What's Up, Buttercup? (Vexatious Valkyries Book 1)

by Jane Cousins

  Stephanie was confused, why was Margrete talking about Galen’s mother and sisters? They weren’t here, were they? The idea of meeting his immediate family, it made her stomach churn uncomfortably. What if they didn’t like her? What if they thought she was too tall, brash or common? They’d take one look at her and know… know what? Freyja, she was being ridiculous. Head in game. Save Galen. Return to the battlefield. They were her only two goals here.

  “My help?” Margrete looked flattered.

  “Yes.” They’d decided because of the blanket geas regarding the Queen’s magical pets that Stephanie would be the one to ask the questions and that they should be worded as indirectly as possible. “I was wondering, when you were a child… a small imp, do you recall any unmated Demon males turning Berserker?”

  Margrete’s brow wrinkled momentarily in thought. “Um… no.” She looked surprised by her own answer, opened her mouth as if to say something further but then appeared to lose her train of thought. “Sorry, dear, what did you want to ask me?”

  “Prince Flagstaff, was he the first to turn... stabby?”

  “Not the first, no. There was a whole group. Five… ten maybe.” Margrete frowned momentarily. “I must be getting old. I can’t remember a single one of their names. I do recall there was talk of an epidemic. But then the number of cases slowed abruptly. Those poor creatures.”

  “And the Demons that turned stabby, they were sent to the Front to join the fight against the Morghdorn Horde?”

  “Yes. Yes. Nasty monsters baying at our borders.”

  “When did it start?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “The war against the Morghdorn, I’m wondering if you can tell me exactly when and why it started?”

  Margrete frowned, opened her mouth but no words came out. Sudden consternation turning abruptly to polite blankness.

  “That’s okay.” Stephanie realised she’d hit a geas brick wall on that question. “Let’s get back to Flagstaff. He was the Queen’s younger brother, right? What was he like?”

  “A likeable scallywag. Big. Built like a tank but attractive with it. Such a sharp wit and a prankster. It’s not like Laynn lacked for siblings. Why, counting Galen’s mother, there was over thirty of them. The King’s Consort certainly did her royal duty when it came to procreating. But there was something about Flagstaff. He was much younger than Laynn, a little immature, but everyone recognised that he had such… potential.”

  “What kind of potential?” Galen was intrigued.

  “To rule. Not that Laynn was lacking. She stepped up readily when your grandfather died. Did an adequate job, but she lacked the magnetism that her father… that Flagstaff had, to unite the Court and all the Realm.”

  “Hold on. Are you saying that Flagstaff was expected to challenge Laynn for the throne?”

  Margrete shrugged. “Not immediately, he was way too young when the former King passed. Like I said, he still had some maturing to do. Though several eager factions at Court began positioning themselves to support his eventual claim.”

  “Instead, he turned stabby, and was sent to join the Berserkers at the Western Front.” Galen mused out loud.

  “Not just to join them, Darling, lead them. Laynn made rather a big deal of it. There was a royal parade followed by an elaborate ceremony to officially promote him to General of the Berserker forces, in absenteeism of course. Not like he could attend.” Margrete peered up at Galen. “You’re not worrying about turning, and being sent to join Flagstaff, are you?” She looked pointedly at Stephanie then back again. “Because I think your worries are over.”

  “Um.” Stephanie ignored the weird looks Margrete was sending her and barrelled on. “What about the Queen’s Shamans? Could you tell me exactly when they arrived at Court?”

  Margrete’s smile abruptly disappeared and a confused, uncertain look replaced it. Another geas brick wall. “Um… an exact date?”

  It seems the Conflict Demon populace were allowed to remember general facts but not specifics. Someone really didn’t want anyone to put two and two together and come up with… well, she and Galen were still fishing for that answer. “Did they attend the ceremony declaring Flagstaff the Leader of the Berserker Battalion?”

  “Yes.” Margrete looked imminently relieved she could clearly recall that information.

  “And were they around when Laynn’s father ruled?”

  “No. Absolutely not. Hadric was a bit of a xenophobe, but thankfully a rather lazy one, so wars were few and far between.”

