ReluctantConsort (4 page)

Magick, it was forbidden in the Secular lands.

Any human even suspected to have displayed such a heinous
talent was to be brought before King Alistair before she reached her woman’s
age where all manner of perversions were practiced upon her in such cruel
manners as to scar her female spirit forever more.

For it was said that if a magickal female is taken before
the age that her powers peaked, then forever her power would be trapped inside
her.

Would hers be trapped since sharing her magick with the
warriors of the Causeway? They had not taken her fully. Well, unless the touch
of magick counted.

Princess Arabella Alistair knew what her fate would be the
day she faced her father and his guards mere moments after she had crested the
path leading back to the fortress.

They had awaited her silently, their expressions condemning
as her father ordered her taken. They had brought her back to the fortress and
to a hidden room where guards had held her still and her father had pierced her
wrist with his blade, bleeding her into a blood-stained chalice.

There, the proof of her birth was found in the gleaming
sparks of power that infused the rich liquid like diamonds sewn too heavily
upon scarlet velvet.

Crystalline spores of power were unable to survive within
human soil it was said. Only a human of descendent magick whose spark would
soon find flame could gather the spores to themselves as she must have done
with the mists of the Vale and guard them within a radiant soul.

Though what a radiant soul was, she wasn’t certain. She knew
only that it was what Elvetta Crae’all had sworn she’d glimpsed within
Arabella.

Basically it had meant then exactly what it meant now. She
was doomed.

Her mother had warned her as a child that the time of a
reckoning would come, that hiding the magick of the family of Crae’all would
end with her.

Yet her mother, Elvetta Crae’all, had not just sought out
the king’s attentions as a young woman but sought to merge her line with his,
hoping perhaps Alistair would soften in his hatred of magick.

Who knew what her wayward mother had thought to accomplish
by not just wedding the perverted king, but giving him a daughter as well? A
daughter of magick. A child he would…

Bile rose in her throat.

She could not countenance such a destiny.

The father who had rode her upon his shoulders as a toddler,
who taught her to ride and to hunt the stag, who he had claimed such favor in,
he would now pervert?

It could not be.

Yet here she stood, clad in one of her finest gowns, chained
to the icy, damp wall of a dungeon she had not known existed far below the
castle.

She a princess, cherished and adored, had watched her
father’s gaze turn cold, his expression suddenly hardened with a fury she could
not bear the sight of as he condemned her a magickal “get”.

She had cried her tears.

She had raged. She had begged the guards who had overseen
her care since the death of her mother many years before. Yet it was as though
they heard her not. They stared at her now as they would stare at the barely
dressed barmaids she had oftentimes glimpsed them preparing to ride.

A shudder raced through her as a ragged cry nearly fell from
her lips.

Never could she have imagined such betrayal. Never could she
have imagined she would ever find herself without a single champion to aid her
cause.

And perhaps she would not be so adrift had she heeded her
warriors’ demands the many times they commanded her name and that of her house.
But she was the daughter of Alistair the Perverted. Who would wish to admit to
such a family line?

At that thought, the great iron doors to the dungeons
clanged open and rattled with steely purpose.

“You have company.” Trine, a guard whose daughter she had
been friends with all of her life, spat the words out as though in distaste.

He was burly, his face square and possessing no beauty at
all. Still, she had always seen him as stalwart and dependable. A good father
to Maylana, and a firm hand to his son Brine.

Behind Trine came near a dozen guards dragging the hefty
weight of two warriors such as she had never glimpsed in but one realm.

Easily half over six feet tall with heavy muscle and
powerful forms, the warriors looked as powerful as the sturdy oak. Far too
powerful to have been taken by the likes of these guards. Yet they did not
resemble the warriors she’d given herself and her magick to either.

“What manner of crime have they committed?” she asked sadly
as Trine opened the door and the guards dragged the lax bodies into her cell.

Was there actually room for both? Not hardly, for two
well-muscled arms flopped through the iron bars to fall to the stone floor
beyond.

“The crime of breathing,” Trine grunted. “They say they’re
from the Rinah Pass Province, but warriors such as those do not exist in
Secular.”

“They do not appear to be Wizard Twins,” she observed,
regret filling her that her father had found other victims to torment.

“Wizard Twins? I think not,” Trine mocked. “The king’s liege
sensed no magick in them as they sensed building in you, only the ignorance of
having stopped in Eldorah. Of being giants among men in a land where no giants
exist.”

