Blue Rose

By Lena Austin

Princess Zara knows one of royal blood is sometimes forced into political alliances, but what’s wrong with wanting a real Prince Charming? Few princes would want a wife who could best them with any weapon, still, there are more rivals for her hand -- and her father’s kingdom -- than she expects, but only two catch her eye. Prince Bram seems perfect, but he’s more interested in Prince Kennit than Zara. And the nearsighted Kennit isn’t perfect enough -- her father will never approve the marriage.

Prince Kennit knows there’s only one woman for him, but few princesses would find a shape shifting dragon to their liking. When Zara is poisoned, Kennit’s the first to volunteer for the expedition to save the princess, though the quest will lead them deep within the ninth circle of Hell. Zara refuses to be left behind, and Bram’s along for the ride.

Things have changed a little -- okay, a lot -- since the days of Dante’s Inferno. This time the tourists are Zara, the poisoned princess, and her two suitors. Together they must find a single blue rose in the deepest part of Hell before the next full moon, or Zara will run out of time -- and choices.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Changeling Press
• Release date: May 6, 2022

Book preview

Chapter One

Zara shrieked in rage and aimed the next statue from the mantel at her father’s head. The heft of the clay dog might open up his thick skull. I am not a fucking piece of merchandise!

Hang it all, Zara! I don’t like this any more than you do, but I would appreciate the courtesy of being treated like the king now and then! King Ragnar dodged another object and winced as it shattered behind him. Damn it! That was your mother’s favorite.

She’s been dead for twenty-five years. I don’t think she’ll miss it. Zara cast about for something else to use as a weapon, but the more useful items were behind her father’s desk, putting her in reach of his burly arms. Did you already send a herald to announce, ‘One kingdom for sale! Marry the princess and rule Powell Mountains’?

Ragnar snorted, but kept a wary eye on her. Thank goodness I had the sense to rule all persons must be disarmed in my presence, or you’d be hacking at me with your sword. He drew himself up. As a matter of fact, I did indeed issue invitations to the local princes. They should arrive in time for tonight’s feast.

Zara swallowed another shriek and ground her teeth instead. You mean to sell me and the kingdom into marriage quickly, don’t you?

Ragnar’s fingers opened and closed convulsively, and Zara guessed he’d love to have them around her throat. At least I’m giving you a choice of princes, you ungrateful wretch. I could have simply chosen one and delivered you to him trussed up like a goose.

I’d much rather you changed the law that demands this kingdom be ruled by a wedded pair. Just because you got lucky and found Mother while you were children doesn’t make the law right. Zara tossed her thick black braid over her shoulder and slammed out of the door, not waiting for a dismissal. The cold fury on her face magically cleared a path through the corridors before her.

She’d known something was wrong when the guardsmen who usually gave her a sword workout were conspicuously absent from the fields. Not even the sergeant looked her in the eye when he informed her they were all out on field maneuvers for the week. She sailed through the doors leading to the back of the castle and noted the guardsmen had miraculously reappeared from their maneuvers.

Now she knew the why of the lie, and her anger soared even higher to realize her father had ordered all her masculine activities curtailed. Few princes would find a wife charming when she could best them with any weapon. Fewer still would find her preference for masculine clothes alluring.

Zara turned from the now forbidden joys of beer by the smith’s fire, a joint of beef in the barracks, and the clash of metals on the practice field. She knew better than to approach her old friends and cause them to lie to her further. Her eyes stung, not with pain, but more anger than she’d felt in many a year. Her shoulders slumped as she headed for the cliffs to walk as she often did when troubled. The men would read her posture and know that while she didn’t like it, she’d accepted it wasn’t their fault.

The wind and sky played a tempestuous love affair, whipping her comfortable, woven shirt until it plastered against her body, revealing too many feminine curves even in leather pants and vest. She hated her soft skin, though she’d honed fine muscles beneath the easily bruised flesh, of which there always seemed to be too much. Can I help it if I’m as tall as a man, and nearly as broad? Certainly not. I refuse to be one of the court wenches who daintily picks at her food and then throws up what little she does eat for fear of not appearing feminine and delicate. Pahh!

She stepped around a particularly large boulder and beheld a sight so strange it stopped her angry ruminations.

A lanky man stood at the very edge of the cliff, his black cloak seeming to hang in the air as if riding the winds, and his shoulder-length black hair escaped its silver thong to join the cloak in flight. Nothing could be seen of the man’s face, for his back was to Zara, but the whole figure was one of tranquility.

That peace alone intrigued her, for so few could bear the fearful heights, and fewer still dared walk the edge on a day when the winds could yank a full-grown man over the precipice. Either this one was very brave or very crazed.

