Once Upon a Valentine (12 page)

As the prince carried his bride out of the castle, her sweet tears of joy fell upon each person and they, too, awakened to the bright dawn of a new age. Wanting to leave the dark memories of their long sleep behind, the royal court didn’t waste a minute packing up the castle. They simply followed the happy couple to the prince’s kingdom, where they all lived happily ever after.

But, uh, this story isn’t actually about them.

It’s about the castle. And the jewels. The gold.

All that treasure.

And the people who wanted to find it.

1

SHE’D FOUND IT.

After all these years, all the study, all the effort—from guards bribed, to towers climbed, to trolls evaded—Ashlynn Scott had finally discovered the location of the most mysterious ruin in all of Elatyria. And soon—maybe tomorrow—she would reach it.

Creeping through the thick forest in the dead of night, she clutched her small leather satchel even more tightly against her side. Inside it was a yellowed, fragile piece of parchment, jagged around the edges, faded with age. And priceless.

To anyone else, it might look like an illegible old drawing. But Ashlynn knew better. The decrepit, faded page, which she’d found in a place far,
far
from her beloved home here in Elatyria, matched two other pieces already in her possession. When those pieces were fitted together, she had no doubt they would make up three-quarters of an ancient map—the three most important quarters. The ones that would show the way to what would be the discovery of her life.

Coming across Cinderella’s lost slipper had been a bit of luck, more than anything else. And her job of excavating the site of the cottage of the original seven dwarves had merely built on what someone else had started; Ashlynn hadn’t actually located it. Though, she had found the poisoned comb that crazy witch had used on her stepdaughter before her successful trick with the bad apple.

But
this
was the big one. The find that would put Ashlynn Scott’s name right up there with her own late father’s, as one of the preeminent historians of the age. It would cement in everyone’s minds—including her own—that she’d deserved to take over for him as lead historian at the most revered museum in all of Elatyria. Despite her age and her sex.

“Sleeping Beauty’s castle,” she whispered.

It was the stuff of legend: a deserted palace filled with treasure, but, more importantly, with the history of a lost kingdom. Many doubted it existed, believing a story so fantastical had to be myth. They’d scoffed at her late father, ridiculed him for being sure the castle would one day be located.

Now, Ashlynn could prove her father right…vindicate them both. Because the map wasn’t a myth. It was real. And she had it.

Well, most of it.

“As much as I need,” she muttered. “It
has
to be enough.”

The new piece showed the exact location of the castle and part of the long, treacherous path that led to it. Yes, the path itself wound off the page, onto that elusive fourth quarter. But she had the most important parts: the beginning and the end.

Ashlynn had discovered the first piece of the map inside the lining of an ancient dress, folded into a tiny square, fragile and dry. She’d been curating a museum exhibit on the lost kingdom of Seaside, which now existed only in history books, its lands having been gobbled up by its neighbors centuries ago. The dress had come into her hands by accident—the map along with it.

With the support of the Grand Elatyria Museum and its patron, Queen Penelope of Riverdale, Ashlynn had made it her mission to find the rest of the map. She’d searched every record, spoken to the last few descendants of the Seasidians. She’d traveled the lands, scoured great libraries, studied old texts. Finally, she’d found another piece hidden behind an old painting.

The search for the third quarter had taken even longer. It had also taken her somewhere far away. She’d had to visit a land called Pennsylvania, in the world called Earth, which existed just beyond Elatyria’s borders. It hadn’t been her first trip—Ashlynn’s father had taken her to a town known as Chicago as a child. But this time, she’d had to go by herself.

I wish you could be here.
Regret stabbed her as she thought of how much her father would have loved this quest. He’d also be very worried about her going on it alone. The theft of antiquities was rampant in Elatyria, and the two of them had been targets of thieves before. Now that he was gone, she had very few people she could trust…and over on Earth, absolutely none.

But now she felt safer than she had in weeks, because she was
home.
The night was deep, the mossy ground spongy and soft beneath her feet, the air moist and rich with verdant soil. She’d missed this clean, heady scent during her weeks in that
other
place, where every breath was full of machine-made fumes.

The nearest border crossing between the two worlds could only be accessed during the full moon. There were a few larger crossings that could be traversed at any time, but none was close enough to her home. So, restricted by the cycle of the moon, she’d been stuck over on Earth for many long, lonely days.

Now she was back in Elatyria and was so overjoyed she felt like hugging the nearest tree. She wouldn’t, of course. She was no longer over
there,
where trees couldn’t hug back. And she didn’t care to be crushed by the enthusiastic embrace of a gnarled oak.

Behind her, an owl hooted, another night animal howled.

And a twig snapped.

Her joy fading, Ashlynn froze. Listened.
Silence.

But that didn’t mean nobody was there.

With stealthy purpose, she quickened her pace, clinging to shadows, alert for any movement. The starry sky provided light to guide her, but also made her too-easily visible to any pursuer.

Perhaps she was overreacting. Maybe that step had been the tread of a doe, or the scurry of an anxious-to-get-home gnome.

But she feared it hadn’t been. She was being followed. She knew that. She’d known it for weeks before she’d left Elatyria. Whoever it was might have been at the border, patient and determined, waiting for her to return when the moon waxed full.

She also knew
why
she was being followed.

Someone else was after the map…and the mysterious castle to which it led. That someone knew Ashlynn was hot on the trail.

