Princess Avenger - Brightcastle Saga Book 1
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Authors: Bernadette Rowley
Tags: #paranormal romance, #shape shifter romance, #wolf hero, #fantasy about a princess, #hawk shifter, #amulet of power, #bear shapeshifter, #alpha male hero romance, #avenging princess, #witch mentor
Princess Avenger
Bernadette Rowley
Published by Bernadette
Rowley at Smashwords
Copyright 2015
Bernadette Rowley
Smashwords Edition,
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Dedicated to the memory of my father, Jim
Garton.
Pain dragged
Alecia Zialni of Brightcastle back to awareness. Her face throbbed
and hard stones gouged her shoulders.
Cobblestones?
And my bow is digging into my
spine!
Gentle fingers
grazed her left cheek and she froze, willing her body to remain
still but unable to slow her racing heart. The sharp metallic odour
of blood swamped her senses as her mind sought to explain her
situation. The fingers moved from her head to her arms and legs,
brisk and practiced, deftly exploring her body for
hurts.
She gathered
her nerve and opened her eyes. Pain shot through her left temple
and she blinked tears away. A man in a charcoal-gray soldier’s
tunic and black breeches leaned over her, his dark curls falling
forward to frame a face all hard planes and straight lines. Gold
flecks sparkled in sea-green eyes that reminded her of the stormy
ocean at Wildecoast.
“You should be
more careful with whom you pick a fight.” His deep voice caused a
thrill of unease within her. He rose and strode down the cobbled
street, his dark cloak swirling against the taut muscles of calves
in fitted black leather boots.
Alecia
released her trapped breath, mesmerized by the grace with which the
soldier moved: more like a stalking wolf than a man.
Where is he
going?
And then she saw
the body of the burly redhead, the handle of a knife sprouting from
his chest, the crude tattoo of a serpent and dagger on his forearm.
Alecia’s insides clenched at the sound of steel against bone as the
dark stranger pulled the blade free, cleaned it on the victim’s
shirt and slid it into his boot. She glimpsed a ridged scar on the
back of her rescuer’s left hand as he returned to her
side.
Alecia
raised tentative fingers to her cheek and pain throbbed through her
skull in response.
What has happened?
Jumbled images crowded her mind but she sorted through them
and remembered the inn and the mercenary.
I attacked that man in the street and
now he is dead!
She
peered at the hand the soldier offered her and followed his arm up
to eyes that now held more than a trace of impatience. Her heart
lurched. The man had likely noted her every feature! She touched
her head and sent a quick prayer of thanks to the Goddess. At least
her hood still hid her long blonde hair. If only he didn’t look too
closely at the clothes she wore, perhaps her secret was
safe.
“You --”
Alecia struggled to speak around the lump in her throat. She
swallowed and tried again. “You have my gratitude,” she said, her
voice husky. She clutched his hand and he pulled her to her feet as
if she weighed no more than a child.
The sudden
movement sent shooting agony through her skull and she wavered,
dizzy, her palms on the silver buttons of his broad chest. The
soldier caught her wrists and the hairs on Alecia’s arms rose at
the contact. Her gaze locked onto the curious amber stone that hung
at his throat. It emitted a faint ochre light that flared and then
died as she pulled away. Her eyes must be playing tricks.
When the world
stopped spinning, she pulled free and straightened the longbow
across her shoulders, then stooped to retrieve her quiver and
arrows. Her movements caused the soldier to arch one strong dark
brow. Alecia’s face grew hot. He didn’t seem impressed by her
armoury.
“You’ve the
look of trouble about you, lad.” The soldier, a captain by the
insignias on his tunic, stepped closer.
Alecia’s heart
raced. So far her disguise held, but for how long?
“
I’m not
looking to cause trouble,” she said. “I’ll be on my way, if you
don’t mind.”
Damn, why did I ask him for permission?
“I do mind.”
The captain’s words were low and gruff. “I’d like to know why you
picked a fight with a man twice your size.”
More
like three times, Alecia thought. His closeness made her skin
tingle. What was wrong with her? He was just a man
-- and a soldier at
that!
“If you can’t
explain yourself you must come with me to the prison.”
He seized her
arm and her body stiffened, heart thudding against her ribs. Any
one of her father’s soldiers might recognize her.
Alecia
pretended to go along with the captain as he walked past the inn
towards his horse. As they neared the mouth of Firedrake Alley, the
weak midday sun struck the quartz walls of the hilltop castle that
gave the town its name. The captain threw up his arm to shield his
eyes from the glare and Alecia seized her opportunity. She wrenched
her arm from his grasp and bolted between the buildings. The odour
of rotten garbage and human waste assailed her nostrils but she
barely noticed. This was her world.
Captain Vard Anton
swore. Damn, the lad was fast, but he wouldn’t get far. Even though
Vard wasn’t familiar with this part of Brightcastle Town, he did
have a nose for a trail, and that nose still twitched with the
lad’s scent. Was it lavender? He shook his head and started towards
the lane. The youth was already halfway to the first
crossroads.