Zara deliberately slowed her pace, loath to disturb the newcomer. This could only be one of the princes come to court her, and she did not recognize this one. She knew the contemptible lot who’d eagerly attempt to entice her at the feast. Those few who were her age were either full of themselves and their rank, or inbred mouth breathers. None bothered to disguise their lust for her body and her father’s kingdom, which straddled the only known trade route through the mountains. She’d been dodging their blandishments and their hands since she was eight, and could do so again. But this one was different. If his face is as beautiful as that arse, he’d be well ahead of the race.

The newcomer bent and hefted a stuffed leather pack easily twice what she could manage, if she was any judge of its bulges. Whatever was inside was bulky and angular. A fine, long set of biceps, not thick like a smith’s, strained the seams of his unbleached linen shirt, but the hood of his cloak had fallen over his head and obscured his face. Damn.

Zara licked her lips as she felt the dampness between her legs. A fine set of loins, strength, tranquility, and a preference for simplicity in his clothing made the stranger most promising indeed. She’d taken advantage of a drunken soldier long ago to rid herself of her troublesome virginity. He’d not remembered what wench had graced his bed, but the deed had been done no matter how clumsily.

She grinned to herself. Perhaps that might be a way to choose her future husband -- to see who could sport best in the bedchamber. If she had to live with an egotist or an idiot, he should at least be able to give her one benefit. She studied the long line of the black-cloaked stranger and seriously considered the option. No matter how amusing the thought, there weren’t that many chances to dump a foolish husband off the edge of the cliff.

At that moment, the stranger turned and saw her leaning against the gray and white boulder typical of those that dotted her homeland. He bowed, much more gracefully than she’d have thought possible, given the weight of his pack.

As it would be silly to attempt a curtsey in leather pants, Zara bowed in return, and waited until he approached close enough so she didn’t have to shout over the wind. Welcome, Lord Prince. I assume you are one of those who will vie for my hand this evening?

Now that he was closer, she could see a strong jaw and a full lower lip. Indeed, I am, Princess Zara. We met when we were very young, but I doubt you remember the occasion. He took her left hand from atop her sword pommel and kissed it lingeringly.

His mellow baritone voice alone was enough to cause an orgasm. The promise of lips neither too dry nor too moist gliding over the scars on her hands as if they did not exist -- well, this one was rapidly moving to the fore of the pack. Zara cleared her throat and tried not to let on that she nearly shuddered with desire to put this one through his paces. Then you’ll forgive me if I must ask your name. I can’t see your face.

The mysterious prince released her hand with a warm chuckle. Forgive me, Princess. My name is Kennit. As he raised his head, the capricious wind caught the cloak hood and revealed his one flaw. He wore thick glass lenses in an ebony frame.

Oh, damn. Her heart sank to her stomach like a heavy weight and the heat between her legs dried up like an old virgin’s arse. He had to be inbred to be so flawed, and it nearly broke her heart. The priests and doctors all agreed that poor eyesight was a terrible flaw, and passed from parents to children. Her father’s council would rise to a man in protest of a flawed king. Still, those lips tempted her beyond all reason, and she despaired. He’d been so close to perfection.

The disappointment she felt must have shown on her face, for his smile cooled. Those intelligent, grass-green eyes pierced her own plain brown ones as if he would read her mind. We who are of royal blood cannot always have what we want, Princess. Sometimes we must make our own paradise, even in Hell. He bowed in farewell and strode away without waiting for a response.

Zara fell against the rock and watched his huge black cloak billow behind him like wings, giving him a rare grace. The cold wind chilled the flush of something between anger and embarrassment on her cheeks, and the moans of that same blast came up from the cliffs to sound like a banshee’s cries. The last time a real banshee had shrieked a warning, her mother had died, or so they said.

She couldn’t say how long she stood leaning against the icy boulder, contemplating all the alternatives available to her, from saddling her stallion to seek another fate elsewhere, to jumping off the edge to see if the winds rising up the cliffs were really strong enough to carry a man aloft. All seemed the coward’s way out.

Zara had known from birth, of course, that one of royal blood was sometimes forced into political alliances that may include the sport of the bedchamber, and sometimes even a horrible marriage to an old man. She’d known, but had chosen to wish for love, as any foolish female did. What was wrong with wanting a real Prince Charming?

She pounded the boulder with a fist. It wasn’t fair. She hadn’t asked to be born of a king’s lawful marriage. Yet, her father was a good man, and an honest one. He worked from dawn until long after darkness fell engaged in all manner of kingdom business or strategy to keep the people safe despite themselves, for it seemed many were bent upon their own destruction.

The laws her father and his council enacted were easy to live with. Work, don’t harm your fellow man, and pay your taxes. In return for those taxes, the kingdom would see to it the commoners remained safe, healthy, and well fed. Obey the rules, and all was well. What was so difficult about that?

She pushed off the rock. Her first choice was easy. She wanted to stay home. That led to her second choice. Put one foot in front of the other and go see what the options were rather than tangle herself in knots worrying and guessing. And that meant taking a bath and -- she