Fated Mate_Misty Woods Dragons)

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Epilogue

  Part I

  Part II

  Epilogue

  Prologue

  Fated Mate

  Misty Woods Dragons

  Juniper Hart

  Contents

  Prologue

  Fated Mate

  Thank You

  Other Books You Might Enjoy

  Secret Woods Books

  About the Author

  Bonus Content: Dragon Shifter Romances

  Bonus Content: Shifter Romances

  Other Books You Might Enjoy

  Secret Woods Books

  Fated Mate: Misty Woods Dragons

  Text Copyright © 2018 by Juniper Hart

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  First printing, 2018

  Publisher

  Secret Woods Books

  info@secretwoodsbooks.com

  www.SecretWoodsBooks.com

  Prologue

  Heaviness hung within the dank castle walls, each brother more distraught than the next.

  The cavalry—soldiers on foot—was coming, but who could say how long it would be before help arrived? Would it be a day? A week?

  The six princes of Misty Woods knew they did not have such a luxury.

  “We are doomed,” Cassius murmured, pausing between the grey slate of the stone to stare into the darkness. “We have called too late for salvation.”

  “You must not speak so ridiculously,” Marcus growled, pacing along the hearth, his heavy wolf cape draped about his shoulders. “They will come. We will be saved.”

  “We are the sons of King Rui. We have never failed at battle, and we will not commence today!” Anders declared hotly, slamming his sword into the scarred round table and scowling at his brothers. “We bleed royal blood. We carry the seed of Misty Woods in our loins. Cease your doubts and hold your heads high as Father would have had us do! Whether they come or not, we will go into battle and fight for our kingdom!”

  His brothers did not seem to be convinced.

  “I must go to Nora,” Ansel muttered, turning to flee the room. Maximus stood solidly in his way.

  “You will see your maiden when the kingdom has been spared,” Maximus spat.

  “And what if the kingdom is not spared?” Titus demanded, undoubtedly thinking of his own love, locked away in the turret with the other women and children for their own protection against the impending battle that loomed not so far away.

  “Then we shall all perish together!” Cassius roared.

  “You needn’t perish, my lords,” a creaking voice called out to them, and the princes whirled to the source.

  From the shadows beneath the cast iron candle holders, the old sage grinned toothlessly at them, her wretched face a twisted compilation of glee and malice.

  “You!” Maximus shouted, lunging toward her. “How did you get in here?”

  “I come in peace, my lord—lords,” she cooed, seeming unperturbed as the oldest brother yanked her from the wall and paraded her forward. “I have come to offer you safety in this time of terrible peril.”

  “You?” Ansel snorted. “You are decrepit and useless. Who do you fight with?”

  The old sage cackled, and each man felt a shiver of apprehension slide through them as they realized the crone was not intimidated by the threat of six towering men of power and weaponry.

  “As you said, my lord,” the witch demurred, “I am ancient and without benefit. I do not wish to take sides.”

  “Put her in the barracks!” Marcus howled. “We are wasting valuable time bantering with this hag!”

  “My lord!” she cried imploringly. “Before you lock me away, hear my words, and then decide to do what you will. I only beg a moment of your precious time.”

  Her black eyes seemed like hot coals as the brothers turned their attention to her.

  “Speak!” Maximus snapped. “We have matters of battle with which to contend!”

  “It is of those matters I wish to speak,” she assured them. “You cannot win against the Northmen.”

  “Nonsense!” screamed Titus. The princes advanced on her, their swords drawn, ready to behead the her for uttering such treasonous words.

  “I beg of you, my lords, hear my words before you strike me dead!” she continued, offering them a nearly toothless smile. Her grin widened, even though she was encircled among the six princes of the kingdom, as though their presence inspired amusement in her rather than fear.

  “The soldiers you have requested from the realm will not be here until the day following the full moon,” the sage explained. “And the Northmen will attack at dawn. You know as well as I do that they have already conquered the villages. Their next skirmish will be the castle walls. They outnumber you. It will undoubtedly be a brief, humiliating fight.”

  “How can you know that?” Ansel demanded, but even as he spoke the words, he knew the woman had her ways to obtain the knowledge she desired.

  “I assure you, my lord, it is so,” she said. “I am offering you a chance to win against the Northmen without fear. You will be regarded as legends, and the minstrels will sing about you for generations to come!”

  “We are the princes of Misty Woods,” Anders growled. “We fear nothing!”

  “There are already many a ballad about our bravery!” Marcus called.

  The old sage shook her head, as if there was little else she could do to change their minds.

  “Then you will die,” she told them, her tone flat and certain. “And Misty Woods will no longer be.”

