The Herbwitch Princess (Witches of Olderea Book 2) Read online

  PART 1: THE TRAITOR’S DAUGHTER

  Antonio watched as the sun dipped below the water’s edge, its fiery rays setting the sky ablaze in shades of passionate crimson. The waves rippled, distorting the reflection of the woman behind him—the woman he spent three long years waiting for.

  “Carla,” he whispered.

  She approached the dock, wind tousling her glossy black curls.

  Heavens, she was beautiful. He could stare at her forever. Her shoulders shone like gold in the sunset, her brown eyes glossy with yearning. She was clad in a fine silk gown, so unlike the rough cotton Antonio was used to.

  “My love,” Carla said, her voice tender and sweet like the kisses they used to share.

  Antonio turned away, jaw clenched. He mustn't fall under her spell again. Not when she was the duke’s bride-to-be.

  “Antonio, I didn’t mean for this to happen.” Carla ducked her head, inky tendrils falling over her face. “You were going to lose your boat and—”

  “I never asked for your help!” Antonio’s voice broke.

  He shouldn’t be shouting at Carla. If not for the money she sent monthly, Antonio would have lost everything. His boats. His fishing business. Even the roof over his head. Not only that, Carla was the woman he wanted to raise a family with. The woman he intended to hold and cherish forever.

  Now, she belonged to someone else. And that shattered Antonio’s heart.

  —from A Sailor’s Seduction: Tales of Romance at Sea by Erasmus Lenard

  1

  A loud meow stopped me from turning the page.

  What in the blazing fires are you reading? Misty demanded.

  I closed the anthology and set it beside me on the stone bench. The embossed letters gleamed by the light of the overcast sky: A Sailor’s Seduction: Tales of Romance at Sea.

  “What is it?” I said as my cat brushed against my skirts. “Are you cold again?”

  Yes. I told you five minutes ago but you were too absorbed in your humiliating romance novel.

  Misty shook off the frost on her paws. A few droplets flew onto the lawn, threadbare from the cold. Even the gardeners Father hired couldn’t keep the grass in prime condition during mild Olderean winters.

  “Forgive me for entertaining myself,” I said, raising a brow as I scooped her from the ground. “Would you rather us return to our room?”

  Not a chance, darling, Misty said drily. She nestled into my arms. Despite her complaints, she was warmer than I was. You forget I can go where I please, unlike you.

  “Right.”

  I stared blankly at the three-tiered fountain before us. What little water the basins held had since frosted over. At the marble base, bare patches of dirt replaced the daffodils that used to flourish there. In contrast, the white heather bushes around us bloomed without restraint, obstructing everything within view with snowy blossoms.

  This corner of Greenwood Abbey was the only place I frequented during the past six months. Its isolation was part of its charm, though it was beginning to grow tiresome.

  “Why not visit the kitchen, then?” I said, scratching Misty underneath her chin and around her ears. “There’s a nice big fireplace and probably a chicken roasting for supper.”

  Misty purred as I continued to pet her. I’m warm enough. Besides, there’s wild poultry out here. She eyed the maple tree behind the fountain, green eyes glinting.

  “Chickadees are not poultry.”

  Could have fooled me, she said.

  An angry chirp sounded within the tree. A small round bird fluttered out and landed on the barren branch above, her inky feathers popping against our dreary surroundings.

  Not you again, she said disdainfully.

  Misty stilled, flexing her jaw. I held her down lest she got any ideas. “Good evening,” I said to the chickadee.

  She gave a chirrup. I wish you would stop bringing that cat here. I plan to live long enough to nest.

  “Misty won’t be any trouble. Isn’t that right, Misty?”

  Misty made a disgruntled noise. That’s right. No need to weigh me down like a prisoner.

  I let her go and resumed petting her in her favorite spots.

  The chickadee chirped a laugh. You domestics, she said haughtily. I’m glad I’m not forced to repress my natural instincts.

  Misty hissed.

  I frowned. “Don’t push your luck,” I said to the bird, “or I might accidentally set her loose.”

