by J. E. Taylor
Tangled
A Fractured Fairy Tale
J.E. Taylor
Table of Contents
Title Page
Tangled (Fractured Fairy Tales, #4)
TANGLED
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
About J.E. Taylor
Tangled © 2018 J.E. Taylor
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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© 2017 Cover Art by Cora Graphics http://www.coragraphics.it/
Edited by Midnight Library Book Services: http://www.midnightlibrarybookservices.com/
TANGLED
How dark is obsession?
Imprisoned in a tower from the time she was old enough to walk, Danae longs to experience more than just what is within her ornate cage. But her mother insists the world is just too dangerous for a precious light-bringer.
When Danae encounters a disgraced dark-bringer, their combined power lights a fire within her soul, illuminating the tangled web of lies her captor has spun.
Danae learns that while her magic can renew hearts and heal wounds, it cannot erase the ultimate betrayal.
Chapter 1
Mountain ranges and valleys peppered the view outside my window. A world I had yet to explore. Its beauty left me breathless whenever the full moon crested the mountaintops, shedding an eerie glow on everything below. Tonight was no different. However, a restlessness that had started two years ago on my eighteenth birthday burned through my blood hotter than when it first ignited.
I yearned for freedom from these castle walls, and yet, I had no means of escape. My only visitor was my captor masquerading as a doting mother who would prefer to see her only child locked up in a tower than let her experience all that life had to offer.
The books on my shelves were tattered and torn, and the words faded from too many readings. My prison was more adorned than the prisons I read about where men and women starved in squalor. It was fit for a queen, or so my mother told me, but it still was made to keep me contained.
Mother and I had argued endlessly over the past two years. I wanted to leave; she wanted to protect me. I lost every argument, especially when she brought up my father’s demise and how she barely got me out of the house before the thing burned to the ground.
She said I was a light-bringer, and if I were let out of this decorative dungeon, my power would be coveted for gain. My life would be slowly drained by those greedy bastards who existed around every corner just waiting for the chance to steal it away.
While she made the world seem frightening, I still wanted to experience it. Reading about adventures was getting old. I wanted to live one. I turned away from the window and doused my bedside candle, then slipped into bed for the night now that the sun’s warmth had disappeared.
“DANAE! LET DOWN YOUR hair!”
I rolled over and covered my head with my pillow. I didn’t want to deal with my mother today, but I knew she would just keep yelling up to me and spoil the nice quiet of the wilderness surrounding me. Even the birds fled from her grating pitch.
I sighed and climbed out of bed, corralling my hair with me. I dropped the long strands out the window. My mother waited patiently while I wound my hair around the sturdy hook next to the window like I had done ever since she hid me away in this tower. Once I was done, I waved for Mother to start her ascent. The ends of my hair swirled on the dirt. I sighed. My mother had trimmed my hair just last week, and it looked like at least a foot lay on the ground. Every time she cut it, it seemed to grow back faster than before.
Before she climbed up my hair ladder, she collected the ends and slipped them into the bucket she kept behind the bushes. Sunlight glinted off the scissors she pulled from her backpack. Before she climbed up, she trimmed the ends of my hair, taking off close to a foot above the ground so my hair wouldn’t fall into the dirt. As the sheet of locks fell into the bucket, the familiar tink of metal against metal reached my ears. Freshly spun gold strands fell into the pail in place of my hair. I had seen it a few times when my mother cut my hair in my quarters instead of at the base of my prison.
She shimmied up my hair and climbed in the window, then pulled her backpack off. My mother had raven hair as dark as the night, and it curled into mini spirals that made me jealous. My hair lay in straight plaits. The only time it held body was after it had been braided for a length of time, but even then, it only offered soft waves. My mother’s skin was as different from mine as her hair. She had a dark honey-colored hue, whereas I could rival fresh cream.
I asked her once how she could be my mother. She said I was the spitting image of my father. She had gone to the window and looked out with that faraway look only reserved for when my father came into the conversation, like she needed a moment to regroup before her brain would work properly.
“How are you today?” she asked as she studied me.
“Do you have any new books?” I asked, avoiding the question. I was in no mood for another squabble, even though the aggravation was right there at the edge of my nerves. She had been by with food earlier in the week, but I had asked her to bring something new for me to read the next time she came.
“You already have plenty of books.” She waved at my book-lined walls before emptying the contents of her bag on the table.
“Ma, do you even listen to me?”
She stopped unloading her bag and glanced up at me with her eyebrows arched. “Of course I do, but there was nothing new or appropriate at the market.”
“Then why didn’t you say that?” My hands went to my hips, and I cocked my head at her.
She shrugged and finished emptying the contents on the table. Meats, breads, vegetables and fruits graced my table. The same things she always brought.
