Sons of Pan

By Victoria Raineri

In this retelling of a classic fairy tale, Queen Vanita looks into her magick mirror and learns that her stepdaughter, the Princess Eirwyn, has surpassed her in her much-coveted beauty, and resolves to kill her. Eirwyn gets chased into the mysterious Argos Forest, where she meets strange creatures and winds up on the most magickal adventure of her life.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Dec 8, 2012
• ISBN: 9781300557296

Book preview

Sons of Pan

Sons of Pan

Book One of the Mythical Fairy Tales

By Victoria Raineri

Acknowledgments

Many thanks to:

My best friend Paige, for being a great friend and my first reader

My fiancé Mike, for always being there for me and loving me as much as I love him

My grandma Marie, for always believing in me and for letting me use her maiden name for my pen-name

My dad Chuck, for everything he does, raising me on his own, and letting me be who I am

My stepmom Cindy, for being my second reader

The Coca-Cola® Company for helping me stay awake through many inspired nights

My many health-care providers for keeping me alive

And any and all readers I have out there

I love you all!

This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Sons of Pan © 2012 Victoria Raineri. All rights reserved.

www.facebook.com/victoriaraineri92

Cover artwork provided by: http://www.public-domain-image.com/

ISBN 978-1-300-55729-6

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Prologue

The queen rushed into her private chambers, slamming the door shut behind her and bolting it. Already it had been too long; she must glimpse her reflection. Her beauty must be admired at length, if not by others then certainly by herself. Turning from the door, her eyes fell upon her full-length mirror, hanging quietly on the wall beside her armoire, and she sighed happily. She began to undress, sliding her lavish clothes from her perfectly sculpted body, removing her ornate crown, and taking down her beautiful hair. Naked, she crossed the room to stand before her mirror. She smiled as her eyes met themselves in the reflection. She was perfection. Her eyes were limpid pools of deep, clear blue. Her skin was fair and free of any nasty blemishes, and it covered long, lush curves of a trim but very womanly figure. Her hair was a beautiful gold, the color of ripe summer corn, and it fell in silky waves down to her curvy, slender waist. At her core there was a managed little triangle of blonde curls, and even at the age of forty-five, her breasts were perky and full with blush-colored nipples. Her stomach was smooth without being too flat and had an attractive suppleness.

I am so beautiful, she purred, sliding her long, slender hands over her body. Surely no one in the land is more beautiful than I. Indeed, no one in the world!

Her perfectly shaped, coral-colored lips turned up in a satisfied smile as she gazed into her own eyes. Yes, surely no one was more beautiful; but there was a way she could be absolutely certain. Spreading her arms wide, she spoke aloud an incantation:

"Mirror, mirror, on my wall,

Who is the fairest one of all?

With hair so long, and skin so fair,

With eyes so blue, and my golden hair

With body so lush, so young and tight

With voice so perfect and weight so light

With straightest nose, and eyebrows thin

With such white teeth, and strong smooth chin

Mirror, mirror, speaker of truth

Tell me now, bring me proof

Who it is that is fairest in this land

I know it must be my graceful hand

Your Queen demands it, her right by birth,

Tell me now and bring me my mirth

Mirror, mirror, on the wall,

Who is the fairest of them all?"

She smiled at her reflection again, sure the mirror would tell her, as it always did, that it was she, and only she, who was fairest. Her reflection seemed to ripple like water in the mirror, and as the ripples settled, a voice issued forth. The voice was expected; its words were not, and they shocked her to the core.

"My Queen Vanita, though I serve only you,

As you’ve said, my words must be true

Though beautiful you are, tall and fair

One more beautiful still is out there

The maiden Eirwyn, named so by night

By her snow-white skin and green eyes so bright

By her ebony hair and melodious voice

And her blood-red lips, she can be my only choice

Vanita, you are fair, ‘tis true:

But the maiden Eirwyn is more fair than you."

