Bound Beauty

by Jennifer Silverwood

  Vynasha hit his chest as she cried until she grew weary of fighting. She cried against his skin because it felt better to be held by him than to battle what she felt. “I… I hate you,” she rasped.

  He nodded, his chin bumping against her forehead. “I know.”

  She shivered as he ran a careful hand over her loosened braid. “I can’t forgive you, not for any of it.”

  Grendall’s breath hitched in his chest before he managed a soft, ragged, “I know.”

  Vynasha clutched the lapel of his coat and squeezed her eyes shut. “I don’t want to fight you anymore.”

  “That is all I want, my love,” he whispered, and she knew he understood.

  She should not have fallen asleep in his arms, but she could not regret it.

  She woke, curled in the armchair alone. Sapphire firelight cast the room in ethereal shadows, the shade of Grendall’s blood. Did he still bleed blue, or purple like her?

  The sloshing of water in a tub startled Vynasha even further aware, and she nearly fell as she leaned over, trying to discover the source behind the sound.

  There was indeed a tub perched in the far corner of the room, far larger than she was expecting. She was so taken aback by the size of the room that the last thing she expected was a man to suddenly rise from the water. Yet she couldn’t tear her gaze from the ripple of back muscles as he twisted and lifted first one leg and then the other over the side.

  Heat. Vynasha hadn’t known she was cold until she felt a familiar and insistent heat pooling between her legs, spreading like wildfire through her blood.

  Grendall’s muscles clenched as he cocked his head, nose pointed up as if catching her scent. He bent to grip the edge of the copper tub and shuddered with a faint groan. The sound caught her blood afresh with desire not entirely her own.

  What are you doing? We hate him!

  She bit her lip and tasted the tang of her blood. The scent of their arousal grew, a spicy temptation thickening the air between them. Vynasha closed her eyes in a vain attempt to focus on anything but that scent and the bond.

  “Could you,” she rasped and cleared her throat before attempting again. “Could you please put some clothes on?”

  For a moment, she only heard the drip, drip of water falling from his perfect form. A grasp and shift of fabric sliding over his naked legs did not help her condition as she had hoped.

  He is a liar and a traitor, never forget.

  The air thickened with a cloying burst of cinnamon-flavored majik Grendall cast. It rippled against her senses and tugged at that cracked place inside her. Vynasha open her eyes to find Grendall barefoot and shirtless before her. Honed muscle and flesh marred by a thousand thinly cut scars. Marks of the beasts. She stared a moment too long at his bare feet before slowly dragging her gaze up perfectly proportioned calves and thighs. At the slight clearing of his throat, Vynasha’s gaze snapped up to his. Grendall arched a brow as fresh blood rushed to her cheeks.

  “Forgive me,” he rasped. “I should have called one of the maids to bring fresh water. But I thought you would not mind if I used majik.” His brow creased as he closed the distance between them with careful steps.

  Vynasha’s eyes widened. Was that what he’d been doing before?

  “Could you feel me use even that much?” Grendall paused, cocking his head again. “Ashes, I know you pushed yourself too hard earlier. I—” He hesitated then seemed to think better of what he might have said next, pressing his lips together in a grimace.

  Vynasha breathed a sigh of relief until he crouched beside her. Grasping the chair’s arm, Grendall brushed a loose curl from her face, saying, “Perhaps I should have woken you sooner. You should have gone first.”

  Vynasha shook her head. At least this way she hadn’t been subjected to further torture. She was still angry, and lusting after him wasn’t going to clear the problems between them. “I’m a bloody mess,” she murmured.

  “Want some help?” A flicker was all that remained of his desire, yet she felt the tug and pull to be closer to him and be soothed by the lightest touch.

  Vynasha pushed his hand away. “I’m not bathing or doing anything until you explain things to me.”

  Grendall withdrew his hand. “Very well.” While he couldn’t hide his pain from the bond, he schooled his face into a grim mask. “At least eat and drink something?”

  Her lack of objection was answer enough for him, apparently.