  “So the Shamans aren’t Conflict Demons? Do you know where they come from? What they look like?”

  That frown was back, Margrete rubbing at her temple as if she had a headache coming on. “Isn’t that strange? My mind is like swiss cheese all of a sudden.”

  Galen leaned forward to soothingly rub Margrete’s arm. “I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about. Probably just all this distracting noise and the crowd. Well, we won’t monopolise you any further. I suppose there’s no use in me asking you not to ring my mother the moment I’m gone?”

  “Of course not. It’s such happy news to share.”

  Galen leaned forward to kiss Margrete’s soft cheek in farewell, before whispering in her ear. “No. Some things are not to be.”

  “Oh, Darling.”

  “Thank you. Come on Stephanie, wannabe brides to avoid, Demons to interrogate.”

  “Lovely meeting you, Dear.”

  Stephanie was unsure why Margrete looked so unhappy all of a sudden and what the two had been whispering about. Damn, subtext was not her specialty. She felt like she was missing something important here, but Galen was already tugging her away, back into the crowd. “Nice meeting you too.” They hadn’t gone very far when Galen abruptly turned and placed his arms around her waist. “What are we doing?”

  Galen chuffed a laugh. “Dancing. I need a moment.”

  Stephanie laced her hands around his neck. “Is something wrong?”

  “No, everything’s fine. I think we got as much out of Margrete as the limits of the geas will allow. Sounds like we need to track down those who would have been considered part of the Palace inner circle back in the day.”

  “How about we go straight to the source and just interrogate the Queen?”

  “An excellent idea, unfortunately she’s guarded, in temperament and physically.”

  “We could chat to her, thank her for the party and subtly question her.” Stephanie listened as Galen snorted in disbelief. “Fine, you could be subtle. I’ll just stand nearby and look intimidating.”

  “It takes a lot to intimidate my aunt. She’s ruled for over eight hundred years. I don’t think she’d ever mistakenly let slip any clues that might aid us.”

  Stephanie nodded. “Then we need to get her in a position where she feels totally in charge, has nothing to lose, and will spill her guts because, being so arrogantly superior, she really wants you… everyone, to appreciate how clever she is.”

  “Huh. Good luck with that.”

  “Actually, I think I may know a way to force her hand. Can you spot Welst?”

  “That asshole?” The growl that erupted from the back of Galen’s throat surprised even him. “What do you want with Wanker?”

  “I want to chat with him, drop a few clangers that set off even his sluggish instincts and have him run straight to mummy.”

  “You intend to poke the bear?”

  “Ideally I’d like to stab her with the spike on my hatchet. But first, let’s uncover exactly what she is up to and find a way to fuck up her plans good and proper. You in?”

  Galen grinned, fighting the urge to kiss her. Not here. He didn’t want to make Stephanie any more of a target than she already was. “You never need ask that question.”

  The warm glow in Stephanie’s gut expanded, Galen’s words, they sounded like a promise, a pledge. “Okay, then. Let’s go find Prince Wanker and play with his mind.”

  Galen reluctantly released his hold on Stephanie. Al
ready he missed the feel of her in his arms. “He’ll be lurking nearby trying to lure some Demoness away to admire his sword collection.”

  “Ew. That euphuism is majorly on the nose.”

  “Yes. As an approach it lacks sophistication. He’s been using the same old tired shtick for centuries now with fewer and fewer wide-eyed misses taking him up on his offer. Yet he refuses to get any new material. He’s stubborn, if not very bright.”

  “Fortunately for us, he also has the ear of the Queen. Which makes him perfect for our needs. Lead on. You have a few extra inches on me and those shoulders have to be good for something besides looking good in a suit.”

  “You like my shoulders?” Galen enquired, beginning to weave his way through the party-goers, very conscious of Stephanie close on his heels.

  “What’s not to like? You’re my very own mobile battering ram.”

  Galen scowled, and added a show of gnashing teeth to discourage a redheaded Demoness who tried to block his path. She made a small eeping sound before quickly scurrying aside to let him pass. On the inside he was smiling, his inner Demon purring in satisfaction that their Valkyrie found him useful. Damn, he tried his best to give the primal part of himself a moment to wallow, but intellectually he knew that Stephanie was just being brutally honest and saw him as nothing more than a useful tool.

