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  Swan Lake:

  Timeless Fairy Tales Book 7

  By K. M. Shea

  Copyright © K.M. Shea 2016

  SWAN LAKE

  Copyright © 2016 by K. M. Shea

  Cover design by Myrrhlynn

  Edited by Jeri Larsen and Bethany Kaczmarek

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any number whatsoever without written permission of the author, except in the case of quotations embodied in articles and reviews.

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

  www.kmshea.com

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1: On Being a Swan

  Chapter 2: Unwanted Intruder

  Chapter 3: The Noble Trio

  Chapter 4: Mollifying Moths

  Chapter 5: Rothbart’s Castle

  Chapter 6: Imperial Introductions

  Chapter 7: The Wyvern

  Chapter 8: The Lady Enchantress

  Chapter 9: Modifying the Curse

  Chapter 10: Ambushed

  Chapter 11: To Arms

  Chapter 12: A Kindness

  Chapter 13: The Clients

  Afterword

  Chapter 1

  On Being a Swan

  Odette missed her fingers the most. That was probably the worst part about not being human—the inability to grasp things and pick them up. But then, she really missed her legs, too, and her arms of course…so perhaps Odette just missed being human. Irritated, she dragged her orange beak through her white feathers as she floated on the lake’s surface and waited impatiently for the sun to set.

  There’s much to do tonight. The first of the casks have arrived; they’ll need to be inspected. If they leak, it will be a disaster.

  The thick forest that surrounded most of Swan Lake hid the setting sun, but Odette could tell by the darkly stained sky that it wasn’t much more than a sliver on the horizon. She bobbed up and down in the water and watched a large white swan peck a fluffy gray fledgling—a cygnet—the only one of their flock.

  Zina got back from her solo run to Torrens. I’ll need to hear her report and make arrangements to receive the rest of our payment from the client.

  The water beneath Odette’s white swan body glowed. Droplets of water began to float, levitating in the air, thanks to the magic that churned around her like a current. Bells clanged, and her wings pulled back as water encircled her in a smooth cocoon. Light shone everywhere, and the pang of her body stretching out was a familiar comfort. Her feet—her wonderfully useful human feet—touched the sandy bottom of the lake, and the light faded.

  Odette had swapped her white swan feathers for barely-tamed, dirty-water-blonde hair. Her eyes were no longer dark but a bright hazel. She stood knee-high in water, surrounded by people where previously there had been swans.

  Odette stretched her arms out in front of her, feeling the peculiarity of her human limbs compared to her swan wings. “Nadia.”

  Nadia, a blank-faced woman with dark brown hair that hung over her eyes, nodded. “Roll Call. Pyotr and Dima.”

  Odette tugged at the waist of her trousers. Unlike the rest of the girls, clothed in white blouses and black pinafores after the nightly transformation from swan to human, Odette always found herself in black trousers and a white silk shirt like the men of their group.

  Not that she minded. Male attire was much easier to move around in.

  Dima—the young boy brimmed with what could only kindly be called vitality—ran up and down the shoreline like a dog. He grabbed a handful of berries. “Can I eat this?” He almost shoved them in his mouth before Pyotr, a mountain of a man who had a craggy face to match, caught his fist.

  “We’re here,” he rumbled.

  Odette sloshed her way out of the lake and shook water from her feet. Swan Lake was a heart-shaped body of water that fed a reasonably large river. Odette and her people camped at the “top” of the heart so to speak, near the ruins of several walls and a crumbling pavilion.

  She eased her way across the rocky shoreline, wincing when she stepped on a pointy pebble, and grabbed a pair of black boots arranged by a dilapidated wall. She sat on the wall and pulled her boots on as Nadia continued with the roll call, and everyone left the lake. Once her boots were on, she began the laborious process of slipping her daggers into place. The smallest goes under the left wrist, one in the thigh bandolier, two on the belt, one in each boot…

  “All here,” Nadia said, “except for one team: Rapid Flight.”

