Savage Beauty Read online

  I smiled. “That’s not necessary. He obviously knows who I am.” Now, I’ll find out who he is. Who would dare ride into Virosa and demand to speak with me?

  She nodded and pulled the heavy door open. It was called the green parlor because the walls were painted an emerald green, and the tapestries and upholstery of the furniture had been made to match. Even the knick knacks were green. Blown glass, trinkets, vases. Only the mantle and the trim around the windows were white.

  Inside, sitting in a wingback chair in front of the cold fireplace, was a man whose hands raked over his face anxiously. He looked up at the sound of my heels clicking across the floor and quickly stood, bowing at the waist. “Princess Aura, I presume.”

  “You presume correctly.”

  I narrowed my eyes and he narrowed his in response. There was something familiar about him. He was tall and lithe, in his early twenties. “May I speak candidly?” he asked. At least he wasn’t going to waste my time.

  “You may,” I granted.

  Placing a hand over his chest, he introduced himself. “I am Prince Phillip of Grithim.” I sucked in a breath before he voiced the question I knew he’d come to obtain the answer to. “Where the hell is my brother?”

  I liked him better than William already. He was brave; waltzing into my home and demanding answers in such a bold way. Nothing like his snake of a brother with pretty words and false promises.

  “I just received word that he came here the spring before last. No one from Grithim has seen or heard from him since, so I assume he’s either still here or something happened to him.”

  “You talk too much,” I said, walking toward him. I flicked my finger and shut his mouth. He was lucky he was pretty and that I liked his voice... and that I had a better idea of what to do with the young and current heir to the throne of Grithim. Otherwise, I’d carve out his tongue.

  A sheen of sweat broke out on his forehead while I held him there, considering what to do with him. He was a fighter. A myriad of options played through my mind. The easiest one would be to glamour his memory so he would forget all about hearing that William had come to Virosa.

  “Who gave you this information?” I demanded.

  He shook his head, futilely trying to pry his lips apart. I let him open them to speak.

  “Why was he here?” he said in a rush. “Is he alive?”

  I circled him. “Did my sister send you?”

  He furrowed his brow.

  “Sister?”

  This reeked of Luna. She could have glamoured his memory, or erased it all together. If Luna was behind his arrival, there was one sure way to tell.

  “I think you’ll make a fine puppet,” I murmured, shutting his mouth once more. William was the eldest Prince of Grithim, which meant this was his younger brother. And, apart from the color of his hair, he looked very similar to William. I walked to his side and whispered in his ear, “You’re either lying about my sister’s involvement, in which case I’ll be able to tell by her reaction, or you’re being truthful, in which case you’ll be a perfect puppet for me. Either way, it’ll be beautiful. You’ll be the perfect weapon in my arsenal. Won’t you, pet?”

  His nostrils flared as he tried to fight against my power.

  “You can rest here until I need you to go to her.”

  He gritted his teeth and I smiled, reveling in his stubbornness.

  “You look just like him,” I breathed.

  Phillip’s eyes widened.

  I smiled, raking my nails down his chest. “Luna will love you. She’s a pathetic, romantic fool.” And then I blew a sweet breath into his face. He slumped quickly and I pushed him back into his chair, calling for a servant to take him to one of the empty bedrooms. I didn’t want to see his face again until I needed him.

  chapter three

  PHILLIP

  One week before the first day of autumn…

  We’re too close to the dark forest, sire. We should turn around,” Rolfe said.

  I threw my head back laughing. I was a tall man, but Rolfe was a giant. He towered over my head and his body was thrice as wide. “Surely you aren’t afraid of trees and fog,” I taunted.

  “Aye, I am, sire. There are wee folk in those woods; evil creatures who would prank a man to his death, not to mention a dark witch who would boil our skin from our bones, and God only knows what else. I think we should go. We sent back a stag and a boar with the rest of the hunting party. The palace will eat well for a time and we can return tomorrow... when it isn’t so foggy.”

