Winter Queen_A reverse harem novel

by Skye MacKinnon

  I wrap wind magic around his arms and waist, and pull, while anchoring myself in place with more magic. Nothing happens. It’s as if he’s not there. My magic isn’t having any effect on him.

  Suddenly, there’s something on my throat, something real this time. Cold and sharp. A knife. Even having it on my skin hurts. This isn’t a normal knife. It feels evil, wrong.

  “He said, let her go.”

  Wait, that’s Crispin speaking. How is Crispin both behind me and standing next to Storm?

  I think the lack of oxygen is making me hallucinate.

  “I was supposed to capture her, but I’m allowed to kill her, so stand back,” the Crispin holding me warns. His voice is cold and impassionate, so unlike my Crispy.

  The blackness is increasing and my legs are going limp. I’d fall to the ground if he wasn’t holding me tight. Still, the movement surprises him and the knife cuts into my skin.

  I’m too weak to even scream as pain races through me. Even though the wound is only on my throat, it hurts everywhere. I focus on my magic and shudder as I see black tendrils run through my veins, mixing with my blood. Something is flowing from the knife into me. I need to stop it.

  Thinking is getting more and more difficult.

  Stop the blackness.

  I reach out to my magic and let her loose.

  “Get rid of it,” I tell her. “Destroy it.”

  She purrs and jumps up, towards the black tendrils spreading further and further through my body.

  “Arc, now!” I hear from far away, but my ears are no longer working properly. Nothing is working. I can’t see, I can’t speak, and I definitely can’t breathe.

  The black magic is burning me. I need to get away from it.

  I draw further into myself, cowering in the cave my magic usually resides in. I can feel her fight against the intruders, but I’m not sure if she’s strong enough.

  I’ll wait here.

  And sleep.

  I need to sleep.

  So tired.

  “She’s breathing again!”

  “Finally!”

  “Wyn, can you hear me?”

  “Give her some space!”

  I blink my eyes open, expecting darkness like earlier, but I can see again – and it’s no longer night. I’m not in the gardens anymore either.

  “Ehm… where am I?” I groan, very aware that it’s the oldest question in the book.

  “In the healing wing,” Arc answers.

  I’m about to say that I’ve seen the healing quarters and that this room doesn’t look at all like it, when Arc grins and interrupts my unspoken protest.

  “This is the Royal hospital room. You didn’t think the Queen or any of the Gods would lie on the general ward with the common Guardians?”

  “That makes sense. Why was there a second Crispin?” I point at my blond healer who’s standing on my right, worry filling his eyes.

  “Long story,” he sighs. “Maybe you should rest first. Your wound still isn’t healed completely.”

  “My wound?”

  He points at my throat.

  “Don’t touch it. I put a dressing on it so it won’t get infected.”

  I look at him in confusion. “You didn’t heal me?”

  He cringes. “I tried. It was a Summer blade… I couldn’t do anything.” His shoulders begin to shake and Frost puts an arm around his shoulders.

  “Not your fault, mate. Nobody can heal wounds inflicted by that knife.”

  I frown. “So how am I alive and talking?”

  “You healed yourself,” Crispin says quietly. “Your magic fought the Summer poison. When you stopped breathing though… We thought you’d gone back to the Library, but when you didn’t wake up, we knew that you hadn’t. Your heart was still beating though… I didn’t know what to do.”

  He looks so lost, so full of despair, that I stretch out a hand and pull him onto the bed. Surprised by my sudden gesture, he trips and almost falls on top of me, but Storm manages to catch him just in time before he crushes me.

  “Careful, don’t squash the Princess,” Storm says sternly but there’s a small laugh in his voice.

  I laugh. “Did you just make a joke?”

  He shrugs. “I do have my moments.”

  “Well, five stars for bedside manner,” I tease and he smiles.

  Crispin adjusts his position until he’s lying next to me on the bed, hugging me close. I think the hug is more for him than for me, but I’m okay with that. I know how bad he must have been feeling. He’s a healer, he’s the most talented healer in the Realm, and still he wasn’t able to help me. For someone who’s always wanting to help others, this must have been frustrating and terrifying at the same time.

