Tag: Fairy

Book Review (SERIES): Season of the Vampire

Erin Penn

Amazon Cover

Season of the Vampire (Series) by Lana Pechercyvk

  1. The Secrets of Shadow and Blood
  2. A Labyrinth of Fangs and Thorns
  3. A Symphony of Savage Hearts

I really enjoyed Lana Pechercyvk’s Deadly Seven superhero romance prose series and wanted to try other books by her. I didn’t like the Season of the Wolf (too Alpha male fated-mate for my tastes) but decided to try again with the Season of the Vampire. The results were … mixed.

 

BOOK BLURB ON AMAZON FOR THE SECRETS OF SHADOW AND BLOOD

In the shadows, vision can turn blurry. Truths can become lies. Enemies can become lovers.

When Violet inexplicably wakes thousands of years after a nuclear holocaust, she finds the world very different. Fae exist now. They’re vicious, animalistic monsters who pervert magic and can morph into any shape—including vampires. They hoard the bounty of the new world, and keep humans banished to the wasteland. At least, that’s what the humans of today have told her. Determined to make up for an unforgivable mistake in her past, she becomes a covert assassin and seeks revenge for her human brethren. And she’s good at it. But when the thing she hunts saves her life, injuring himself in the process… her crystal clarity suddenly becomes blurry.

Vampires are meant to be monsters, not protectors… not charismatic, annoyingly handsome and loyal and… everything.

Indigo is a Fae Guardian, and a ruthless vampire protector of Elphyne. The Order has tasked him with finding a human with deadly secrets before the unhinged Unseelie Queen, or the fanatical human leader, can exploit her. They chose him for one reason, and one reason only – the taste of human blood does things to him. Addictive, dark, insatiable things. And when he catches Violet’s scent, they know he’ll do everything in his power to possess her and keep her safe. But Indigo hides his own shameful secret in the shadows of his heart, and if it ever comes to light, Violet will never trust him. She’ll kill him.

The Secrets in Shadow and Blood is the next installment in the Fae Guardians series, and the first in the Season of the Vampire Trilogy. Each book features a separate couple with a satisfying HEA, but to enjoy the full benefits of the over arching plot, start the Fae Guardian journey with book one of Fae Guardians: Season of the Wolf. All Fae Guardian books include steamy romance, a splash of time travel, monster hunting, a band of brothers, fated mates, growly fae protectors, and their strong willed women from our time. If you love your books full of page turning action, romantic tension, and world building you can get lost in, then this series is for you. Warning: Trusting these seductive fae will lead to sleepless nights. But it will be worth it.

MY REVIEW FOR THE SECRETS OF SHADOW AND BLOOD

I started this back in October 2021. Normally I swallow books whole, but the holidays pushed this novel to the backseat. I just couldn’t find time to finish it — until late January 2022, and I’m glad I did.

This is a dark post apocalyptic world, and the women coming forward from our time for the Season of the Vampire series are ones who had a hand in destroying their world, Violet most of all. Her brain conceived the bomb that destroyed everyone she knew. It left her broken in strange ways. And the new world, on her “waking” day, welcomed her with a nightmare PTSD-inducing moment.

Her response is to lash out. To hunt. Push the border of serial killer. To hate herself every moment. To try to redeem her soul. Or, more accurately, pay some imagined balance enough weight of good to offset being one of the instruments which killed billions.

It’s an interesting exploration of psyche. And matches many of the comments I’ve read about those who participated in building and dropping the bombs on Hiroshima and Nagasaki.

That being said – this is a romance, an action adventure, and a fantasy story with vampires and magic, high fantasy politics and guardian organizations. The dark mental exploration weaves throughout.

If you want a romance that is bit grittier than normal, The Secrets in Shadow and Blood delivers.

 

Amazon Cover

BOOK BLURB ON AMAZON FOR THE LABYRINTH OF FANGS AND THORNS

Since Peaches woke up in a fantasy world full of monsters and fae, she’s been treated like a piece of tasty human meat. After six years as a blood slave to vampires and the evil Unseelie queen – beholden to all, and master of none – there’s nothing left but a broken shell with a fractured soul. Until a deadly warrior turns up unannounced in her room.

Vampire Haze is the muscle of the Fae Guardians elite Cadre of Twelve. He is a spy, a protector of the weak, hammer and sword, a rigid enforcer of rules. He allows no one close to his heart, lest they see the shame driving him. But when he stumbles across a beguiling woman with sad, desolate eyes, he knows he must help her. She calls to him in more ways than one, igniting a passion neither of them can deny, despite the risks.

The Unseelie queen has other treacherous plans for Haze and Peaches. From a twisted masquerade ball, to a labyrinth filled with goblins, to a hidden prison deep underground, they must work together to survive. The only way out is to trust each other…easier said than done when all he wants to do is feast on her blood.

MY REVIEW FOR THE LABYRINTH OF FANGS AND THORNS

Normally books with a small, delicate, frightened female latching onto the largest, strongest male she finds annoys the crap out of me. THIS ONE WORKS!

