Once Upon a Forbidden Desire, page 7
“Your angels are bored,” said Phinella.
“They’ll start up again soon enough.”
“Just as soon as Rosalind receives payment?” said Phinella, her brain working overtime, piecing together the puzzle.
Gabriel looked away.
“The apple,” said Phinella. “That’s why you want it.”
Gabriel’s features went dark. “And you have just over two days left to get it for me, unless you want your dirty little secret on the lips of all the world.”
“What if we don’t care?” said Florian.
“Your father would disinherit you,” said Gabriel, looking at Florian with disdain. “You won’t give that up for some girl. No one ever does in the end.”
His words punched a hole through Phinella, and the vice on her heart returned. What if Gabriel was right?
“You’re wrong,” said Florian. “True love is powerful, and cannot be denied.”
“Behind closed doors, maybe,” said Gabriel, with a sinister smile, “but in the full glare of the media? I think not.”
“And if we can’t get you the apple?” said Phinella. “What happens to your enterprise then?”
“You will.”
“You said yourself, we only have two days … we have no leads … we may fail.”
“Then I’ll be forced to pursue another, less savory route,” he said, swinging his swords. “Make no mistake, I will get what I want.”
PHINELLA TRANSPORTED FLORIAN back to his room in the castle without another word to Gabriel. Florian wrapped his arms around her, and she buried herself in his warmth.
“We’re screwed,” she said, the words muffled against his torso.
Florian moved them to a couch, Phinella sitting across his lap, resting her head on his shoulder.
“Gabriel wants the apple to give to Rosalind,” said Florian, rubbing her back in soothing circles, “so Rosalind will let him destroy the next piece of forest, but … why doesn’t he just do it? Why does he have to wait for permission?”
“The forest is protected by ancient magic,” said Phinella. “He can’t do a thing without her say so. And if he kills her, he’d need to convince Rosalind’s heir.”
“Storm?” said Florian.
“I suppose …”
“She won’t support the destruction of the forest,” said Florian.
“So why does Rosalind want you and Storm to marry? And why so soon?” said Phinella, sitting up straight to look him in the eye.
“Like Peter said,” said Florian, “what does Rosalind—or Father—stand to gain?”
Phinella’s eyes roamed the room as she considered the question. “Your father is well respected,” she said. “His kingdom is wealthy, he has many alliances, holds vast lands …” Phinella froze, her eyes snapping back to Florian’s.
“He holds vast lands,” Florian repeated. “When I was on the tour of my father’s kingdom, one of the clerks said something about the forests, but Dad shut it down.”
“The conversation we overheard in the cupboard …” said Phinella.
“They were talking about redrawing maps …”
“Map room?” said Phinella.
Florian nodded, and she transported them in an instant.
A slight, severe-looking woman behind the map room’s reception desk blinked in surprise at their sudden appearance. The room was large, stiff, and oppressive, the only sounds the clacking of typewriters and scratching of pens.
“Yes?” said the woman, peering at them over half-moon spectacles. “Do you have an appointment?”
Florian opened his mouth, but a voice from across the room caught their attention. “About time,” said a stern-sounding man.
“I told you,” said a female imp, who stood in front of a large, sloped drawing desk, “I’m very busy. My skills are in high demand.”
“We’re here to see them,” said Florian, turning back to the woman behind the desk.
Florian and Phinella started moving before the woman could protest, but Phinella felt her eyes on their backs, carefully watching their every move.
“If you keep going at me like this, I’ll quit,” said the imp.
“And give up working for one of the oldest and most prestigious royal families?” said the man. “I don’t think so.”
“Good day,” said Florian, in his most princely tone. “May I ask which map you’re redrawing?”
The man turned suddenly shifty. “Ah … Prince Florian … er, good day. You’re … ah … not supposed to … er … I don’t believe anything has been scheduled …?” The man threw a glance towards the reception desk.
“No,” said Florian brightly.
“Florian, look,” said Phinella, studying the map. “They’re redrawing the boundaries inside the Dark Forest.”
“I really must insist you leave,” said the man pompously, trying to put himself between them and the map. He waved desperately at the woman behind the desk.
“They want me to redraw it in time for your wedding,” said the imp, looking impishly up at Florian. “Part of the agreement, apparently. But it’s not just redrawing, of course, it takes magic too. Time-consuming work.”
“Well, I shouldn’t bother,” said Florian, “because I’m not planning to attend the wedding.”
The imp’s smile broadened at the whiff of scandal. “Pray, do tell,” she drawled.
Florian leaned in conspiratorially. “You know I can’t do that,” he said, then winked.
The imp tilted her head and raised a flirtatious shoulder. Phinella resisted the urge to shove the imp out of the nearest window. Instead, she shoved the man out of the way with an overly polite, “Excuse me, please.”
The map showed a large section of the Dark Forest, including the boundary between the king’s portion and Rosalind’s. Two pins pierced the paper, one on each side of the king’s land, three inches down from where the current boundary with Rosalind’s land lay.
“That’s where you’re redrawing?” said Florian, tracing a line across the map with his finger.
