Beauty [A Faery Story 3] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting) (2 page)

“Mama?” Bron asked. She didn’t know where her mother had gone. She’d lost her when the battle had begun. Battle? It had been a slaughter.

Cian’s head shook. Loss marked his face, aging him. His gray eyes were dulled by pain. “She’s gone, Bron. Father’s gone, too.”

Cian, her sweet playmate. He was older than her by several years, but he’d always made time for her. She didn’t know Beck as well, but Beck and Cian were halves of a whole, symbiotic twins who shared a soul. She knew that what one felt, the other did as well, no matter how cool he appeared. Beck loved her, too.

“Love you, brother.” Her lips felt dry. She wanted to say more, but darkness was coming.

“I love you, too.” Cian seemed to force the words out. He held her so tight, but it didn’t matter. She could feel herself slipping away. Darkness took her, and she heard a mighty roar. It seemed to take over her mind. That single shout filled the world, pushing everything else away. The sound had mass and motion, enveloping her, surrounding her. Goddess, she was only fourteen. She wanted to live. She wanted to wake up and find this had been a terrible dream. She didn’t want to lie here knowing her brothers were gone, her future dead. She didn’t want to die until she knew where her dreams would lead her. Just one more dream. Just one more moment with them.

But still the darkness came.

* * * *

Pain wracked her world as she came to consciousness. A hand moved across her mouth.

“Hush, child. If they discover us, they’ll bring us before Torin, and then we’ll both wish we were dead.”

Bron opened her eyes. What had happened? Where was she? The room was dark, and there was a hard, cold floor beneath her body.

Her body. She reached for her stomach. She could still feel the knife sliding in. It hadn’t hurt at first, as though her body wasn’t sure what to make of such evil, but then her whole being had lit with agony as her death had become real. Now she felt only smooth skin where there should be a hole.

A single candle illuminated the small space she was in. She shivered.

“You feel the cold. That’s a good thing.”

Gillian. Bron tried to get her brain working. The Unseelie princess had arrived a mere two days before. She was an envoy for the Unseelie king, come to discuss some sort of treaty between the two tribes. Bron hadn’t been surprised her father had taken the meeting, but she doubted there could be lasting peace between the Seelie and the Unseelie. Too much bad blood. Why was she here? Why hadn’t Gillian McIver run?

“Can you move? Don’t try to sit up. Just flex your hands at first. The magic I used was strong.”

Magic? Bron flexed both of her hands and was surprised at how strong she felt. She took a moment, flexing and moving each muscle.

Gillian nodded down at her. “You’re strong, Your Highness. Stronger than I would have given you credit for.”

She felt stronger. Something had taken root in her gut, some deep sense that she was changed.

“My parents are dead.” She knew it, but she needed to say it. The words would make it real. Her parents were gone, her home taken from her by that vile traitor. Torin. She would call him uncle no more.

Gillian’s dark hair touched the floor, and she gazed down at her. “Yes, Your Highness.”

“No. I’m not a princess now. I’m a…what is the word? Fugitive. I’m a fugitive.”

Gillian’s eyes went hard. “You are the Princess of the Seelie Fae. They can take your crown. They can take your palace. But you never let them take your name, Bronwyn Finn.”

There it was again—that odd strength surged in her. She sat up. “Are my brothers alive?”

“I think so. Beckett Finn had a chance to kill the pretender, but he chose to save his other half. It was necessary. I believe they ran. It’s why I was able to move your body. Torin set everyone on the twins. He believes you’re dead.”

“He won’t once he can’t find my body.” She needed to run.

Gillian’s nose wrinkled. She was a lovely woman, but now she looked full of mischief. “Oh, he’ll find your body. I switched it with one of the servant girls. I didn’t kill her. She was already dead. I figured she wouldn’t mind. It rather was her duty to protect you. It seems everyone was a bit derelict today.”

“You can’t blame the servants. They’re supposed to serve dinner not fight off a coup.”

“Unseelie servants know a coup can come at any moment.”

“Well, I don’t see your guards here.” Bron felt an inexplicable need to defend her house. She sat up.