Peaches had a PTSD-inducing week when she was brought forward from the past to this post-apocalyptic fantasy world. She manages to survive but she develops classic abuse-survivor symptoms. She can’t escape her present situation because she has never been able to escape before and she has “learned” to just keep the head down and survive. When the perfect chance to escape the clutches of the evil queen shows up in the form of Haze – the biggest and strongest of all the Guardians of the Well -, she timidly choses the situation she knows.

I love this story, as Peaches develops past her abuse personality. THIS CAN BE A HARD READ FOR SOME. (Trigger considerations – we don’t see much of the actual abuse, and the abuse in more fantastical in nature (blood drinking by vampires and psychic damage from magic).)

The Season of the Vampire is a very gritty part of the Fae Guardian series. I didn’t make it deep into the Werewolf trilogy, but I am really loving the Vampires. Looking forward to Feb 2022 and Shade and Silver story.

These stories are a mix of action-adventure, fantasy, and romance and delivers everything these genres represent pitch perfect.

 

Amazon Cover

BOOK BLURB ON AMAZON FOR THE SYMPHONY OF SAVAGE HEARTS

Silver is a beautiful liar.
She’s human.
And a fierce killer of fae.
She marks her kills on a silver vambrace so everyone can see her savagery and stay away. As long as she keeps protecting downtrodden humans from monstrous fae-folk, and hiding the true reason for wearing magic-cutting silver, her loneliness is of no consequence. Selected for a high priority mission, she bravely heads into Elphyne, never expecting one of their worst waiting for her. Wanting her. Craving her.
Shade is sinfully attractive.
He’s a vampire.
And the most hard to resist of the Fae Guardians.
From the Queen’s bed to The Order, he uses the power of sex to get what he wants. Eventually they all succumb, and they all fall short of harmonizing with the darkness hidden in his soul…. until he finds the one woman who resists his every charm.
Seducing Silver will be a challenge, but it’s one he was made for.
Nothing will get in his way. Not the evil creature terrorizing Elphyne. Not the human enemy with dastardly plans of their own. Not the Unseelie Queen’s obsession with him. Not even the betrayal of the one person who can hurt him the most.
This courting of savage hearts is a symphony.
And theirs will be one for history.

MY REVIEW FOR THE SYMPHONY OF SAVAGE HEARTS

I’m not into BDSM and the central romance for Symphony are two characters who need that type of relationship, so I struggled to finish the book. The first 50% of the book centered on the relationship between the two, and, for the most part, they were the only characters for the first half of the book.

This is the standard setup for most of the series.

First, introduce the world and two romantic characters. Next, get the romantic characters to accepted their fated-mate status – hot, hot relationship actions are involved. Then, the second half of the book focused on moving the series story forward – reintroducing all the other characters of the series, explaining where things are, what the leads for this book bring to the table to shift the series plot forward, and then exciting rise and fall of action.

Loved the second half of the book – and the setup for the next trilogy of the Fae Guardians (the Elves) – makes me want to see all their romances and continue to watch as the overarching storyline continues. Will the fae queen continue her descent into madness, or is she savable? Will the fae kingdoms devolve into war and poison the Well beyond redemption? Will the human leader continue his plans? Can humans and fae come to live together?

Book Grade – great for the series, didn’t like the romance or the lead characters of this book at all.

What I would recommend – see if you like the characters. If so, follow their romance. Otherwise, if you are reading this just for the series – jump to the 50% mark and go from there.

What I didn’t like about the romantic leads: The lead characters really are villains. Selfish, wallowing in their black hearts. After power. Don’t consider more than one side to any story until forced to. People love them for no reason. They are like two black holes – taking and not giving. On the other hand, these are very real type of people. I just don’t like them or want to spend time with them, however beautiful and magical they are.

Flash: Unexpected

Erin Penn

Photo by Pietra Schwarzler on Unsplash

Knitted woke up, and her first thought was “This is unexpected.”

She had gone up against six adventurers on her own, in the middle of a town the mercenaries had recently saved from a fae incursion. No one in the room but people with other allegiances. She figured if the warriors didn’t gut her, their allies would backstab her.

Going in, she knew she was a dead woman. All she needed, though, was one death in return. The one who betrayed her father needed to die. Draymond. His beating heart throbbing in her hands. A smile crept across her face, mission accomplished. Her soul sang with the victory.

She clenched her right hand at the memory, and a spongey mass gave at the pressure. Knitted eyes burst opened. She still had the heart!

Trying to jerk upright, she discovered ropes across her chest a split second before pain erupted through the cotton encasing her thoughts. Agony raced along her spine, stabbing low across her back. Fire consumed one leg before playing up and down her ribcage like a hammer on a dulcimer. Both arms convulsed against the ropes binding them to her torso. Pain gurgled past her lips despite her best efforts.