I sighed, knowing I should be grateful. If anything happened to her, I would likely starve to death in this remote tower. The thought terrified me, and I opened my mouth to share that fear, but instead, “When can I go to the market with you?” tumbled from my lips.
She crossed her arms and stared down her sharp nose at me. “You already know the answer. It is too dangerous out there for you.”
“Why?”
“People will be drawn to you, and the closer they get, the weaker you will get until you have no more light within you. You will die.” Her eyes were wide and sincere.
I took a breath and let it out slowly before nodding. No one wants death, least of all me. But I did want more than the life I was relegated to. I just didn’t know how to convey that to my mother. Instead of launching into the same old argument, I let it go and focused on the offerings she’d brought with her.
I took them and placed them in the cupboard near my little kitchen. The flame in the oven always burned. My mother had said she hired a sorcerer to tie her lifeblood
to that flame. If it ever went out...
I shook the thought out of my head. If that flame ever extinguished, my existence up in the tower would end. Anytime the thought accosted my mind, my skin turned to a bumpy map. If that flame went out, my panic would send me plummeting to my own death because jumping would be much more preferable to starvation.
Chapter 2
My mother departed soon after she came, leaving me in the solace of the tower. I sat on the windowsill watching rabbits frolicking in the woods down below. When the rabbits stilled and then scurried away, and a plume of birds fled from the trees, I scanned the woods looking for the cause.
What kind of animal could make all the wildlife flee?
And then I saw him. My eyes bulged at the man seated on a steed as black as night. The man’s hair matched his horse, and his broody expression changed as he caught site of my tower.
I jumped down from my perch and pressed my back to the wall by the window. My heart pounded in my chest as if seeing the man below had been taboo.
“Hello?”
His voice drifted up the wall, like a snake dipped in honey. It terrified me, and yet his deep tone heated my skin more than the eternal flame in the oven. I bit my tongue, ignoring the need wracking my muscles to step into the window opening so he could see me.
“Go away,” I whispered to the ceiling as if he could hear me from thirty meters below. I swore I could smell his essence. A musky, deep-woods smell like just after a rainstorm, and it caressed my skin on the light breeze.
“I can see flickering light up there, so I know someone is home.”
I closed my eyes and sighed. His musical voice weakened my knees, and I grabbed the edge of the windowsill. All those romantic scenes I had read in the novels my mother brought me flashed in my mind, and my breath caught in my throat. Curiosity scratched across my skin.
When a sigh reached my ears along with the crunch of leaves, I chanced a peek out the window. My dark-haired man trudged away, disappearing into the woods.
My heart plummeted. I almost broke my silence to call him back just so I could hear his musical voice again. But my mother’s warnings kept me silent. I turned away from the window, scanning my home. My gaze landed on the flame in my oven. I shivered despite the warm glow.
Instead of pondering anymore about the stranger, I turned to my book shelf, letting my gaze drift over each title. Nothing struck my fancy, so I took a seat at my dressing table and ran by brush through my free hair.
I needed a change, so I braided thin strands. It took me long into nightfall to finish braiding my hair. My stomach growled, demanding food, so I stood, picking up my hand mirror to see the results of my efforts. Hundreds of thin braids adorned my head and came together in one long braid that was easier to manage than my mane of free hair.
The braid would make it easier for my mother to climb the next time she came. I put the mirror back on my dressing table, crossed to the cupboard, and made myself a bowl of vegetable soup.
When my stomach was satiated, I cleaned up my dishes and blew out the candles. The light from the oven dimly lit my chambers as I crawled under the warm blankets. Just as my eyes closed, a haunting melody drifted up from the ground below. A deep voice joined along with the plucks of a cittern. I sat up and stared at the open window with my heart thumping against my ribs as if it wanted to be set free to dance. I held my hands to my breast, trying to quell the need driving me to my feet.
I crossed to the window and glanced down. The handsome rider from earlier leaned against the foot of the tower plucking an instrument and singing. My body swayed to the melody as my hands gripped the sill. The dichotomy of my thundering heart versus the slow sway of my form caught my breath in my throat. It was as if the music had given my body a life of its own without my knowledge.
The music stopped, and so did my swaying. The man stepped away from his perch and looked up. Even in the dark, I could see the flash of his white teeth when he smiled.
“I was sure someone was up there. And it seems I was right,” he said.
“Please go away,” I whispered.
“And she speaks!” He uttered a light laugh before he bowed. “I am Zacharia Stone, Prince of Zanderfeld.” He straightened.
I licked my lips, and my gaze went to the dark forest, unsure if I should stay and listen to that sweet timbre of his voice or turn and climb right back in bed.
