Prologue
Many Years Ago…
‘That slimy, chauvinistic, spineless little weasel of a man.’
The thought ripped through her as she sat hiddenamongstthe shield of the crowd.
What she was doing there was a mystery to both her hormone-addled mind and hopelessly romantic heart.
Fat lot of use romance was.
Warm the man’s bed every night for 7 blissful years. Listen to every single one of his promises that he wouldn’t abandon her like her family did. Do all kinds of sinful things to the man’s cock that no Elf wench would dream of.
Only to find out it was bullshit.
PrinceIlliran, Crown Prince ofAlbaline, future King, part time charlatan and full time scumbag, promised his hand to the daughter of the Lord Chamberlain, swearing on the Old Gods, specificallyGradia, the Goddess of Marriage and the Hearth.
It would have been funny if it wasn’t just fucking cruel.
After all, the Prince had spent every night for 7 years, swearing toLefandTuplan, the God and Goddess duo tasked with the powers of Sex, Lust, Female Pleasure and Pure Ecstasy.
How foolish she had been to believe in them.
In men in general.
They were cowards and scum, only useful for breeding. Not even the pleasure of it, since most didn’t give enough of a shit to give his partner any.
If she was being honest with herself, she felt stupid for falling in love with the future King.
But she was a petty bitch.
How could she believe that the man who could have anybody would want a simple girl with no name or title such as her?
In turn, how he had called out to the Gods,worshippedher in such a way that she felt like perhaps there was a chance for them.
Pathetic girl.
Sweet, naive, pathetic girl.
’Illiranis married now, time for you to get a standard,’she thought to herself as the newly-wed couple made their way back down the aisle.
What did they say?
Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned?
Well, Nam hath no rage like a heartbroken Witch with the power to make his lover pay for his cruelty.
She just had to get close enough without drawing attention to herself.
What a laughable notion?
After all, she had been hiding as a commoner and the chances of the groom inviting his mistress to his own royal wedding was unlikely.
There was no way she was meant to be there.
And she felt certain that he would have her head if he thought she was there to sabotage his precious wedding.
She stood and followed the crowd from the Royal Abbey of Seamount, into the Grand Dining Hall. Tables were laden with elegant, elaborate displays of food.
Whoever needed to have their pears carved into the shape of swans to eat was definitely too rich for her blood.
And perhaps a wee bit masochistic.
She let her eyes sweep over the room, scanning the vast tables for a liquor table.
If she was going to suffer, she was sure as shit going to enjoy it.
Spotting a bar set in the corner, she lifted the hem of her skirt to glide through the grand hall to claim her participation trophy.
She was common now, but she hadn’t always been.
Something the future King ofAlbalinewould have known if he had just asked.
Ordering herself the strongest tipple she could, her keen hearing picked up on something no member of the bridal party or royal family would want to be made public.
A runaway bride.
Peaking her ears and peering around the pillar that divided the private hallway from the ballroom, she spied her lover - ex, she reminded herself quickly - and the great KingRaidan, making a hasty exit away from the gathered crowd.
Trouble in paradise already.
She honestly couldn’t say she was surprised.
A gentle smirk crawled across her lips as an idea came to her.
The perfect opportunity.
Taking a sip from her on glass before she requested another, she then headed in the opposite direction of the King and Crown Prince.
They were obviously thinking like men.
Whereas she, a woman, knew exactly where a scared, upset, heartbroken newly-wed bride would hide.
She slipped beyond a hanging tapestry into the dimly lit servant’s corridor. With her two stemmed glasses in one hand, she hitched her skirt to descend the stairs that would lead her out of the castle wall. Beyond the cold stone would lie the private garden of the Late Queen that overlooked theAlbalinianHarbour.
The ideal hideaway for a woman who wanted to disappear from the eyes of men.
Slipping from the castle, she found herself greeted by the bright light of the sun, which hung low in the sky. It’s warmth seemed to reach for the embrace of the horizon, inching closer with every passing moment, giving substance to the old myth of day and night.
She stepped from the threshold of the private door into the low labyrinth of rose bushes and lavender. The perfume hung thick on the salt of the sea breeze.
For a brief moment, she forgot her quest of vengeance and took in the view that surrounded her, thesplendourof the garden that was onlyrivalledby the beauty of the bay.
And standing on the edge that overlooked the Needles below, was the future Queen ofAlbaline.
“Your Highness!”
With a flick of her wrist, the glasses in her hand hung suspended in thin air as she magicked herself to the damsel’s side.
But it only took an split second for the situation to go from bad the dire.