“Blast!” The
stiff leather of his new military boots pinched his toes. It was
typical of Prince Zialni, heir to the throne of Thorius, to supply
boots for show rather than comfort. The air was thick with the foul
stink of the slop that caked the alley. Each step brought new and
hideous smells to his nose but he grasped the amber talisman at his
throat, mentally sorted through the jumble of odours and locked
onto the faint hint of perfume. Despite the slippery surface, he
picked up his pace and was gratified to see that the young man
hadn’t pulled any further ahead.
If Vard could
just stay within sight, the lad would tire soon. He recalled those
startling lilac eyes as they stared up at him out of that battered
face. Why not just turn around and get back to his horse before
some scoundrel rode off on it? But he knew he wouldn’t. The sharp
prick of instinct told him he needed to discover why the young man
had attacked an armed mercenary on a public street in broad
daylight.
He slid to a
halt in the dirt of the alley and strode forward to the next
laneway. His quarry had disappeared. A scrawny dog rifling its way
through a pile of refuse sniffed at Vard, whined and ran the other
way. Vard smiled. He could still put the canines in their
place.
He sent his
senses out into the surrounding alleys, searching for a trace of
the lad. The faint echoes of a racing human heart drifted back,
several alleys towards the town centre. No need to give up yet.
That lad needed help and, if Vard’s instincts were right, it might
well have something to do with the tyrant, Prince Zialni. The groan
of a swollen timber window being forced open sounded and he glanced
up. The contents of a chamber pot cascaded over his head and down
his shoulders, the stench overwhelming. He spat the fetid
concoction out of his mouth and wiped his eyes clear in time to see
his quarry’s amused lilac gaze as the window slammed shut.
Alecia gasped, hands on
knees, her face throbbing in time with her thumping heart. Her left
eye had swollen shut. The one person who could help her now was
Hetty, her childhood nurse and a gifted healer, who lived on
Firedrake Alley. Alecia had circled around and was now only two
alleys from where the captain had found her, close to Hetty’s.
His
gold-flecked eyes burned in her memory. She thought she knew all
her father’s soldiers, but her dark rescuer was a stranger.
Something about him put her on edge, suggested he was neither tame
nor civilized. She settled her bow and arrows over her back,
feeling for the knives in her belt and right boot. The hard knot of
fear in her gut softened at the touch of the weapons.
The hide of
her boots made not a sound as she crept to the end of the lane and
peered around the corner of a two-storeyed brothel. From here she
could see the rear of Hetty’s small double-level shack and had a
clear view back to the main street. Foot traffic had returned to
the market precinct in the short time since she had fled from the
captain, but the narrow street that ran behind Hetty’s was deserted
except for a whiskered drunk snoring against a wall several doors
up.
Alecia crossed
the street to Hetty’s and climbed onto the edge of the rain barrel,
reaching for the handholds below the second-storey window. Once she
was high enough to peer over the sill, she removed one hand to give
the window a shove. It opened a crack. Alecia grasped the sill,
pushed the glass all the way open and pulled herself through. She
landed with a soft thump on the wooden floorboards of Hetty’s
bedchamber and crossed to the window that overlooked Firedrake
Alley. Nothing moved down there.
A shoe scuffed
against the floorboards and she spun, knife in hand. Hetty stood
near the door, wiping her hands on a stained apron, bushy gray
eyebrows bristling above eyes so dark they were almost black. Deep
wrinkles framed those eyes and wild silver hair spiked unrestrained
from her scalp.
“Did your
mother never tell you it was bad manners to enter the house of
another without permission?” Hetty’s low voice rasped past a throat
horribly burnt some years ago when Prince Zialni had sentenced her
to burning at the stake. The old woman had been one of Alecia’s
first rescues.
Alecia pulled
the cap and hood back to bare her head, flinching as she brushed
her injured face. “My mother is dead,” she snapped, then instantly
regretted her tone. “How did you know it was me?” she said,
pointing to her outfit.
Hetty frowned.
“You call that a disguise? You were lucky this time, though by the
look of that eye, your fortune almost ran out.”
Alecia
fingered the puffy flesh around her left eye and a wave of nausea
struck her. How would she explain the injury to her father? “Please
do not lecture me, I feel bad enough already.” Her belief in her
fighting skills had been misplaced. Twenty-four summers of
sheltered royal existence had been no match for the violence of
that mercenary.
Hetty dropped
her apron and folded her arms beneath her scrawny bosom. “Come down
to the kitchen.”
She followed
Hetty down the stairs and left her bow and quiver in the hall. A
small pot bubbled over the fire in the kitchen hearth and the odour
of rotten eggs, stinkweed and garlic hung in the room. Hetty
shuffled across to the window, drew the heavy curtain and turned up
the lamp.
Alecia
wandered over to the shelves on the opposite wall. No matter how
often she visited Hetty she always had a reluctant fascination for
the brains, spiders, eyes and teeth in the glass containers.