Den of Blades and Briars: A dark fairy tale romance (The Broken Kingdoms Book 7)

The law of hearts. I’d always laughed at such a caveat. Now here I was claiming asylum under the very law.

What the hells was I thinking? When Hawthorne had fallen so deliriously in love with his mate and lady, he’d demanded his gates would always be open to true lovers. Vowed, committed, consorts, or simply recklessly devoted to each other the way he was devoted to Yarrow, it did not matter.

It was a ridiculous law, but the forest fae could not deny me. Not under the belief Ari was the light of my heart, my reason for breathing each sunrise.

I’d expected Ari to balk at the idea, maybe play along without a second thought, but I’d not considered he’d be stunned into silence.

“Well?” Ulv snapped, clearly disappointed he’d not be taking a bite from my thigh today. “Does your heart break without her?”

Ari blinked to Ulv, then me. I widened my gaze, a gesture for him to bleeding play along. After his mouth, tongue, and those dangerous hands had been on my body, I had hope it wouldn’t be so hard for him to make my existence easier by going with my lie.

He paused for no less than ten breaths. Was he considering denying me? Leaving me here to be a savory delight for Ulv’s palate?

Then, the vicious smirk that tightened my insides carved over his face. “Ulv, I cannot breathe unless my beloved is next to my side.”

Ari scooped an arm around my waist and yanked my body flush against his. He should not feel so perfectly molded for me.

A shudder ran through my veins when Ari’s lips drew close to my ear. “Very clever, but you will need to lead here. Show me how doting of a lover I am to be.”

“I do not think you’re capable of doting,” I hissed back.

Ari grinned, but kept his arm around me as Ulv grumbled and led us through the archway. We kept several paces behind, voices low.

“I would be the dotiest of lovers,” Ari told me. “You merely had a taste.”

I frowned. “Yes, and now you’ll punish me for leaving you without release.”

The words slipped out before I could stop them, and my face burned like it was made of a summer sun.

He stopped walking. With one knuckle, Ari tipped my chin up. “Hear this, Saga. I could be inside you, and if you told me to leave, I would.”

“Gods, Ari.” My throat went dry, not at the words but at the thought of him filling me with the length I’d held in my grip. It was a terrifying, reckless, and deliciously tempting thought.

“That is what you will say if you’re in my bed.” He winked and let me go. “But I don’t bed the unwilling, and I don’t punish women for having a voice. Shall we?”

He swung an arm open, gesturing me to walk ahead of him. By the hells, I hoped he could not see how my hands trembled.

“Ekträ!” Ulv shouted at a wide bend. “Guide them the rest of the way in.”

I startled when a wizened, bent trunk of a nearby tree cracked and splintered until a fae with bark-like skin peeled away with a yawn.

His eyes were the shade of oozing honey, and his hair reminded me of oak leaves in autumn.

“Welcome . . .” His voice was pitchy, and the first word was buried in another yawn. “Apologies. Welcome to the Gilded Forest, passage to Skog, the dazzling city of our Lord and Lady.”

I fought the urge to roll my eyes, but there was beauty here. The Gilded Forest was rightly named. The way the sunlight gleamed through the trees was intoxicating. Our new path was shaded beneath a crooked canopy of towering oaks and slender white aspen trees. Willows added curtains of vines and leaves, shielding the swamplands from view, and evergreens and spruces were silent sentinels, watching us on our way.

We kept a fair pace behind the forest fae.

“Remember to lead here,” Ari whispered. “This new development is a turn in the game I didn’t see.”

“I didn’t think,” I admitted. “I used the law to keep Ulv from gnawing on my bones. It’s nothing to read into, Ambassador.”

“Ah.” Ari nodded. “So, I should not think it had anything to do with the fact that your hands were in my trousers last night?”

It would’ve been better if he’d dipped my face into one of Gorm’s hot springs. The searing prickle felt as if my skin were peeling away from my bones. “Ari.”

“What? There is nothing shameful about what happened, Saga. I’m merely waiting to understand why it ended.”

I closed my eyes, uncertain how to explain the sudden halt had nothing to do with Ari. I wanted him, by the hells, I wanted him. All night I’d tried to picture him as a monster, but the longer I let such an idea stew in my mind, the less likely it seemed.

He’d had every opportunity to be abusive with those hands of his, and he’d never lifted a finger in violence against me. No mistake, If my panic had stayed out of it, I had few doubts those hands would’ve done incredible things to my flesh and body that I could not even dream up.

Ari took my hand and lifted my knuckles to his lips.

“But,” he said softly, “I will wait in my assumptions until the words are spoken from you. I will not make you speak of anything of which you do not wish to speak, but I will also not lie and say I do not hope another opportunity arises.”