  I was bluffing, of course. If Misty ate the chickadee I would be down to one companion instead of two. I was nearly finished with A Sailor’s Seduction. There was only so much I could fill my day with.

  Oh, very well. The chickadee fluttered to a higher branch and rearranged her feathers. You know, you should come here more often. Those pesky gardeners want to remove my nest.

  I raised my brows. “And how does my presence solve anything?”

  You scare them away. They treat this place like the plague whenever you’re around. I see them turn and leave all the time.

  My cheeks flushed, though not from the cold. After all my time living at Father’s abbey, I had only caught brief glimpses of the gardeners. Certain spots of the garden had seen drastic improvement, but not this corner.

  Of course they were avoiding me. Who wouldn’t after hearing the rumors?

  Nearly every servant in the household knew that Lady Narcissa was a snobbish, ill-tempered girl who had assisted her mother in her scheme to assassinate Queen Cordelia. Such a shame she hadn’t been locked up too, instead of becoming a burden to Captain Greenwood.

  Misty pawed my hand. Don’t listen to her. Birds are ridiculously stupid creatures.

  Why I never! The chickadee chirruped in indignation and fluttered back into the maple tree, muttering profanities.

  “It’s getting dark.” I set Misty aside and stood, leaving the book. “Let’s go back.”

  She twitched her tail and walked the length of the bench, making a point to leave a dirty paw print on the cover of the anthology.

  This is because your brother bad-mouthed you all over the abbey, she said.

  My mood dampened at the mention of my half-brother, Maddox. I would have to see his sour face again this evening. But even without his bad-mouthing, I was sure nothing would change. I was, after all, Mother’s daughter. My reputation preceded me.

  Misty landed noiselessly on a patch of grass. Well. It’s nearing dinner time. Save me a morsel, will you, darling?

  I sighed.

  Meals were always tense. Tonight would be no different.

  I WAS SUMMONED FOR dinner shortly after I returned. I didn’t bother to dress for the evening and instead headed straight for the dining room where Father, Lady Vanessa, and Maddox were already seated. A late entrance was better than an early one. At least I would not have to engage in small talk.

  A serving maid placed a slice of chicken breast on my plate as I settled. A steaming bowl of cheddar pear soup sat on the side.

  “Thank you,” I said.

  She darted her eyes away and proceeded down the table to serve Lady Vanessa.

  I sipped the wine from my goblet, focusing on the taste of watery raisins instead of the humiliation blooming over my cheeks. Social interaction was easier when I hid behind sharp words and a condescending air. No one questioned me when I acted superior. Now, everything I did felt fraudulent.

  “The weather is getting warmer,” Father said from the head of the table, jovially ignorant to the tension. He shoveled a spoonful of soup into his mouth. “I daresay winter is coming to a close.”

  “Nonsense, Maverick. The winter solstice has not yet passed,” Lady Vanessa said, her voice barely audible over the clinking silverware.

  Proper ladies never raise their voice, Mother once said. Others must quiet to hear her.

  Lady Vanessa was the epitome of a proper lady, from her neat, straw-colored hair down to her oval fingernails. She was everything I imagined Father’s wife should be: soft-spoken, gentle, and refined. Nothing like Mother. Perhaps that was why I found her so unapproachable.

  “I swear it. Last night I fancied the fireplace a little too hot. Wasn’t it, Cissa?” Father turned to me with an earnest look.

  “I wasn’t near the fireplace,” I mumbled. As much as I hated speaking, I couldn’t bear to upset him by keeping silent—not when he called me by my pet name. It reminded me of happier times.

  “Because you were in the dungeons visiting that woman last night.”

  I turned to the contemptuous face of my half-brother. Misty said the kitchen maids found him handsome—something about his blond hair and “storm cloud eyes”—but I couldn’t fathom what they saw in him. He had grown from the stocky, loud-mouthed boy I saw glimpses of as a child to a stocky, loud-mouthed man.

