Spellbound, book one
An excerpt
…
Grayson McFarland hid behind a tree almost three times his size. The tree bark was harsh against his tender skin, but he didn’t seem to notice. And even if he did notice, there was nothing he could do. He had not gathered enough boldness to come out of hiding just yet. His gaze traveled past rows of trees and were fixated on his item of interest: a girl, not just any girl, but one who’d held him spellbound since he saw her two days ago.
He’d first seen her on a Monday, he recalled. He’d left home to take a stroll around the forest and get acquainted with nature, and had ended up getting intrigued by a lady who had not even for once glanced in his direction.
Grayson had never been entranced by a girl, and his parents would be overjoyed to know that a girl had occupied his mind for the past few days. They’d been trying to get him hooked with princesses—the most beautiful ones—but their efforts had never been fruitful. The twenty year old Prince of Elslair had apparently barricaded his heart from unwanted visits by maidens. Or so he’d thought.
He watched her from a distance, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. Singing a beautiful song, his lady of interest gathered some fruits into a basket. He sang along in his heart:
Look at her, she’s free
She can do just whatever she wants to do
She can go just wherever
Doesn’t care if it’s far
She’s up for every adventure
She’ll cross every sea
The world is hers to explore
She sails high ‘nd low
‘Cause she’s queen
Nothing to hold her back
Nothing to lose
She’s the queen of the world.
He knew the lyrics all too well, for it was the same song she’d been singing the first day he met her; the same song that had made him aware of her enchanting presence. The mysterious maiden held him spellbound in more ways than one.
Yes, he found her mysterious. Her palms hid behind black gloves, and she was clad in a lackluster floor-sweeping black gown that was no different from the one she’d worn every other day. He hated to admit it, but her dress was as shapeless as a sack. Hell, it wouldn’t even be fitting for an old hag to clothe herself in the likes of it.
But these weren’t what made her mysterious.
Her hair was dark as midnight, straight as a ruler, and its tip hung just above her waist. It seemed to have never met a razor.
But this wasn’t what made her mysterious either.
What made her mysterious was the way her hair formed a solid curtain, perfectly concealing her face. It seemed as though the wind was scared to ruffle her hair. He’d been watching her for two days and was yet to catch a glimpse of her face. He knew she would be a sight to adore, and it pained him that he still had not found the courage to speak to her.
He didn’t know what he wanted; friendship or courtship, but he did know that speaking to her would sure be worth it. Hell, he was a prince and could have anything he wanted. At times like this, he couldn’t help but wonder why he had not inherited even an ounce of his father’s courage. Walking up to a girl shouldn’t be this hard for anyone, especially a drop dead gorgeous prince who happened to be every maiden’s daydream.
Clearing his throat, he stepped out of hiding and inched his way toward her. He’d intended to be stealthy, but the crunching of dry leaves underneath his knee-length leather boots alerted the maiden of his presence.
She gasped, and his heart lurched in response. Without turning around, she darted off, seeking to escape him as though he were a hideous monster. Red apples rolled out of her basket, leaving a trail behind her, but she ran on without slowing her stride.
“Wait!” Grayson shouted after her, trying to catch up. It’d been close to a decade since he last ran, and he knew it was futile to try to catch up with the maiden. He hoped though, that she would halt and give him a chance to speak.
His breath hitched and his lungs burned. His loud heartbeat and an overpowering shortness of breath slowed him down, but he ran on.
“Wait!” he yelled. “Wait, please. I won’t hurt you.”
A tree branch grabbed the skirt of the maiden’s dress, forcing her to halt. Grabbing a fistful of her dress, she tugged at it, but the tree branch held on to it.
Grayson drew nearer to her. He raised his hands and showed her his palms, wordlessly assuring her she was safe with him. “Hey, I can help.”
If she tugged at her dress any further, it would rip. Grayson would be pleased to watch her ruin the sack of a cloth, but as a gentleman he was obliged to help a damsel in distress.
She pulled at the dress once again, ripping off its rim that had been caught by the branch.
Grayson had held out a hand, stepping forward to stop her, but the harm had already been done. The maiden resumed her race, and he bolted after her, paying no attention to the ground.
His foot got caught underneath a log of wood on the ground, and he tripped. He fought to regain his footing, but still he tumbled over and his buttocks landed heavily on the ground.
“Ouch!”
