While I continue crafting my ongoing revision of Bound Beauty, I decided to share a series of out-of-order ficlet scenes. I’ve been collecting these to keep the lore of this series fresh in my head, and uncovered a few gems along the way. Be forewarned, these may contain minor spoilers for the series. But if you enjoy your fantasy in smaller doses, this may be perfect for you. Happy reading, fellow wylderfolk…
Odym appeared in a fluster. “Master, I have been searching for you. Quickly! A guest has arrived.”
“A—guest?” he sputtered and turned with aching limbs.
Odym inclined his head. “I have shown her to a room, but you must ask her to sup while you still may.”
Grendel’s fist closed over his mother’s amulet, and sick dread filled his gut. “Please, I cannot do this again. I cannot endure to watch another one turn…”
Odym’s gaze narrowed on the amulet in his hand then settled resignedly on his face. “But Your Grace, she is the first to arrive in half a century. Surely we cannot turn her away? What if she is the last?”
Last chance. Damn you, Mother.
“I will not woo another to her death or worse.” Grendel pocketed his mother’s amulet and stormed from his mother’s room and into the corridor with a snarl. “Tell the witch she may dine with me or starve!”
He didn’t bother with fine cloaks that night, didn’t shower her with diamonds and fancy frocks. She came to him in worn leather boots and an exquisitely embroidered dress like the maids from the outer villages had worn. Her braided hair shone like molten silver in the candlelight, and her pale green eyes took his measure.
He forgot his fury in her presence, gaping at her severe beauty.
She laughed at him. “Not even going to invite me to sit, then? Very well, I can help myself, Prince.”
He snarled, “Do not call me that.”
Her hand rested atop a seat two chairs down from him rather than at the opposite end of the table, and a single silver brow cocked quizzically. “While you certainly do not look the way my mother said you should, I know who and what you are, Grendel Bitterhelm.” Her smile revealed faintly pointed pearly teeth.
“What is your name?” he found himself asking, despite her impertinence.
Her laughter rippled against his barriers, wearing him down further. “My name is Luanor.”
The prince knew the family name as well as his own, a very old and powerful mountain clan. Descendants from the Veil. Wolf kind, his mother’s voice taunted his mind.
Mayhap it was his mother’s voice in his ear that made him rebel against all sense. Or it could have been the way the candlelight played against Luanor’s moonlit hair and milky skin. No matter the reason, he did not send Luanor Iceveins away that night, nor the next. Not even after the roughest transformation he had endured in years. Instead, he woke the next morning with insatiable hunger. Without looking too closely at what such an unhealthy craving could mean, he allowed Odym to escort him upstairs. He scarfed down the breakfast laid on his gilded tray and, despite his manservant’s protests, fled the memories in his chamber.
His hunger did not abate until he had found her outside in the stables with her horse. This surprised him. He hadn’t known the clans used horses still. Wolf kind especially had been known to make other beasts skittish in their presence. Mayhap that had changed in the past age. There was much he could not see beyond his gates.
Luanor answered his questions about the world beyond once she overcame her fright upon his sudden appearance. “You know, I thought at first you were one of those poor ghosts who have been following me.”
He didn’t like her words, so near the truth, and dug his nails into his palm until he felt the sting in his very real flesh.
I am not a ghost yet.
“Tell me of your home, Luanor.”
Her surprisingly warm grin was his undoing. She would be his undoing.
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Jennifer Silverwood 