  He stood and made a short trip to a nearby dining table, returning with a laden tray. Vynasha straightened as he set the tray in her lap. The meal was a hasty mash of bread, berries, and obviously fare he had hastily snagged. The wine in the open bottle smelled heavy and ancient. She tasted the drink first and winced, meeting his expectant eye. “I—need a moment?”

  He hesitated and then turned his back to her. “I will wait.”

  Vynasha was grateful she could manage a chamber pot without aid. Her annoyance with the company was stunted the moment the contents of the pot vanished with a tug of majik. Her amazement was belied with the trickle of his pride bleeding through their connection.

  Bloody majik.

  Vynasha sighed as she considered the chair waiting past the prince then the heat rising from the copper tub. She placed her hands against the copper edge and took a calming breath. “If I let you help me, will you promise to answer all my questions?”

  Grendall’s tread was so soft that Vynasha startled as his fingers alighted over her shoulders. “Yes,” his voice came, equally soothing, “whatever you wish of me.”

  She nodded and held her breath as he reached for the clasp about her neck then pulled the outer cloak aside. Vynasha willed her fumbling fingers to work the ties at her arms.

  “You claim you knew I was the curse breaker from the beginning,” she began. “Why didn’t you tell me, truly?”

  “You will not like this answer.” Grendall’s fingers brushed hers, silently asking permission she was reluctant to give. He loosened the ties with ease and pulled first one sleeve then the other free.

  Vynasha touched her chin to her bare shoulder with a glance. “I can’t possibly hate you any more, can I?”

  “I hope not.” Grendall released a breath against her neck. He gently tugged at her messy braid, loosening the weave with careful fingers. “Let me tell you a story of a very vain and selfish prince. He had everything he could desire, but his life was far from simple. His father and mother waged war against one another and used their son as a pawn. The prince saw what majik could do unchecked across the Veil and feared the changes it had wrought over his mother. He chose his father’s side, believing he could protect her.”

  “Why?” Vynasha cut in.

  Grendall reached around her front, and his cheek pressed against her neck as he undid the laces to her surcoat. “Does it really matter?” he murmured. “I helped my own father imprison my mother. Is it any wonder she cursed me? Is it any wonder why the souls I was doomed to trap seek revenge?” He removed the next layer with a rough tug.

  “I was too weak to hold their minds.” Vynasha bit back a gasp as his hands splayed over her chemise, squeezing her waist briefly. “Grendall…” She swallowed a moan as he ran his hand from her hip down her thigh. “You know we have to fix this. You know Baal—the Wolvs and my brother will come for me. I wasn’t brought to the gate willingly.”

  He pressed his nose to the dip between shoulder and neck. “Yes.”

  Vynasha stiffened then stepped aside and, after a final shuddering breath, shrugged out of her smallclothes. Ignoring the male behind her, Vynasha entered the bath. Blessed heat enveloped her senses, swallowing the pulsing heat between her legs. She pretended she couldn’t feel the echo of his frustration as she added, “Luanor will be with them.”

  The bond fell suddenly and eerily silent. Vynasha hadn’t been aware of her reliance on their connection until it stilled. Digging her claws into her palms, she fought the need to turn around, to assuage her fear he wasn’t there.


  What’s wrong with you? You know where he is, what he is.

  A whisper of cloth and shifting steps and then he was standing behind her, a pained smile on his face. “I believed she was the one, once. I wanted her to be the one, until I failed her. I failed all of them. Can you not see why I would prefer death?”

  Vynasha tilted her head to meet his tortured gaze. “It’s what you did and failed to do that you must atone for now. Maybe you can live with giving up, but I can’t. We can’t abandon them, Grendall.”

  His lips parted, feeling trickling back through the bond until she was left to face his awe and emotions she feared to name. He reached for the small table beside them and then began to scrub a sweet-smelling soap into her hair.

  Vynasha blinked back the sting of tears. No one had washed her hair, not since Wynyth. Grendall’s touch was warmth and a comfort she hadn’t thought to find again.