Fae always collected their payments. Knitted had acted without approval of the Cap Council. Vigilante justice was expressly forbidden to the fae enforcers.  Had they already caught up with her for taking a personal vengeance?

No one entered the dim room in response to her noise and movements.

She relaxed, and after a few moments the pain receded into fuzzy cotton locking it in the back of her head. Whoever drugged her knew exactly what her small stature and heritage needed without overpowering her. Few healers within human space would. Another stone on the scale for a fae capture.

While surprising they found her so soon, the fact they found her had always been expected, that is, if she survived. Which she seemed to have done. Complete with the heart.

A crooked grin cracked her face as she stared up at the stone and dirt ceiling.

Whatever price the Cap Council and the Greater Fae Moot demanded, she would pay.

She had begged them to enforce the broken contract. But nothing happened, even with the evidence the braggart had been spreading the tale and undermining the fae’s reputation.

But the elders had felt her father had been the one dealing in bad faith. He should have never agreed to make a contract with a single hotheaded human in the first place. The Moot did agree that a contract had taken place with both parties of age to agree, so a broken contract penalty needed to be put in place.

They added it to the list for collections. Three from the bottom in priority. A place so low on the list the human would die before anyone got around to punishing him.

“He was human and doesn’t know better,” others had said.

“We don’t have the resources. Too much is happening for us to worry about a contract with just a single human,” others had said. “Maybe later.”

“But my father,” Knitted had begged, “his memory deserves better.”

Now, his memory shined, freshly coated in blood. She would pay any price they required.

(Words 544, first published 3/13/2022)

Series: Warrior’s Heart

  1. Claims a Warrior’s Heart – link to 3/6/2022
  2. Unexpected – Link to 3/13/2022

Flash: Claims a Warrior’s Heart

Erin Penn

Photo by Gioele Fazzeri on Unsplash

The noise echoed out into the darkness beyond the fur-curtained windows of the unnamed bar. Jareek had followed it inside, enjoying the laughter, though not participating, admiring the skill of the bard, who managed to keep her instrument in tune despite the dampness seeping in from the nearby fen with its ghost lights and quiet monsters. What he could do without, is the braggart telling loud stories from where he and his companions held court in the center of the room.

The hooded fae signaled the server for another drink from his far corner where he could watch everyone in the room and all three doors. She dropped the warm foaming beer on her way to refresh the mugs of those closer to the storyteller, scooping up two coins in return. She passed the one bearing the previous king’s face onto the bard and kept the newer, unshaven coin, for herself.

“Then we chased those evil fairy-kind back to their trees, reminding them to stay out of the plowed lands of men.”

Most of the humans and the handful of non-humans present, roared in approval, stomping feet.

A few understood the plowed lands of men would keep expanding until those within the trees could retreat no more. And when that day came, a steep price would be paid. The fairies always demanded a price. Those humans were more respectful of that coming day.

The local tree line had been cut back during the winter while the tree-bound slept. The price demanded for the treaty violation had been avoided by Springdale hiring these mercenaries to protect them. A debt avoided is not a price paid.

Jareek had been in human lands long enough his green skin faded to human brown, and his bark roughened skin matched their thin smooth hides. He was not the one to demand the price. He didn’t enough know the local treaty blooms. Still, he had been called to Witness – the same calling which pulled him on and on. From one end of the continent to the other, to witness and add it to the Memory of all fae. The gift of Memory wasn’t kinder than any fae gift, but it was more lonely than most.

“Another story Warrior Draymond! Tell us of outsmarting the Cap!” The request came from a dwarf. They and humans didn’t fight over land, yet. The small folk lived underground and the humans above, but humans liked the shinies the hunched creatures found. In other parts of the world, the youngest of the races have started to hunt out underground treasures on their own. Memory only knew of one incident where humans and the underground fae had crashed over their hunger for riches. It hadn’t ended well for the dwarves.

Jareek pulled a sip of the nutty beer.

Pity the dwarves refused to work with their fae brethren, thinking above and below are two separate energies, not understanding the trees reached deep and stood tall, connecting sky, land, and the dark.

“Ah, the Cap. That is a story and a half.” The bearded man nodded. “I’ll need food to keep my stamina up.”

More coin landed on the table than had passed to the bard all evening. A smaller fellow beside the hulking man scooped it up before waving four coins to cover the roast beef the bar was serving this evening. The six mercenaries would eat well on the braggart’s tongue and bluster.

Meanwhile the harpist underlined the story with some of the best satire Jareek had enjoyed in a while. Av Manag Dirlick. Sounded like a lovely tune, and the songs the humans and most fae sing to the tune are about lying in the grass with your love and watching the cloud go by. For the Caps, though, the song they sung, half a key lower, is about rolling in fields of blood after a battle and claiming those closest in an orgy the likes of which humans would never understand.

Silently laughing, Jareek had to stop drinking otherwise he would spray beer everywhere.

The other songs played through the night could have been a human being the typical unaware of other communities. But this was too perfect.

