Beauty (A Faery Story 3)

Prologue

The Seelie plane

Thirteen years before

Bronwyn Finn looked down at the hole in her stomach and wondered how long it would take to die. She stumbled into her mother’s room, pushing back the ornate double doors. She held her hand to her gut, trying to stem the tide. Smoke and tears seemed to be her world now, obliterating her home. She’d grown up in the White Palace, the marbled floors always beneath her feet. Her father’s room had been off-limits to all but Beck, but her mother’s room had been a sanctuary.

It was why she’d run here when the world had exploded around her.

But her mother was nowhere to be found.

Her hands shook. She was losing control. Of course you are, Bron. You took a knife to the gut. Not much coming back from that.

Her uncle’s men. Torin had turned on them all. She made it to her mother’s big bed, pushing past the filmy curtains. As a child, she would pull them closed and pretend she was in a whole other world. A world where the friends from her dreams were real. Tears blurred her eyes. Her Dark Ones. They’d been with her for as long as she could remember, but she’d stopped speaking of them long ago. Her father had called her crazy when she spoke of their nightly visitations. Her mother had called in healers. Only Cian had listened without prejudice. Beck couldn’t listen. He didn’t have time, and he was almost never allowed out of their father’s sight. Still, he would catch her eyes and wink or ruffle her hair as he walked past. He was a king.

Bronwyn cried out. Was Beckett even alive? Had Torin killed them all?

When she died, would she see them? Her Dark Ones?

“You ain’t dead yet, girl.” The menacing voice pulled her from her misery. She looked up and saw the soldier who had attacked her. He was dressed in her uncle’s colors, black and gold, with the Finn family crest upon his breast. Her crest. Her kingdom. But it didn’t matter. It seemed it was her Uncle Torin’s world now.

Bron tried to move. There was a nasty gleam in the soldier’s eye that told her he was happy she hadn’t died yet. He wanted to play. She shook her head. She was dying and yet, in the moment, the thought of his bloodied hands on her body was more repugnant than death itself.

But she had no choice. None. So much of her life had been thus. Do your hair just so, Bronwyn. Stand up straight. A princess shouldn’t be friends with her servants. Don’t speak so freely to the brownies. Put that book down. A princess doesn’t need to know such things.

A princess hadn’t needed to know how to protect herself. A princess hadn’t needed to understand politics.

A princess died just as easily as her sweet brownie friend had.

His hand snaked out, grabbing her ankle and pulling her down the bed. She could see she’d soaked her mother’s pristine white sheets with bright red blood. Her blood.

Her mother had given birth to her in this bed. Bronwyn would die here.

“Don’t,” she begged. She wanted to close her eyes. Goddess, she wanted to see them one last time. She was shocked to find that in her last moments, all she wanted to do was sleep and be with them again. Her Dark Ones. Her friends. The shadow men who held her heart. She wanted their arms around her, their voices whispering. The dreams had changed recently, become more physical. She’d kissed them the night before, a soft touch of the lips, moving from one to the other because she couldn’t favor one. She loved them both.

No more phantom kisses. Just pain and humiliation and death.

She tried to kick out, but she was weak, so weak. He

r legs wouldn’t move. It didn’t matter. The soldier could move them. He spread them wide, shoving her skirt up. Stupid skirt. She’d tripped over it. It was how he’d caught her in the first place, but a princess didn’t wear pants.

“I never had me a lady before.” His hands worked at the ties of his pants.

She closed her eyes. She didn’t want to see him. She tried to bring her hands up, but it hurt. And then it didn’t. Not quite as much. And the voice in her head became different. Not her own.

Get me close, love. Get me close. Can you feel me? I am with you always. Always, love.

She knew that voice. The softer of the two. Why hadn’t she found out their names? In her dreams, they didn’t need names. Now she wanted to call out for him. She laughed a bit. She was going insane.

“Ain’t nothing going to save you, girl.” The soldier put his hands on her thighs, spreading her further.

Her hands tingled, warmth spreading where before there had been only cold. Her whole body felt warm again as though a fire had started somewhere deep inside her. She felt a little boost of energy enliven her veins, and she reached for him, ignoring her instinct to try to run. She knew in her head she should be trying to get away, but she grabbed him and felt the heat flare. Smoke began, and she would have sworn she felt fire lick from her hands. It was right there. All she had to do was focus it.

“What?” The soldier looked down at the place where she gripped him. He screamed a little and tried to move.

She just had to hold on. She could start the fire. She could envelop them all. Torin would get nothing. If the blaze she began didn’t kill him, at least the palace would go. Char and ruin would be all that Torin enjoyed of his bloody inheritance.

There was a grunt and the tip of a sword pierced the soldier’s torso from behind.

And then the soldier’s eyes went blank, unseeing. He slumped over, and the fire left her hands. She wanted to scream, to wail that he’d been her kill, but the energy she’d felt had fled as though a wall had come down, cutting her off from that strange power.

And from the familiar voice.

She sagged back on the bed even as she felt the soldier’s body being dragged away. Had another come to take his place? Her mind was so misty, filled with odd, disjointed memories. Her brother chasing her. Cousin Dante’s fangs popping out for the first time at the most inopportune moment. She laughed, remembering the vampire’s embarrassment. Dante. She would miss him. And her mother and Beck and Cian and Nola, the brownie who had been her constant companion, her servant, her friend.

She would miss them all.

She heard someone cry and felt herself being pulled into strong arms. She was so weak, but she still recognized her brother’s face. Cian. Cian was weeping, his handsome face covered with soot and dirt. Cian had killed the soldier. Beck was the warrior half, but Cian, her sweet, intellectual brother, had slain the man who would have raped her and taken her final dignity.

“Mama?” Bron asked. She didn’t know where her mother had gone. She’d lost her when the battle had begun. Battle? It had been a slaughter.

Cian’s head shook. Loss marked his face, aging him. His gray eyes were dulled by pain. “She’s gone, Bron. Father’s gone, too.”

Cian, her sweet playmate. He was older than her by several years, but he’d always made time for her. She didn’t know Beck as well, but Beck and Cian were halves of a whole, symbiotic twins who shared a soul. She knew that what one felt, the other did as well, no matter how cool he appeared. Beck loved her, too.

“Love you, brother.” Her lips felt dry. She wanted to say more, but darkness was coming.

“I love you, too.” Cian seemed to force the words out. He held her so tight, but it didn’t matter. She could feel herself slipping away. Darkness took her, and she heard a mighty roar. It seemed to take over her mind. That single shout filled the world, pushing everything else away. The sound had mass and motion, enveloping her, surrounding her. Goddess, she was only fourteen. She wanted to live. She wanted to wake up and find this had been a terrible dream. She didn’t want to lie here knowing her brothers were gone, her future dead. She didn’t want to die until she knew where her dreams would lead her. Just one more dream. Just one more moment with them.

But still the darkness came.

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