Rapunzel and the Griffin Prince

by Savage, Vivienne

“The royal guard know her to be insane. Father’s toxins led her to attacking several of them. We’ll never gain their loyalty if we reveal the whole truth now. No. It’s for the best if we remove Father and worry about the rest later. Trust me. I don’t want to be king, but I’ll bear a few months if it saves Eisland and frees my sister.”

  “When do we do this thing?” Kaid asked.

  Joren glanced at the window, Rapunzel’s tower within line of sight from his personal study. He’d already sent Sebille there with word of his plans, a promise to free her at last. That would be his first official act as king.

  I won’t wait another day, he thought. The recent news from Floren was all the motivation he needed.

  “Now.”

  * * *

  With a pair of shifters flanking him on each side and a squad of royal guards moving in formation behind them, Joren entered the throne room. Though he’d hoped for a bloodless coup, he wore his sword and prayed for a peaceful resolution.

  Four guards occupied the room, two standing at attention beside the doors, another pair near the throne. His mother stood beside the window sipping from her teacup while his father sat on the dais.

  “What is the meaning of this, Joren?”

  “Father, it’s time for you to step aside and allow me to rule in your stead. I’ve come to challenge you.”

  “Challenge me?”

  “Yes.”

  The old man chuckled. “You wouldn’t know the first thing about becoming king. You’ve spent your entire life squirreled away at your ridiculous collegium hoping to one day become a true magician.”

  “I may not know how to rule, but I know what’s right. What you’re doing, slavery, poisoning my sister—I can’t abide it, Father.”

  “Oh, is that what you think? Is Rapunzel telling lies to her new husband?” The king’s rheumy gaze darted to Muir. “What has my errant daughter told you? I knew allowing this marriage would be a mistake.”

  “She didn’t need to tell me anything,” Muir growled. “Anyone with eyes could see something was done to the princess. I smelled the poppies used to drug her.”

  “Ah. And so you think to help my son overthrow me?” The king leaned forward, steepling his spindly fingers as his wife approached the throne. “It won’t be so easy as storming the castle and demanding I abdicate. Greater men have bowed before my power. I rule this kingdom. I do! And no one”—the king rose from his throne—“not even the spoiled fruit of my own womb will stop me.”

  Joren blinked. He’s gone over the deep end. He’s truly lost it and gone addled.

  On his next step, the king slumped to the marble floor, and lifeless, clouded eyes stared at the vaulted ceiling. A surge of magic swelled from the throne, then a sort of transformation—like a wicked alchemy reducing a once living man to a shriveled puppet—took place as his father’s body aged a decade in seconds. By the end, he appeared long dead, his weathered face creased with heavy lines like decorative paper crumpled and flattened anew.

  The queen slid into the seat and crossed her legs, the very image of elegance and grace. She raised her chin and smiled down at them from the dais before interlacing her fingers together above one knee. The bangles on her wrists glowed with a subtle violet light.

  “Mother?”

  For years, the queen had always smelled of wine and flowers, with a glazed look in her eyes as she grew increasingly detached from her family. Yet now, a transformed woman sat upon the throne.

  “Did you really think you could overthrow my magnificent empire, Joren? Did you think I would let you?”

  “I don’t understand. You did all of this? But you’re just a drunk.”

  “I pretended to be a drunk. Your father was a doddering fool who didn’t see the true potential this kingdom could aspire to. The wealth that could be made.” She nudged the king’s limp body with a slippered foot. “So I did what needed to be done.”

  “And Rapunzel? Why have you kept her locked up all these years?”

  “Because as rightful heir, I couldn't very well kill her, but she couldn’t be persuaded to see things my way. So I found another use for her.” The queen jangled the bracelets on her wrists, near identical to Rapunzel’s shackles, but made of fine gold and inlaid with gemstones.

  She’s siphoning Rapunzel’s power.

  “No, it’s not right. I won’t let you do this, Mother.”

  “You always were the weak one. I’d hoped sending you to Arthras would strengthen that spine of yours. No matter. None of that matters now.”

