Enchanted: A Fae Fantasy Romance (Fae Magic Book 3)

by Jessica Aspen

  Bosco barked out a short, bitter laugh. “You have no idea.”

  “Then tell me. She’s already given you riches and I can smell the extra power on you. If you stay, by the time you reach manhood you’ll be powerful enough to be a Tuathan lord yourself. You’ll be rich. Powerful. Why would you go?”

  His face changed, the soft, baby cheeks of adolescence shifting into something suddenly hard and adult. “You don’t know. You can’t.” His voice dropped low. “It started off...nice. She was...affectionate.” Even in the pale light cast by the fairies, she could see his face turn red.

  “Do you mean she—” she swallowed hard “—touched you?”

  Her baby brother. The one she’d diapered and taught to walk. Taught to run and climb. The one who now had a look in his black eyes that made them deep pools of shame.

  She barely heard his next words.

  “That’s not the bad part.”

  She couldn’t keep the horror out of her voice. “What could possibly be worse than having a woman more than two thousand years older than you making you her bedmate?”

  “Making you her bed slave.” A loud mocking voice behind her shattered the quiet of their hushed conversation.

  She turned quickly, the whiplash of her braids nearly smacking Freelana out of the air. Standing in front of her was a man who had been a boy when she’d last seen him. Now the jump in her heart froze at his cutting look.

  His face had sharpened, and so had everything about him. Once, she’d thought they’d be married but now the ice of the court was in his gaze, making the silver of his eyes unfamiliar.

  “Ardan?”

  “Don’t you recognize your childhood sweetheart?” He gave her a mocking bow. “Go home, Siobhan. Leave Bosco to serve out his term.”

  “You were Winter King. You must have known what the queen was like. You’re older and stronger. You were always the leader when we were young. Couldn’t you protect him?”

  “Protect him?” Ardan laughed, his laugh an icy cold seeping into her heart. “That’s rich. You’re just as innocent as when we were children. I’ll tell you who I am and what I do—I’m not his protector, I’m part of his training.”

  She couldn’t keep the disgust from her face and his face turned bitter.

  “Don’t look at me like that, Siobhan, judging what you don’t understand. You have no idea. You people in the villages, buying your safety from the queen with our young bodies. None of you question what goes on in here.” His lips twisted and he shook his head. “None of you. As long as she stays away from the villages, none of you care.”

  Bosco edged closer. He twined icy fingers into hers and whispered, “Can we go now?”

  Siobhan nodded and together they edged away from the mocking face of the man she once thought she’d loved.

  “Leaving us, are you? Good luck with that, Siobhan.” Bright light flooded the courtyard, reflecting off of the snow. Siobhan threw her hand in front of her, her vision suddenly night blinded.

  Four of the Queen’s Guard blocked their escape route, each one holding a sword or pike. She pulled her sword. On the wall a row of archers materialized. Ardan melted back into the shadows, leaving the two of them isolated in the glare. “The queen is on her way.”

  She felt Bosco quake all along her side.

  “Don’t worry.” She held her sword in her right hand and palmed her escape bubble with her left. She didn’t know how she was going to fight off four of the toughest fighters in the region, but she’d go down in a bloody heap before letting her baby brother go back to a woman he feared this much.

  But Bosco stepped up to her side. “No, she’ll kill you. Let me.” And her skinny adolescent brother, without a weapon in his hand, moved in front of her, just as the Winter Queen came into view on the far side of the courtyard.

  Dressed in long white furs, Maeve glowed, her power so strong it illuminated the air around her. Tall and slender, like all Tuatha De Dannan, she was almost fragile looking, the bones of her face sharply protruding around her penetrating gaze. There was a rumor that once her hair at been as pure white as Bosco and Siobhan’s own, but now it was streaked with the deep blue of her power and she looked as if she lived on nothing but snow, and ice, and magic.

  “Come to me, my fine Winter King. My bed is cold and lonely without you.” The queen reached out to Bosco and beckoned.