  “Maddox,” Father and Lady Vanessa said in unison. They exchanged a glance before Lady Vanessa touched her son’s arm.

  “There is no reason why Narcissa cannot visit her own mother,” she said.

  Maddox's eyes flashed. “The former duchess is a traitor. If the woman who bore me were a traitor, I would have turned her in the moment I knew it.”

  Lady Vanessa jerked her hand away.

  “Maddox! Apologize at once!” Father said, dropping his fork with a clatter.

  “But Mother could never be like that traitor or her daughter—”

  Father glowered. “That is enough. Show your sister some respect.”
>
  Lady Vanessa turned to me. “Please don’t take offense dear. Maddox is still...adjusting.” She offered a gentle smile.

  I dropped my gaze to the gilded rim of my plate.

  Maddox slammed his goblet down. Wine sloshed onto the tablecloth, staining the linen a deep red.

  “She is not my sister,” he hissed. With a venomous glare, he stormed out, his blond ponytail disappearing behind the tapestried corner.

  I chewed a piece of my chicken. It was dry and bland, somewhat a reflection of my feelings. I had heard worse insults from him both spoken to my face and behind my back.

  The chickadee in the garden was a big gossiper. I could have gone without the knowledge that my half-brother thought me a cold-blooded snake demoness, but I had little choice in my companions, much less what they chose to talk about.

  “I apologize on Maddox’s behalf,” Lady Vanessa said after a beat, as if the same thing hadn’t happened two nights ago. “He always had a temper.”

  “We’ve spoiled him, that’s what,” Father grumbled. “He has no ambition and no interest in joining the Royal Guard even at his age. Shameful.”

  The edge of the tapestry moved almost imperceptibly.

  I took another bite of chicken, which had already gone cold. The little appetite I had since disappeared. Perhaps Misty would appreciate the tasteless poultry more than I did.

  I stood from my seat. “Excuse me. I will have the rest of my dinner in my room.”

  “Are you sure, Cissa? There’s pumpkin pie for dessert. Your favorite.” Father put both hands on the edge of the table, as if ready to spring up and fetch the pie himself.

  “I’m sure.”

  “If you need anything at all, just ask, dear,” Lady Vanessa said, brows furrowed.

  I nodded, avoiding her searching eyes.

  “I’ll take your meal to your room, milady,” the serving maid said, moving toward me. I grabbed the dish before she approached.

  “No need,” I said. “Good night, Father, Lady Vanessa.”

  I swept away before anyone could wish me a good night back. When I made it out of the dining room and into the hall, I heaved a sigh and leaned against the stone wall, watching the firelight flicker over the faded tapestries.

  Greenwood Abbey was old-fashioned in every way, from the crumbling ceiling down to the ash-colored bricks that tiled the floor. The walls were thick and the windows minuscule, blocking out what little winter sunlight there was.

  The structure would have served well during a siege, but the darkness and sterile decor seemed to lay siege against me. If it weren’t for Misty and the chickadee, I would have been alone for the entire six months I’d been here. Father tried to organize a celebration for my nineteenth birthday this coming spring, but I refused. Mother always said I would be queen at twenty. She promised to organize the grandest of parties and invite everyone of consequence to celebrate.

  Now, even if there were a celebration, I didn’t know who would dare come.

  “Congratulating yourself?”

  Maddox stood a few paces down the hall, arms crossed. I merely stared. I had no interest in picking fights with anyone, especially not with someone who believed I was wicked to the core.

  “Hey. I’m talking to you,” Maddox said, marching toward me. I turned on my heel, though it was the opposite way to my room. Before I could make much distance, he blocked my path.

  “Speak when you’re spoken to, witch,” Maddox spat.

  Irritation spiked in my chest. I wouldn’t have tolerated such treatment in the past. Despite everything that had changed, I was not going to tolerate it now.

  “What do you want me to say?” I demanded.

  Maddox scowled. “Admit it. Admit you’re taking advantage of Father and Mother’s kindness and turning them against me. Admit you’re poisoning their minds with your magic.”