The new Princess had started to jump.
“Your Highness,” she cried, throwing her arms around her waist to catch her and drag her back from the ledge.
An act that set off screams of unholy murder.
Elbows, feet and fists landed hard across her body. If she was a weaker species, like a human or nymph, perhaps even a sprite, she would have dropped the raging woman. But she held firm.
She simply held the distort woman until her fists tired and her rage became sobs of that seemed to echo the feeling in her own tortured soul.
This wasn’t what one would have expected from the woman who had just married into the Royal Family of the richest nation inRedredane.
One would expected gentry and snobbery. Even a hint of I’m-better-than-everyone that was mistaken for class.
Not a suicidal mess.
But there she was, holding the sobbing woman in the sea-swept grass, rocking her to and fro. She didn’t stop the new Princess Consort from pouring her heart out into the cheap navy blue silk the Witch had borrowed from her friend at the tailors.
She hatedIlliranfor his lies and deceit.
But it would seem the Princess Consort was as much a victim in these series of unfortunate events as she was.
“I don’t want to be married toIlliran,” the Princess Consorthiccupped.
The Witch watched as she pulled herself away from the comforting embrace to gaze out over the ocean.
“I don’t want to be a pawn in the games of Men. The other girls. They all fawned over him, begging for his attention. Or rather, begging for his father’s attention. But I never wanted this. And I know the Prince didn’t either.”
The Witch paused, hearing the sound of a heart shattering in her every word.
“Who is he?”
The Princess Consort’s eyes slipped closed at the memory of her love. Her body snagged under the weight of her grief and pure anguish.
“A simple man, really.”
The Princess Consort finally turned her head to look at the Witch for the first time. Her piercing green eyes were dark, haunted by the actions and promises she had just made in the eyes of the Old Gods. “He is a sailor in the Royal Navy. He doesn’t have much. But he loves me. He was working towards becoming a captain so my father would even let him in the house. And he will think that I did this. That I chose this life. When, really, I was sold.”
Tears streamed down her pale cheeks as she reached up to wipe them away with the back of her hand, careful not to smudge her makeup.
“You’re the Witch, are you?”
Her eyes widened at the Princess Consort’s astute presumption, but had no chance to reply.
“The oneIlliranhas been seeing in the village. It’s okay, I don’t care if my husband has had lovers. I certainly have no wish to be his. And I don’t think he saw you at the wedding.”
The Witch frowned, her head cocking slightly as she tried to make sense of the situation.
“Then how did you notice I was there, Your Highness,” she asked, puzzlement filling her to combine with a sense of dread.
“I’m a woman born into High Elven class, my dear,” she replied with a soft smile, her elegant hand patting her knee gently. “Everyone at this fucked up charade was, you could tell by the way they held themselves. But you. Born of nobility, for certain. Just not HighElven. You blended in well, but only a magic woman would have followed her heart to a Private Garden she had never been before. And your eyes look as heartbroken as I feel.”
She frowned, looking at the Princess’s hand on her knee.
“I need your help, Witch,” the Princess said, leaning forward to whisper.
The Witch blinked, looking at the elegant blonde woman before her.
“How so, Your Highness?”
“Make me loveIlliran,” she said, her face crestfallen as she uttered the words neither of us wanted to hear. “I know it’s cruel of me to ask this of you. But if Leon is going to hate me for this situation, I can’t bring myself to love him while he loathes me. I’m married now, and the man I love will not love me when he returns. It’s just easier to loveIlliran. Even if it’s fake.”
The Witch blinked again, cocking her head at the future Queen ofAlbalineas she processed her unusual request.
She had had many girls come to her asking for the love potions before.
But a woman asking to love her husband, and asking his mistress of all people, was new.
She had wanted to laugh at her.
To tell her that it was a cruel sick joke, but she felt for the young bride.
She was asking to give up the love of her life for the good of her people.
Something the Witch understood all too well.
“All magic comes with a price, Your Highness.”
The despair was obvious in the sag of the Bride’s shoulders and the hanging of her head. She thought she even caught the pain sweep over her face.
“It’s not impossible, Your Highness. In fact, it’s very easy. But I need to warn you that, while I don’t know the cost, or when and how the debt will be called due, magicalwayscomes at a price. And often at a price that isn’t worth the prize.”
The Princess Consort looked up at her, grief, loss and pain filling her eyes so fully that it shook her to the core.
“I don’t care.”
The three most dangerous words that could be uttered to a Witch.
I don’t care.
Words that had destroyed lives.