The imp nodded, but said poutily, “I can’t tell you that.”
Phinella did her best to ignore the irritating vixen, focusing instead on the map, trying to stamp the image on her mind, as well as the names of the other owners.
“Out!” bellowed a voice from the entrance. A commanding voice, full of authority.
Shit. Phinella turned to face the approaching king, dropping into the deepest of curtseys. Florian bowed low while everyone else scurried off like rats.
“What are you doing here?” demanded the king, stopping not two feet in front of them.
“Finding Storm,” said Phinella.
The king’s eyes flicked to the map. “In the Dark Forest?” he said skeptically.
“She’s upset about the destruction there,” said Florian.
“Destruction?” said the king.
Florian looked at his father in disbelief. “The fallen angels have destroyed vast swaths of forest … almost all of Rosalind’s lands.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” said the king, although some of the fire had gone out of his tone.
“We’ve seen it with our own eyes, Father,” said Florian.
“You can’t have …”
“I transported us there earlier today,” said Phinella, seeing as they appeared to be going for brutal honesty.
“And the angels are waiting for you to sign your land over to Rosalind, so they can destroy that too,” said Florian.
The king stuttered. “I … this … you can’t be right.” He looked suddenly confused, disoriented, on the edge of distress, nothing like the bull of a man who’d stormed into the room.
Florian stepped forward and put a hand on his father’s arm. “What are you getting out of my marriage with Storm?” he said gently.
The king shrugged off Florian’s hand and turned his back. “I …”
“He’s getting a strong alliance with a prestigious house,” said Rosalind, sweeping into the map room, cold fury written across her features.
“How did you get in here?” said Florian.
“I was taking tea with the king, when we were rudely interrupted,” she said, throwing a dirty look at the receptionist, who must have tipped them off.
Rosalind moved to the king and laced an arm through his. “We should get back, dear.” She tugged at him, urging him towards the entrance.
Phinella couldn’t let Rosalind take the king, not when the opportunity to tell him the truth—to sway him to their side—had fallen in their laps. They had to make the most of it; it was most likely the only chance they’d get. “Why do you want a poisoned apple?” Phinella blurted. It was the only thing she could think to say that would get Rosalind’s attention.
Rosalind stopped in her tracks and turned slowly back to face them. “Where would you get such a ridiculous notion?” she said.
“Poison …?” said the king, the word seeming to shock him. He took back his arm and squared his shoulders.
“This … godmother is sorely mistaken. She should be assisting your son in locating his true love, not throwing baseless accusations at a queen.”
“Don’t speak to her like that,” said Florian, stepping forward.
Rosalind raised an eyebrow, looking from Florian to Phinella. “Interesting,” she said.
“A poisoned apple?” said the king, shaking his head as though there was something he couldn’t quite grasp.
“We really should get back,” said Rosalind, pulling at the king’s arm once more.
“No … I …” said the king.
“Unhand him!” said Florian, but the king shrugged himself free.
“You have distressed your father,” said Rosalind, rounding on Florian.
“What have you done to him?” said Florian.
“Does he know about you and your godmother?” said Rosalind. She stepped towards Florian, stuffing a hand in her pocket.
Phinella moved between them. “If you’re planning on using magic, don’t,” she said. “You have no magic of your own, and whatever power you’ve bought, stolen, or borrowed will not work on me.”
Rosalind screamed, and Phinella braced for the worst. But Rosalind lifted a handful of fairy dust up high, then threw it at the floor, disappearing with a bang.
The king exhaled sharply, then slumped into a chair, and Florian rushed to his side. “Father?” he said. “Are you okay?”
“Poison …” the king said weakly. “She’s been coming to tea once a week, each time bringing food she insisted I try. I … do you think …? I can’t believe she would do such a thing.”
Phinella raised her eyebrows but held her tongue; it wasn’t as though Rosalind’s reputation was a secret.
“So the wedding’s off?” said Florian. “The transfer of land won’t happen?”
“I … Storm is still your true love.”
“Storm is not my true love,” said Florian, fervently.
“Pah!” The king waved a hand, then shifted in his seat so he could look directly into Florian’s eyes. “Son, how can you possibly know that?”
“Because I’ve already found my true love.”
The king gave a start. “You have? Who? Pocahontas? Elsie? Surely not Anastasia?”
Florian moved back to Phinella and took her hand. “Phinella,” he said, looking lovingly down at her.
Phinella’s insides flipped. Had he really just said those words? Then her stomach sank. Had he really just said those words?
The king laughed. “Oh, son, for a minute there, I thought you were serious!”
Florian frowned. “I assure you, I am serious,” he said, his tone clipped. “And in two days, the whole world will know.”
“Over my dead body!” said the king, getting to his feet, his anger apparently giving him strength. “She’s your godmother. What spell has she woven around you?”
Phinella shook her head. She’d known it would be like this, her career ruined. She’d broken the cardinal rule, and … was true love worth losing everything she’d ever worked for? But the thought of losing Florian … it was worse, making her stomach churn.
“Phinella was my true love long before she was my godmother,” said Florian. “The allocations must have been mixed up, and I really don’t need a fairy godmother. I’m sure, if we speak with the Guild, we can straighten everything out.”