  “I hated myself after Luanor fell to the curse,” he confessed. “After her, I was convinced there would never be another, and I grew weary of hoping. I gave my power to Grolthox. A fitting punishment. I think I had finally accepted that Soraya never intended to free me.”

  “So you made yourself a slave,” she whispered, recalling the faded creature he had become by their first meeting. More solid than the other wyne, he had yet been but a shadow of who he was becoming, a sharp contrast from the being of golden wings and sunlight.

  Vynasha gasped as he moved the bar of soap down her neck. She caught his wrist with her hand. “Stop,” she pleaded. “I can manage the rest.” His hand was rough and warm against her collarbone. The tips of her claws pricked enough to pierce his skin as his arm tensed beneath her hold. She sucked a sharp breath through her mouth as he bled violet, just like her.

  “Same blood, majik united against your will, or don’t you remember?” the shadow in her mind taunted.

  Grendall relinquished the soap to her and crouched beside the tub. Vynasha focused on scrubbing flakes of purple blood from her arms with a desperate determination. Anything to keep her mind off the sweet scent of him against her claws.

  “I am—grateful you restored Luanor.” He dipped his head in acknowledgment even as his grip tightened on the tub, adding, “You gave her what I could not.”

  “I wish I could have seen Ilya and Baalor’s faces when she appeared on their doorstep.” Vynasha’s hand stilled at her stomach as she pictured the reunion she might have witnessed with her own eyes had she chosen differently.

  Had I not trusted Wolfsbane.

  “Ilya?” the prince spoke so softly that she almost missed the edge to his tone.

  “You know her family?”

  Grendall’s lip curled as he rose, running a hand through his wet hair with a curse. “You know the Iceveins clan… of course she does.”

  Vynasha frowned, bath forgotten as she stood and climbed out of the tub. “What’s wrong? Why are you so upset?”

  His sudden barking laugh startled her. “You spoke of the village. Were you staying with them? Those clothes you were wearing when you arrived…” He shook his head and then growled, “I should have known he would keep you close.”

  “Grendall?” Vynasha took a step closer, only to flinch as he rounded on her like a startled animal. Rage warred with despair through their bond, yet he kept his head lowered, black hair masking his wild gaze. His chest rose and fell with each influx of majik, a roaring, tumbling chaos he was struggling to keep at bay.

  “The one you call Baalor,” he hissed, “is he the one you found happiness with?”

  Vynasha pressed a hand to her breast, warding against the ache in her chest. “You felt that?”

  Grendall turned so she saw nothing but the tightening of his jaw. “I wanted you to be happy.”

  Quiet emptiness followed. No sound besides their syncopated exchange of uneven breaths. All her life, Vynasha had given herself to others, willingly and unwillingly. She could not remember a time she had been given the same in return. She pressed her hand to her mouth as tears spilled over her cheeks. Her fingers glowed as she pulled them back, but she scarcely noticed. All she could sense was the trembling in Grendall’s shoulders and the sorrow he failed to mask.

  She slowly closed the distance between them. “Why did you bring me here? I want the truth this time.” Ignoring his flinch, Vynasha took his fist in her hand and coaxed the taut muscles to relax. “No more lies.”

  Violet tears stained Grendall’s copper cheeks as he caved in to her touch and brokenly replied, “I saw the days of your life through your father’s eyes, felt his self-hatred for failing your mother. He feared you because you reminded him so much of her, and majik stole her life before her time had come. What he did not know,” he stole a shuddering breath then reached to trace her cheek, “was that her life began long before his great father’s father. Your mother was of the world beyond the Veil, one of the Phurie, gods who shaped and broke the world.”

  Vynasha tightened her grip on his hand. “You’re misdirecting on purpose. This was never about bloodlines. Tell me the truth, prince, or I swear by whatever gods you hold, I’ll finish what your mother started.”

  Grendall smiled. “I am telling, Ashes. You are not listening.” His thumb brushed the lingering wetness on her cheekbone. “I watched your life pass through his eyes, but I knew what he could not see. You were of both sides of the Veil, like me. I confess, in the beginning it gave me hope as I had never felt before. But then I saw the way you cared for your mother’s roses and the way you loved your brother… Did you know your siblings had a different mother?”