“My guards are dead. They did their duty, but we were overrun once the battle began. As far as I can tell, your father was killed almost instantly. Torin seems to have bribed some of your father’s guards to his side. Or perhaps he’s been playing a long game and he had them placed here. It doesn’t matter now. The only thing that matters is getting you away from here.”

“How am I alive?” She took a deep breath, her lungs filling, the very act pleasurable in that she’d never expected to do it again. Her feet felt steady beneath her. She’d died. She knew she had. “Magic isn’t strong enough to bring back the dead.”

Gillian smiled, but even Bron could see the ruthless will behind it. She could remember her father warning her that the Unseelie princess might look like them, but she was and would always be Unseelie. The blood of goblins and trolls and all the dark creatures of the world ran through her veins. “Perhaps Seelie magic isn’t strong enough, but mine is. Well, mine combined with my brothers’.”

“Are they really symbiotic, like Beck and Cian?” She’d heard the rumor that the Unseelie king’s vampire wife had born a set of symbiotic twins just as her own mother had. Symbiotic twins were born with one soul and two bodies. They were extremely powerful when they found the right bondmate, a woman who could bridge their rendered soul. At least that was what legend said.

“You’re going to find out for yourself.” Gillian stood and pulled a small pack from the table in the corner. Bron noticed she was dressed in soft leather pants and a man’s shirt. It made her curvy body look a bit round, but with her hair tucked into a cap, she might pass as a peasant man if no one looked too closely.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean we have to find a way off this plane and back to my own before that jackass Torin seals the exits. My father will take care of you, youngling.” Her eyes took on a serious air. “And so will my brothers.”

“What about Beck and Ci?” She had to find them.

Gillian shook her head. “We have to make sure you’re safe before we go looking for your brothers. They would want it that way. Now get changed. We need to leave while the troops are preoccupied. It’s very chaotic out there, Your Highness. We have to be careful to not stand out.”

Bron looked down at the clothes Gillian had laid out for her. They were very much like Gillian’s, though she didn’t have Gillian’s womanly form. No one would question she was a peasant boy once her hair was dealt with. She dressed quickly, her hand skimming over her now perfectly smooth stomach.

They were quiet as they stole from the palace. They reached a hill, hiding themselves among the fleeing peasants, but Bron turned to look at the White Palace one more time. In the moonlight it looked like a ruin, a place that once had stood but now crumbled, leaving only memories of the world it once represented.

“I can’t go back.” She wouldn’t go home again. She wouldn’t run through the palace or swim in the river. She would never again sneak into her mother’s bed when the thunder frightened her. She wouldn’t play with her friends. She had no home.

Gillian took her by the shoulders, spinning her around. “Don’t you talk like that. You will go back.” She pressed an object into Bron’s hand. It was small and cold. “That’s yours. I found it next to your body. It’s the weapon that they tried to kill you with. Never let it go. When the time comes for vengeance, this knife will be in your hand. The world has changed, Bronwyn. That does not mean your life is at an end. Dark times are only the end when true leaders refuse to fight. Your brothers are fighting now, and your time will come. Decide, Your Highness. What kind of a princess will you be? A Seelie princess who weeps and hopes someone will save her, or will you choose to avenge your people? This is not just about you. This is about your people and all who will fall to Torin’s sword. If you cannot find the strength to be more than a pretty face, then I have no use for you.”

Bron turned and looked again with new eyes. She saw what had been taken from her. And she would one day take it back.

When Gillian moved, Bron followed. She’d been born in the White Palace, and she’d died there. She was more than she’d been before, stronger, older, harder. And alone.

When the darkness had come, she’d been alone. Her Dark Ones had not come for her.

She walked away from her home with only vengeance in her heart.

The dead things of the world loved Lachlan McIver. It was the shame of his life that he couldn’t return the affection.