Jareek lifted his second lid, releasing his sight, his fae eyes glowing if anyone looked under his hood. A glamour covered the harpist. The fae Memory Gatherer closed his both lids, calling deep within to his gift giving him not just the sight many of the fairy have, but All Sight needed for Memories. He could feel it was nearly time for what called him here to begin. He didn’t reopen his eyes, but now he saw everything in the bar, and in the kitchen beyond the bar, in the floor above, and the cellar below, and out in the street.

The harpist was a Cap, the punisher of treaty breakers. The glamour’s red hooded cloak hid her blood-soaked cap, the leather vest and legging dyed in the blood of her kills. Her red hair curled close to her chalk-white cheeks. Her scent – cinnamon and iron – burned into the Memory alongside her song of warning.

“Our deal struck, a heart for a hand, we shook and the Cap joined us on our mission into the Reedy Swamp.” Draymond paused to take a bite of the beef.

“Stupid Cap should have got paid up front.” The dwarf declared. No dwarf ever took credit. As they said, the ground doesn’t wait to settle.

After washing down some bread with the local beer, the mercenary agreed. “But if he hadn’t joined us, we wouldn’t be here to tell the tale.” He launched again into his story.

The harpist changed her tune so subtly when the fighter betrayed his ally, Jareek nearly missed it. Av Truist y Pae.  

Inside his head, the unsung lyrics all children are taught buzzed.

Strike a deal, make a pack
Trade the thing, no one lacks
Price for price, common costs.
Good transactions together
Are tree to moss.
False faith, stolen skill
Never do, the act is ill
All suffer, feel the loss.
Call the Caps, demand the fee
Attack those who disagree
A broken charge is impure dross.
Treaty words must bind
When by hand signed
Otherwise, trust is lost.

Trust is the only currency of a civilized society. The fae adage was so ingrained into their species, it become part of them. Lying among the civilized ceased being possible long before the gods crafted humans. The fact dwarves could still lie said a lot about them. The ability to lie meant they had more dealing with Caps than most of the fae races and hated the enforcers in the amount equal to their interaction.

A few of the patrons around the crowded room were humming along, before the words in their heads overcame the bluster of the blowhard’s narrative. They started turning their heads toward the bard. One by one, the laughter and movement of the boisterous crowd faded. The harpist strings vibrated deep, hitting with almost bruising strength as the tune carried in the gathering quiet. A few of the smarter ones slid out the doors to the front and back. The server and her kin made themselves scarce as well.

Jareek would need to see them reimbursed if the damage exceeded the normally expected price of a public establishment.

The red-haired fae winked at him when Draymond finally realized he was losing his audience. She ended the song with a loud flourish, overriding his complaint about her music. Flush raised up the human’s throat as he pushed away from the table and approached her on the other side of the central fire.

She placed her hands against the vibrating strings, instantly silencing them.

“What to hell, girl?” Draymond rested his hand on his sword hilt, not in a threatening way. Anyone who wore a sword knew the ease of the stance, and the need to always be aware of position of the sword within a crowd, which having a hand on one end helps. The fact the mercenary carried nearly four feet of iron, plus various other weapons on his person, and remained half-armored, the heavy metals plates removed before the night’s drinking began, plus likely outweigh the harpist by a factor of three, that was the threat.

The red hood fell back. Jareek knew the human saw a gorgeous redhead on the younger side, old enough to travel, young enough to be enticed to staying in a town if the offer is good enough. The cost of the road is heavy until one is so used to paying it, the traveler soul forgets the burden. Older human entertainers Jareek had met seemed to delight in the rootless life.  He hoped to reach that age someday, though two hundred years of hard travel had not brought him the inner peace humans seem to find so easily.

The strikingly beautiful fae plucked a few notes, this one strictly a human love song. Her voice mixed in, words holding promise, as she looked up at him under her lashes. “I come, I come for a warrior’s heart.”

The song spoke of longing of a woman left behind when her man went to war. She follows him until they are reunited.

“I claim, I claim my warrior’s heart.”

“Look girl, if you want to bed…”

The Cap’s voice grew louder. “From my father, a hand, to a warrior’s cause. I come to claim a warrior’s heart.”

Jareek’s opened up both lids.

Draymond might have realized the danger he was in, before the Cap dropped her glamour. His sword had been pulled nearly three inches out of the scabbard before the Cap’s claws ripped through his chestplate, ribs, and lungs.

“A heart for a hand, A deal agreed. Betrayed, betrayed. Call the Caps to claim a Warrior’s heart.”

The vibrato of the Cap’s voice, stung with revengeful joy, as she pulled her hand out of the mercenary’s chest, holding his still beating heart.

As the man toppled, the Cap looked at his five companions. “Betrayed, betrayed, a contract undone. Those who participated shall die, every one.”

The Memory Gatherer felt his heart flip watching her leap across the fire at the other mercenaries. Flames, red, orange, blue, and rust reflected against her well-oiled leathers. The Cap was lethal beauty in motion, matching her gift of Song.