  Odette fussed with her last dagger, then pushed back one of the top stones of the wall and pulled out a leather ledger covered with cloth. She opened it and assessed their schedule. “Good. They won’t be returning until tomorrow night. Can you see the Far Flung Flock off? They’ll be flying some trinkets from our drop-off station in Castle Brandis of Arcainia to the capital of Loire.”

  “Of course.” Nadia bobbed a curtsey—which was a little awkward due to her sopping skirts—then strode off for the group of five.

  Odette slapped the logbook against her thigh as she stood, inspecting her little band of spelled smugglers.

  There were twenty-three of them, but rarely were they all at Swan Lake—their headquarters—as at least a band or two were out on deliveries and smuggling runs.

  Something exploded, and the ground shook. Across the large lake—near the tip of the heart—a plume of black smoke leaked from the creaky castle settled on a craggy island. The castle could only be reached by a rail-less wooden bridge that stretched over one of the deepest parts of the lake.

  Misha, who shared the role of Odette’s second-in-command with Nadia, joined her on the shore. “Rothbart’s on the move.”

  “Yes.” Odette tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear as the black smoke drifted across the bridge, following Rothbart wherever he stormed. She narrowed her eyes and watched until the smoke disappeared into the forest surrounding the lake. “Good riddance.”

  Rothbart was the sorcerer who had cursed them, all of them, to be swans during the day. He had collected them over the years—Odette was among the first to be cursed—not out of anger, but for the twisted reason that he was trying to perfect the curse and wanted practice.

  Odette fluffed up the sleeves of her white silk shirt and adjusted the collar, which was scratchy with embroidery, then stalked down the shoreline. “The casks for our Farset clients made it, I see.”

  “Indeed.” Misha—tall like a bean pole—followed her with his long, loping stride. “Gala and Iosif watched from the sky as the men brought the kegs here, as you instructed.”

  “Were there any problems?”

  “With the casks? None.”

  “Excellent. Ah, yes. Here we are.” Odette twitched back the burlap draped over three drink-filled barrels. The casks contained an ètonse philtre—a draught that froze the hearts of those who drank it and filled them with a love of dancing. A leather satchel full of letters collected from the wanderers—their clients—accompanied the casks. They were to deliver it with the philtre.

  She picked up the ripped scrap of paper they’d left on top a barrel, held down by a rock.

  Black Swan Smugglers: Your monthly delivery

  Odette growled. “Why does everyone insist on calling us by that asinine name?”

  “Because you brained the last bloke who called us the Swan Lake Smugglers,” Misha said.

  Odette crouched and ran her fingers over the barrels, searching for leaks or weak spots. “It’s for our protection. We don’t want people to know we’re swans during the day.”

  Odette’s smugglers had become the best on
the continent, but it was a tricky honor. A few—a very limited few—of their clients were aware of their cursed existence, and she preferred to keep that number as small as possible.

  “I agree, as I did when you brained the aforementioned bloke,” Misha said. “Though I do think calling us the Black Swan Smugglers is harmless. I suspect our name came about more as a romanticism and less of a meaningful moniker, as none of us are actually black swans.”

  Odette prodded at the next barrel. “Anything else to report? Did Zina say anything about her drop-off?”

  “Ah—that is to say—I am unsure; Nadia was going to speak to her. However, Gala and Iosif did report an issue outside of the cask delivery.”

  Odette squinted up at Misha. “Did Iosif gawk at a town’s girl again? Gala should dump his tail feathers. He’s got wandering eyes that aren’t likely to be still until he grows up.”

  Gala and Iosif, while just three years younger than Odette’s nineteen, had been the last of the “swan experiments” Rothbart had performed and had been with the Black Swan Smugglers for barely two years. As such, their maturity was somewhat…lacking.

  “No. Gala was almost shot down.”

  Odette rocked back on her heels. “What?”

  “While they were in flight near Tsona Palace, a hunting party fired at them. They altered their course so they were out of range and continued on, sustaining no injuries.”

  Odette rubbed her eyes. “We’ll have to train for flight maneuvering again during the day.”

  “Iosif said he believed the party was led by Prince Yakov. He could see the Wolf insignia on some of the horses’ tack, and guards were present.”