  Siobhan looked right and left and knew they were out of choices. There was no time and too many foes. The queen herself could blow them to pieces with a snap of one of her fingers, even from far across the courtyard. She had to act now, or Bosco would be lost.

  She raised the bubble to her mouth, the ice touching her lips a reassuring cold. She couldn’t compete with the queen or her guards, but she knew the frost. And this one small piece of magic had taken her months to get just right. It would work. It had to.

  She blew on the surface and activated the globe. It began to grow as the guards drew closer. She blew harder until the bubble lifted off of her palm. It floated toward Bosco, growing larger and larger until it touched his back, just as the first of the guards reached them. He startled, but it was too late. The bubble wrapped around him, enveloping him in its protective sheet of ice.

  He turned as the ball lifted into the air, pressing his hands to the surface and pounding on the ice, his mouth a soundless shout of her name. Siobhan!

  The queen raced across the courtyard, her long hair and furs streaming out behind her. “Strike him down!”

  A row of archers on the wall took aim at Bosco’s fragile bubble. The arrows took off, but Freelana and her sisters moved first. Flying fast and linking energies, the fairies cast a bright glow of magic around the bubble and escorted it into the sky.

  “No! You can’t leave me. I won’t permit it.” Maeve shot an arc of power from her fingertips into the air. It streaked out and hit the clump of fairies, exploding the shield in a burst of bright light and leaving the bubble exposed.

  There was the sound of ice cracking as the five fairies shattered into icy crystals that rained down on the pavement of the courtyard, tinkling as if they were screaming their last cries.

  Siobhan threw her left hand up, shielding her eyes, but she couldn’t shield her heart from the pain as the remains of the fairies fell, glittering purple on the snow. She had no time to grieve. The queen sent off another blast into the sky, shooting for Bosco. Siobhan sent her power out in the only way she could, forming a cascade of frost flowers that did nothing to stop the lightning-fast line of power. She could only watch in horror as the magic streamed toward the bubble.

  And fell short. Siobhan nearly crumpled with relief. The fairies’ sacrifice had not been in vain. Bosco’s bubble was out of range.

  “No! No one leaves me. No one!” Another and another bolt shot out from the queen’s fingers, lighting up the sky, until the bubble was too far away to even see Bosco’s desperate face pressed against the clear sides. The queen stopped shooting, the last bolt of her power fading into the night. Fingers now aimed at Siobhan, she strode toward her. “You! Dying is too good for you.”

  “You’re too late.” Siobhan stood tall waiting for the queen’s final blow. “He’s safe now.”

  The queen’s eyes narrowed into slits and Siobhan could see her fate in their depths. She’d have no time to mourn Freelana and her sisters, but at least Bosco was safe. He’d be able to grow up far from here and reach manhood without the evil of the queen touching him.

  There was a shudder from beneath Siobhan’s feet. A pulse of power flowed from the very walls of the courtyard, along the icy stones of the courtyard and into the queen as she shouted up at the bubble fading fast into the night.

  “Bosco, you have one hundred years to regret tonight and how you’ve failed to serve me. One hundred years to figure out how to appease my anger. One hundred years to know your sister is here and waiting for you, unable to speak or eat or even shed a tear.” Her voice took on the magical thrum of a spell and the temperature o
f the cold winter’s night got even colder.

  Siobhan shivered in her warm winter clothes, her breath freezing in her lungs.

  Magic, a dark poisonous shade of blue Siobhan had never seen before, rocketed out of the queen’s fingers. Siobhan had no time to throw up more than the barest of her shields before the blue light poured over her. Tendrils of cold worked their way into her eyes and nose, crystallizing everywhere they touched.

  The queen was still shouting at the sky. “You’d better come back with an army, my little Winter King, because without me feeding you power, you’re weaker than the least of my lovers. You’ll never have enough strength to take me on. Never be able to save the sister who has sacrificed her life for you.” She stopped her tirade and looked at Siobhan. Her lip curled. “Poor thing, if you don’t enter hibernieth, you won’t make it the full one hundred years. You’ll just be a frozen husk when he comes to save you.”