  A stillness hung in the air, not broken or interrupted even by a breeze from the open window as the six princes stared at the old witch. Her statement had cut each of them deeply, and they could do nothing but inherently recognize the truth. Without help, their kingdom would certainly cease to exist.

  “How can you prevent it?” Cassius asked quietly. He sensed the disapproval of his brothers for asking, and although none of them protested his question, he still lowered his gaze.

  “I have the power to invoke the will of Mother Nature and turn you into beasts who breathe fire,” the sage told them. “For three days and three nights, you will sprout wings and fly above your enemies, touting flames from your throats until they have all been sent back to the fiery hell where they belong!”

  “Witchcraft!” the brothers yelled. “A spell! Underworld debauchery!”

  “It is the will of Mother Nature,” she assured them, demurely lowering her eyes. “It is only a short miracle, but a miracle nonetheless.”

  The princes stepped back and glanced at one another, unsure of how to respond.

  “If it is the work of Mother Nature…”

  “If it is only for three days and nights…”

  “If this ensures our victory…”

  They turned back to the woman, who waited patiently for their response, her black eyes glittering.

  “Why would you help us,” Ansel demanded, “if you claim to have no side?”

  “Ah, my lord,” she replied smugly. “Just because I do not choose, it does not mean I do not hate.”

  “And what do you have to gain by this?” Titus insisted. They wanted to know why she would willingly help them fight against the Northmen.
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br />   The old witch smiled enigmatically. “I am serving my kingdom, my lord.”

  Once more, the brothers exchanged a long look. The old woman had been nothing but trouble for them and for Misty Woods, but if she could give them a chance to defend their kingdom… if they could save their people…

  Slowly, the six princes began to nod, one by one, their hearts filled with hope once again.

  “We shall prevail!” Anders cried, and they all roared in consensus, raising their swords to toast their newfound power.

  And in their surge of arrogance, they did not see the witch’s smile grow cruel and cold, for they had not thought to ask her which kingdom it was that she served.

  Not until it was much too late.

  Fated Mate

  1

  Sometimes, when the winds settled, Nora would sit by the window in her studio and stare into the blinding snow, losing herself in the whiteness for hours. It seemed such a contrast to the dark images on her canvasses, the bloody reds and blacks melding together in a splotchy mess.

  It was easy to do when Jerome was gone and she was left alone with no one but the house staff and her thoughts.

  How many years have we lived in this forsaken place? she asked herself that morning, but she immediately dismissed the question, refusing to fall into the pit of despair threatening to consume her. She didn’t know where this melancholy had come from—she only knew that it was slowly starting to pile atop her shoulders.

  The more Nora thought about it, the less she was able to remember a time before their escape to the alps. Though the fact depressed her greatly, there was no one she could speak to about it; no one but the white canvasses around her, which turned black with her innermost thoughts.

  Sighing, she turned away from the endless falling snow and gazed at her supplies, wondering if she would get any work done soon.

  It is not as if anyone is waiting on me, Nora thought with some bitterness.

  It had been quite a long time since a deadline had created a light of excitement in her soul. Gone were the days of agents and accounts. Then again, there had never truly been any people waiting to purchase one of her pieces.

  Now, instead of the promise of business, all that remained was the icy, but beautiful, Swiss days and the long, starlit nights where she pined for a different time.

  I can’t stay here, she thought mournfully. I will lose my mind.

  Slowly, Nora rose from the cushioned window seat and reluctantly headed toward the door, her silk nightgown swirling around about her slender ankles as she moved. Tentatively, she opened the door and peered into the corridor before slipping out into the brightly lit house.

  “Ah, mademoiselle!”

  Nora froze in her tracks, slowly turning to address the woman who had called out to her: Collette, the housekeeper.

  “Are you hungry?” she asked, smiling kindly. “I will fix you some breakfast, if you’d like.”

  “No, thank you,” Nora said, immediately shaking her head.

  Collette’s green eyes narrowed, and Nora could tell she was about to be lectured.

  “Mademoiselle Nora,” she began, “you have not eaten properly in days. I realize that artistes are a different breed of person, but you are still a person, are you not? You must eat something! Monsieur Charpentier will be displeased when he calls for your update and I tell him you have not touched a morsel of food.”

  Nora bit back a scathing remark and lowered her dark eyes toward the Calamander wood of the floor beneath her bare feet.

  If Jerome has such concerns, he can deal with me himself, she thought to herself, but of course, she said nothing to Collette. It was not the housekeeper’s fault that she had been named babysitter to Nora while Jerome was gone. Why did she even require a babysitter in his absence? Was there something wrong with her? Did Jerome not trust her to be alone?

  “I will fix you whatever you please, chérie,” Collette continued, eyeing her pleadingly, and Nora stifled a sigh. It wouldn’t do either of them any good, and she didn’t want to get Collette in trouble.