  One of the shifters growled, despite standing in human form. The rumbling noise echoed in the chamber.

  “Muir, go get my sister. She should be present for this.”

  “Gladly.”

  The moment Muir took a step, the guards at the door crossed their swords before it and blocked his path. “You won’t be taking her anywhere, beastman. Everything you ate, right down to those birds you inhaled like a heathen, were laced with a potion to increase your vigor and ensure a child was planted in her womb. And from what I am told, you took to your new duties with enthusiasm. Once I’m assured your seed took root, you’ll have no further use to me.”

  Muir snorted back a laugh. “You’ll be waiting a long time, hag.”

  The queen’s eyes narrowed. Joren didn’t even recognize his mother anymore. The coldness in her gaze, the hardness in her expression, made her a stranger.

  She rose from the throne and shouted, “Help! These beasts have slain the king!”

  At that moment, the guard beside the throne unclipped a trumpet from his belt, raised it to his lips, and blew six short notes every guard within the castle knew.

  Their monarchs were under attack. The warning cry was reissued from different corners of the castle by other guardsman equipped with trumpets. Whistles blew, and booted feet pounded marble floors. The castle came alive with activity, with men rushing into the room.

  “They’ve killed the king!” the queen cried in a shrill voice. The two guards at the throne stepped forward between Joren, the shifters, and Queen Gothel. He wouldn’t think of her as his mother any longer.

  “What do we do, Joren?” Muir asked.

  Joren unclenched his hands. “This changes nothing. We came prepared for a fight, so a fight is what we get.”

  Kaid grinned. “I love a good fight.”

  “Try not to demolish the throne room, lads,” Lileas said. Her mate chuckled.

  It didn’t matter that the trio of shifters were unarmed and only Muir wore a sword. The three transformed and filled the space, their teeth and claws all the weapons they needed. Both wolves were no smaller than the draft horses, and Kaid, the bear, had become an enormous monster towering above them larger than any yeti.

  A guard fell to Joren’s right. His gaze darted that way to see his brother-in-law protecting their flank. When he wasn’t holding back, Muir was a beast on the battlefield. He swung his enormous sword through the air and practically cleaved another man into two distinct pieces.

  Lileas pinned another guard beneath her, tearing out his throat and spraying blood. Five attempted to surround Kaid, with little effect, even when the one guard lieutenant drew his pistol and fired. Joren wasn’t sure if the iron ball even penetrated the bear’s dense pelt.

  Thank the gods they’re on our side.

  The queen swept King Harold’s scepter from the ground and tapped the ground with it. Static filled the air.

  Joren stepped in front of them and raised one hand, meeting her electrical discharge with a magical shield. It crackled across the semi-translucent surface and rolled off like water droplets sliding down an oil cloak.

  He had no staff. Didn’t need a staff. He’d spent twenty years of his life at the collegium for a reason, desperate to grow beyond the need for trinkets and tools to direct is power. Only the most powerful magicians with mastery in every elemental circle could cast spells without focus items.

  And those magicians were known as archmagi.

 
He dragged in breaths of cool air, calmed, and found his center, channeling a sweltering, raw wave of force toward the throne. The queen met it with an arcane shield of her own, and then the true battle of sorcery began, pitting his will against Gothel and the force stolen from his sister. Hurling spells back in forth, volleys of elemental magic sizzling against shields, crackling over semi-translucent walls, and scorching the air.

  “Do not harm the prince!” Gothel called. “We must take him alive.”

  Bodies fell around them, one of the wolves—gods, they were breathtaking creatures to watch—had a superficial slice to the shoulder. It gleamed red against Coinneach’s gray and white coat.

  More armed guards fell. Their numbers had been halved at the very least. Then, Joren counted his blessings as a half dozen swept into the room without their tabards.

  “For Prince Joren!” came their battle cry. They joined the shifters as the raucous sound of battle spilled into the corridors beyond the throne room. More of them were fighting there.

  “Hold the entrance hall, Muir!” Joren cried.