  Their target, Welst, was slouched against a wall near a set of large doors leading to the balcony. The sulky expression on his face indicated more clearly than anything that he was having no luck with the ladies.

  “Tell me you’ve come to accept my offer and brought Galen along to rub his nose in it?”

  “Offer?” Galen glanced at his irritating cousin and then at his Valkyrie.

  Stephanie fluttered her lashes coyly. “Oh, did I forget to tell you that Welst offered to pay me to have sex with him?”

  “What? No.” Welst didn’t like the way Galen’s expression turned chillingly predatory, pinning him in place. “I offered her a job, as my executive assistant.”

  “So… no sex?” Stephanie pursed her lush lips and bounced in place, making it look like she was thinking. “In that case, I really don’t think I can work for you. What good is a job without perks, right?”

  “Wait. Maybe we could renegotiate, what if-” Welst’s words faded abruptly as Galen was suddenly right up in his face. It should have been impossible, given the lifts in his shoes, but somehow his cousin seemed bigger, darker, as he loomed only inches away.

  “Stop trying to poach my employees, and you might live long enough to discover the joys of the Western Front when you get transported there in a few year’s time, unmated, Berserker, stabby mad.”

  “His mother would never let that happen.” Stephanie put a restraining hand on Galen’s arm, sending Welst a sunny smile. “She has those Shaman pets of hers well under control. They’d never slip off the leash and attack Welst like they obviously did you, Galen.”

  “Hold on, what are you accusing my mother… mother’s pets of doing?”

  “Where are those three cloaked bastards? I have a bone to pick with them.”

  “Now, Galen. Calm down. Inside voice, remember? We’ve talked about you taking your pre-stabby feelings out on innocent people. It’s not like Welst controls the Shamans. Or knows of the trouble looming on the Morghdorn Border. Or how your little ailment will resolve the stalemate in regards to the trade talks.” Stephanie frowned prettily. She’d practised that look in the mirror to get it right. “Oh, wait a minute.” She peered at Welst intently. “Didn’t you tell me you were Commander of the Queen’s armies, and Special Diplomatic Envoy to all the Conflict Demon Realm’s trading partners and allies?”

  “Will you get out of my face?” Welst was having trouble breathing, Galen was looming like a dark cloud over him. Big, intimidating bastard. If only he could whip out his sword and skewer him, but he’d foolishly chosen style over function tonight with a rapier that was more of a fashion accessory, with its gem encrusted hilt, than a useful weapon.

  Where were those lazy Palace Guards when you needed some back up? They were supposed to be keeping a close eye on his cousin. Yet here Galen was, clearly about to fall into the stabby abyss and the only saviour Welst could see in his peripheral vision was two of his Mother’s Shamans, lurking off to the side with eerie intent.

  He opened his mouth to call to them for help, but no sound would come. He tried again. Galen was closer still now, sucking in all the fresh air and all but suffocating Welst with his nearness.

  “Back off.” He discovered he could speak again. Quickly attempting to call to the Shamans for help once more, except his tongue was thick and too heavy in his mouth, the words refusing to come. “G… Galen.” His cousin’s name emerged instead, as a large hand wrapped around Welst’s neck and squeezed. “Yes… I’m Commander of the Armies… and the Special… Envoy… but… stop… they are just honorary titles. I don’t do anything.”

  “Exactly.” Galen felt as if a thunderstorm of dark emotions had broken directly overhead, seething anger battering him. “But just because you do nothing doesn’t make you an innocent in all this.” His heart suddenly pounding too swiftly in his chest. He wanted to hurt, as he was hurting. Kill. Destroy.

  “Galen?” Stephanie wasn’t sure what had flipped Galen’s switch. One moment he was working off the script they had agreed upon and then suddenly he wasn’t. His ink dark eyes worried her the most. In their depths she caught a glimpse of faint orange flickers. No. She moved quickly, squeezing between the Demons, placing her hand over Galen’s, the one that was slowly, intently, squeezing the life out of Welst. “Galen.” She kept her tone soothing. Her face only inches away from his. “You have to stop.”

