Ruffled Feathers

by Stephanie West

  Ruffled Feathers

  Once Upon A Harem

  Stephanie West

  After Glows Publishing

  Copyright © 2018 by Stephanie West

  * * *

  Published by: Davis Raynes Publishing Group, LLC

  dba After Glows Publishing

  PO Box 224

  Middleburg, FL. 32050

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  Cover by: Takecover Designs

  Formatting by: Glowing Moon Designs

  * * *

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Contents

  Preface

  1. Leaving the Nest

  2. Sale

  3. Swan Song

  4. Taking Flight

  5. A Bird in Hand

  6. The Deep End of the Pond

  7. Enveloped

  8. Visions of a Starlit Sky

  9. A Beautiful Bloom

  10. Painted Sands

  11. Into the Darkness

  12. Olor

  13. The Inquisition

  14. The Courting Ceremony

  15. Let the Games Begin

  16. Hunting Songbirds

  17. Judgment

  18. Et Tu Brutus

  19. Happily Ever After

  Author’s Note

  About the Author

  Once Upon a Harem

  Note from the Publisher

  Preface

  The jungle was lovely. The trees and vining flora had awoken. Verdant new growth stretched upward to fill in the canopy. Luscious blooms in every shade imaginable seemed to unfurl before her very eyes. It was the season of rebirth, her favorite time of year on Braccio, and yet Cygne felt out of pace with all of nature. She didn’t begrudge nature for her beauty. Cygne just wished it shared a fraction of its bounty. But some things weren’t meant to be, no matter how much you wished for them.

  Cygne knew life had more to offer, so she left her lush valley to find it, rather than burden her flock any longer. That’s when she found them, the five vibrant males who looked like her. All her life Cygne thought she was damaged, deformed, only to discover she wasn’t Braccio at all. For a brief moment she knew what it felt like to be normal, only to have it snatched away again, when she realized that even among her own kind she was drab and lifeless.

  Yet the winged males insisted she was beautiful. Cygne didn’t know if it was a cruel joke, and she couldn’t figure out what the handsome broodmates wanted with her, as she became wrapped up in their foreign world. But it was so nice to be wanted, even if it was all a pretty dream.

  * * *

  Follow Cygne in this retelling of The Ugly Duckling, as her broodmates ruffle her feathers with heated kisses and tender touches, coaxing her into believing not just how beautiful she is, but that true beauty lies within.

  * * *

  It has been a true pleasure working on the Once Upon a Harem series. I have met a ton of other authors, who are wonderful. I hope you enjoy Ruffled Feathers and all the fairy tales in this series.

  So, here’s to the imagination and a little daydream.

  1

  Leaving the Nest

  “Because she could not go near all these wonderful things, she longed for them all the more.” Hans Christian Andersen

  * * *

  The jungle was lovely. Awake, the trees and vining flora stretched their verdant new growth upward to fill in the canopy. Luscious blooms in every shade imaginable seemed to unfurl before her very eyes. The season of rebirth was Cygne’s favorite time of year on Braccio. This was the time of evening when the suns were dipping low on the horizon, painting the sky. The jungle had grown quiet. The fauna that basked in the daylight had scurried off to their burrows for the night. It was as if everything held its breath in anticipation, awaiting the miraculous light show the celestial bodies were about to perform.

  Cygne sighed in delight as she sat amidst the massive leaves of the suppa tree. Her pinions cocooned her against the slight chill still lingering. She winced as she yanked one of her snowy white feathers, pulling it free to study it.

  How can everything in nature have so much color, and I’m— She let the lifeless feather spiral down to the jungle floor rather than finish the thought.

  Cygne felt out of sync with all of nature. There was nothing quite as stark and bland that haunted the jungles or emerged from its rich soil. Yet here she was, an anathema to everything under the twin suns. While she didn’t begrudge nature for her beauty, Cygne wished it had cast a fraction of its bounty her way.

  “Finally,” Flot groused in agitation as she swooped in, blocking Cygne’s view with her red and yellow flapping pinions. “You’re just like a hatchling, constantly hiding. Come on. You know Mater wanted us back at the barrow by nightfall.”

  “I’ll be there.” Cygne fluttered to the jungle floor and snagged her cloak off a low hanging branch.

  “It would be quicker if you flew,” Flot sneered, her wings beating the air in annoyance.

  “Go on ahead.” Cygne folded back her wings and wrapped the cloak around her shoulders, pulling up the hood to cover her long, pale mane.

  The last thing Cygne wanted was to listen to her sister’s critique as they flew home. Cygne knew she stood out. She didn’t need Flot to constantly belabor the point.

  As if I could escape it. Cygne turned her gaze upward as the first star made its debut. Perhaps that is who I truly am.

  Sometimes she fantasized she was a celestial body who’d lost her way. The twinkling lights in the sky were the only bright white things to which she could compare herself.

  Cygne trudged along the path through the dense undergrowth, till she reached the base of the rotund gellu. She shed the restrictive cloak and unfurled her wings before ascending to the barrow high amidst its branches.