  The shifter sheathed his sword and dashed toward the entrance. Becoming a powerful beast, he loped on both sets of paws and claws into the next chamber. His war cry echoed through the palace’s enormous halls, followed by the screams of royal guardsmen felled by his talons.

  One of the guards standing beside Gothel lobbed a loose sack of gunpowder into the center of the room. It bounced against the cobalt runner and the fabric lay open, sending up a plume of ash-gray powder. It was loose and in the air, shimmering around them as it drifted toward the ground. Coinneach sneezed. Much of it had been concentrated around him, now that the big bear had moved to the throne room entrance to prevent the ingress of more guards.

  Oh no.

  Gothel thrust the scepter toward them and lit the figurative wick to her spell. Dozens of miniature explosions ignited in the air and swept over them, popping against his skin and burning in a chain reaction, a dozen hot flashes searing flesh and burning fur. The stink of it filled the room.

  Coinneach took the brunt of it. Then a ferocious snarl reverberated throughout the chamber as Lileas flew through the flames swirling through the air. She hit another spell and was tossed to the side like refuse where she struck a marble pillar and slumped to the floor. Coinneach groaned and shoved himself up again. The second guard removed another sachet of powder.

  One twitch of Joren’s fingers shattered the windows with magical force. The fires flared at first, fed by the fresh air, but then cool mist flooded the room as Joren channeled the moisture from the snow and ice beyond the castle into a wet fog to snuff the flames.

  As the last cinders died, the injured wolf moved faster than Joren’s sight could track. Wind swept through the throne room. He collided with the second guard, crushed him beneath his furry weight, and shattered bones within his massive maw.

  The second guard stepped in and lunged with his sword, running the wolf through. Coinneach jerked back and tore the blade from his assailant’s hand. Another gesture from Joren directed a flurry of ice that flayed the royal guard down to the bone.

  Lileas dragged her mate from the danger zone as Gothel stepped forward.

  “Little pups, you want to play with wind, do you?”

  The queen raised both arms above her. An air funnel as powerful as a hurricane swept through the small space, although she remained stationary, only her floor-length dress and hair moving in the turbulent wind. It took Joren off his feet and slammed him into the bear shifter who strained to resist its tug.

  Kaid rose to his hind legs and slammed both paws into the ground. The marble moved beneath them and rose in a semi-liquid, malleable wave until it reached the ceiling and cut them off from the queen’s assault. His sides heaved with exertion.

  “She’s too powerful and growing stronger by the second,” Joren murmured. “I never… not once did I ever expect this.”

  Muir returned to his side in animal form, feathered chest heaving. “How could you?”

  Joren glanced left and right. Coinneach hadn’t moved again, and Lileas stood over him with her hackles raised, snarling. There were dead royal guards all around them.

  “We’ll have to make a retreat. We can’t overcome her,” Muir continued, tearing a broken blood feather from his wings.

  “You’re right.” Joren stared at the wall. It buckled. Splintered. Raw power shuddered through the castle, and then something sizzled in the air, a perceivable buzz of charging magic that raised the hairs on the back of his neck.

  Something was happening.

  “What do we do?” Muir asked.

  “Save my sister.”

  “I don’t have time to reach Rapunzel, Joren. Your mother will be through that wall at any moment.”

  “I know. And when she emerges, I’ll be here. Save my sister, Muir. Rescue her from the tower and fly her to freedom. Please. I beg of you. I’ll remain here to stall.”

  Kaid remained by the wall, his body tense with concentration, his shifter ability pitted against the queen’s sorcery.

  Lileas nodded and moved to Joren’s side, transforming midstride. “Go, Muir. Save the princess. We’ll buy you time.”

  Muir hesitated, jaw tense.

  “It’s all I can ask of you,” Joren said in a final plea. “Save my sister. Save your wife. And if I survive this, I’ll forever be in your debt, brother.”

  Muir clicked his beak and swung around before scrambling through one of the shattered windows. He disappeared from beyond their sight as the marble wall crumbled.