  I sighed. He was right. We didn’t know the dark forest like we knew our own, and I’d pushed him to the boundary. Rolfe’s discomfort wasn’t surprising. He’d always hated coming near the edge. All of Grithim had reason to fear the fae that lived deep in the woods, but something had drawn me here today; pushed me farther and urged me to stay out longer than the other hunters.

  Maybe it was stubbornness. Or pride.

  The entire Kingdom wept when William and his men left on a hunting expedition the spring before last and never returned. I was being selfish. I should have considered how my parents would feel knowing I had stayed in the wood with no one but Rolfe. Mother was probably beside herself with worry.

  But it was what William would have done. He was a provider, a hunter; never one to back down or come home empty-handed. He would’ve hunted until dawn, and then until midday and dawn the following day if necessary, until he was sure there was no hope of finding more beasts to stock the larders with.

  He was brave, cunning, stubborn, and strong. When it was apparent he wasn’t coming home, my father gritted his teeth, clapped me on the shoulder, and told me I had large shoes to fill. He said I’d never live up to the shadow William cast, but should try anyway. But I didn’t want to be like my brother. For all his good attributes, he had a hundred bad ones. None that I wanted to claim.

  I didn’t want the crown either, but William was gone and my father wouldn’t live forever. Soon, the crown would be placed upon my head. I would be solely responsible for the welfare of an entire kingdom.

  “There’s still a week left until autumn,” he continued. “Plenty of things still growing to make a nice stew out of the meat. It isn’t winter, sire. We aren’t going without.”

  Rolfe was right. We should head back. I took a deep breath and rolled the tension from my neck.

  We were mere feet inside the border of the eastern and dark forests, but the dividing line between the two was distinct. Tendrils of fog extended to the boundary, however they didn’t cross it. Looking farther into the dark forest, the mist was so thick you could only see ten trees into the wood before the white-blue haze obscured everything.

  We must be near water, I thought. “Is there a river or lake nearby?” I asked.

  “No, sire. ‘Tis the wood’s magic. Evil, it is.”

  I fought a chuckle. Rolfe’s superstitious nature was ridiculous. My father was to blame. He had taken great measures to ward our land against the fae. Tall fences made from ash wood surrounded our palace. The palace windows were braced with iron guards, and every door was forged from ash and iron. Fae couldn’t touch iron. It was poisonous to them, and ash wood would burn their flesh from their bones. If you believed in faeries, that was.

  I didn’t. I believed what I saw, and I’d certainly never seen a fae before.

  Neither had Rolfe, despite his rambling about us being in danger.

  Besides, there was something familiar about this place. I looked up at the trees, the thick vines that hung from tall branches. The people of Grithim hung wards in the trees to guard against the fae crossing into our forests. Willow bark crosses, hundreds of them, were strung from the trees above us. “It’s an ill omen,” Rolfe said, following my stare.

  “Our people put them there. Are you saying they mean to curse us?”

  He huffed as his horse turned a circle. “I’m saying that if we go beyond the wards, it’ll lead to our deaths.”

  “I don’t believe in supersti
tion,” I said, my eyes following the trails of ferns carpeting the forest floor. It was like I’d been here before. Another time, perhaps. Maybe as a child?

  “Well, I certainly do. We need to head back,” he insisted.

  Wind whistled through the trees in low and high tones that mingled together in an eerie harmony. My fingers tightened on the reins. Our horses grew anxious. Their ears were flattened back and their large eyes kept searching around them as they stepped, turning nervously in a circle. Was it just the noise or the strangeness of this place? Could they sense Rolfe’s unease? Or was there something dangerous hidden just inside the murky haze?

  “There’s something in there, sire. Something in the fog. Something’s coming for us now. The horses even know it,” Rolfe said, his voice quivering.

  I narrowed my eyes, staring into the mist. If there was danger, I wanted to see it before it saw us—unless Rolfe was right and I was already too late.

  The wind kicked up, blowing toward the mist but never dispersing it.