I blinked, halting my step. “You want it . . . again?”

“Yes.”

Direct. Clear. Things Ari usually wasn’t.

“Ari,” I said, an embarrassing crack in my voice. “There are things about me that would leave you feeling very different. You do not want to touch me.”

“I do, but I appreciate the attempt to tell me otherwise.” He took a step closer. “If you think there are not pieces of me that would bring disgust and disdain to your eyes, then you are foolish.”

“I am dangerous for you.”

“I believe it,” he said. “And I told you those who draw close to me, it is to their detriment. I am a selfish bastard, though, sweet menace.” Ari stroked a finger down the side of my face. “I cannot deny what I want. But as I said, I do not take the unwilling.”

Ekträ cleared his scratchy throat. “Coming? Tis a bit rude to keep our great lord and his lovely lady waiting.”

I doubted Hawthorne and Yarrow even knew we were here, but Ari had his diplomatic grin in place in the next breath. “You’re quite right. Forgive me, I cannot keep my hands off my love.”

The path curved and sloped through the forest. Not a taxing walk. As if the magic of the trees created a sense of contentment, I hardly noticed any of the previous urgency to hurry our way free of whatever tasks the serpents would require of us.

When music grew louder, Ekträ took a sharp turn into a narrow arcade of twisted branches and trees.

Ten paces in and the tunnel opened into a small valley of soft grass knolls, a brook that trickled over dark river stones and babbled over a small waterfall into a crystal well. Sun flies brightened lanterns, and paper-thin moths fluttered over open blossoms. Butterflies splashed in pinks and greens fluttered past my face. I swatted them away.

A few pixies, small as a sparrow, hummed their wings near my nose, squeaking, and berating me for my rudeness so shrilly I could hardly make out their little voices. I blew a sharp breath with enough force, the wind caught their sheer wings and tossed the pixies away.

Ari chuckled. “Careful with their pets, Saga.”

On the uppermost knoll was a tall structure made of mossy planks and lavender draped doorways. The roof of the Serpent palace was gabled, and heavy slats of smooth cherrywood made the sides. Numerous trees surrounded the palace in a way that made it almost seem as though the house was built into the trunks.

All around were smaller dwellings. Stone cottages; sod huts; homes built straight into the grassy knolls; there were homes with plank floors that topped the trees.

“We serpent folk bid you welcome to the Revel of Honey.” Ekträ bowed at the waist and ushered us forward to the top of a wooden staircase built into the side of a hill.

“What is the Revel of Honey?” Ari asked.

The wood fae lifted a leafy brow. “It is a revel.”

“How foolish of me,” Ari said. “I should’ve taken that from the name.”

I bit my cheek to keep from laughing when Ekträ simply nodded as though all misunderstandings were officially cleared away. The Court of Serpents didn’t need any reason to celebrate. They practically did every day.

The Revel of Honey was simply another fete with another name. I predicted tomorrow’s could be something like the Revel of Sky or the Revel of Toadstools.

It mattered little to these folk, so long as the wine was poured, and the music continued.

Down the center of the courtyard was a long table dressed in green linens with brass goblets and horns. Folk tore into sweet cakes with sugared icing; savory herbs dressed platters of fish and eel, and at the head were two overwrought chairs. The backs of the seats were the height of Ari plus two heads, and were topped with carvings of crowns.

The man in the left seat stood. His headdress was made of roses, ivy vines, and polished twigs. Hawthorne had a beard that was kept trimmed and dusted in gold. His ears were pierced from the pointed tips to the lobes, and his eyes were thickly lined in kohl. The cloak around his shoulders had been dyed in rich purple, like juiced plums, and made of soft velvet and satin.

At his side was Yarrow. The serpent lady’s crown was much the same as her husband’s but with a few added lilies. She kept her earthy brown hair braided like a bird’s nest on the top of her head. Her eyes were as golden as the shimmer on her lips, and large, like an owl.

She rested one hand on her round belly, the other on her husband’s arm, as if not touching Hawthorne for a mere moment would turn her to dust.

Lord Hawthorne lifted a hand, and at once the music ceased. “Who bids us, Ekträ?”

The tree fae bowed again. “From the high courts of the land of hearts, we are joined by Ambassador Ari Sekundär, servant of the Northern Kingdom of Etta, and . . . his serf and new love.”

Ah. I did not deserve a name.

“A new love.” Yarrow gasped and pressed a hand to her heart, big, glassy tears in her eyes. Hawthorne looked ready to devour her when he violently pressed her knuckles to his lips.

“Glad things, my light. Glad things, indeed.” He tore his eyes off Yarrow and beamed at us. “We will take new faces at our table. Always, always.”