  The triumphant queen stood before the throne, scepter in one hand. The mirror above it glowed like black fire, somehow both light and darkness in one, pulsing to the time of the ache that pounded behind Joren’s eyes with insidious ferocity.

  The queen cackled and clapped her hands together. “Your amateur stonework is no match for me. None of you are any match for me, Queen Gothel of Eisland. But I won’t destroy you. No, no, no. Your pretty pelts belong on my floor.”

  “Stop this!” Joren cried, placing another magical shield between the injured shifters and the queen.

  “And you, dear son, I have plans for you.” Gothel swung her scepter into the large mirror above the throne. It shattered into an unfathomable number of black particles and became a cyclone tearing through the room. They burned through Joren’s magical shield and surged over their small group.

  And then there was nothing more.

  * * *

  Rapunzel felt the change in the air, a low buzzing sensation like a building lightning storm sweeping over the castle grounds. When she glanced outside the window, the trees were still, their naked, snow-covered branches motionless.

  Sebille shivered and pulled her shawl over her shoulders. “Do you think your brother will send news soon?”

  “I hope so. We’ve waited so long here. I can’t imagine anyone standing alongside father for long. He mistreats the staff and treats them like less than animals.”

  “The guardsmen too, Your Highness. The things he says to them… the most demeaning things.”

  “I know. He holds no value for anyone these days but himself.”

  In the distance, a hawk screamed. Rapunzel tore her gaze toward the sound and looked outside just as Muir slammed into the stone ledge and his beaked face appeared in her window. His hind claws and talons scraped against the icy wall, scrabbling for purchase and dislodging several stones.

  Gods, what was he doing? It was broad daylight. She rushed to him and tore open the windows. “Muir, what’s happening?”

  “We need to leave, and there isn’t a moment to spare.”

  “Leave? But Joren—”

  “Your brother and the royal guard are fighting your mother in the throne room, Rapunzel. I have no time to explain further.”

  “My mother? But she’s only an old drunk.”

  He shook his head. “Far from it. Trust in me and come.”

  “Sebille is here, and I won’t leave with
out her. If I must flee this castle, she comes with me or I won’t leave at all.”

  “Fine!”

  Rapunzel flinched from his shout, straightened, and raised her chin. “You could barely cling to the stone beyond this window anyway. We need the door.”

  “Then a door you shall receive.”

  Muir grasped the wooden window frame in his beak and ripped it away with the ease of a child snapping a thin twig. His claws somehow found a place to grip, though his wings buffeted the wall from his effort.

  The wall thundered and shook, and on the next slam, it gave. Crumbling bits of stone and mortar tumbled away to reveal the enormous griffin with his wings spread to their full majestic span.

  “He’s huge,” Sebille breathed.

  “Yes.” Huge and beautiful. For a moment, Rapunzel forgot the danger and admired her rescuer.

  “Both of you on my back, now.”

  The curt words snapped her back to the present, to their dire situation. She sensed the building power in the palace and had no urge to see it with her own eyes. Grabbing nothing more than her shawl, she clambered over the broken wall and onto Muir’s back, finding a seat just behind his neck with her legs in front of his wings.

  “Sebille, come on.”

  “I… I can’t.” Sebille’s gaze shot to the ground far below, her eyes wide in her pale, green-tinged face.

  “Oh, for goodness sake.”

  She reached over, grabbed Sebille by the wrist, and pulled the woman over with a sharp tug. To Muir’s credit, he neither complained nor moved. Sebille scrambled to get situated, grasping her around the waist.

  “Go, Muir. Go!”

  “Hold on tight,” he warned before he pushed off the stone wall.

  Frigid air rushed past them. They were plummeting, falling toward the ground for the first seconds until Muir’s wings snapped out and the wind pushed through his feathers, carrying them perpendicular to the snowy castle grounds. Sebille’s high-pitched shriek echoed across the skies.

  Rapunzel dared to look to their left. Her stomach rose into her tight throat at the sight below, both the distance to the ground and the magical light show pulsing beyond the windows of the castle’s throne room.