Never let a Siren sing her words. Words have power. Backed by music and magic, they become reality.

(first published 3/9/2022; words 1,744)

Series: Warrior’s Heart

  1. Claims a Warrior’s Heart – link to 3/6/2022
  2. Unexpected – Link to 3/13/2022

(Inspired by The Dragonborn Come as sung by VoicePlay featuring Omar Cardon. See below.)

Flash: Twilight Hours

Erin Penn

Photo 241261581 © Georgiy Georgiy | Dreamstime.com

The strip mall was typical, herb seller and cigarette store anchoring one end and pizza delivery anchoring the other. Packard remembered when the food anchor had been Chinese, but COVID chased the Panjins back across the ocean. In between drugs and food were a tax prep place, cursed vacations, and a title loan store. Darkness skittered away from the police spotlights, scattered furthered by the falling rain. Flipping the metal flask in her hand, Packard tucked it unopened back into raincoat’s deep pockets on the left side; the right pocket held her wand. The apple schnapps was getting low, and she would need a drink after seeing another damn dead body today.

Dashing from her compact, the contracted specialist ducked under the police tape and edged into the ten-by-ten shelter the cops had placed over the body. The drenched uniform who should have been by the tape nodded at her and stepped into the downpour to make room for her. They had met this morning shortly after dawn.

The camera kids were tucking their expensive equipment into bags, leaving only chalk marks behind. The rest of the parking lot was a wash, literally, as whatever evidence remained from the killer ran into the gutters. A detective had his badge clipped to the outside of his raincoat, trying, ineffectually, to keep the water dripping from his coat outside the chalk marks.

“About fucking time,” he muttered loudly to be heard over the rain hitting the plastic above them.

“Nice to see you too, Smithers,” Sabine Packard, Magik Consulting and Investigations sole employee, nodded at the detective. “Some of us haven’t slept yet.”

“Chief is pissed the Twilight killer is doing back-to-back days.”

“I’m too.” She walked around the body, belly open crotch to midchest on the young male, crouching down, quickly measuring the tear with her hands midair above the body. “It gets bigger each time.”

“By about six centimeters according to the lab geeks.”

She nodded, having heard this from Smithers day counterparts this morning. “What’s the bets for tomorrow’s morning location?” she asked standing in the space now clear of the forensic crew. The Twilight killer always killed one person at nightfall and another in the morning. The first death nearly four months ago. Nine days of her getting a call shortly after sunset and another just past dawn.

Eighteen, now nineteen bodies. Tomorrow, twenty, unless they figured out how to stop him or her or it.

“Monroe in statistics is improving the data and says West Side.” Smithers shrugged. “My guts says the Mall.”

Packard rotated the big onyx ring on her thumb she had inherited from her father. “Mall.” She did another rotation and then another, staring at the body. “But one of the strip areas like this one across the street.”

“Treebranch or Goody Goods?”

Packard shook her head. “Don’t know. Killer hasn’t decided … no, wait, the killer doesn’t decide.” Her eyes hazed over and Smithers pulled out his notebook and turned on his recorder.

“Doesn’t decide?” All the detectives in homicide and missing persons had been taught how to deal with a tranced clairvoyant.

Packard’s hard words softened, taking on a sing-song property. “Things escape where they wilt, crawling out into the time between. A killer feeds. A hand pets. Grow monster, growing yet. Feed me belly tum tum tum, swirling world come undone.” The consultant collapsed as though someone cut her strings.

“Oh shit,” said Detective Matt Smithers, dropping his notepad and rushing forward to keep her body from tipping over onto the dead man.

The woman looked up at the man holding her head above something stinky. “Joy,” she snarked, “something finally came through.”

“Yeah, some half-assed poetry.”

She let him move her until he laid her down, rain pouring down the edge of the tent onto her shoulder and back. Packard looked him a question and he nodded, indicating she was clear of the body and evidence contamination. “Sorry, only a quarter elf. My dad was capable of whole-ass poetry.” Placing her hands on the cement parking lot, Sabine pushed herself to standing. “Did you get it on tape?”

“Everything but ‘the killer doesn’t decide.'”

“Great, because my body tape ran out of juice sometime around noon.” Sabine wiped her hands on her raincoat. “I would have had nothing.” She nodded at the body, “Let’s have the body snatchers do their jobs, forensics must be getting bored, and you can drive me to the station.”

“Can’t you drive?” The detective asked as they walked away from the murder site through the rain, waving over the morticians and indicating the uniform had the scene until the higher levels who were canvassing the area came back.

“After being up thirty-nine hours and having a trance?”

The officer looked down at her, as he opened up the passenger side of his unmarked. “You are going to be snoring before we pull out, aren’t you?”

“If you don’t like my snoring, stay out of my bed Matt.”

He closed the door and walked around the vehicle. Sabine was already snoring before the car even turned over. “I’m trying, girl. I’m trying.”