With that, he locked the cell doors once again and stepped
to follow the guards already leaving the dungeon.

“Trine,” she said his name softly, watching as his back
stiffened, his fingers forming fists at his sides.

“Say what you must, quickly,” he commanded her, his voice
carrying the sound of a man in much pain.

“No one will tell me how Quin fares.” She fought to hold
back her tears at the thought of her little brother. He was so small and always
so frightened.

Trine said nothing but terror washed through her at the
tightening of his shoulders and the slight dip of his head.

“Trine, please. How does he fare? Does he revile me now? Has
he not asked for me?” Tears choked her voice, barely held back by the pride
Alistair had always claimed she had far too much of.

“The little prince cannot be found,” he told her, his tone
barely audible. “When last he was seen by the guard attempting to capture him last
morn he had disappeared into the Causeway.”

Arabella attempted to swallow past the sobs that would have
torn from her soul. “Why would he do such?” She shook her head in disbelief.
“Nightmares of that desolate place plague him often.”

Trine shook his head. “I know not. I must go now…”

“Trine, please…” Someone had to find Quin. He was but a boy.

“Do not, Princess,” he sighed, his tone weary rather than
filled with the hatred or anger she had heard before. “I can find no way to
help either the young prince or his much-beloved sister.”

Arabella forced back her tears. “And would you, Trine, if
you could?”

He turned back to her then, his brown gaze filled with
regret now that no others were there to witness the weakness.

“I and those of my house have fought to find a way,” he said
softly then. “I dare not risk my own daughter, Princess, or the son who will
tend me in my old age should I see those days pass. We are but three, and I
cannot read men’s minds to learn if others would aid me as well.”

“Mayhap, aid the ones who have come for her instead.”

Arabella’s gaze jerked to the warriors. Their lashes had
lifted as they stared up at her while she spoke to Trine, and she near gasped
as the sudden realization of their origin. It was there in their eyes, shifting
colors of magick as though magick spora sparked in eyes of dark, midnight
black. There were no whites framing the endless midnight of those gazes.

Black hair, unruly and mussed around their hard faces, their
cheekbones high, though both were scarred, hardened. They did not appear to be
twins, though perhaps she was mistaken in that, for their looks were clearly
closely related.

“And how should I aid you?” Trine hissed as Arabella fought
to control a sudden heat beginning to rush through her veins. As the warriors’
gazes melded into hers, her heart raced and her muscles trembled as though
weakened.

These were her warriors. Yet how could this be?

“Ensure the tunnel is without soldiers until we have her
from the castle.” Dark, deep, that voice of her dark warrior had something
fluttering in her belly that she had never felt before, even with him and his
brother.

The warriors rose to their feet, so tall she and Trine both
were forced to stare up at them in surprise.

“Think you that I could possibly do so?” Trine’s amazed
anger wasn’t lost on the warriors or herself. “It is all I can do to keep them
from falling into this vile place to rape her themselves.” He raked furious
fingers through his graying dark hair and glanced to the dungeon door once
more. “They are as the werewolves that prey within the Causeway and howl out
their craven hunger each night. Should I keep them from falling upon her and
ending her innocence before some chance at her escape be found then I shall
count my soul as forever bound for the Garden of Nirvana for that act alone.”

They stared at Trine for long moments then, as though his
disbelieving anger and dramatic claim was as a child’s outburst they had yet to
figure out.

“Matters not.” Her golden-hued warrior shrugged nonchalantly
as his dark eyes seemed to sink inside her spirit. “Those whose eyes glimpse us
will not see morning’s light but for you. Had you not shown her kindness though
in these final moments, then ’tis a fate you would have shared as well.”

A frown pulled at Trine’s brows. “And who are you that you
could make such a claim?”

“The ones who have claimed Prince Quin as a brother of
courage and rare bravery and shall endeavor to ensure his sister is reunited
with him before the twin moons kiss the soil of Yarba this eve.”

“Quin?” Arabella whispered her brother’s name in hope as the
surprise of seeing her warriors before her was supplanted by her concern for
her brother. “You took him from the Causeway? He has such fear of it.”

“Fear?” A slight tug at her golden-hued warrior’s lips as
his brow arched in arrogance assured her he did not share her belief of her
brother’s fears. “That chuck has no fear of the Causeway. Nay, with naught but
a sword he faced the Ogre themselves and demanded a champion to ease the plight
of his most vulnerable sister.”