  “So, tell me about that other Crispin,” I demand, wrapping an arm around the healer. I’m trapped beneath my blanket, otherwise I’d use my legs to draw him closer too.

  “He’s another creation of the Morrigan,” Arc blurts out. “She made a second Crispin. Maybe more. Like clones.” He shudders in disgust. “I thought she’d have more imagination than creating the same Guardian again.”

  “I’m prettier,” Crispin grumbles next to me and I run my fingers over his smooth golden hair.

  “You are,” I whisper. “You’re the prettiest Crispin out there.”

  He chuckles slightly, but there’s a lot of darkness in his eyes as he looks straight at me.

  “Didn’t you mean Guardian?”

  “What?”

  “Prettiest Guardian,” he clarifies. “Not just the prettiest Crispin. For all I know, there’s only two of us.”

  “Let’s hope so,” Storm mutters darkly. “There could be dozens of new Crispins.”

  “Could we stop calling them my name?” Crispin protests, and while he laughs while saying it, it’s clear that it hurts.

  “Let’s call them clones,” I suggest. “They may look like you from the outside, but not at all on the inside. In there, you’re unique.” I place a hand on his chest, feeling his steady heartbeat.

  “What happened to the clone who attacked me?”

  “He’s in the dungeons,” Storm says. “We wanted to wait with interrogating him until you’re awake again. He had some poison with him, just like the others, but we took it off him before he could take it.”

  “Good, let’s go.”

  “Are you sure you’re feeling up to it,” Crispin asks, the healer in him coming to the surface. “We should do some tests…”

  “I don’t need tests,” I interrupt him. “I want to talk to that fake Crispin who tricked me and cut my skin.”

  “Is the knife’s magic completely destroyed?” Frost asks and I focus on my magic to make sure. She’s back in her cave, sleeping peacefully, her belly round like she’s just had a large meal. If she’s calm like that, it means there are no more threats inside my body.

  “All clear,” I tell the guys. “Let’s interrogate this bastard. I have a few things to say to him.”

  I jump out of bed, noticing that I’m in a white gown.

  “Seriously? I look like you were close to putting me in a coffin.”

  “We cremate our dead,” Arc protests but Frost interrupts him.

  “Has anybody ever told you that you can be scary when you look this determined?”

  “No? But that’s good. I want to make that clone feel fear.”

  After a quick stop by my own rooms to get dressed in something less pathetic, I lead the men down into the dungeons. The last time I was here, I came to see the dragon prisoner. I wonder where he and Ada are right now. I still feel a little betrayed by the Guardian’s disappearance. She’s a strong warrior, we could use her in the battles to come. Maybe she’ll be back, but I don’t count on it. Something’s going on with her and the dragons, but there’s no time for us to find out.

  “He’s in the cell furthest to the right,” Storm tells me. He’s been trying to take the lead ever since we descended into the lower levels of the Palace, but I’m not letting him
. It’s my right to speak to the man who tried to kill me. If he is a man, not a monster.

  I immediately feel bad for thinking that. Once, Crispin would have been like him. Killing for the Morrigan without second thought. Did he feel the same pleasure about it that his clone exuded? I shudder when I remember hearing the clone’s voice, his warm breath on my ear. He’d been creepy. I can’t believe I didn’t notice immediately that it wasn’t my Crispin – but then, why would I have expected a doppelganger? I didn’t think that was possible.

  We reach the last cell and its inhabitant. He’s lying on the ground, his legs drawn to his chest. There’s dried blood darkening his blond hair and bruises forming on his flawless skin.

  “We never said we brought him here unharmed,” Storm shrugs unapologetically.

  “Is he conscious?” I ask and Crispin concentrates for a moment.

  “Yes, he’s just pretending to be asleep. He’s in pain but nothing life-threatening.”

  I turn to the prisoner. “Look at me,” I command loudly, putting as much authority as I can into my voice.

  He laughs roughly. “No.”