(words 856, first published 11/1/2023)

Flash: Birthday Dances (Cursed to Marry Part 1)

Erin Penn

Tourmaline: rubellite, Madagascar (36.85), Brazil (13.16, 17.13 // 16.73, 10.26, 23.56). Photo © Joel E. Arem, PhD, FGA. – from https://www.gemsociety.org/article/rubellite-jewelry-and-gemstone-information/

David turned his bored gaze from beyond the thick fabric hanging he had tweaked aside to see the visitors to where Izzabella bustled in, shedding retainers and servants doing last minute twitches to her hair, makeup, and white frosted pink gown, a confection of silks, gaze, and crinoline. “Well, now, don’t you clean up fine, nursery.”

The young woman’s flashing blue eyes met the matching blue of her oldest brother, while she shooed away the woman smoothing her elbow-length embroidered lace gloves into place. Staring at him, she pinched her soft pink lips into a firm line, the lipstick not budging a testament to her entourage.

“Still not speaking to me, hmmm?” He ran a critical gaze over her outfit, noting the family jewels at her ears, neck, wrists, and fingers, frowning at the little finger on her left hand missing lace, the area at the bottom where the glove encased her hand frayed as though she cut it, and the ugly muddy-colored small gem stuck on an antique gold pinky ring she never took off which didn’t match a thing she wore. Not a battle for today, however warranted.  “Do you plan to keep this up all night?” David raised his left eyebrow.

Izzabella crossed her arms over her sweetheart neckline and sniffed, lifting her slightly pointed chin.

“At least you know how to dress,” David turned toward the fabric hanging and offered her his arm. “I wasn’t sure your little protest would have you showing up in the trousers of a horse-crazed tom-boy or a simple shift of a socially inept bookworm geek girl.”

“I know my duty,” she hissed quietly enough only the male servant waiting beside them. Placing her hands on the crook of her arm, Izzy edged her right hand to cover her pinky ring and so the Ezmerelda rubellite ring displayed prominently against David’s dark wool jacket, a relic from the only woman of their line who sat on the throne in her own name. Many Rowanwoods debutants wore the fuchsia pink set for the solstice ball, since summer limited unmarried females to whites and pastels, but Izzy chose it for many reasons beyond simple color.

“If you say so, though I haven’t seen it in over a year.” David, nodded to the servant. “Announce us.”

Izzabella couldn’t keep her hands from tightening in anger at his words. He always had to have the last word. She shouldn’t have bothered speaking at all. Keeping her eyes straight ahead, while ignoring her brother’s smirk as she released the tension in her hands, she waited while the servant stepped into the larger room. Beyond it, a signal crossed from herald to herald, then the curtains in front of them parted letting the quieted gathering see them. To their right, their father sat beside his latest wife.

“Crown Prince David Ramiro Hamlet Sancho Andwarder Colin of Rowanwood, Duke of Ravineruin, Count of Southern Seaport, Lord Constance of the Greenfields, Heir of Chormatica.” The male servant drew a deep breath, his red and black wool suit expanding. “Princess Izzabella Theresa Brooklet of Rowanwood, Lady Providence of the Heavygrain.”

The two climbed down the shallow stairs to circle around the thrones in the process changing positions until they in front of the king and queen with David before the king and Izzabella before the queen. The formal guards either side stepped toward them, hands on their hilts. Further back, along the walls, the real guards hands lay on their guns. Together the prince and princess sunk down on the large heavily embroidered pillow displaying the stag and wolf supporting a berried rowan tree in front of the gilded rowan wood seats, and in unison, they bowed until their hands touched their hands on the riser in front of the pillow. Out of the corner of her eye, Izzy watched her father’s feet as he stood. He motioned, and the sounds of boots scuffled back. Bent over as she was, releasing the breath she held seemed to echo between her hands; she would have been embarrassed if she hadn’t heard a similar exhale from her brother. The pillow and the risers, despite the best efforts of the restorers still carried bloodstains. No crown had dropped a hand in a century, and only once on an heir in the entire double millennium-long history of the kingdom, but their father had a new wife and could want to clear space in line for the offspring in her swollen belly. And he loved spectacle.

“Son. Daughter. Please rise.” The king of Chromatica’s voice rolled over them, to the audience and the cameras beyond.

Rising together, like they drilled for years, she and her three brothers, singly, together, and any combination of the four, the crown heir and the sole daughter of the Rowanwood house stood before their father. The older man stepped forward and kissed David on both cheeks, saying “You look well,” as though he hadn’t seen him in a while, though Izzy knew full well they had spent the morning like normal dealing with briefings and planning politics while she had been buried deep in stylists and seamstresses.

Personally, Izzy thought her brother looked haggard. She did pity him dealing with their extremist and incendiary father, but she squashed the sympathy, reminding herself she was still angry with him going along with the king and the cabinet of ministers on their approval of the Ravineruin Repurpose plan.