  “Whatever you want, Collette,” she replied dully. “I just want to shower and change first.”

  The older woman’s face exploded into a look of relief so great that Nora felt guilty for having been locked up in her room.

  I am not the only one who is trapped under the thumb of that unbending brute, she thought, but she was again consumed with shame. Jerome loved her, and he only wanted what was best for her. How dare you think of him so rudely? You are lucky no one can hear your thoughts.

  “What shall I have waiting for you, mademoiselle?” Collette pressed as Nora turned to leave.

  Nora sighed to herself. “I… I will decide as I bathe.”

  There was never enough quietness for her to get some peace of mind—not unless she sat inside her studio and lost herself in the snow globe of her life, disconnected from the rest of the household.

  She ascended the floating staircase to the second floor of the chalet, vaguely aware of the skylights emanating weak, gray rays onto the pristine interior of the place she had called home.

  Living in the alps had been Jerome’s idea all those years ago, and Nora tried to recall the excitement she experienced when he had first suggested it.

  “Just imagine, chérie,” he had said, his blue eye glimmering with the prospect. “You and me in our own paradise, separated from the scandal of the rest of the world. No judgements, no distractions. Only each other and our art. We can finally live the life we have always dreamed about.”

  It had been appealing, and it had been truly wonderful at first, but then his work had abruptly consumed his life, and suddenly, it was only Nora and her art rather than the two of them and their art.

  Why does he leave me for such long periods? It was not a fair question to ask herself. Although Nora knew that Jerome didn’t have any other choice, she couldn’t help feeling resentful of him, despite being fully aware that, if she were in his shoes, she would do the exact same thing. If she were given a chance to leave this glass prison and meet with the outside world again, of course she would take it.

  A pang of sadness filled her heart as she entered the master bedroom, slipping her nightgown over her head. Tossing the delicate item aside, she made her way into the spacious dressing room, another skylight illuminating the otherwise dim room.

  Nora wanted to know what time it was, and she glanced around for a clock before remembering that, for being such a splendid home, there were so few clocks in the house.

  Jerome preferred it that way.

  “It is so much better without the constraints of time hanging over our heads, don’t you agree, chérie?” he often said, and Nora agreed with him, just like she always did.

  Day and night were only marked by darkness and light, the hours losing their purpose as she grew more and more reclusive.

  I still have my art, she told herself as she gazed at her naked frame in the mirror. If nothing else, I must remember I still have my art.

  Jerome had once described her as ageless, a timeless beauty of classical proportions with the porcelain skin of a doll and the even features of a Madonna. A tangled mop of ebony hair spilled indifferently along her shoulders, almost touching her slender waist in a mass of unkempt waves.

  Nora put her hands up to examine her reflection, fingertips tracing the lines of her full lips and high cheekbones. She leaned forward, studying the deep brown of her irises as though she could stare into her own soul.

  Are you still in there? she asked herself. Am I still in there?

  A noise in the bedroom caused her to whirl, and she gazed out into the master bedroom to see Alex tidying the chambers, oblivious to her naked employer watching.

  Alex used the feather duster to work along the expensive furnishings, humming softly to herself as music apparently piped into her ears through her earbuds.

  Nora stepped back into the shadows of the dressing room, but she continued to watch the girl do her work. For a moment
, Nora envied her. What she wouldn’t give to be a chambermaid again, emptying chamber pots and living her life as a free woman without the pain she had now.

  Nora shook her head to herself. Where had that thought come from? She had never in her life been a chambermaid.

  I was born into a rich family like a princess who found her handsome prince, she laughed to herself. A prince who swept me away to live in an ice palace.

  “Mademoiselle Nora!”

  She jumped at the startled cry from Alex when she finally noticed she had been watching her work. Nora forced a smile onto her face and showed herself before the young girl, who gaped at her in horror.

  “I did not know you were here! Forgive me!” Alex continued, backing away, but Nora shook her head, her hair bobbing around her.

  “I am glad you are here,” she said. “You can brush my hair before I bathe.”

  Alex popped her earbuds out, her face stained with an embarrassed pink flush.

  “Of course, mademoiselle,” the maid replied, darting her eyes downward. “I’ll find you a robe.”

  Nora waved her hand dismissively.

  “There is no need,” she told Alex. “I will shower directly after.”

  Alex swallowed visibly, but she did not argue as Nora moved toward her before plopping down in the chair facing the vanity. Alex reached for a hair brush so that she could begin.

  “How are you liking it here, Alex?” Nora asked as the girl gently tried to make sense of the mess that was her hair.

  As Nora looked at her reflection, she wondered when was the last time she had brushed her hair? Had she truly wasted away so much time? So many days?

  “Very much, mademoiselle,” Alex quickly answered. “Everyone is so nice here.”