Moving to her, a powerful hand gripped the chains secured
into the stone wall above her and pulled them free as though they were not
enchanted nor locked about her wrists.

“Do you seek ease to your plight, Princess?” His head
lowered, his lips at her ear as he whispered the words. “Do you seek the
punishment we promised for refusing us your name and that of the house you
belonged to? Know you, we would have rescued you long before this had we
known.”

Her head rested against his chest, moisture filling her eyes
at his gentleness. “You did not reveal your name, or that of your house,” she
reminded him, her voice husky as she fought to hold back her sobs. “And how
could I reveal the craven evil of that which I was born into? Such shame tore
at my soul when faced with the honor I found within the mists.”

“I am Caedan, twin to Daelan, and we are of the Ogre house
Dungarrin, aligned to tribe Taithleach, guardians of the Causeway and all its
realms.” His lips brushed against her cheek. “And you are ours.”

“What…?”

“Forgive me, Princess,” he begged her leave gently, pulling
back as she stared up at him, silent and still with her shock. “The manacles
are indeed enchanted. Once this place is behind us though, the magick of them
will weaken and they will release you easily enough.”

“What madness is this?” Confusion filled her, locked within
her mind, and made even the fact that the chains were no longer secured to the
wall hard to process.

How had they pulled free enchanted chains? How could they be
Ogres rather than mere warriors? They were not of grotesque form. They had
driven her to the heights of pleasure, but never to the heights of madness.

“Do not use the tunnels,” Trine told them then. “There is
another way free of this place.” He glanced to Arabella, pain marking his lined
face as helpless regret shimmered in his eyes. “I could not release those
chains, I have tried many times before. But they are free now, and King
Alistair will know it was not of my doing.” He glanced to the iron door behind
him quickly. “Can you unlock the cell door as well? The key used to open it
moments ago will no longer work. The enchantment requires a different key each
time it’s released. The stones of the far wall.” He nodded to the back of the
dungeon. “Press your palm to the center stone and it will open to allow you to
pass to tunnels hidden from even King Alistair’s knowledge.”

“We need no keys,” the other warrior murmured as she found
herself unable to tear her gaze from the one watching her so intently.

What manner of heat was building in her veins?

What was this strange lethargy that had her tight in its
grip?

The warrior’s hand lifted then, touched her cheek, then her
brow as his arm slid behind her back.

“Sleep, Princess,” he whispered, his fingers moving to brush
against her lashes as she felt her eyes close, unable to keep them open. Sleep
claimed her as the warrior lifted her into his embrace and moved for the door.

“Forgive me, Trine,” Caedan murmured as he flicked his
fingers to the warrior and watched him slowly wilt to the floor in sleep.

The powerful sleeping potion purchased from the Gnomes of
Spring Valley was one of the few properties that worked for both human as well
as the magi.

He was aware of Daelan holding the princess in his arms now,
more tender than he had ever sensed his brother being.

“We move,” Caedan hissed at the sound of voices moving along
the hall.

Stepping to the cell door, he inserted the key the Ogre Mage
had bespelled before their leaving the Obsidian Fortress and turned it quickly.

The cell door opened soundlessly as Caedan drew his sword
and allowed Daelan to pass first with his precious burden.

Their consortress. How much more precious could any woman be
to her warriors than this one, to warriors who had never imagined they could
have such a creature for themselves? One who braved the mists to find them. One
whose powers would create an alignment of power that they had never dreamed
would be theirs.

Pressing his palm into the stone, Caedan watched as the wall
moved slowly, far too slowly, for the voices moved closer far faster than the
wall moved.

Finally, Daelan was squeezing through the narrow opening. As
he passed through Caedan followed, gripping the side of the door and dragging
it quickly behind as he did so. The sound of metal keys clanging and voices
calling out to Trine could be heard as the stone slid smoothly back into place.

At the scrape of the heavy rock meeting, indicating it was
once again secured, the guards’ voices raised in alarm from the dungeon on the
other side of the stone wall.

Standing still, silent, Caedan waited until the sounds of
the guards’ voices were loud enough to ensure any sound their passage through
the narrow tunnel made would be covered before leading the way through the
near-dark of the corridor.

The darkness showed in shades of colorless gray as the night
sight the Ogre possessed ensured their way was clearly seen.

“Her magick awakens, Caedan.”
Tension filled his
brother’s thoughts as heated magick began to build within her as it reached out
to both Caedan and Daelan as they raced through the tunnels.