  The tendrils raced towards Siobhan’s heart, snaking along the lines of her power, freezing her from the inside out. She lost the ability to move and she could feel her life dwindling.

  She reacted instinctively, reaching into the depths of her being and pulling out an elvatian’s last defense. As a thick crust of ice formed over her body, she entered the suspended state of hibernieth.

  Deep in dormancy, she wouldn’t know what was happening around her. But she’d survive. And, when Bosco came back—and she knew he would—she’d be alive.

  The last words of the queen faded as Siobhan entered the deep sleep. “One hundred years, Bosco. One hundred years from now is the day you both die.”

  Chapter Two

  Doyle Atavantador, last ice dragon of a very long ago world, took a second pass over the massive complex that had become the Winter Court, waiting for the fleeing figures below to clear a space for him to land. He cursed under his breath. Couldn’t she stop building one icy wall after another? What had started as a simple keep now stretched over a half mile square, and the queen showed no sign of stopping her building binge.

  He made a sharp turn, pivoting on the point of his left wing and cutting down sharply in order to make the landing in the center courtyard. At least the doors into the castle were tall enough so he could walk into the main room where Maeve, the Winter Queen, held court.

  Normally he walked in and everything stopped, but today he had to use his massive bulk and push his snout into the crowd to make the lords and ladies stand aside and let him through. By the time he had reached the front of the room where the queen sat front and center on a giant white throne gilded with silver paint, he was fuming.

  He only came to court once a year, you would think she could treat him with the respect he deserved. But no. Maeve’s attention was focused on a pitiful, sniveling elvatian peasant, huddling in front of the throne. Not her usual type, the girl’s skin had a blue tint to it, and chunks of melting ice dripped off of her, landing on the floor with wet thuds.

  Maeve was in a state. Her entire body was rigid with agitation, her tendons individual wires on the back of her hands as she gripped the arms of her throne. “I’ve waited three days to defrost you and he still isn’t here.” She whipped her gaze to the smaller throne beside her where her current Winter King sat trembling. “It’s been a hundred years, and I know he’s not dead. Is he so disloyal that he wouldn’t even come back to save her?”

  The boy in the throne nodded. Doyle looked at him, then had to look again. Where was the boy? Doyle had heard that the elvatian could fade away into nothingness, but it was extremely rare. He’d never seen it before, but here was the evidence right before his very eyes.

  You could see right through his body all the way to the painted snowflake on the back of the throne. Even the skimpy clothes Maeve had permitted him to wear, while she dressed in white polar bear furs, were nearly translucent.

  Maeve rose from her throne and walked down the short flight of steps to where the girl huddled on the floor. “Well? You loved him enough to sneak over my walls, despite your lack of power. You lost your friends, your home, and now you are going to lose your life. Over what? A moody child who even a hundred years later hasn’t grown up enough to show his face to me. Or maybe he’s just too busy with that Black Court fiasco. I hope your sacrifice gave you some pleasure, girl, because this whole thing is making me angry.”

  The prisoner didn’t say anything, just shook, looking like nothing more than a poorly wrung-out mop, left out to freeze.

  Maeve kept her courtroom cold so less people would bother her, but it didn’t work on Doyle. Ice dragons thrived in cold conditions. He could sit here all day for what he was due. Not that he was going to. She owed him and whatever sad story was sitting in front of her could wait. He was due his tithe and he was due now.

  He sat up on his haunches and stretched out his wings. Courtiers fled from his sides to get out of the way of the fifty-foot spread. “Your Majesty, I’m here for my gold.”

  Maeve’s head whipped up. “Atavantador? What makes you think you can come in here and demand gold from me? Can’t you see I’m busy?”

  The crowd had pressed away from the two of them and now the front of the room was empty, except for the queen and her prisoner. He moved forward. And deepened his voice, letting a little of the magic that formed him through. “I am due my tithe—are you refusing to pay?” His voice, amplified by the hollow space in his rib cage, vibrated the room. Above his head, the crystal chandeliers chimed in response, swinging dangerously on their chains.