The king looked at his son in disbelief. “Tell me, Prince, how do you see this playing out?”
Florian was completely unfazed. “Phinella and I will announce our relationship to the world, she’ll be given a different godmothering assignment, and then we’ll wed.”
The king reddened. “You will do no such thing!”
“Now wait just a minute …” said Florian.
“Quiet, boy,” said the king, who pulled himself up to his full height. He was a large, forbidding man. He’d chosen a throne of granite, because it was said nothing could move him, and Phinella saw that in him now, a trickle of dread snaking through her guts as he pierced her with cold, calculating eyes.
“Father, if I may …” said Florian.
“You may not.” The king’s gaze stayed firmly on Phinella, as though he could glean all he needed to know by interrogating her with his eyes.
The silence went on, and on, and on.
Phinella looked away, but she refused to fidget. These were classic intimidation tactics. She was a godmother, and she would not let him cow her … not to mention, she had true love on her side.
“How do you know your love is true?” demanded the king, his eyes still fixed on her.
Could he read her mind? Did the king have magical powers?
“I feel it,” said Florian.
The king ignored him.
Phinella looked back to the king, meeting his harsh stare. “How can anyone know?”
“You question your love for my son?” scoffed the king.
“Of course,” said Phinella. “Everything should be questioned. Although my questioning has led me to conclude our love is true.”
The king looked about ready to explode. Florian pulled Phinella to his side, but the movement lit a fire under the king. “Move apart,” he said, his voice low and menacing.
“I won’t leave her,” said Florian.
“You don’t have any say in the matter,” said the king. “Now do as I say and move apart.”
This couldn’t be happening. Phinella looked desperately into Florian’s eyes, his expression matching hers.
“Move apart!” barked the king.
No. She wouldn’t. Phinella grabbed fistfuls of Florian’s shirt, squeezed her eyes shut, and funneled fierce intention into her magic. Something wrenched around her middle, and the next moment, the sound of birdsong filled the air.
Phinella pulled back and opened her eyes. They were in a treehouse. The treehouse high in one of the seven dwarf trees to be exact. The trees everyone assumed had been planted as a joke, because they were anything but dwarf …
“What in the name of all that is magical?” said Florian, looking around too.
“I shouldn’t have done that,” she said, dread stealing her breath.
Florian leaned down and kissed her. “I’m very glad you did.”
He kissed her again, and for long moments, Phinella let Florian’s caress sweep her cares away. She’d panicked, because when the king had ordered them apart, it had sounded like … like he was ordering them apart forever. And kissing Florian, here, in a place so few others knew of, felt like the opposite of that heartbreak. It felt wonderful, and safe, and so very right.
The treehouse was the perfect hideaway. In addition to the large balcony outside, it had an open plan bedroom, kitchen, and living room, with a small separate bathroom. Everything was made of wood hammered together at odd angles, and a branch held up the roof.
Phinella had no idea who’d built it, but she’d discovered it when she was a child, and had used it as a refuge ever since. Someone kept the cupboards stocked with food, and whoever it was, they’d never minded when she’d helped herself.
“What will your father do now?” said Phinella. “Given I just kidnapped a prince.”
Florian laughed. “Father won’t advertise the embarrassment, but he’ll undoubtedly send people to retrieve me.”
“Great.”
“Don’t worry about them,” said Florian. “They’ll never track us here, which means it’s just you, me, and a sunset to die for.”
Her eyes turned to the sky—a spectacular display of purple and gold. The sight soothed her, and she relaxed into his hold, letting the feel of him lull her into believing, if only for a moment, that it might all be okay.
FLORIAN STOOD AT the sink, washing up the dishes they’d used to make a delicious dinner of sausages, mashed potatoes, and gravy. Phinella drank red wine from a goblet as she watched him, marveling that he knew his way around a kitchen. It was possibly the sexiest thing she’d ever seen, and she didn’t want it to end. All she’d ever wanted was to be a godmother—the best godmother—but now … she wanted him too, just like this. Why wouldn’t the world let her have both?
“Are you just going to stand there?” he said, throwing her a mock disapproving look.
“I had intended to,” she said, but she set down her wine and sidled up to him, wrapping her arms around him from behind.
She pressed flush against him, breathing him in, then slid her hands to his front, running her fingers over the ridges of his solid torso, then down his muscular forearms, until her hands were in the suds too.
She slid her hands over the top of his and entwined their fingers as he continued to work. She squeezed her fingers together, and he growled, returning the pressure. The sound sent a bolt of desire to her core. She pressed her lips to his shirt, kissing him through the fabric, running her nose up and down his spine. And then suddenly he spun them, and Phinella’s front was against the sink, Florian behind her.
“I like this way better,” he said into her ear as he caressed her torso.
“Me too,” she purred, her breath hitching as he kissed her neck.
He slid a hand to her breasts, trying to liberate them, but the fabric held fast. “This damnable dress has to go,” he said, pushing her hair to one side, then unlacing her, kissing each piece of flesh he slowly exposed.
