a request moments before one of us is to die?”

  Joren glanced at his opponent. A night of thinking about what had happened had given him every reason to doubt and worry. And then Rapunzel’s maid had visited him in the dead of night, sneaking into his bedchamber and pleading with him not to go forward with it. For her lady’s sake, promising that the lord from Cairn Ocland was a good man.

  Why would Sebille swear so fiercely for a man who had molested her princess?

  Unless it wasn’t true.

  The question plagued Joren for quite a while, and when morning had come, he’d almost called the entire thing off. Why hadn’t he allowed Fillian to convince him to tone down the satisfactory requirements of the duel? A simple wound would have sufficed, wouldn’t it?

  “Come to beg for your life?” the prince asked.

  Lord Muir didn’t spare Joren’s dignity. He tossed his head back and laughed so heartily a few of the witnessing guards shuffled in discomfort and glanced away. “I am Muir, alpha of Clan Leomlaire, and I fear no man—prince, noble, or commoner. But I do desire a private word with you. It is a matter of grave importance, and you have nothing to lose by listening.”

  The man didn’t look at all afraid, and perhaps that should have been Joren’s first indication of the danger he’d invited by challenging one of the beastmen to a duel. A snare drum replaced the heart in his chest, each panicked beat slamming on the heels of the last. He swallowed and drew himself taller.

  After a curt nod, Joren stepped away a great distance toward the edge of the green.

  “Listen to me, and listen to me closely, Prince. Your sister isn’t the invalid your father and the palace healers would have you believe.”

  In one breath, Joren’s doubts vanished and his heart hardened. He pressed his lips into a thin line. “If you seek to confuse me with falsehoods about my sister’s mental capacity, you’ll find my conviction will not waver.”

  “I have no use for falsehoods. The truth is a better defense than any lies. In fact, Princess Rapunzel and I spoke last night about this duel. She pleaded with me to spare your life.”

  “My sister no longer speaks. She no longer holds conversation with anyone.”

  “She does,” Muir insisted, leaning down closer to Joren’s face. “She spoke with me when I visited her tower. She’s a prisoner there, drugged frequently and kept in line by threats to harm her maid.”

  “You lie.”

  “I don’t. And I can also tell you who drugs her. Your father.”

  Joren laughed. He’d never heard such a preposterous notion before. His father could never drug Rapunzel. “As I thought, you’ve come with excuses and deceit in a guise to bow out. I’ve heard enough.”

  Muir nodded to him and stepped away.

  They convened at the center of the green where Fillian recited the rules of honorable combat. Joren had only participated in one duel before, but he knew them well from spectating many others.

  “As is tradition in Eisland, the challenged party determines the weapon of choice. As Lord Muir has chosen swords and Prince Joren has demanded death as a condition of satisfaction, both parties shall continue until a critical blow is delivered.”

  Joren had almost expected the man to pick his fists, but that would have been adding insult to injury. Beating one another like savages in the dirt. While he considered himself competent with a sword, he took into account Muir’s larger bulk and longer reach. He’d have to be quick to compensate.

  They each took up their swords from their seconds and crossed blades at the tip. Muir’s was an enormous thing proportionate to his frame. He stood tall and confident, posture relaxed.

  “May the gods have mercy on you both,” Fillian said before stepping away, presumably far beyond the range of blood spray.

  The duel began. A thrust and a parry slid metal over metal. For a man of his lumbersome size, Muir’s grace must have been supernatural, a benefit of his heritage as a shifter, because Joren had never seen such exemplary skill in a fellow so large before.

  Damnation. Why had he challenged this man?

  Because he’d dishonored Rapunzel. Because if no one else would stand up for his sister, if no one else would respect her as a princess, he would.

  What good can you do for her if you’re dead? the insidious voice of reason whispered in his ear. It was the same cruel and unforgiving voice that often told Joren he had no business inheriting the crown, that Rapunzel was the brighter, braver twin. The smarter one. If only Father had made good on his promise and sent Rapunzel abroad to the collegium with him, perhaps she’d have never met James Hook at all.

  But their mother had vetoed that idea, denouncing the very idea of their daughter bucking Eisland tradition and learning such awful magic.

  Joren saw an opening and thrust forward for Muir’s chest. He encountered air. Muir twisted aside, there one moment and gone the next. His blade came down like a lightning bolt, unpredictable and powerful, a flash from the sword temporarily rendering Joren blind. Hot and blistering pain exploded through his sword arm, centralized around a hand he could no longer control. His sword struck the ground.

  Had he lost his hand?

  A low voice reached him, too quiet for anyone else to overhear. “Hearth magic and healer’s robes never suited her, but she says you would know that best of all, since you were the one to teach her the deadly arts.”