They had hoped that using the sleeping dust would ensure her
magick slept as well. Ever when they were about her, magick touch made them
insane to have her.

“Warh, our exit has changed, can you locate us?”
Caedan
called out to the commander at arms, hoping the Ogre sense would work in the
human lands as it did in the mists.

The gifts magick had given them for the purpose of
protecting the mists were unique among all the magicks. The gift of night
sight, apparent by the spora dust that glittered in their black eyes, and their
Ogre sense for each of those belonging to individual houses were but among the
few.

“We await you, sire. You will exit from the fortress
along the banks of Eldorah Falls. A very clever exit.”

“And why did we not sense these tunnels when we scryed
the area?”
Caedan questioned the commander, the thought of the ease that
they could have taken her versus the intricate plan they’d been forced into
before clenching his teeth in irritation.
“No magic exists in this land
supposedly, yet I find a female unlike any I have known of existing, manacles
bespelled and tunnels magickally hidden, though we cannot find the magick to
scry these places?”

“Aye, sire, answers will be found,”
Warh assured him.
“Perhaps our isolation had made the humans as much a mystery to us as we are
to them. Once the princess is safe I will gauge the danger of speaking to the
one called Trine and enlisting his aid and possibly that of his house.”

“Once we exit the falls we must ride hard for the mists,”
Caedan told the commander as he sensed Arabella’s magick brewing within her.
“There
is no time to spare. Since the moment we entered her cell her magick has begun
sparking with a power we cannot hope to contain in this place.”
A land so
hungry for magick that the Ogre could often hear it weeping for the bright,
heated touch of what it had lost so long ago.

“She is the Dungarrin Consortess then?”
Warh
questioned, the reserve Caedan could feel emanating from the Ogre commander
reminding him of all the dangers they would now face in ensuring her safety.

“She is ours,”
he assured the warrior, knowing she
was much more than they had suspected.
“We must find our traitor, Warh. No
longer is just our Guardian Select’s daughter in danger, but the source of what
could be the Dungarrin’s greatest power.”

“Sire?”
Whar questioned the last statement with a
heavy sense of tension.

“She is not of the Crae’all line. This is no Spry our
magick has aligned with,”
Caedan informed him.
“It is not a consortess
we have, Whar, but a Consortress. She is a Sorceress, and no Halfling either.”

Caedan could sense the magick rising inside her, feel its
threads and knew its warmth as the lands knew the warmth of the sun.

“The House of Dungarrin has been gifted a Sorceress for
the first time in all of the magicks. A Sorceress who does not yet know the
essence of her magick, and one all of Sentmar, magick and human alike, would
kill to possess before our alignment,”
Daedan warned them both, the strain
of holding the princess so close, her magick all but flesh to flesh with his
own, was no doubt torture.

There was no comment, no thought emanating from Whar as he
blocked his mind, though not his presence from his liege.

“All preparations are being made,”
Whar informed him
moments later, assuring Caedan that whatever he thought of his liege’s
suspicions of a traitor, still, he was preparing for their escape.
“We are
but a short distance from the mists of the Causeway from where you exit the falls
and should have your Consortress safely within the Obsidian Fortress before her
magick can be detected by Wizard Twins or by her magickal sisters.”

And this, neither of them had thought of, Caedan thought in
disgust.

“Have we ever not thought to think of the impossible?”
Daedan’s irritation fed easily to both Caedan as well as Whar.

“Have we ever thought to have to deal with such magick
needing rescue from human lands?”
Whar asked then.

Caedan could not have imagined such a thing before now.

As his gaze searched carefully for the end of the tunnel
shades of color began to simmer in the air around Daelan’s shoulders, the
oddest colors of bronze and sweet golden hues of magick.

“We must hurry, Whar,”
Caedan warned the commander.
“Are
we near?”

“Very close,”
Whar assured them.
“You should hear
the falls.”

They did indeed hear the falls. And none too soon, for the
powerful magick of their sleeping Consortress was wrapping about Caedan now,
slipping beneath the coarse material of the woven shirt he wore to touch flesh
that had never known the sweet caress of such powerful magick.

That magick slid over the skin of his chest like the
softest, warmest hand, calling to his own power, sensitizing his flesh until
the caress was the most delicate torture he had ever known.

“Light.” Caedan felt his body tense further, Ogre hunger
gnawing at the broad shaft of his cock now. A fierce, burning need, a sense of
the pleasure to come tightening his body as anticipation surged like a summer
storm over the Mystic Mountains.

She was theirs.