After the prince muttered his thanks, the king moved to her, kissing both her cheeks, his hands squeezing her shoulders tightly enough she had to clench her teeth to keep from crying out. There would be bruises in the morning. “My favorite daughter, happy birthday,” his words and her silence easily picked up on the directional microphones. “It has been an amazing eighteen years watching your grow into the fine young woman you are. I can’t wait to see what the future brings.”

“Thank you father.” Izzy dipped in a short curtsey getting her father’s hands off her shoulders, her movement causing them to drop naturally to his sides as if he hadn’t been punishing her. She debated continuing on or off script, but decide to continue her silent protest.

The king waited a beat or two for something more from her. His blue eyes darkened when she didn’t spout nonsense about her hopes and dreams of the future. “Please, my children, sit.” He waved at the empty seat beside him for David, and the closest of the three empty seats beside the queen. The two empty seats holding small coronets for the twins while they performed the military service. Making a second of eye contact with David, he gave the slightest movement and they moved apart to their respective seats.

Sitting beside the empty seats, Izzabella considered if her next duty would be university or military. Should she do Navy like Mike or Air Force like Sammy? David had done Army, like all Crown Heirs. That is, if her father didn’t seal a treaty with marriage. Not that happened much in the modern world, but little countries like theirs sometimes pulled that historic treasure out of their dusty misogynist texts. While she arranged her skirts, the king released the crowd to return to their music and merriment.

Some merriment. More like dealmaking, gossip, and appearance during the annual solstice ball. Everyone here paid a premium for the ticket, or the invite, going into the crown coffers to keep up appearances of royalty during an age of internet and television, though officially the event was a charity fundraiser. Looking at the queen, Izzy tried to make eye contact, trying once again to reach the woman. With the queen only four years her elder, she thought maybe they could be friends. The princess had a lot she could share with the noblewoman about how the ends and outs of their particular small pond worked, but Jennifer was determined to keep her distance.

Izzabella began to regret her silent protest. Normally she would have nattered about wanting to dance, and her father giving her permission to do so, at which point the gala would turn into a ball with her and David opening the first dance of the night. Stubborn pride kept her seated, despite several younger folks making eye contact, nearly begging her to bring the party to a start. But most of them know her protest, and some even agreed the Ravineruin River being dammed was ecologically unsound. Not exactly her reason for the protest, the actual reason being a state secret, but still the public reason satisfied even older decision-makers as an acceptable action for a young woman.

A woman worthy of putting in silks and fluff and calling Princess.

Izzy twisted her pinky ring around.

David said something quietly to the king before standing, making a small bow to their father, then crossing over to her and holding out a hand. “A dance for the birthday girl?”

She looked at it considering. It was her birthday and she could protest if she wanted to. She was a princess and she had a duty. Her shoulders were bruised and her stomach was still recovering from being on bread and water last month for refusing to attend the ground breaking ceremonies of the parks being built along the new Ravineruin Reservoir. The teens and youth attending expected some fun. The elders didn’t take her seriously.

David narrowed his eyes. Izzabella stood quickly, taking his hand silently, before hand-in-hand they walked down the last of the steps and crossed to the temporary wooden dance floor laid atop the fifteenth century Spanish marble work an ancestor had ordered for his Catalonia queen when she redecorated Breakercliff Castle to her tastes. While they walked through the crowd, the musicians morphed their tune to the Prince’s Advance. Camera people rush around while the younger people in attendance, plus a couple older couples who loved to dance, gathered at the edges of the dance floor. They would join the royal couple at the start of the second verse. David swirled her around, raising her right hand to his shoulder sending pink sparkles spinning off the huge emerald-cut Ezmeralda ring covering a finger completely between knuckle and the joint on her middle finger, the rest of the Ezmeralda summer set on her wrists, hanging on her ears, and in the choker at her neck took on new life as the silver and gemstones were hit by the flashes from cameras.

Two light taps barely could be heard over the press-core chaos, but the musicians came in with the song agreed upon and David and Izzabella swept into a modified waltz, retaining a few folk hand movements from Chromatica heritage when one or the other of the brother-sister pair let their hands swing out from their partner during the spins. A wrist twist for long summer days, a hand dip meaning blessing on the crops, providence, constance, bounty, health. Modern and history. Precision and lore.

The older couples and some of the younger ones followed suit, not exactly matching the royals as it wasn’t a formal, structured dance like the Spear and Scythe, but the harmony between the hands elevated the dance from a simple modern gathering from anywhere the rich gather in the world to something uniquely Chromatic.

A newly widowed countess, the highest-ranking single woman present, introduced the new Boliva ambassador to David and Izzabella, before claiming the next dance with the heir, leaving Izzy with the bureaucrat who Izzy discovered by the second cord had no business being on the dance floor. Thank goodness for big skirts to protect feet.

Next partner switch was with a gangly teen worth more than Chromatic, if one didn’t count the mining. She did have to firmly remind him that etiquette didn’t allow her to repeat partners.