  “Put that back on,” Flot spat when Cygne entered the rear door, and she quickly pulled on her cloak.

  “Who is here?” Cygne asked, hearing a strange voice in the other room.

  “Shhh,” Flot hissed, as she peered through the crack in the door.

  Cygne joined her, wondering what had her sister more riled than usual. Every feather on Flot’s crest stood bristling.

  “I apologize for the wait, Turpe. I sent Flot to fetch Cygne. They should’ve returned by now,” Mater said to the Braccio male.

  “Cygne got lost? Is the female dense as well as deformed?” Turpe asked in annoyance. “I’m willing to take a chance with Flot, but I don’t want to constantly keep an eye on the other one.”

  Cygne frowned at the cruel comment. She should’ve been used to it by now, but still it hurt. Her eyes widened, Turpe was here to court Flot.

  And me! She repressed a surprised gasp.

  Cygne hadn’t met Turpe; he was new to their valley. But clearly, he’d already heard the rumors about her. From what she knew, the male recently lost his female.

  He must be in full rut. That was the only thing that would make a male take Cygne as a mate; so she’d been told.

  “Cygne is not dense. Despite her deformity, she’s grown into a kind and biddable female. And whenever she hunts with the rest of my clutch, they’re always very successful.”

  “No doubt the game is frightened from their burrows,” Turpe retorted.

  Flot snorted at the hateful barb, and Cygne’s frown deepened.

  At first, she had difficulty hunting as well as her siblings. The flight feathers on her pinions grew in much later than theirs, making it difficult to pursue her quarry. Even when she finally molted, her fingers weren�
�t tipped with claws, and she lacked a hard, jagged mandible to take down prey. But what Cygne lacked physically, she made up for in patience, cunning and perseverance. Now, she could best any of her siblings. Out of jealousy, or their need for praise, her siblings always stole her prey before Cygne could bring it home to Mater. Eventually she ceased caring and just let them have it. If their need was so great they felt they had to steal from her, then they could have it. It just wasn’t that important, since they all got to eat anyway.

  “I can’t wait much longer,” Turpe stated impatiently.

  “You wait here. I don’t want you ruining my chances with Turpe, because all he can see is how you look. And when you do come out, stay covered,” Flot insisted as she stood and preened for her suitor.

  I don’t even want your suitor.

  Cygne didn’t know why Mater insisted on arranging this pairing. She’d sooner spend the rest of her days in the barrow of her birth, than be hoisted on some male who didn’t really want her.

  “Ah, Flot, did you find Cygne?”

  “She’ll be along shortly. You know how she likes to walk,” Flot replied as she entered the sitting room.

  “Walk?” Turpe asked incredulously.

  “Yes,” Flot trilled. It was an annoying coquettish sound she always adopted around available males.

  Flot vibrated as she presented herself to Turpe. Her sister was clearly pleased, and Cygne could see why. Turpe looked like he was on fire. His feathers were so many beautiful shades of yellow, orange, and red. The vibrant color extended beyond his wings, and even his bristling crest was magnificent.

  Cygne studied the back of her hand, where it rested on the door. There was no way Turpe was going to accept her, no matter what Mater arranged. She didn’t have the colorful fine down covering her skin like the rest of the Braccio. She looked plucked by comparison, with only her pinions being feathered. Although Cygne did have a long mane, it too was pale, hanging around her shoulders in lifeless waves, rather than standing up proud like a crest should.

  “You don’t look like your breeding is flawed,” Turpe commented to Flot as he surveyed her.

  “My siblings and I have a theory that Cygne was dropped into the barrow, while Mater was still insensible from bearing all of us,” Flot replied, her wings shaking with amusement.

  “That is possible,” he replied with a hearty chuckle.

  “Flot,” Mater hissed.

  “You are promising,” Turpe said as he eyed Flot with interest. “But, before I decide, I must see this Cygne.”

  “Don’t worry about Cygne. You’ll hardly know she’s around,” Flot entreated.

  As much as Flot tormented her, Cygne never wanted her sister’s mating to be overshadowed because she was forced to tag along. Mater was well meaning, but Cygne wanted more for herself. She wanted more for all of them, and she refused to be the stone hanging around her family’s neck any longer.

  Mind made up, Cygne scribbled a message, and fled via the rear barrow entrance. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she flew into the starlit night. Cygne’s pale wings churned and churned.

  When Cygne finally stopped crying and her sight cleared, she no longer recognized her surroundings. This was the farthest she ever dared to venture from her small flock. Still, Cygne pushed on, till the sky opened up and it started to pour. The torrential rain battered her straining wings, and the wind threatened to knock her out of the sky. Eventually the weather forced Cygne to take refuge in a towering tree. She huddled against the broad trunk and pushed aside the drenched hair clinging to her face.

  What are you doing?