  “No, that’s impossible. Ceddrych would have told me.” Vynasha pushed against his chest, but he tightened his hold.

  “Wait, please! Listen, I felt your father’s regret for leaving you behind with sisters who hated you, for each time he raised a hand against you. I saw your courage and selflessness and knew you were a far better person than I could ever hope to be. All your life, you carried your mother’s light. They hated you for this, for revealing their failure. Nothing can hide from a Phurie. In as much as they feared your light, all are doomed to crave it. And I—wanted you.”

  He bent to press his mouth against her forehead, pulling the fight from her instantly. “Forgive me, but I wanted you more than I have wanted anything. I broke every vow I made after Luanor fell to the curse to bring you here. I watched through the beggar’s eyes as you struggled to keep yourself and your nephew alive. Like a fool, I thought I could show you the way to your light.”

  Vynasha clenched her hands and realized they had moved somehow without her notice. Her hands wrapped now about his neck as his slipped around her bare waist. Their lack of clothing didn’t matter, not in the face of his truth. It was worse and somehow better than she had expected.

  She moaned as he pressed his mouth to the pulse at her throat, arching her back. “If you wanted me so badly, why did you send me away?”

  “You were everything and nothing like what I expected.” Grendall squeezed then lifted her until they were face to face. His breath washed cool as smooth steel as he added, “To watch your life through the eyes of another could not compare to having you with me. I could not control how my cursed nature sought you out. But I tried to keep away and keep you safe. I could not allow what happened to Luanor to happen to you. Never you.”

  Vynasha opened her mouth to protest, but his kiss stole her words away. The light she thought she had lost to shadows surged from the place within her, between them. It poured through her veins with such force that she clung to Grendall for anchor. The runes in her skin writhed and swirled until his teeth bit her lower lip, and she opened her mouth to him.

  Vynasha pulled back with a gasp, pleading, “I’ll hurt you.” She opened her eyes to find her face reflecting luminous violet in his irises.

  Grendall’s smile burned bright like the sun. “You are my heart, Ashes. You could never hurt me.”

  Vynasha sucked in a sharp breath as his tongue darted to graze her lower lip.
The moment she bit back and tasted his blood on her tongue, she felt the runes fade. The Changeling’s curse, the shadow of its thoughts drew to a distant corner of her mind with a keening sigh. Strength she had missed rippled beneath her skin, ancient and present and eternal, pounding through both their hearts. And she somehow understood, as sure as Grendall’s hold on her soul, the shadow had never been the Changeling’s echo but an extension of herself. The shadow was who Vynasha could still become should she ever abandon her light. It was all tied to the prince in her arms, their fates entwined by forces beyond their ken. Was it so terrible to give in to him when he only wanted to share her light?

  Vynasha abandoned all thought as they fell into his bed together, soft fur and silk sheets a cool kiss against her back. Grendall leaned back long enough to ask the silent question. Vynasha caught her breath and soaked in the pulsing golden glow of Grendall’s skin. She would not turn to shadow, just as she would never allow her prince to die. She smiled as she pulled him down to meet her kiss and gave herself over to their light.

  DREAMS OF SPIRITS singing of moonlight bled into Vynasha’s waking, wrapped in the prince’s arms. Vynasha’s sharp teeth pickled her lower lip as she lifted a hand from his chest and examined her altered skin. The runes had faded and appeared frozen silver rather than inky black. Her veins once more pulsed with violet light. In contrast, gold-spun sunlight coursed beneath her love’s skin.

  She had shared a stolen dream with Grendall on a night long ago while sleeping beneath her brother’s roof. The nightmare that haunted her had followed her then into waking with majik burning her skin afresh, the curse manifesting through memories of fire.

  “What are you thinking about, Ashes?” Grendall stilled her fingers against his stomach with a warm hand.

  Vynasha tilted her chin and smiled. “The shadow is gone.” For now, she did not add. It didn’t matter. She felt like herself for the first time in weeks, and somehow more.