  Joren stumbled back, blinking rapidly to regain his sight. He and Rapunzel had sworn an oath years ago to never speak of their lessons together. While women of Eisland were, by tradition, forbidden to learn anything more than hearth magic and healing, Joren had seen the envy in his twin’s eyes.

  And he’d broken the rules. Every winter and summer solstice when he’d return from school to spend time with the family, he’d recount every lesson, teach her every spell, and share the detailed notes he took. Perhaps he excelled so greatly at his classes because Rapunzel counted on it. After all, what kind of teacher could he be if he didn’t grasp the concepts to explain them to her?

  The only way for Muir to know that was for Rapunzel to have told him.

  She’d spoken to him after all. And if Muir hadn’t lied about that, what other truths could the Oclander know? Could their father have truly poisoned her?

  He flexed his left hand as his vision returned. The shifter hadn’t taken his hand after all, merely swatted it with his blasted enchanted blade. Instead of capitalizing upon his opponent’s l
oss of weapon, he waited in a defensive stance like a gentleman. Too much of a gentleman to have molested a defenseless princess.

  Joren swept the blade from the ground with his right hand. The left was practically useless and still numbed. Thankfully, as a battlemage, he was ambidextrous.

  “That’s some sword you have there, Oclander.”

  “One gift among many from Samahara’s grand enchanter. He spoils us.”

  “You could have slain me while I was blind. I was foolish and left myself exposed.”

  “I could have.”

  Joren grunted. The royal guards watched with interest, whispering among themselves and gesturing to Muir’s amazing sword. Fillian was the very example of anxiety, ruining his manicure by biting his nails.

  “I concede.” Joren stepped back and, with a flourish of his blade, sheathed it in the scabbard. “Upon an honorable compromise satisfying the insult to my sister’s honor.”

  Fillian jumped. “Truly?” Then he appeared to recall his purpose and cleared his throat. “Upon what terms, Your Highness?”

  Joren raked his thoughts over any number of valid excuses to end the duel. A single explanation pushed to the forefront. “Although no blood has been drawn, an offer has been made by Lord Muir to marry Rapunzel. He’s asked for my sister’s hand in marriage and to bring her the happiness James Hook has so cruelly denied her. His words during the heat of the duel took me by surprise.”

  When he stole a quick glance at the Oclander, Joren realized he was on the end of a stare that could cut the heart from him if it were a knife. He grinned despite the visible threat in Muir’s glower.

  Chapter

  Marriage. The prince had to be out of his damned mind. Muir ran his fingers through his hair and tried to think of any way to counter the proclamation. Nothing came to mind.

  Then it occurred to him that he could use the ruse to his advantage. Perhaps this would finally give him the access to the king he lacked before.

  “Marriage? Really?” Captain Vandry kept her voice to a low murmur as she moved up beside him, flanked by Faolan and Coinneach, a shifter from his own aerie and a wolf from TalWolthe’s northern pack. The former was his childhood friend.

  “Not my idea, believe me.”

  She laughed, a low, throaty sound. “I gathered that from your expression. You may want to work on that, Muir. No one wants a reluctant bridegroom.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  Faolan snickered. “He won’t. The big ginger galoot never appreciates his blessings.”

  “Shall I inform the king and queen of this new development?” Vandry asked.

  Muir grunted. He shook his head. “Not yet. We’ll see what King Harold says first. He might dismiss this whole thing, so not a word to anyone.”

  “Very well. I’ll return to the ship. Should the king take offense to this plan, we’ll be ready to set sail the moment you’re onboard.”

  “Thank you.”

  He watched as the three walked off through the gardens and fought back his rising irritation. Whatever the prince’s plan, he had to help see it through, which meant Vandry was right. He had to play his part.

  When he turned back to the waiting royal party, he did so with a satisfied smile, as if he were pleased by the outcome. The prince spoke with his associates then finally crossed over to him while the others headed back toward the castle.

  “I believe they all bought my story,” Joren said.

  “Wonderful.”

  The prince pressed his lips together and studied him with the same intensity his sister had. The resemblance between them was remarkable.

  “Look, I know you can’t be pleased by this arrangement, but you must understand, it was the only way allowing us both to save face and rescue my sister from her current situation.”

  “And you think the king will accept this idea?”

  “There’s no reason for him not to. Besides, if he does refuse to grant permission, then you’re still safe.”

  “I see.”

  “For the sake of my own curiosity, and so I understand in the event my father remarks upon it, what did happen between you and my sister?”

  “Wouldn’t this have been better to discover before you challenged me?”

  Hot spots of color burned high in the prince’s cheeks. “Yes, it would have been. In this, I must beg your forgiveness. When it comes to my sister, I’m afraid my good sense is often forgotten.”