  The queen lifted her chin and stared him in the eye. “I give you gold and silver year after year and what do you do for me? Do you go out and raze a few villages to keep them in fear of me? No. Do you fly south and sear the trees to remind the dwellers of the piney woods that I am not to be ignored? No. You do none of these things. You sit in that empty gnome palace and mope.”

  Inside his belly, the cold fire heated as the frustration and rage he’d been holding back for years set it burning.

  “I am sworn to defend the Winter Court. You have sworn to tithe me my due in gold and silver. If we are done with our bargain than I am no longer required to hold back from anything that I wish to do.”

  “And what is it that you wish to do? Hmm?”

  She was so small and confident, standing in front of him. So secure in her power. Did she really think she was more powerful than he was. He lowered his head to her level and sniffed. What in Drago’s name?

  She was more powerful than she’d been last year. How could that be? She squandered her magic, building wall after wall and fusing it with power, feeding the lowly men of her court so they would be stronger. He looked around. Standing on the balcony overlooking the courtroom were the Queen’s Guard. Former Winter Kings that had been brought here as weak villagers with little Gift and fed more and more over the years. He’d never really wondered how she did it, how she could feed all of these boys turned into men, and still retain her power. But now, he wondered: how could she do all of this, build more and more of the palace, and actually grow stronger?

  “Well?” She turned away from him, sauntered back to the dais and climbed the stairs. “You come in here like you’re something special, like you deserve more than your fair share. Well, I’ll tell you what you can do—take that thing as your tithe.” She sank into her throne and pointed at the quavering villager on the floor.

  “What in hell am I supposed to do with her?”

  “Drain her of what little power she has. Eat her empty husk. I don’t care. Since she apparently isn’t important enough to her beloved brother, I am denied my revenge. She’s useless to me, but I swore to kill her. She might as well serve a purpose.” She threw back her head and laughed. “Kill two birds with one stone. Get it?”

  He did. And the joke wasn’t funny. Dragons were not birds. They were dangerous creatures. He wouldn’t kill the queen today. He couldn’t. He’d sworn to protect the Winter Court, and right now, she was the Winter Court. She’d tied her Gift into it. If he unfocused an
d looked, strands of her magic went right into the walls. If she died, the entire palace would go with her. This was bad, very bad. The very thing he’d sworn his life to protect was buried under this palace. There was no way he would endanger it, not to take out one spoiled queen.

  And besides, he had to find out how she was gaining this power. While she wasn’t strong enough to face him now, not even with the entire court backing her up, if this kept up, one day she might be. But to be handed this bundle of wet rags as his tithe? No, he couldn’t accept it.

  “You insult me.” He rose up on his hind legs and batted his wings. Cold air flowed over the room, and the entire court shivered.

  “You have the balls to walk in here and demand a tithe that you haven’t even earned? You insult me, dragon. Take her and be satisfied.”

  “She is not the equivalent of my swearing fealty.”

  Maeve motioned to one of the lords behind her and he ran up to her. She whispered in his ear. The lord went behind the throne where three bags sat. The bitch. She had remembered today was the day and the three bags were his due. But the man only picked up one of the bags and brought it forward. He stopped well short of Doyle, tossing it beside the village girl.

  “There, take that. And the girl. And be grateful.”

  Power rolled through him. His skin flushed with cold heat. He’d seen queens far more powerful than this upstart wench fold at the sight of his flame. He could take her out with one blast of ice fire, melt her face right off of the bones.

  He pulled it all back. No. He’d take her sad offering. He’d sworn to protect the Winter Court and if he took her out she would take the entire palace with her. And then, the one thing that was now his entire purpose in life would be blasted to the ends of the universe.

  And he would have failed.

  SIOBHAN BLINKED HIBERNIETH-weakened eyes at the dragon. Atavantador was a legend, flying over the villages and mountains, too high in the sky to really see. He was horrifyingly beautiful in person. His scales were the color of spring ice, white with undertones of pale blue, and his eyes were an even deeper shade, with pupils slit like a cat’s. But his talons were as long as swords and his fangs were knife-sharp, and as he turned his attention to her, her very empty stomach squeezed tight in fear.