  Prince Yakov—one of two offspring of Emperor Yevgeniy and Empress Sonya of Kozlovka—was notorious for his love of hunting. This was not the first near-death encounter Odette’s smugglers had with the prince. Misha had nearly been taken down the year before, and grandfatherly Gleb had been grazed by one of his arrows.

  Odette chewed on her lower lip. “I’ll have to pay a visit to our dear prince.”

  Misha peered at her out of the corner of his eye. “As a human?”

  Odette went back to inspecting the kegs. “Yep. He needs to be warned off.”

  “I see. While I agree, I do beg you to leave him mostly intact. He shall be our emperor someday.”

  Odette shook her head. “It’ll be fine. I’ll just scare him. If it doesn’t work, we’ll take more drastic measures, though. Imperial Prince or not, I’ll not see one of my people sacrificed because he has a passion for wild game.”

  Prince Alexsei—the second child of Emperor Yevgeniy and Empress Sonya—slipped inside the smaller feasting hall of the Tsona Palace. The hall was packed with people and hummed with music. Tables and chairs had been pushed into every spot imaginable.

  “Your Highness, how good it is to see you!”

  Alexsei smiled and offered a small bow to the elderly countess who had spoken to him.

  “Your Highness, Prince Alexsei—you’ve come just in time!” Rufina, a beautiful young lady with flashing dimples, waltzed up to Alexsei and fastened her hands around his right arm. “Servants are bringing food from the kitchen as we speak, but Benno said there will be dancing after we eat!”

  “Wonderful!” Alexsei said. “If Benno’s predictions come true, could I bother you for a dance later, Lady Rufina?”

  She giggled. “Certainly! You are such a wonderful dancer. I shall enjoy it! Much more so than if your brother asked me. He is so flashy, it is positively mortifying!” Although Rufina’s words were a chastisement, she craned her neck to gawk in Yakov’s direction, her eyes bright.

  Ah, yes, another victim to Yakov’s charm. “If you ask him before the dinner begins, I am certain he would be glad to serve as your partner as well.” Alexsei winked when she peeled her eyes from Yakov long enough to gape at him.

  Rufina blushed. “I-I never said I wanted to dance with your brother! His Imperial Highness is too demonstrative.”

  Alexsei gave her a lopsided grin. “If you don’t ask him right away, he’ll be bogged down in requests.”

  Rufina jutted her lower lip out in a pout. “Oh, you!” She flashed him a smile and stood on tip-toe to kiss his cheek. “You are a gem. I want to sit next to you for dinner—don’t forget!” As quickly as she arrived, she was gone, darting between poufy dresses and moving in Yakov’s direction.

  Alexsei made the rounds—chatting comfortably with lords and ladies, bringing smiles wherever he went. Right before dinner was to be served, he gave himself a moment of repose and lingered by a wall.

  “You don’t have to entertain everyone. You know that, yes?”

  Alexsei turned towards the familiar voice with a smile. “Benno, I was looking for you.”

  Lady Benno, Alexsei’s childhood friend, knew him and Yakov as if she were their sister. She had brown eyes that turned black when she was angered, sandy brown hair, and impeccable taste in fashion. Alexsei was vaguely aware that she was considered sturdier than the rest of the court ladies, but she kept up with him and Yakov when no one else could, and she always looked lovely in whatever she wore, so Alexsei saw only beauty in her.

  Benno picked a stray string off her beautiful olive-colored gown—a dead ringer for the gowns Princess Elle of Loire was making popular across the continent. “And now you’ve found me.”

  “How goes the party? Any ruffled feathers?”

  “None—though none of your brother’s critics have shown up yet. Then, I’m sure, you’ll get a chance to shine. Yakov must have been born under a lucky star to have you as his younger brother.”

  Yakov—still hidden by the circle of females—laughed loudly, causing a twitter among almost all the eligible females. Benno frowned in his direction, her eyes narrowed.

  “Not at all,” Alexsei said. “It is I who am fortunate to be related to him.”