The maiden froze at the sound of his anguished cry. She turned to look at him, and a tingling sensation flooded his veins as their eyes met. She tactfully angled her head in a way that concealed her identity behind her hair. Turning away from him, she ran off.
But Grayson had already seen her eyes. They were amber.
He smirked. “Quite mysterious, aren’t you, my lady?”
***
When Grayson McFarland returned to the forest the next evening, he was certain he would find the maiden. He hid in his usual spot, listening for her footsteps. He was cautious to stay well hidden because he knew she would be at alert after what had happened the previous day.
Darkness was starting to spread across the sky, and there was no sign of Grayson’s mysterious lady.
Perhaps she wouldn’t show up after all.
He sighed. He’d spent the previous night practicing how to approach her.
Perhaps she would never return to the woods because she saw him as a threat? His heart trembled when he thought of that.
“Darn it!” he muttered, slamming his palm into the tree bark. “I should call it a day.”
He turned to leave.
But he halted as a familiar singing voice sailed into his ears from a distance.
Gluing his back to the tree bark, Grayson grinned. His maiden was here.
Her voice drew nearer, filling him with warmth. He had resolved in his heart to get close to her today, and would not settle for less. His heartbeat picked up pace as he thought about a way to approach her.
He imagined stretching out his hand. “Hello, beautiful. I am Grayson McFarland, Prince of Elslair.”
He shook his head. “Can we be friends?”
No, he doubted she would even let him get close enough to speak to her. She would flee the moment he approached her.
“Halt!” he imagined saying. “By order of Grayson McFarland, Prince of Elslair.”
He heard her gasp.
His heart froze, and he thought she’d caught him. He stayed immobile, waiting for her to speak or bolt.
“Cursed twig!” she cursed.
Grayson peeked at her and found her squatting. The fruits she’d gathered had fallen to the ground, so she leisurely picked them up.
Grayson smiled as he saw an opportunity. She had her back to him; that was an advantage.
He thought of tiptoeing to meet her, but on a second thought, he walked confidently. Crouching, he picked up an apple.
The maiden sprang to her feet. “Who are you? Why are you after me? Please, don’t hurt me.”
Her voice quivered with fear, and she kept her gaze fixated on the ground. Her voice was one he’d never get tired of listening to.
“Hurt you?” Grayson asked. “Why would anyone do that? I mean why would I? I’m not a monster.”
He dropped the apple into her basket.
She stepped back. “Please, just go away.”
“Hey, I’m not a monster, I assure you. I just want . . . “
What did he even want? He had no idea. He combed through his hair with his slender fingers and let out a sigh. Talking to a maiden should never be this awkward.
“Look, can I use your company?” he asked.
She shook her head. “No, no, please don’t ask that of me. I am not allowed to talk to you.”
“Me?” he asked. “Do you know me?”
He regretted his question right away. Of course she knew him; everyone did. He was a prince after all, the third most important person in Elslair.
“No,” the maiden said. “I’ve never seen you before.”
Although her answer startled him, he bottled up his emotion and watched her speak on.
“I’m just not allowed to talk to anyone. My mother will kill me if she hears I spoke to a man. I’m not even allowed to look at you.”
Grayson chuckled. “Are you kidding me, lady?”
“Please, just go away!” she yelled. “Stop stalking me. My mother will know I saw someone. She’ll punish me gravely. Please . . . “
It was improbable that she was joking. Grayson knew at this point that she was dead serious. She was visibly trembling.
Although he could not see her face, he could deduce through her voice and her physique that she was a teen. She was probably sixteen or seventeen, but definitely not eighteen.
“You don’t have any friends, do you?” he asked.
She shook her head.
He smiled, reaching out his hand for a shake. “Congratulations then, you have just made your first friend.”
“Are you deaf, sir?” she asked. “Or is it that you are so eager to get me into trouble with my mother?”
“Of course not,” he said. “Why—what?”
“Please, just leave me alone. Forget we ever met.”
“It would be impossible to forget talking to you.”
“I should be home by now.”
“Fine then, I’ll walk you home.”
“No!” she shrieked. “No, you can’t do that. You’ll get me into trouble.”
Grayson smirked. He knew at this point that he had her wrapped around his finger. “Well, my lady, you don’t have many options. It’s either you let me walk you home, or . . . “
He trailed off. He wanted her to speak before he continued.
“Or what?” she asked.
He smiled broadly. “Or you dance with me.”
After a few pensive moments, she sighed softly. “If I dance with you, you must let me go and never bother me again. You must forget we ever met, ever talked, ever danced.”