Words that would continue to destroy lives.
But what was she to do?
Perform the magic, or be burned as a Witch because she refused to help the future Queen of the coastal realm.
She had escaped one pyre; she wasn’t about to put herself back atop another.
“As you wish, Your Highness.”
The Witch inclined her head before raising her fingers to call the glasses of potent liquor to her.
She had intended to curse the woman who had absconded with her lover, but her lover’s bride had succeeded in changing her heart.
Now she was going to place a spell on her that would cost them both more than any curse she could have placed.
Her will would be done, but she wasn’t sure if she wanted it to be.
Plucking the full glass from the air, she reached deep within the pooling magic of her soul, grasping the power she required to complete the woman’s wishes.
Dragging a deep breath of tangy sea air through her nose, she let her eyes slip closed and her finger run over the rim of the glass.
Her skin tingled as the magic ran beneath her veins, flowing from her circling fingertip with wistful elegance.
The feeling of her magic leaving her body was draining.
It always had been.
But she concentrated on the pull of the power in her essence and the transfer of energy from the life of the garden to replenish her own. She focused on pulling the energy from the whole garden rather than a singular plant, the sign of a good Witch, the gift of nature always seen as just that.
She took a deep breath and opened her eyes, the spell waived over the drink as she shook off the fall of weakness in her body. The spirits of Witches who had come before her held her steady as she let the spell drop into the cocktail to be consumed by the alcohol.
Only then, did she offer the glass to the heartbroken woman.
“Your Highness,” she whispered, as the bride took the glass in hand.
“Novali, no,” came the voice that made the Witch both quake with desire and tremble with fear.
The Princess Consort glanced over the Witch’s shoulder, her eyes alight with dread and determination. Glowering at her new husband, she lifted the spelled drink to her lips and drained it in one fowl swoop.
The Witch rolled to her feet, throwing her hands up in surrender as the HighElvenPrince stalked toward her, his stare deadly.
“Illiran, stop,” she cried, screwing up her face up at the bite of his fingers as he caught her, dragging her close.
“What have you done,Tarli,” he hissed, squeezing her arm tight.
The Witch,Tarli, growled inhumanly in his face.
“Saved your marriage,” she spat, as he growled back at her.
“Saving my marriage. By the Gods,Tarli, whatever would have possessed you to come here and curse my bride,”Illiranground out, leaving her to stare into his eyes with pure rage.
“Whatever would have possessed-?”
She screamed in pure frustration.
“I have no idea, Your Highness. Perhaps it was the fact that you buried your seed within me just hours ago. Or maybe it was the fact you have spent the last Gods’ know how long telling me how you wanted me. Or at least my body.”
The Prince’s grip on her arm only tightened at her words.
“I didn’t curse your wife. Trust me,Your Highness, I wanted to. What I have done however, is not for your benefit.”
“And what is that,Tarli,” he growled, pulling her closer to his intoxicating body.
A whimper escaped her lips before she could stop it
“I fucking gave you up,” she roared, tears welling up in her eyes as she ripped her arm from his grasp and pushed him towards his bride.
“Illiran,”Novaliasked, placing her hands on his silk-covered chest as she leaned into him.
The Prince, to his credit, had the good graces to look torn.
Only for a moment, before he turned his attention to his bride.
But it was a moment she would walk away with.
Fucking hopeless romantic.
Tarliwatched as the newly wed couple held each other, her heartshrivellingaway to black shell of itself.
After everything, after everyone leaving, one would think that she was used to being left alone.
But, as she cursed herself again, sherealisedshe was destined to be alone and life would be easier if she turned her heart to ice.
Lifting her head and rolling her shoulders back, she turned and made her leave of the couple.
“Tarli,” she heardIllirancall, his voice causing her to pause and turn her head slightly to acknowledge him. Her eyes slipped closed as a sigh of defeat slipped from her lips.
If she turned, she would lose her resolve.
“Goodbye, Your Highness,” she said loud enough for her voice to be carried on the wind towards her lover and his bride.
She drew from deep within her whining magic to summon her cloak, circling her arm around her head as the black velvet cloak fell on her shoulders.
She had no intention on staying inAlbalinenow.
She would descend into the mountains that borderedNarthand the Den.
The Mountain range that was ruled by no realm because no one was brave enough to venture into the wildness of the towering beasts.
She would be alone, no one could hurt her there.
No heartbreak. No loss.
No sadness or betrayal.
She would be safe.
And when the debt was called due by the Gods, may they have mercy on the innocent soul bargained for a chance of a normal life.