“Unless you fell in love and eloped,” he grinned down at her in an unsettling manner, while continuing to hold her hand. “Maybe a turn outside after dark when you tire of the game.”

Struggling to remember his actual age, Izzy decided it didn’t matter. This one needed to learn the meaning of no. “I’m sorry, but I really can’t,” she said while yanking her hand away, then checking to make sure all the rings were still on her fingers before offering her hand to the man coming to her from the right side. Martin, Count of Northern Hills and Speaker of the Council, who had been trying to corner her for close to a year. Unmarried and his late forties, he wanted to speak to her for several reasons.

A better choice politically then the businessman living on his father’s bank account.

“My dear child, you looked parched after all that dancing. Would you like some hazelnut water?” The Speaker tucked her hand into the crook of his arm.

“I can get it for her.” The youth stepped closer to them.

The balding man looked the teen up and down. “I don’t doubt you could, sir. But I do need a moment with the princess. State business you understand.”

“Really?” The other male sneered. “Or you just butting into none-of-your-business, old man?”

“Arnold, I really do have business with him.” Izzy interrupted, drawing the eyes of both men, “I’ve been getting ready for the party all day, you know, and I just haven’t been able to get back to him. Please excuse us.” The brunette turned her face toward the Count. “And the hazelnut sounds perfect.”

They managed to move away without Arnold following.

Slipping into the obscure Chromatic dialect variation on Spanish, the politician said, “Well done girl, I hate that we can’t just color his skin like he deserves, but his father is investing heavily in Seaport shipyard.” Closing on the servers at the edge of the room, Martin signaled for two drinks. One with the royal baldric came over in a moment with two glasses.

“Alfonso,” Izzy smiled at him and waited for him to take a sip from one glass before passing it to her. He passed the Speaker the other drink untested. Once they both had taken sips from their drinks, the princess asked, “Count North, did you come over to rescue me, for which I am grateful, or did you have some other darker stone reason?”

“I only do bright stones, you know that child.”

Not with the way you can lead my father around by his nose, but you are better than the last Speaker who set off his temper every single gathering. Izzy kept her thoughts to herself while taking another sip.

“But I did have a reason or three.”

“Of course.”

“First, it’s time to end your strike against appearances. You no longer have school studies to delay them.”

Izzy lifted her right hand and gazed at the large rock on the ring and then did a quick glance at his face and then returned to contemplating the rock before dropping her hand.

The count took a swallow of the sweetened hazelnut water, looking like he swallowed something sour. “Second, unified front.”

She rolled her eyes around the gala and raised her eyebrows, twisting a hand in the dance symbol for completion.

“Crumbling stone, girl, you know what I mean.”

“I am not a girl, and you know what,” she stopped for emphasis before continuing, “I mean. And let me answer the third – or whatever number you have it on your list, but I figured you will hit it at some point, no, I am not interested in marrying you.”

“Direct, but I like that about you.”

“No, that is very much one of the things you dislike about me and Sammy.” Izzy smiled at him. “The fact we know how to handle directness as a tool and you have never figure out how to come at anything except sideways.” She finished her drink. “Not that you aren’t very, very good at that and I do admire you for your skill, but you and I aren’t suited.” She held out her left hand with the drink, frowning when light caught her pinky ring.

“You are too young to see it, but we would be great together.”

A server took her drink away, but Izzy kept staring at the gem, bringing it closer. The gem swirled with shimmering colors over its cabochon surface. Speaking towards it, she said, “No, we wouldn’t. You really should look closer to home.”

“What?” the Count reached for her hand, “What is it?”

Izzabella dropped her hand, “Nothing that concerns you, but, might I recommend, consider Lady Elena as a possible spouse. She often works with the Council on transportation legislation with the Guild House and you have a lot in common … politically.” This time Izzy managed to raise one eyebrow, she didn’t have control over it like her father and brother did, but sometimes it came worked.

Martin looked down at her with his black eyes.

Yes, I know who you are have affairs with and I will not accept that in a spouse. Her eyes did not waver as she stared back at him.

He broke off the eye contact, looking to the side slightly.

“Really, Lady Elena would be a good match.” Izzy placed a gentle hand on his wrist, deciding to offer an olive branch. “Her whole family is amazing. If I decide on university before military, I likely will be in the same year as her youngest sister, maybe even having her as a roommate.”

Martin turned his head back, tilting it to the side. “The Red Guards would like that. Especially if I follow your advice. Her family would need a detail if I get voted Speaker again in the fall and follow your recommendation courting Elena. Having all the ores in one vein, so to speak, would make them happy.”

I guess I am going to Unie first then.

“Could you escort me back to my father? I would like to sit a moment.” And figure out why the Ravineruin ring changed color. Or, more accurately based on legend, who has arrived.

(words 3,030; first published 10/27/2023)

Cursed to Marry a Fairy Tale Prince Series

  1. Birthday Dances (1/3/2021)