Eirwyn?! Vanita shrieked. Her stepdaughter?! It could not be so! She pulled her red silk dressing robe over herself and rushed to her bedroom window. Her window afforded a breathtaking view of the castle grounds, the town beyond them, and the forest beyond even that. But this was not the focus of the queen’s gaze. Far below her, cleaning the castle steps, was her stepdaughter, the Princess Eirwyn. Her long, ebony-black hair was pulled back into a bun so that it wouldn’t fall on the dirty stone steps. A scowl settled into the queen’s lips. Vanita despised her stepdaughter, and as soon as her husband had died, she had made the princess don the peasant clothes of the servants and serve her as one. Despite being a princess, Eirwyn did not seem to mind the labor, and often even sang cheerfully while she performed her duties. Her voice was beautiful, her sense of pitch flawless. She was gracious and kind, hard-working and beautiful. Everyone loved Eirwyn, the servants, the peasants, the nobility…everyone except Vanita. Eirwyn invoked in her a loathing she had never known for anyone else. It had not stopped her from marrying the girl’s father, the King Brenin, to gain a royal title, of course. But Vanita considered Eirwyn the biggest drawback to her marriage to the king. Brenin had adored his daughter, and brought her home wonderful gifts from his travels, read her stories, and played with the child in what the queen considered overindulgence. In her opinion, children were only good for chores that parents didn’t want to do themselves or that servants were too old to do. When Brenin had died of illness, Vanita had only kept Eirwyn because the rest of the kingdom would definitely have noticed if their princess had suddenly vanished. Begrudgingly she still had to let the princess live in the castle—after all, it really was Eirwyn’s.

But no longer! the queen hissed to herself. No, Eirwyn could no longer stay here. She had become fairer than the queen herself; she must disappear for that indiscretion. And come to think of it, the child was about to turn her twentieth year; her official coronation was on her twentieth birthday, tomorrow. Vanita loved being queen and did not want to hand over the throne to a young girl whose face would be remembered while hers would not. She must act now to rid herself of this usurper. But how?

She strode from the window, pacing the room, thinking hard. She would have to do this subtly. It must appear accidental. The peasants would likely revolt if they knew their beloved princess had been murdered…

She started as the thought drifted through her mind so easily. Murdered? Did she wish Eirwyn dead? It took her less than a few seconds to decide, with no remorse, that yes, she did. But she could not do it herself. She would need someone whose profession it was to kill…someone she could convince to undertake this decidedly treacherous task…

She snapped her fingers as inspiration struck. That was it! Hurriedly replacing her crown upon her head, she rushed to her door and unbolted it, flinging it open and commanding the handmaiden waiting outside to bring to her the head huntsman, a strong, capable man that she knew lusted for her. She smiled slyly to herself. This was going to be simple.

***

You called for me, my queen? asked the huntsman, kneeling before Vanita in her bedchamber moments later. He was struggling to keep his gaze lowered in proper respect; he was trying his best not to steal glances at her miraculous beauty.

Yes, Ryan. Vanita paced her room, gazing thoughtfully at the huntsman. I have need for you.

Whatever I can do, m’lady, he murmured, bowing his head.

She sat down on her huge bed, smiling a cold but seductive smile at him. "Whatever you can do…or whatever you’re willing to do?" she asked, her tone scornful.

"Your will is my command, m’lady!" he said powerfully, his head snapping back up, his eyes seeking hers almost desperately. His reaction was more passionate than he wanted to appear, but he felt unable to control himself in her presence. The queen made his blood run hot. It was a strange man indeed who would not want to bed the queen. She was a beautiful, almost ethereal creature. Truly, a man would have to be a homosexual to not want to find himself between her long, smooth thighs. His forehead beaded with sweat as this vivid image came to mind and he hastily looked away again.

You must really mean that for the task I ask of you, Ryan, she said, wrapping her hand around a tall wooden bedpost and stroking it suggestively. She had to stifle a giggle as she saw the flash of lust in his eyes. Men were so easy to manipulate. Their minds truly were only on one thing.

Anything, m’lady, he almost croaked.

She stood then, making sure her dressing robe accidentally slipped to allow him a glimpse of her bare shoulder beneath. Then, Ryan, come close to me, she purred.

He almost fell on his face as he hastily jumped up from where he knelt on the floor. He walked close to her, but not too close, trying to keep a shred of respect and dignity in her presence. She closed the space between them and wrapped her arms around him. His arms automatically went around her in response.

You want me, don’t you, Ryan? she asked in a whisper.

He groaned slightly, and, not trusting himself to speak, nodded.

Maybe you can have me… she murmured, leaning in to slowly kiss his neck, then lick it. Maybe you can slip that hardness I feel against my leg into my body…

He groaned again, trying with all his might to not throw her down onto her bed and mount her. It wouldn’t do to force himself onto the queen, after all. It looked as though if he did as she asked, he would even have permission to do what he had most wished to do since King Brenin had first brought her to the castle.

But, she said, stepping away from him suddenly, before you are allowed my body, you must do something for me.

A-Anything, m’lady, he stammered, slightly dazed.