  “You love her. There’s nothing to forgive.”

  “Still, you have my apology all the same. Now please, will you tell me the true story?”

  Muir sighed and relayed the story he’d given to Anastasia, Alistair, and even Amerys. How amusing that three of the people he trusted most all shared names beginning with the letter A.

  “That’s it?”

  “That was all.”

  There was a change in the prince’s expression at that moment of realization, a moment that made Muir grin with satisfaction despite the severity of the situation. One moment Joren was flushed and bright-eyed, in the next, his face was the bloodless white of a man who understood how close he’d come to losing his life. For nothing.

  “Gods, we almost fought to the death over that?”

  “We did. It wasn’t my intention to shame your sister, but I had no other way to speak with her during daylight without alerting the royal guard. One must presume many of them are aware of your father’s schemes.”

  “I could demand to see her again. Speak to her when they haven’t the chance to force their poison upon her and uncover the truth. I’ll blow down the godsdamned door if I must.”

  “It would also draw suspicion,” Muir mused. “The guards would no doubt summon the king, and your father would come right away. And if the king would poison Rapunzel, what would he do to you?”

  “Damnation. Far too many variables, not enough time to plan. Can you get me in to see her tonight as you did?” Joren asked.

  “If we’re careful about it, yes. Meet me in the gardens after the first watch rotation of the night. Bring some rope and some food if you can manage it.”

  “Are they not feeding her?”

  “They are, but I’m certain she’ll be glad of something she can trust to not be tainted.”

  Understanding dawned in Joren’s gaze, followed by an angry surge of color in his face. “Yes, of course. I’ll bring her favorites.”

  “Good.”

  “In the meantime, I’ll speak with both my parents about the recent development.”

  Muir grimaced again. “Do I—”

  “No. I will tell them alone.”

  Thank the stars for small favors.

  * * *

  Joren decided to seek his mother first to appeal to her sense of decency, if any remained. When he found her, the queen was on a divan beside the window in her solarium where she often retreated during the days to escape any semblance of married life. She stared at the city below, a book spread over her lap with the art of a tuberose depicted on the open pages. Her tambour and embroidery occupied the spot beside her.

  Unlike his father, his mother had aged well. Her hair still held its golden luster and no wrinkles marred her ivory complexion. Despite that, there was a tarnish to her beauty, most notable in the circles under her eyes and the sway in her step—whenever she bothered to get up at all. He remembered a graceful, tall, beautiful woman, but she hadn’t been that for a long time.

  Sometimes, Joren wondered if their mother was reaching the age of dementia, when a person’s faculties sometimes dimmed and they were no longer in their right mind. What else could lead to her losing interest in her children, kingdom, and everything else resembling normal life overnight?

  Had Father drugged her too?

  No, the only drugs involved were those she imbibed on her own. The sour reek of old wine struck his nose once he was within a few steps of her.

  Her gaze turned on him, mildly interested, her smile halfhearted. “I see you’re home.”

>   “I returned yesterday, which you would have known if you bothered to leave this room and your… distractions.”

  She waved a hand at him, dismissive as ever. “You’re home, what news is there in that?”

  Even though he had expected it, her apathetic response tore another bleeding hole in his aching heart. He longed for the days when his mother would meet him at the docks instead of Fillian, or even his father, thrilled to sweep her son into her arms and listen to his tales of studying abroad. She hadn’t cared enough to listen to his stories in years.

  “Have you been to see Rapunzel, Mother? Have you seen how sick she is?”

  “Always a frail child, that girl. Pity.”

  “That’s it? That’s all you have to say?”

  She sighed, as if the weight of answering his questions were a burden too heavy for her feeble shoulders. “You need to focus on what matters now, Joren. Your father and I are old. You’ve been brought home to take your place on the throne once you learn how to become a worthy successor.”

  “It should be Rapunzel’s place.”

  “As I said, a pity. You’d do well to set those hopes aside. Now, is that all?”

  He gritted his teeth and held back a sharp retort. “Yes. I’ll go find Father now.”

  “He isn’t far. He’s in his study as usual.”

  After dismissing her son, the queen returned to the only task that mattered to her anymore these days. She removed a bottle of frost wine from beneath a pillow and was pouring the golden liquid into her teacup before he even left the room.

  Servants moved out of his way as he stormed down the carpeted corridors. From one side of the castle to the other, his anger and resentment remained with him. Part of him wanted to burst into the room and hurl accusations. To demand the truth. That was the brasher side of him his sister always cautioned him to tame. It was that very side of him, damning and impulsive, that had led to challenging a man twice his size to the death over a few intimate touches in the garden.