  I barked a laugh, the mirthless sound achingly loud in the empty hallway. “You know nothing of magic. And yet you are half-witch yourself.”

  Maddox clenched his jaw.

  Father revealed to the court last summer that he was indeed a witch, but that he had removed his and Maddox’s magic decades ago with a potion. Both Maddox and Lady Vanessa were in shock, though the latter had taken the news more gracefully than her son.

  “You’re turning them against me,” Maddox repeated.

  “That is your own doing. You heard them. You’re spoiled and immature.”

  “That’s rich, coming from Father’s favorite,” Maddox spat. “I never had a second of his day when you were born. But you don’t even bother holding a conversation with him. So why are you here, if not to leech off of us as you scheme with your mother?”

  A flood of frustration washed over me. He was impossible. Everything about this was impossible.

  “Just...” My eyes stung, and I channeled all the venom I had left. “Just leave me alone!”

  I fled to my room, hardly caring that the gravy from my plate had dripped onto my skirts. A sob threatened to burst from my throat as I shut the door and sank to the cold floor.

  What was dinner? Misty slunk over from the bed and sniffed the gravy stain on my gown. I swallowed my tears. She meowed in delight, tail curling when she spotted the plate of half-eaten chicken on the floor.

  Despite my efforts to appear composed, I trembled.

  Misty looked up. That brute of a brother bothering you again?

  I wiped my eyes dry. Mother said there was nothing more humiliating than crying in earnest. Tears were a waste if not used to manipulate.

  “I don’t know why I bother speaking to him,” I said. “Or to anyone.”

  Misty gnawed at the meat. Then don’t. Take your meals in here again.

  “Father will worry.”

  She lapped a puddle of gravy off the plate. Your father seems harder to please than your mother. I don’t recall you being in such a state before this.

  I hugged my knees to my chest. Misty was right. I knew exactly what Mother expected of me. I knew how to win her approval. Father was a different matter. A part of me craved to have that certainty again.

  If you decide to run off and free her, I certainly have no objections. Whatever will make you happy.

  I jumped, forgetting that Misty could read my thoughts as well as I could read hers if she pleased. Our bond was strong enough to go both ways, though I had gotten used to speaking with her out loud—something I wouldn’t have dared to do before.

  I shook my head. “You know I’ve made my decision.”

  Misty blinked slowly. You humans and your morals. If all that mattered was good food, life would be a great deal easier.

  I sighed. Misty was the most human-like animal I’ve connected with, but even then her feline instincts prevailed.

  She yawned. It’s getting late. I think I’ll take another stroll around the gardens before I sleep.

  “Leave the chickadee alone,” I said as Misty sauntered over to our open window.

  She bristled. I know. She leaped over the windowsill and disappeared into the bushes below.

  I sank into my four-poster bed and buried my face into the pillows. I didn’t bother to ring for my maid. The girl was terrified of me, anyway.

  2

  “I am not going, Father!”

  “Yes you are and that is final! Honestly, you’re acting like it’s a public beheading instead of a...”

  I jerked up, squinting at the watery beam of sunlight slicing through my curtains. Misty was curled up next to me, unbothered by the shouting in the hall.

  “Oh! Good morning, milady,” came a tremulous voice.

  “Tizzy,” I said to my maid. She stood at the far corner, furiously wiping down the top of my vanity and avoiding eye contact. A stray curl popped out of her bonnet as she worked. I was too exhausted to dwell on the awkwardness of our relationship. Still, she was a great improvement from my previous maid, Karen, who was as unkind and selfish as could be. Perhaps that was why Mother chose her for me—to have near an example of what she wanted me to be at all times.

  “What is going on?” I asked.

  “Oh, milady,” Tizzy said, rubbing at a spot on the mirror, “there came a letter from the palace. Invitations to the Winter Solstice Ball, milady. Master Greenwood insists that Young Master Greenwood go and acquaint himself with the Royal Guard, but Young Master Greenwood is unhappy, milady.”