Grayson smiled inwardly. No way in hell would he agree to that.
“Shall I have this dance?” he asked, bowing.
“Just get on with it already!” she snapped.
Grayson swallowed a lump of uncertainty. He had never danced with a girl, and was uncertain about the first step to take.
Letting his uncertainty melt away, he held her hand in his. His other hand tentatively snaked around her, pulling her a tad closer. He’d seen dancers pose this way, so he knew he was on track. The swaying, he believed, would come naturally.
And it did.
The traditional ballroom dance was a tad awkward and forced at first, but after the first few steps, the awkwardness died down, and they danced gracefully, with a fluidity that made it seem like they’d spent a lifetime rehearsing the dance.
It was true after all, that with a great dancer, anyone—even a rock—could dance. They swayed back and forth, slowly and rather romantically, to a music playing in their heads.
He’d requested for a dance with the hope that he’d be able to catch a glimpse of her face, but it was even more impossible because she exerted more effort in concealing her face. The ease with which she tactfully stayed hidden, even at such close proximity, baffled him beyond imagining. He longed to see those beautiful amber eyes once again.
She seemed so distracted, so engrossed in the dance, and he was tempted to part her hair and behold her beauty. But he knew that would ruin the chance of ever being her friend.
Being with her made him feel complete. He’d always known that something was missing in his life. Although he had everything, there had always been a gaping hole, a depressing void he’d always overlooked. But being with her made the void nonexistent. If he could have a chance to dance with her every other day, his life would be paradisiacal.
She fitted her head in the crook between his neck and shoulder, where it felt more comfortable. Although this position made him give up on seeing her face during the dance, he wasn’t complaining. He savored their closeness. Her face was against his skin, and he ached to be as close to her as he could get.
He’d end the dance with a dip, and she would be unable to hide her face then. He smirked at his intelligence.
He shifted his attention to the texture of her skin. She felt so soft and fragile in his arms, making him want to protect her from the person she was so afraid of. She was unmistakably a damsel in distress, and he would be her knight in shining armor if only she let him.
If only.
She suddenly stopped dancing. “I must go now. My mother . . . “
She slipped out of his arms and stepped away from him. He prayed she wouldn’t sprint like she had the other day.
“Please, may I know your name?” he asked. “I’d like us to meet again . . . to do this again . . . someday.”
She picked up her basket, and he grabbed her left hand just as she made to flee. She snatched her hand out of his hold, stripping it of its black glove.
Grayson’s eyes bulged as they feasted on her ungloved hand.
Her fingers. . .
He blinked to make sure he had seen correctly, and in the split second he’d closed his eyes, she fled.
“Inara!” a hoarse feminine voice called.
The maiden ran in the direction of the voice, her dress flaying in the wind.
Inara? That was her name?
“Wait!” Grayson shouted after her. He knew it would be pointless to try to catch up, so he made no attempt to. He watched her as she ran to meet a maiden her age and they sprinted off. With the maiden’s pitch black hair and slender build, she and Inara looked quite identical from behind. Grayson would be fooled if they were dressed in matching dresses and he was asked to choose his Inara from behind.
Grayson smiled. “Inara.”
He gently held her glove like it were an egg and would crack if he held it tightly. Raising it to his nose, he sniffed it like it were a rose. It did smell like a rose. He made a mental note to return the glove when next he saw her.
She needed the glove to conceal the lifelong mark of inhumanity her left hand bore.
Her ring finger had been chopped off, barely even leaving behind a stump.
Grayson had never beheld a more disturbing sight. He wondered who could have cut off her finger and why. Was it the same person she was so afraid of?
Her mother?
He recalled her words and the way her voice had wobbled with fright.
‘My mother will kill me if she hears I spoke to a man. I’m not even allowed to look at you.‘
‘My mother will know I saw someone. She’ll punish me gravely. Please . . . ‘
‘Are you deaf, sir? Or is it that you are so eager to get me into trouble with my mother?’
‘I must go now. My mother . . . ‘
He had heard tales of evil parents cutting off their children’s fingers to force them into obedience. For close to a decade, his father the king had tried hard to stop such bestiality in the land.
Whoever had chopped off the maiden’s finger would have to pay for such gross malevolence.
Now, Grayson had a reason—other than mere attraction—to keep stalking the maiden. He needed to rescue her from an apparent slavery.
He would not rest till the offender faced the wrath of the law.
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