  “Don’t try to save the asshole.” The idea just infuriated Galen even more.

  Welst attempted vainly to try and peel even one of his cousin’s fingers away from his throat. Gasping. His lungs threatening to collapse from lack of oxygen. He scrabbled harder. He would have pleaded for his life but Galen was squeezing too hard.

  “You need to stop this now.” Stephanie used her sternest - put the fear of the Goddess and Creator into the new recruits - voice. Nothing. She refused to let him fall to the dark side, be consumed and lost to her. She had to snap Galen out of this fugue. Talking wasn’t working. It wasn’t one of her strengths. Valkyries weren’t taught to negotiate with anything but the sharp edge of their weapons.

  Blast, that gurgling sound was Welst, seconds away from gasping out his final breath. If Galen gave into the urge to kill him, gave into the rage, she was afraid there would be no coming back from the stabby edge. She had to do something, something that would catch Galen’s attention.

  Stephanie leaned forward, slamming her lips hard against his. Telling him everything she couldn’t put into words. How very afraid she was that if he didn’t back off right here, right now, that he wouldn’t be able to pull himself away from the edge this time. How much she admired him. For his work in the courtroom, going after the bullies of the Earth plane. That she found him surprisingly funny. Smart. Arrogant… but, oh, when he put on those superior airs, she just wanted to peel all his clothes off and devour him.

  How much she liked that he tried to take care of her, even when she was being pig-headed and resisted his attempts. Liked how he never backed away from her, no matter how bloodthirsty she acted. Adored how he worshipped her between the sheets. Willing to take turns being in control, equal… partners.

  Galen released his grip on Welst’s throat, his arms wrapping around Stephanie’s waist, sinking into the kiss. Stephanie could have wept with relief. He wasn’t lost to her yet. Not yet. She still had a little more time with him. Time to fix him and get that future he was facing - of turning stabby - obliterated completely.

  Of course once they achieved that objective, once Galen’s life was back on track, he’d want to immediately return to his normal, single, playing the field Conflict Demon lawyer life.

  Stephanie gripped his shou
lders hard, digging her nails in. Praying for just one more moment, one more moment to indulge. One more moment to tell Galen, let him know without putting into words, words he could never return, that she… Freyja save her, loved him.

  Stephanie didn’t know how much longer they would have kept on kissing, but there was an irritating sound that began to penetrate. A rough clearing of the throat. And the smell of a well oiled weapon was suddenly only inches away from her nose.

  They broke apart, breathing hard. Gazes connecting, both a little wary as the maelstrom of emotions that had engulfed them as they kissed slowly evaporated.

  “Stephanie.” Galen wasn’t sure what he was going to say. We should totally kiss more often? Thank you for saving my butt for the umpteenth time? Please don’t ever leave my side, you don’t have to love me, I’ll take what ever crumbs of your life you are prepared to share? “I-”

  “Hey, asshole.” Welst’s voice was roughened and low. “That’s the last time you insult or threaten me.”

  Shifting her gaze to the left slightly, Stephanie noted the point of Welst’s sword digging into the side of Galen’s throat. Not that he appeared concerned but it made her own heart race and her stomach roil with cold dread. Was this… fear? She really hated all these new emotions that being with Galen had exposed her to, but was helpless to block the floodgates now.

  “Welst. Put the sword down. You know Galen didn’t mean anything by that little bout of strangling. He was just… roughhousing.”

  “Fuck that. He almost killed me.”

  Stephanie rolled her eyes, honestly, some people were such babies when it came to near death experiences. “Well?” She looked at Galen, who still appeared to only have eyes for her, ignoring Welst and his pretty, flimsy toy. “Are you going to do something?”

  “I was thinking about kissing you again, if that’s what you are referring to?”

  “No, I’m talking about the sword currently digging into your throat. And perhaps I need to remind you that we walked in here with a game plan? We need our little birdie off tweeting in someone’s regal ear if we want to force their hand. Remember?”