She smiled. Very well then, she said, her tone suddenly business-like. You, my dear Ryan, must kill my stepdaughter. Only then will you be allowed my body.

He straightened, shock snapping him out of his reverie. Kill Princess Eirwyn? he asked. But…I cannot do that! That would be treason!

She stepped quite close again and took his hand, slowly licking a finger with her soft pink tongue before sucking it into her warm, moist mouth. He moaned, and the next moment he was left breathless when she took that same hand and slid it under her silky robe so that he was actually touching her magnificent flesh. His mind went almost blank, filled only with hazy, lustful thoughts. She let him stroke her a moment, closing her eyes and moaning a little herself, before she opened her eyes and pulled away again, leaving him trembling with barely-contained desire.

That task, Ryan?

There was a moment’s pause. Then:

It…it shall be done, my lady.

Vanita smiled triumphantly.

Good. Here’s the plan…

Chapter One

Eirwyn woke suddenly with a terrified gasp on the dawn of her twentieth birthday. She shot up in her bed, shaking in the semi-darkness, trying to remember the dream she’d been having. It had been strange, and petrifying. It had involved the enchanted Argos Forest that lay at the edge of the town, creating one of its borders. She vaguely recalled from the dream ghostly shapes of sunlight through leaves, and a mystical creature, half human, half something else. And there had been a knife; she had the distinct impression of a sharp dagger, intent on her death. She shivered and drew the covers tighter around her body. That had probably been what had woken her, trying to escape that dark intent. She drew deep breaths, slowly and evenly, trying to calm her rapidly beating heart and steady her nerves. After a few moments, she began to feel a little calmer. Getting up from her bed, she crossed the room to where a goblet and a pitcher of cool water sat upon her chest of drawers. She poured herself a gobletful of the clear cool liquid and took a long drink, then moved toward her window and pulled aside the curtain.

On the horizon the sky was a symphony of dawn colors, pinks and oranges blended with soft light blues as well as darks. She opened the window and leaned on the sill, breathing in the crisp, chilled air of the early morning. The spring was still young; not all of the trees had regrown their leaves, but those that had were brilliantly green and beautiful. The grass was coming back too, in its own lively shades of spring green. She gazed down at the castle grounds. There were already servants, busy with early morning chores, scurrying about; some maids were hanging sheets on clotheslines where the sun would soon shine on them, while others were tending to the gardens, trying to coax some flowers back up from the resurrecting earth.

She turned her gaze toward the stables, on the far side of the grounds. Stable boys were already lining up to start grooming and feeding the horses and clean their stables. A smile lit her lips. It was a little earlier than usual, but she could take her daily ride now. She was sure the stable boys would appreciate her taking her beautiful champagne mare, Phoebe, out from under their feet earlier than usual. Phoebe was a little difficult for the stable hands to handle. She was a bit free spirited, and didn’t like just anyone. She had actually been a gift to Eirwyn from her father, who had had a feeling when he bought her that they would get along famously. And he had been right; Phoebe had taken to Eirwyn like no other, and was calmest when they were together. Her captivating golden coat color and deep, knowing hazel eyes had led Eirwyn to name her after the Greek Titaness of light, intellect and prophecy.

Eirwyn took another drink from her goblet and nodded to herself. Yes, taking her ride now would be perfect. The sky promised a beautiful, clear day, and it would be nice and refreshing. She closed her window and crossed her room to her armoire. Opening the door, she started rummaging through her clothes, which were decidedly less fancy than they had been when her father had been alive. Her stepmother, Vanita, had disliked Eirwyn since they’d met, and when her father had died, Vanita had seized the chance to take from Eirwyn as many symbols of her royal status as she could. But she couldn’t take everything. Her clothes, yes. Her jewelry, including her tiara, yes. Her makeup, yes. But the residents of the kingdom remained loyal to Eirwyn, not Vanita, and Eirwyn knew that today, she would take back her kingdom from her stepmother’s rule. She was the royal heir, of true royal blood, and her father had set it up so that on the onset of her twentieth year, she would inherit her kingdom. Eirwyn wasn’t exactly bitter about her stepmother’s rule, but she was frustrated. Vanita cared more for herself and her beauty than for the kingdom. She loved being queen, but she didn’t monitor the people at all, their health, their agriculture, whether they were making profit through their trades, nothing. She spent most of her days sitting before a mirror, staring at herself. When she wasn’t doing that, she was usually strolling the castle grounds leisurely or bossing around servants. Eirwyn tried to keep tabs on her kingdom behind her stepmother’s back. Frequently, her daily rides involved going around the town, keeping track of trade, making sure her people were fed and happy, checking in on the shopkeepers, artisans and farmers, and making visits to the school to follow the education of her people. Luckily her people were intelligent and knew how to handle themselves even without a proper royal head at the helm, so the kingdom wasn’t in shambles, but they could definitely be doing better. Eirwyn was looking forward to taking charge and making her kingdom a better place.