With a jovial sort of laugh, Hawthorne bid us into the revel, and music, dancing, and chatter resumed. We were brought into the whirling dancers and laughter and placed beside Yarrow and Hawthorne.

I’d never dealt intimately with the Court of Serpents, and had only witnessed the leaders from a distance when they attended council in the Court of Hearts. Seated along the table were their numerous children. I did not know all their names, but the serpent lord and lady had a remarkable hoard. Most families were made of, at most, three littles. Yarrow was heavy with their thirteenth.

I wouldn’t be surprised if the fourteenth were delivered at this time next turn.

The only face I truly knew in their massive pool of heirs was Magus. The cooks for Lord Gorm described him as the twig prince, and they weren’t far off. Magus sat on the right hand of his father but had so little meat on his bones he reminded me of the spindly branches of the trees above. His hair was made of curls like gold ribbons. His ears were pierced like Hawthorne’s, but his fingers were narrow like Yarrow.

Magus had slits in his eyes, a true serpent gaze, and a sly grin as he blatantly stared at my breasts.

Ari noticed. I thought the ambassador might laugh at the lust of the boyish heir, but his eyes darkened. “It is unbecoming of a future leader to gawk at another man’s lover.”

Hawthorne snapped his eyes to his son and slapped a reed over the table. “By the gods, boy. Have I taught you nothing? A heart’s light is to be devoured by the one who owns it, no one else. I ought to pluck out your eyes.”

Yarrow dabbed at her wet cheeks. “Magus,” she whimpered. “This breaks your mother’s heart. How would you take it should some silly boy stare at your mother in such a way? What would you expect your father to do?”

All hells, they were so . . . dramatic.

“Forgive me, Maj,” Magus said as he slumped lazily in his seat. He was clearly accustomed to the theatrics of his parents. “I only seek such a love as you and my father. When I see a lovely face, it is hard not to look.”

“I did not see you look at her face,” Ari grumbled, but cut off his snarl when I pinched his thigh beneath the table.

“A lover for the foreign ambassador,” Hawthorne said, delighted. “I had not heard, and I am inclined to think I’m rather keen on court politics.”

“It was sudden, My Lord,” Ari said. He looked at me with an overly played longing. “She swept me off my feet. Surely you understand. When the heart’s song sings, it cannot be denied or delayed.”

“Well spoken,” Hawthorne praised. “I myself could hardly stand waiting to vow with my Yarrow.”

“The feeling is shared, my love,” Yarrow said, running her hand over Hawthorne’s shoulder.

He paused to look at his wife. There was such heat, such passion, I wondered if he might take her on the table despite having countless eyes watching. Hawthorne blinked back to Ari. “It is a delight to have you in our court. What is it we can do for our friends in the North?”

Friend was a liberal term. The Court of Serpents was notorious for watching battles with a plate of sweets and ale. They were fools, but devious fools.

“None of this,” Yarrow said. “No business talk at the table. If they have business, then they must revel first.”

“All respect, My Lady,” I said, “but we have time sensitive—”

“Lady Yarrow spoke well,” Hawthorne cut me off with a dark glance. “We eat, drink, then we’ll speak. Perhaps the ambassador will permit his lover a dance with my son.”

Magus grinned impishly, but Ari stunned me again. Where before he’d laugh and use my embarrassment as entertainment, he took a drink of blackberry wine and looked to me. “Saga may dance if she wishes to dance. If she does not, then she’ll be left alone and not pestered any longer.”

A flash of irritation deadened Hawthorne’s eyes for half a breath. Soon enough, he was grinning and laughing again. Magus eventually gave up and left the table to dance with one of the lithe minstrels, a boy with wolf teeth laced around his neck, and feet too big for his body.

Some of the courtiers topped our heads with oak leaves and blossom circlets. Ari was fawned over by a few huldra, but he never succumbed to their lust glamour. Strange for Hawthorne to allow it, almost like he was testing the ambassador. But stranger was that it didn’t work. Huldra lust would turn hearts . . . unless the heart was taken by another.

It was stupid to think he felt deeper than physical attraction for me. I hated that the idea of it made a grand attempt to bruise my own heart.

By the time Hawthorne took Yarrow’s hand and rose from the table, lanterns were glowing as the sun began to set. With a nod to his head, Hawthorne signaled for us to join him under the glittering ivy canopy where a chaise was placed for the lord and lady.

It was off to the side of the debauchery, and added some quiet for us to speak.

Hawthorne sat first with a sigh, then urged his wife to curl into his side where he could slowly rub his hands over her swollen belly.

“We’ve drunk too much, laughed too heartily.” Hawthorne lifted a silver goblet to his lips. “I think enough time has gone by for us to have stuffier discussions, Ambassador. What is it we can do for you?”