  “Sire, please.” Rolfe motioned for me to follow him away from the fog and began trotting in the direction we’d come. That was when I saw it – a stag, larger than any I’d seen before. It raked its antlers along the rough bark of a tree, a rough, scraping sound almost muffled by the fog.

  We weren’t in danger, after all. We were lucky to have found such fortune. The heavens were smiling on us and our people; the same people who could feed on such a large animal for weeks. It was tantalizingly close. I could take it down if I managed to stay hidden in the murk as well.

  “Rolfe,” I said as quietly as I could. He turned his horse. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.” I motioned toward the stag and his eyes widened, worry wrinkling his face. Whispering, I vowed, “Let me bring him down, and then we will leave this place immediately.”

  Rolfe’s lips thinned, but he nodded once.

  As I guided Blackheart into the woods, his ears were pinned back. He tossed his head, snorting. I gritted my teeth, praying he wouldn’t spook the stag. We needed the meat he would provide. “Steady, boy,” I whispered gently.

  Readying my bow, I drew an arrow from the quiver upon my back.

  I took aim.

  Pulled the string back taut.

  Took a deep breath.

  I needed a kill shot.

  As I let go of the arrow, Blackheart reared. The arrow missed its mark, hitting the trunk above the stag. The animal bolted. I threw my bow over my shoulder and held tight to the reins. Blackheart turned in a circle, whinnying, looking up and all around us. It was as if something was closing in on him, something he feared but couldn’t see.

  “Easy,” I sternly warned.

  But he was frightened. And when Blackheart was frightened, he ran.

  I struggled to stay in the saddle as he bolted, and tried to pull the reins and calm him, but nothing worked. Branches slapped my face and body, thorns tore at my clothes, and spider webs coated the pair of us with every gallop.

  “Sire!” Rolfe yelled, trying to guide his own horse to help me regain control. But his horse was stubborn and afraid, refusing to enter the trees. Blackheart ran deeper into the fogged wood, away from Rolfe and into fog so thick, I could scarcely see Blackheart’s mane in front of my face.

  The moist air wet my clothes and hair, slickening the leather reins in my hands as he tore through it. I tried to hold on for fear of falling or being thrown, but still Blackheart wouldn’t stop; no matter how much I pulled back, no matter how I shouted, demanding that he stop.

  I could hear Rolfe’s frightened yells from behind as he tried to chase us down, but the mist swallowed us whole. It thickened as we cut through, and soon I couldn’t hear Rolfe at all. The damp air seeped into my clothing and hair as Blackheart slowed, ran and slowed again. I was just about to throw myself from the saddle when he slowed and began pacing sideways, right before the earth crumbled beneath his feet.

  Although everything hurt in varying degrees, red-hot pain seared through my left side, arm, and leg. I tried to raise up, but the pain was blinding. Particles of dirt rained down from the newly-formed cliff above, sprinkling onto my face. We’d fallen at least twenty feet. Maybe more.

  I blinked the dirt out of my eyes and groaned. I couldn’t sit up yet. I needed a moment to catch the breath that had been knocked out of me.

  Where was Blackheart?

  From several feet away, he let out an awful noise, something between a cry and a scream, and I knew he was gravely hurt. Panting through the pain, I managed to crawl toward him, clutching my ribs. His back legs were badly broken. The bones that weren’t shattered to pieces, stuck out of the skin. He could barely move his front legs.

  They might be broken, too.

  With tears in my eyes and a curse on my tongue, I pulled my hunting knife out, kneeling beside him and stroking his mane. I closed my eyes tightly and cradled his head.

  The pain was overwhelming him.

  “Shhh, boy. It’s going to be okay,” I soothed, stroking his black mane. “You’re a warrior.” With my head against his, I put my blade to his throat and quickly ended his misery. “I’m sorry,” I told him over the knot in my throat. “I’m so sorry.” Holding him, I watched his lifeblood pour onto the ground.

  I held him, telling him all would be well soon, until his breaths became slower and less rhythmic. Then his muscles stopped twitching. Blackheart took one final breath, and then his enormous body fell limp.