Spying the shapes of buildings in the nearest village—Foxglen, through which she’d passed weeks ago when she’d left for Earth—she walked even faster. It wasn’t Riverdale, where she lived, but there were people there. Plus, it boasted a small, clean inn and a less than clean but somewhat palatable tavern, with the dubious name of The Mare’s End.

The tavern.
She could actually spy its pitched roof from here, and breathed a sigh of relief. During the time she’d been gone, she’d had horrible visions of the place burning down or being shaken apart by a rampaging giant.

But no, there it stood in the distance, the tavern with the old, stone floor, which had a loose stone beneath the back table. Hopefully nobody was seated there, so she could sit, warm her chilled body, wrap her hands around a mug of mulled wine.

And retrieve the other two pieces of the map, which she’d hidden beneath that loose stone.

She still wasn’t sure she’d made the right choice in stashing the pieces there. But a month ago, during the brief time the border was open, she had been forced to act quickly. To her surprise, she’d learned a new Antiquities Protection Bureau had set up inspection stations at the major crossings. They were checking all packages being taken from Elatyria to Earth. She couldn’t have risked them finding the map pieces and misconstruing her intent. Of course she would never sell them to some eccentric collector, she was merely holding them to keep them safe. But how to explain that to hired hands who would see the map and likely seize it, no matter her protestations about who she was or what she did?

To go all the way home to Riverdale to store it with someone trustworthy would have delayed her trip by a full month—until the borders opened again with the next full moon. So, torn with indecision, she’d finally left them hidden in Foxglen, wrapped carefully in oilskin and hidden beneath the tavern’s stone floor.

They’re safe. They’ve got to be.

Anticipating that exciting moment when the three pieces would form a wonderful new picture—one which, she felt sure, would be enough to show her the way to the castle—Ashlynn stepped out of the forest, a stone’s throw from the nearest cottage. Safety beckoned, as did comfort. Yet, the eerie feeling that she was being watched persisted.

She suddenly realized why.

He leaped out of thin air. A large man, lunging for her, silent and with undoubtedly deadly intent.

Before Ashlynn had time to react, or even make a sound, he wrapped a powerful arm around her waist, clamped a big hand over her mouth and dragged her back into the forest.

OF ALL THE JOBS Raine Fowler had ever taken, this had to be one of the worst. He’d survived poisoned darts in the tomb of an ancient king. He’d made it through the crash of a small plane in the Amazon. He’d been shot at while, um, liberating a Mayan artifact from a group of competitors. Hell, he’d even managed to survive after hooking up with the daughter of an overprotective billionaire who’d hired him to lead them on an archaeological safari.

But this? Having to play babysitter and follow some hardheaded chick into the next frigging world so he could try to keep her from getting herself killed? Crazy. Especially because the hardheaded chick was, at this moment, trying to chew off a few of his fingers. He winced when she got in one particularly good nip, instinctively pulling away. “Would you stop it?”

“Let me go!”

Her angry voice cut through the night and he slammed his hand back. “Quiet,” he growled, his grip tight across her mouth.

A sexy mouth, he had to admit. It went well with the sexy rest of her. Hey, just because the woman was a royal pain didn’t mean he hadn’t stiffened his seams and needed to take a mental cold shower the first time he’d laid eyes on her. And just about every damn time since.

He’d first seen her nearly a month ago, in Philadelphia. He’d been contracted to find her, follow her and keep her out of trouble. He still wasn’t entirely sure who the odd-looking old man who’d hired him was. But gold spent well in any world; these days, probably better on Earth—where he spent most of his time. And the stranger had been offering a lot of it.

But maybe not enough,
he thought as she head-butted him, the back of her skull thunking on the bridge of his nose.

“Ow,” he snapped, tightening his arm across her slim waist. “Lady, you’re getting to be more trouble than you’re worth. I should let them have you.”

But he couldn’t. He’d taken the contract, agreed to protect her from afar until she got safely home. And once Raine Fowler took an assignment, he finished it. Failure wasn’t an option, not in his business where one bad job could mean another dozen potential ones dried up and disappeared.

He’d been an independent contractor—some might call him an adventurer, others might say tomb raider or even soldier of fortune—for a decade, having followed his uncle to South America when he was just eighteen. His uncle had been the best, and he’d taught Raine well. His number one rule?
Once you take the job, you see it through to the very end.
And he did. Always.

Besides, he’d only been paid half of his fee. The rest wouldn’t cross his palm until she was safely home in Riverdale.

So he’d found her, studied her, learned all he could.

He knew she was beautiful, that was without doubt. And he knew she appealed to him on a deep, visceral level that he didn’t like to acknowledge, considering she was, after all, his responsibility…whether she knew that, or not.

He also knew a brain lurked inside that sexy exterior. She was determined, persistent as a bloodhound. He knew she liked music but she couldn’t sing for shit, knew she didn’t care for pizza—bizarre—but had no problem scarfing canned ravioli—more bizarre. And he knew she had a thing for Disney movies—hence his knowledge of her singing abilities. (She sometimes went all Beauty-singing-to-the-Beast behind closed doors, through which he’d heard her.) Though, actually, that Disney thing made sense, given where she was from. Most Elatyrians were drawn to that stuff, if only so they could get all indignant about their history being fodder for an entire civilization’s amusement.