  Cygne hated leaving the only home she’d known, but every hatchling left the barrow at some point. Of course, this wasn’t quite how she imagined her future would unfold. Then again, she hadn’t thought much about her future. Cygne had no clue where she was going when she fled home. She just knew the world had to have more to offer.

  It has to.

  Nature reflected her turbulent mood. The dark sky lit up with flashes of lightning, the echoing thunder shaking the jungle.

  Cygne didn’t realize she’d dozed off, till she awoke with a start when the furry bollo sang its morning call. The largest sun had already cracked the horizon, its smaller companion just peeking over the nearby mountain, but it continued to sprinkle. Cygne didn’t relish the thought of venturing out, since she was still wet from the night before. The branches of the large tree only offered so much shelter, but it was better than being out in the open. A puff-tailed yelzek joined her on a nearby branch, and they both waited for the sky to clear.

  When the suns hit their zenith, and it still drizzled, Cygne resigned herself to the fact she was going to be wet on her journey. I should’ve thought this through. She set out again with a sigh.

  Midflight, her stomach grumbled. Cygne debated hunting, but she’d foolishly forgotten a knife, or anything to start a fire in her haste to flee her barrow.

  All the tinder is wet anyway. She pressed on, following the valley.

  Cygne spotted lights in the distance, as the drizzle again turned into a torrent, forcing her out of the sky. Her pinions were too soaked to fly. She shook off as much water as possible before donning her cloak and trudging through the undergrowth. The fearsome bellow of a rigellor made her jump. She turned warily in a circle, looking for the threat that lurked in the overcast jungle.

  I need to find shelter. She shivered and pulled her cape tighter. If the giant saber-toothed beast found her wandering the jungle floor, her adventure would swiftly come to a painful end.

  It took longer than expected to reach the flock of barrows she viewed from the sky. The paths in this section of the jungle weren’t well worn, like the ones she traveled for years back home. The vines snagged her long, drenched mane, and tore at her cloak, as Cygne picked her way through the undergrowth.

  Finally. Cygne sighed when she came to the first barrow nestled in the canopy.

  Hesitantly, she flapped up to the entrance and rapped on the door. The female who opened the door took a step back and gaped at Cygne in shock.

  “What do you want?” the male behind her demanded.

  “I am sorry to disturb you, but I need a dry place to stay the night, and any scraps you can spare,” Cygne begged as she tucked her head, hoping they would overlook her appearance.

  “I don’t think so,” he grumbled with a mix of suspicion and revulsion.

  Cygne was about to tell the couple she could repay them by hunting or patching the woven roof of their barrow, but the door was slammed in her face.

  Every barrow she approached treated her the same. Some Braccio even laughed as they barred her from their home. The hospitality customarily shown to travelers was nowhere to be found, at least not for her.

  The tears streaming down Cygne’s cheeks mixed with the rain as she searched for a semi-dry refuge. Her body was racked with shivers, her wet cloak doing little to stave off the cold. A sharp pain struck her in the back, followed by another. Cygne’s first instinct was to run, except her legs refused to obey. She cried out in shock when a snare tangled around her, knocking her to the ground. Cygne fought to get free of the tarp meant to capture large predators, but the lethargy in her legs had moved to her arms. Her heart beat in her throat as she heard several individuals approach.

  “Add this one to the rest, then we move on before this flock discovers we’re poaching slaves in their valley,” a male said to another.

  Slave poachers! She’d heard of such reprehensible people, but never thought she’d come across them.

  Her panic surged, when the poachers hefted her off the ground sealed in the tarp. They didn’t care that she bounced around in the makeshift sack, or that branches carelessly struck her as they trekked through the jungle. It was a blessing she was numb all over. Cygne just wished whatever the vile males drugged her with had also deadened the overwhelming fear coursing through her.

  After what seemed like forever, the males slowed and Cygne heard more muffled
voices. Suddenly she was falling. It was a horrible sensation. She couldn’t even spread her wings to save herself. Her head struck something incredibly hard and unforgiving, then everything went black.

  2

  Sale

  “The sun shines upon good and bad alike.” Hans Christian Andersen

  * * *

  Cygne roused and rubbed her eyes to clear her vision. But the action didn’t improve what she saw in the least. Cold, gray metal slats surrounded her on all sides. Cygne blinked.

  I’m in a cage! It wasn’t her imagination.

  Everything that happened returned in an instant, as Cygne focused on the two Braccio looming over her cage. The solid orange male was dressed in the finest attire she’d ever seen. The golden tunic he wore nearly reached his knees, and obviously wasn’t homespun. It must’ve taken a thousand spinetre to produce the silken thread. Matching chains hung from his wings, tinkling as his pinions moved.

  “What is it?” the flashy male asked his companion.

  “I don’t know. You’re the auctioneer; I assumed you’d seen everything come through this market.”

  Cygne recognized the voice of other male, who was simply dressed in a ratty short shirt and breeches. He was one of the poachers.

  “We get off-worlders in Coutil, but I’ve never seen anything that looks like that. You said you were hunting in the hill country; maybe it’s inbred.”