  “Your pretty manners and charms won’t sway my opinion, Your Highness.” Benno said. “You are the royal peace keeper.”

  As usual, Benno had jabbed at the center of the matter without tact.

  Yakov excelled in nearly everything and had quite a polarizing effect—he was popular with many of the young ladies and lords, but several powerful peers of the realm scorned him. Alexsei, on the other hand, was universally liked by all. He did not inspire the loyalty and passion that Yakov did, but it could be conceded that he didn’t have a single enemy. He was too likeable and—in all probability—too bland for anyone to see as a threat.

  Alexsei took a chalice of juice from a servant. “Perhaps, but I like my role. If I can aid Yakov by way of preserving peace, I will gladly do it.”

  Benno tipped her head back and slanted her lips to show how unimpressed she was.

  “Lexsei, darling, there you are.” Empress Sonya swept up to the pair, the full skirts of her plum-colored dress making barely a whisper of noise. “I’m taking bets—which girl do you think will pull the first punch?”

  Alexsei blinked. “Whatever do you mean, Mother?”

  “Your Imperial Majesty,” Benno murmured and curtsied.

  Empress Sonya clasped her hands, the picture of femininity as she tilted her head, sending her lovely blonde hair, laced with strands of silver, tumbling over her shoulders. “The girls surrounding Yakov. Surely one of them will soon be irritated by the others and moved to violence. Which one do you think will break and start the fight? I favor the one in blue—she looks scrappy.”

  Alexsei sighed in resignation and chastised, “Mother.”

  “And once again, my wit goes unappreciated. It’s a shame neither of my children have a sense of humor between them. You could have at least chuckled, Benno; I know you think I am right.”

  Benno pursed her lips as she studied Yakov’s retinue. “I do not laugh, because I am pondering which girl might do as you say and win me a few coins.”

  Alexsei’s mother threw back her head in a musical laugh. “That’s my girl. Are you certain you don’t wish to marry Yakov or Alexsei?
It hurts my soul to know you will not join our family.”

  “I fear if I were to marry either of your offspring, I would eventually be forced to kill him—Yakov at a much sooner date than Alexsei.”

  Alexsei sighed and sipped his juice. Mother always gets out of sorts when Father is gone. She must be missing him.

  “It’s a shame. You would suit Yakov—and he needs settling.”

  “Settling?” Alexsei asked.

  “Yes. He needs to be married—you should be thinking of marriage as well, but Yakov has put it off long enough. He needs to find a bride and produce heirs.” Empress Sonya narrowed her eyes at her eldest son and his throng of admirers.

  Knowing Yakov would protest if he heard their mother’s thoughts, Alexsei wisely kept silent and sipped his drink.

  “It’s something to think over at another time—one must be careful in choosing whom they love,” Empress Sonya said. “Lexsei, darling, can I count on you to escort me?”

  “Yes, Mother.”

  “Benno, Yakov is to be your escort, is he not?”

  “He is.”

  “Marvelous! Let me have a moment with the chamberlain, and dinner will be served.” With the grace of a deer, Empress Sonya was off, full of smiles and cheer, and just as dazzling as her eldest son.

  Alexsei toasted Benno. “Good luck claiming him.”

  Benno shrugged. “He will find me. And if he does not, I will loudly discuss his childhood with Empress Sonya and recall the shamefully long stretch of years in which he often made himself sick by eating random plants picked off the ground.”

  Alexsei chuckled. He handed his empty chalice to a servant and moved towards the back of the room. There, a number of doors opened out to the palace garden, letting the cool spring air sweep into the over-packed hall.

  He stepped outside and suppressed a shiver. Cheerful, flickering torches and silver moonlight lit the garden, but it was cooler at Tsona Palace than in the capital.

  Tsona Palace had been the summer residence when Alexsei and Yakov were boys. Now Yakov lived in Tsona whenever possible, as it boasted the best hunting lands. Located near the mountain range that marked the Verglas border, Tsona often experienced Verglas’s extra crisp weather as it sneaked over the range and swept through the surrounding hills.