  I grimace. “Did you know that while you can’t use magic in these cells, we can use magic out here to affect you? You won’t be able to defend yourself… you’re at our mercy, basically.”

  “Then kill me and be done with it.”

  His voice lacks all emotion, but for some reason, it makes me shiver. He’s speaking with Crispin’s voice, but it’s still not the same. Now that I know they’re two different people, I can easily keep them apart. Crispin is full of warmth and emotion, even when he tries to hide it. This clone is cold and full of darkness.

  He finally lifts his head and looks at me.

  “What are you waiting for?”

  I meet his gaze, refusing to look away.

  “I’m not going to kill you. But you’re going to answer my questions.”

  “And if I don’t?”

  “My friends here are all very talented.” I point at my four guys. “One of them in particular. Arc here would love to invade your mind and pull all the information we need, right?”

  The kilted Guardian smiles grimly. “With pleasure.”

  “Will it hurt, Arc?” I ask innocently, as if I didn’t know already.

  “Oh aye, it will hurt. People say it’s pain like nothing else. Like your brain is sucked out through yer nose.”

  “And will his mind be okay afterwards?”

  He shrugs. “I dinnae ken, but usually, they end up a little stupid. Drooling, helpless, whining, …”

  “Yes, I think we get the picture,” I interrupt him, and turn back to the prisoner. “Now, shall we start with your name?”

  “Crispin,” the clone says through gritted teeth.

  The real Crispin next to me growls and steps forward.

  “No, you’re not. That’s my name, you can’t have it.”

  The clone smiles, exposing a few missing teeth. My men must have been rougher with him than I realised. Serves him right.

  “She told me about you,” he says, looking straight at Crispin. “Her failed experiment. She was very disappointed with you. Such a failure. When she lost you, she was happy. She finally got rid of you and had the opportunity to make me. An improved version. I’m you as you should have been.”

  I put a hand on Crispin’s shoulder, holding him back from reacting to the prisoner’s words. They must hurt. Despite all the Morrigan did to him, I know that inside, he’s still not fully healed. He’s still not over the bond he had with her. He was an addict back then, addicted to her praise and approval. He would have done anything for a kind word from her. It makes my heart ache to see how he’s suffering even now. We shouldn’t have taken him with us, but I know we couldn’t have held him back either.

  “How are you improved?” I ask the clone, keeping a neutral tone as if I’m genuinely interested.

  “She wanted him to feel so that he could enjoy the pain of others like she does. It backfired and he began to feel the wrong things. She decided to make me not feel at all.”

  I swallow hard at that revelation.

  “But you’re smiling. Why are you smiling when you don’t feel anything?”

  “It’s what you expect from the bad guy, don’t you,” he counters. “You want me to look like I’m enjoying all the evil things I do. My Mistress thinks that makes me even scarier and therefore more effective. I can stop smiling, if you wish.”

  Immediately, his face goes blank, as if he’s never felt an emotion in his life – now that’s just creepy. Even his eyes are completely without expression.

  I almost preferred if he smiled again. That makes him look slightly human at least. Now he looks like a zombie, except that he’s intelligent and very dangerous.

  “You said the Morrigan sent you to bring me to her. What does she want with me?”

  He shrugs. “A bargaining chip perhaps? Someone new to torture? Who knows.”

  “He’s lying,” Arc whispers from behind me. “He knows exactly.”

  I wish I had that ability. Back on Earth, I was able to tell if humans were lying, but I can’t do it with Guardians and Gods. I asked Arc to teach me, but apparently, it’s not magic as such, more like a seventh sense that tells him if people are truthful or not.

  “Stop lying,” I tell the clone. “You’ve got one more chance before I give you to Arc to play with.”

  Arc laughs cruelly, and even though I know it’s just for show – he hates using his mind powers for this purpose – it almost convinces me. The prisoner however looks at me blankly. I guess if he doesn’t have any emotions, he can’t feel fear either. Damn, that’s going to make things more difficult.

  He sits up and stretches out his arms. “Do your worst.”