“It is customary when someone introduces themselves for you to introduce yourself in return,” the prince said when I remained quiet.
I glanced up at the stars twinkling in the sky, debating. Every last warning my mother had uttered filled my head, and I couldn’t bring myself to speak my name. “While I am honored to meet you, dear prince, I cannot tell you my name.”
There was a brief pause followed by a sigh. “Very well, my lady,” he said and returned to plucking the instrument in his hands. His voice accompanied a moment later.
My body swayed with the slow euphony. My eyes became heavy, and it was only then that I realized his music affected me as if it were a magical spell.
“Cease!” I cried, and the music stopped.
“You do not like my playing?” the prince asked from below.
It lulled me, taking hold of my form in a way I never knew possible. “Please take your leave, now,” I said and turned away, crossing to my bed. I couldn’t stay at the window all night.
He obeyed my harsh order. I listened and was rewarded with the sound of shuffling feet fading away.
Chapter 3
He consumed my thoughts all night. I tossed and turned until I finally slipped into a restless sleep. My mother calling to me drew me from bed, and I stumbled to the window, then wrapped my braid around the hook before dropping the rest of it down to her.
When she came through the window, I pulled my hair back inside. My mother smiled and swung her pack off her shoulders. She tipped it upside down over the table, and two books fell out along with a bushel of golden apples.
“I felt so bad that I couldn’t find you something at the market that I went again, and this time, these were brand new.” Her gaze went to my hair. “You did well with the braids.”
I ran my hand over the back of my hair. “It passed the time.” I crossed and picked up the leather-bound books, lifting them to my nose. I loved the smell of a new manuscript, so I gave my mother a smile. “Thank you.”
She studied me. “Are you all right?”
“I didn’t sleep well.” I flipped the pages of the book without looking at her. I couldn’t bring myself to tell her about the prince. “Nightmares,” I muttered and then glanced at her.
Her features softened, and she stepped close to give me a hug. “Well, maybe those books will keep you entertained for the next couple of days while I am away. When I return, I should have some fresh fish for you.” She pulled away.
“Will you stay and eat with me when you get back?”
“Of course,” she said and led me to the window. “I’m just sorry I can’t stay later today. Those apples will make a very sweet pie.”
My mouth watered as I glanced at the bushel. I knew exactly what I was spending my day on.
I smiled at my mother as she dropped my braid out the window. “Maybe I’ll save you a piece,” I said while she started her climb down.
She waved as she disappeared into the woods. Collecting my hair, I turned and crossed to the apples. The choice between baking and reading left me chewing on my lip. I picked up the book and fanned through it, stopping at a page that grabbed my interest.
“Danae, let your hair down,” she called again.
I tossed my hair out the window without securing it to the hook. I held the braid in place and leaned against the wall, still enthralled with the story in my hand. The shuffle at the window pulled my attention away from the page.
The book fell from my hand. My eyes widened as I stepped away from the man who hopped to the floor from the windowsill. I pulled air into my lungs and opened my mouth
to scream, but he moved across the distance and clamped his hand over my mouth. His eyes were green with silver streaks, and they sparkled as he studied me. His dark hair was shaggy, like he hadn’t had it cut in a while. His broad shoulders towered over me and the same heady scent filled the space between us, tightening the muscles in my stomach.
“Shhh,” he whispered and pulled my braid back into the room, looping it in a neat pile. “I’m not going to hurt you. I promise.” His gaze darted to the window. “Please don’t scream,” he added and removed his hand.
The tingle his skin made on contact with mine disappeared. I stared at him, frozen in the spot where I stood.
He glanced around the room and then landed back on me. He shuffled out of the view of the window and then cleared his throat and bowed.
“It is nice to formally meet you, Lady Danae,” he said and straightened.
My gaze narrowed.
“I sang for you last night.” He pointed towards the window.
“You tricked me.”
He opened his mouth and then shut it. Color bloomed in his cheeks, and his gaze dropped to the floor. “Yes. I’m afraid I did.”
“Why?”
He brought his gaze back to mine. “Curiosity,” he said with a shrug. “And I can honestly say it was worth it.” He grinned. “Plus, I needed a place to hide until the king’s army passes through.”
My eyebrows rose. “But you’re the prince?”
He chuckled and glanced out the window. “That I am.” He pressed his lips together and turned away, crossing to my book shelves.
The tension in the air between us created random sparks when he glanced over his shoulder at me. It was as if having him in the close space charged the air the way a thunder storm charged the sky. It caressed my skin, leaving me shivering with goosebumps on my exposed flesh.
“You have a lot of books,” he said.
I didn’t speak. Having him in my space left me uncomfortable and anxious. If my mother came back and found him here...