One half of the heir to the Unseelie throne looked down at the small dog barking and jumping at his feet. He took a deep breath of the forest air and prayed to the gods for patience. He’d walked into the woods behind the palace because he’d looked in all of Shim’s other haunts. His brother wasn’t at the tavern in the village. He wasn’t in the kitchens. He wasn’t sitting in their room staring out the window toward the west, the direction of the door to the Seelie plane. It was where he often found Shim these days, a vacant look in his dark eyes.

He needed to talk to his brother about the morning’s news, but he found himself alone with a dead dog. He wasn’t sure where Shim had gotten off to, but he would more than likely laugh and pet the damn thing. Shim wouldn’t even notice that something had taken half the yipping dog’s side out. Likely it had been a bear or maybe a troll who had been lucky enough to catch it, but not lucky enough to finish its meal.

“Go away.” Lachlan tried to put some distance between him and the now-reanimated corpse of the former terrier. It simply yipped and followed him.

Lach attempted to ignore the creature. It wasn’t the first dead thing to imprint on him. He was coming into his power, and without his bondmate, it tended to go a bit wild.

Bondmate. He closed his eyes as the thought of her coated his senses. He didn’t need to be near her to feel her. Gods, he’d never been close to her, but she was in his heart. He felt her every minute of every day. But what would he do if he had to stand in front of her? When he and Shim invaded her dreams at night, he was whole, his face as perfect as his brother’s. Would she turn away from him when she saw the real Lachlan McIver? He rather thought she would. She was a beauty, a pure Seelie princess, who would probably run from her beast of an Unseelie prince.

It was, perhaps, better to see her only in dreams, but like many things in his life, he had no choice. He had to find her. His powers were flaring, going wild.

And Shim...

Lach growled a little as he realized where his brother was. He turned and jogged toward the beach, praying his idiot brother hadn’t fallen asleep where selkies would take him.

He jogged across the grounds, reaching the highest point. From here he could turn back and see the Dark Palace shining like a jewel. To the east he could see the road. A small party was approaching. His father’s advance guard had already confirmed that it was his cousin Julian leading the rebel Seelie Kings.

Her brothers.

Gods, he was going to meet Bron’s brothers, and he hadn’t figured out if he planned to tell them a damn thing. They would scoff and tell him he was bloody insane. His father would shake his head. Only Gillian and Duffy in all the plane believed their secret—that they had already bonded to the Seelie princess. Without permission or even her real knowledge. It had been instinctive, a cry that had crossed two planes, saved her life, and inadvertently ruined Lach’s face.

He shook off thoughts of that terrible day and turned back to the sea. He couldn’t see his brother, but there was a small figure awkwardly moving on the rocks that made up the beach.

Little gnome. Big axe. That was Duffy. And where Duffy was, his brother couldn’t be far behind. The little gnome hefted the axe Shim had given him months before on the date they had mutually decided on for the celebration of Duffy’s birthday. Duffy had wanted an axe. The damn thing was nearly bigger than the gnome, and more than once he’d fallen on his ass from trying to swing it. The year before, Lach and Shim had bought their lifelong friend a set of custom-made armor. The blacksmith had laughed the whole time he’d made it.

It wasn’t that no one had told Duffy that gnomes weren’t warriors. It was that Duffy was terribly hard of hearing when he wanted to be.

The dog at Lach’s feet yipped and panted as though just waiting for the fun to begin.

“Go away.” Lach started down the trail that led to the beach, the little dog at his heels. He tried to give the dog the command to stay, but it wasn’t a well-trained thing. More than likely his lack of discipline was what had led to his untimely death. “Duff!”

Lach yelled at the gnome the minute he hit the beach. Now he could see Shim, lounging with his back against a boulder, one hand over his heart. His legs and feet had sunken in the pebbles beneath, telling Lach that he’d been there for a while. No sandy beaches here in the Unseelie plane. Everything here was hard and deadly. He’d been to the Vampire plane with its tropical beaches. He’d stood looking over the peaceful sea in someplace his cousin had called Hawaii, and he’d wanted to bring Bronwyn there. He’d imagined sinking into the soft sand and reveling in her body. Bonding time, the vampires called it. First bite. Oh, that first bite would be amazing. First blood.