  I sigh and step to one side to give Arc access.

  “He’s all yours. Try to get as much information as possible before his brain gets fried.”

  “Aye,” Arc grumbles and approaches the bars separating us from the prisoner. “Storm, open the door and hold him in place.”

  I see Storm’s wind magic weave tight ropes around the clone’s arms and legs, fixing him in place. When he’s secured, the door springs open and Arc enters the cell. Even though the fake Crispin shouldn’t be able to move, I feel a twinge of fear for my Guardian. I quickly push it to one side though. Arc can handle himself.

  My Scottish Guardian sits down opposite the clone and reaches forwards, putting a hand on the other man’s forehead. The prisoner flinches slightly, but then his eyes roll back and his lids flutter shut.

  Arc closes his eyes as well as he dives into the clone’s mind, getting us the information we need. There’s nothing the rest of us can do but wait.

  I take Crispin’s hand and he squeezes it tightly. His skin is damp and there’s a slight tremor to his touch.

  “You can leave now,” I whisper. “We can do this without you.”

  He shakes his head. “No, I want to be here. I need to see this. I need to know if there are more of us.”

  “More of them,” I correct. “You’re nothing like him. You heard it, she took away all of his emotions. She saw that as your flaw, but it’s your biggest strength. You wouldn’t be the Crispin I know, the helpful, considerate, loving Crispin without feeling like you do.”

  I reach up and press a kiss on his lips. Immediately, he wraps his arms around my waist and pulls me closer, leaning down a little to make it easier for me. Why are all my men so tall? Or is it me who’s too small? Either way, kissing is easier when we’re sitting or lying on the bed. But right now, there’s no other option, and I wouldn’t change it for the world.

  His lips are soft and gentle, and I don’t press him to be faster. It’s a slow kiss, full of reassurance. I’m telling him that he’s mine and that I love him, no matter his past and his connection to the monster behind us. In his kiss, there’s all the anxiety and worry he’s been feeling, and I try and take it away from him, slowly sucking it into myself, away from
him. I intensify the kiss and he responds, opening his mouth a tiny bit and I playfully nudge his lips to open further. He groans, his chest vibrating against mine.

  “Can you continue this later?” Frost jokes. “I think Arc is almost done.”

  Despite wanting to continue, I end the kiss with one last flick of my tongue against his upper lip. I turn around, but Crispin doesn’t release me, simply continuing his hold on me, his hands now on my belly rather than on my back. I lean against his chest, enjoying his warmth.

  It takes me a moment to find the resolve to look at the prisoner. Arc still has his hand on the man’s forehead, but the clone is no longer sitting up straight. No, he’s hanging in Storm’s bonds, probably unconscious. His face is contorted into a grimace of pain and I almost feel sorry for him… almost.

  With a deep sigh, Arc opens his eyes and removes his hand before leaning back. His forehead is covered in tiny pearls of sweat and he looks exhausted.

  “What did you find out?” I ask but he shakes his head.

  “Let’s talk away from here. I need a wee dram.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  It turns out that Arc doesn’t just need a ‘wee dram’ – he ends up downing half a bottle of whisky. Once he wipes his mouth and puts the bottle back on the whisky shelf in the Palace Guards Office – I didn’t know this existed until moments ago – he sighs and begins to speak.

  “That bawbag really didn’t feel anything. I’ve never been in a mind like his. It was empty and full at the same time. Like it wasn’t all his own thoughts, like he was just a vessel and someone had filled it with their own ideas and commands.”

  “The Morrigan,” I say darkly and he nods.

  “Her traces were all over his mind. Her influence runs deep, much deeper than just creating him. She’s fed him her lies from the moment he was created, and she’s reinforced them every day. He’s been like a sponge, drinking it all up, feeding off it. He dinnae feel but he has desires – the same as the Morrigan’s. He wants what she wants, and he will do whatever it takes to please her. I guess he might have enough of a connection to her that he’d feel if she’s happy, and that might fill the hole in him for just a bit. It’s sad really, how he’s her lapdog despite his obvious intelligence.