  He was gone, and it was all my fault. I shouldn’t have pushed him to the border, nor should I have pushed Rolfe, who was probably still up there, chasing after me. I didn’t want him to fall over the cliff and end up in the same position as me.

  The forest floor was slick and bloody, the coppery tang hanging in the air, though somehow the fog had receded entirely. I could tell my leg wasn’t broken, so I pushed myself up and stood, but I didn’t think I could walk on it for long.

  “Rolfe!” I yelled, cupping my hands over my mouth. My voice carried, but I wondered if he was close enough to hear it. The forest was quiet, eerily so. Surely, I’d hear the galloping hooves of his horse if he were near.

  I yelled again.

  But no answer came.

  Had he gone for help? I wiped the sweat from my brow, a thousand thoughts swirling through my mind. I didn’t know if his own horse would even mind him. It had been so spooked.

  I sat back down beside Blackheart’s body, knowing that soon, the vultures would scent his blood and descend, if something bigger didn’t find him first. Leaving him was an awful feeling, but there was no other way. If a predator came, I would be the only thing standing between it and its next meal, and I was in no shape to defend myself with a simple knife. My bow lay in splinters where I fell. It was a wonder it didn’t skewer me.

  If Rolfe was still out there, I needed to warn him away from the cliff. And if he wasn’t near enough to help, I needed to find a way to the top of the cliff and out of this blasted forest. Everywhere I looked, there was nothing but a sharp drop off. There was nothing to help me climb up the cliff again—not in the shape I was in.

  I stuck my hunting knife in the earth and tried to lift myself up. My shoulder screamed, but I managed to make it a few feet. There were no footholds. The dirt was loose and dry, and my ankle was too painful and weak to help push me up. Panting against the pain, I growled, trying futilely to climb higher.

  After only making it a few feet, I slipped back down to the bottom. If my ribs hadn’t been broken, I could have used the knife to help me climb up, but in this state, I couldn’t hold my own weight.

  “Rolfe!” I yelled.

  He never answered. I blew out an exasperated breath. He wasn’t going to answer. He wasn’t going to find me here. Blackheart carried me too far into the dark forest, too quickly.

  I made it to my feet, stumbled as far as I could, and then rested before pushing forward again. I would find a way out of this hell hole one way or another.

  Morning faded to afternoon and af
ternoon to evening. The blue sky darkened, revealing twinkling stars. Wiping the sweat and dirt from my forehead, I slumped against a boulder. I’d walked for what felt like a thousand miles, never finding a way out. It was like the earth had sunk twenty feet and there was no way out of the hellish hole I found myself in.

  Rolfe had, no doubt, turned back. He would call for a search party and return with help, but when? Would they find me here, or had I already wandered too far out of their reach?

  At this rate, the vultures will be looking for me soon, too.

  Letting my head bang against the rock, I cursed. Cursed myself, my injuries, this damned forest, and life itself. I would fail my father and mother. Their hearts would be torn apart, just as they were when William disappeared.

  Did he suffer the same fate?

  Groaning, I looked to the sky, hoping for a miracle but not expecting to find one. In that moment, when all seemed lost, a miracle curled into the sky in the form of a small plume of gray smoke.

  Finally, a sign of life.

  I limped in the direction of the curling smoke, clutching the ribs I knew were broken. They reminded me of the fact with each and every breath I took. Not far into the woods from where I rested, I found a cottage. Its dark, wooden plank siding was symmetrical and clean. The ground around it was bare, the grass short and dead, completely dry and crunching underfoot. With the exception of the smoke, the place looked abandoned. I walked closer, past a small garden on the side of the house, which was flourishing, even though some of the vegetables and fruits should have been dormant. It wasn’t their season to grow.

  The front door was closed, but the windows were illuminated by a faint, orange light. There was a strange scent in the air. Aromatic and pungent, it burned my nose. I limped up the steps and crossed the porch, knocking loudly on the door, bracing myself on the facing.

  “Hello?”

  A moment later, I knocked again.

  The door creaked open a few inches.