“As ambassadors do for their own lands,” Ari said, removing the missives from the other leaders of the courts from his satchel. “We seek to keep peace on distant lands. We’ve come at the request of your fellow folk in the various courts across the isles.”

Hawthorne groaned. “Even the blood court? Gorm, you know, does not even know how to laugh. I doubt he’s capable of it.”

“He does not share your stunning liveliness,” Ari said.

A grin quirked in the corner of my mouth. I’d thought many things about the ambassador, but the man was damn skilled at his position. He knew how to speak to folk in the East, and it seemed every court of the South.

“Still,” Ari went on, “Lord Gorm is a powerful ally to have, as is the High King. Both have requested I speak on their behalf regarding an item we have great interest in retaining. I’m certain you’ve heard of the disaster in the Court of Hearts with fae folk emboldened in rage.”

“Gods-awful news only reached us four nights ago,” Hawthorne said, tipping his goblet to his mouth. “Dreadful. Some of our own folk were visiting the Court of Hearts, and we cannot allow them entrance for fear whatever plagues them will enter our borders.”

“Wise,” Ari said, and he meant it. “We believe there is an item in your possession that may help us defeat it.”

“Truly?” Hawthorne grinned impishly. His concern for his fellow people shifted to his desire to always have the upper hand. “My court is always in the service of the isles. How may we help?”

“This might help explain.” Ari handed Hawthorne the trade missive from Bjorn, then waited as the lord and lady read each word at least five times.

Hawthorne’s eyes had darkened when he looked back to us. First, he studied Ari, then me with harsher scrutiny.

“We are to take this as truth and give up a priceless heirloom passed down in our court?

I removed the wrapped ring from a pouch on my belt. “Gorm has already delivered one. If yours is anything like the blood court, you know it cannot be taken unless the fates allow it.”

Yarrow snickered. “Oh, but fate is strange, darling child. There are new rules for the second piece. My husband is wise to question you. I say before we allow you to even rest eyes on the heirloom, we must see to it you are not here under some dark spell, such as what is spreading in the Court of Hearts.”

“You can see we are not gnashing at your throats,” Ari grumbled.

“Yes, but you do not know our histories, Ambassador,” Hawthorne said. “This sort of corruption is not new in the isles. It has happened before. Dark glamour has a way of twisting the mind to believe things that are not true.”

“What would you have us do?”

Yarrow held up a hand, silencing us. From beneath the chaise, she removed a small, burlap purse. With an embellishing wave of her hands, she dumped the contents on the ground. They were nothing but wooden pieces with runes burned into the surface of one side.

“My wife,” Hawthorne said. “She is of the spell caster lines. Ancient sorceresses of the forest. She will tell us the move to make.”

Now we had to impress Yarrow’s wood chips. I did not believe in cantrip glamour as deeply as I did the glamour or magic born in the blood. To me it often turned into gimmicks and games played by conmen in the trade squares.

After a long pause, Yarrow stood, a hand on her belly, her eyes on me. “You are shadowed, my dear. We do not continue until you can see clearly, or how will you know if this is truly the path you wish to take?”

“Lady Yarrow, I don’t know what you mean.”

Hawthorne sighed and pressed a kiss to all five of Yarrow’s fingertips on one hand. “My wife is remarkable, is she not? The runes have spoken.”

“Spoken what?” Ari’s voice was low. “You’re not doing anything to her.”

“Not against her will,” Yarrow said sweetly. “But if she wishes to see clearly the moments that might be dark, I can help.”

“What is she talking about?” Ari asked me.

I swallowed. “I think she means certain memories. There are things I do not recall fully in my past. Whether intentionally or not.”

His jaw tightened and he snapped his eyes to Yarrow. “You cannot force her to relive anything her mind might be shielding. I’ve seen it in many a battle, warriors darken moments of horror. You cannot make her draw them out.”

By the hells, it was as if he knew more than he let on. If Yarrow could remove shadows over my eyes, the only shadow involved the man who’d hurt me. But if knowing everything would lead us closer to finding the blood feather, it was worth the risk.

“Saga,” Ari whispered. “You do not need to do anything you do not wish to do.”

I gave him a small smile. “I see wisdom in Lady Yarrow’s word. For this journey, it will be better if I know, if I can prepare.”

“I assure you, the rite isn’t invasive,” Yarrow said. “Come, it will only be me.”

I gave Ari a small nod. “I think it might help.”

“As you say.” He did not seem convinced but didn’t try to stop me.

I rose, ignoring the way the hair lifted on my arms when Hawthorne grinned a little viciously as his wife took me away.