She pulled from her armoire a white chemise, a plain black skirt and a matching bodice. Turning to face her mirror, she held the clothes up to her body and examined how they looked. As she stared at her own reflection, her eyes traveled over her hair, her face, and her lips especially, and her thoughts strayed to the story of her birth and name. She’d been told the story by her father many times when she was younger, whenever she would get depressed about her mother’s death.

Eirwyn’s name literally meant snow white. Her mother, Queen Cerys, had been childless and was often lonely when her husband Brenin would leave on business trips, as he must, being the king. She had tried bearing children before, but something had been wrong with her body, so they had all ended in miscarriages. One night, in the dead of winter, her mother had been sitting by an open window, sewing by the light of a warm fire. She had pricked her finger with the needle, and her blood had spilled onto the pristine white snow that had fallen on the ebony-black sill. Cerys, having been told earlier that day that she’d had another miscarriage, had reacted very emotionally, breaking down into hysterical tears and yelling out into the night for any god or goddess to hear, begging them to for once, let her bear a child. She especially wished, at that moment, for a child with ebony-black hair, white-as-snow skin, and lips red as her own blood. Whoever had heard her seemed to have taken pity, for when her apothecary came to visit the next day for an examination, the fetus had been miraculously resurrected, and as time went on, it seemed that this time it would turn out to be a healthy birth. However, Cerys, most likely from sitting by an open window on a cold winter night, had become gravely ill, and it seemed she wouldn’t live to give birth to her child. But another miracle somehow allowed her to survive the entire pregnancy, and early the following spring, she gave birth to a healthy baby girl. When Cerys saw that her infant daughter had red lips, white skin, and black hair, she had laughed weakly, quietly whispering that gods and goddesses must truly exist. She lived long enough to give her the name Eirwyn, in reference to the newborn’s snow-white skin, but an hour later, had died with her daughter in her arms; between the illness and the birthing, her body had simply been too weak to go on.

Brenin had grieved greatly over the loss of his beloved wife, but had been happy to at least finally have a child born of their union, and loved Eirwyn with all his heart. He had really only married Vanita so that there would be someone to handle his affairs while he was gone on his business or hunting trips. He respected her as his wife but had once told Eirwyn that he couldn’t love anyone the way he had loved Cerys. As a child, Eirwyn had often blamed herself for her mother’s death and had constantly feared her father would one day stop loving her for it, but as she had grown, she had come to understand that her mother’s death had been inevitable, and appreciated that her mother had loved her so much, even before she was born, that she had fought a looming death long enough to give Eirwyn life. It may have seemed strange to others, but Eirwyn loved her mother dearly even though she had never known her, and visited her grave often with prayers and flowers.

She shook her head, clearing these thoughts from her mind, and took off her nightgown to dress in the chemise, skirt and bodice, pulling on her riding boots under her petticoats. She brushed back her long ebony hair into a half-queue and pulled on a dark woolen cloak, as it was chilly out. Taking a last glance in the mirror, she smiled and left her bedchamber. She hurried through the opulent castle, giving cheerful hellos to passing servants and hearty thanks at their happy birthday wishes. She was at the castle doors when a voice called out to her.

Going out for your daily ride, Princess?

Eirwyn smiled at the voice and turned to greet her friend, Gwen. Gwen was a maid about the same age as Eirwyn. They had grown up together in the castle, and they were best friends. Gwen was a rather short girl, with hair as blonde as Eirwyn’s was black and freckles all over her pale face. Her eyes were brown and kind, and today they seemed to sparkle mischievously.

Of course, Gwen, where else would I be going this early? she said, hugging Gwen.

Trying to run away from your birthday? Gwen suggested teasingly.

Now why would I do that? laughed Eirwyn. You know I’ve been looking forward to this day for years.

Oh I know, said Gwen. But you always get so embarrassed about the fuss we commoners make over you on your birthdays.

That’s because you do things like host balls or such without telling me, and I’m always caught underdressed, she grinned. So then, what’s planned for today, my coming of age birthday?

A feast! Gwen said without hesitation. All the kingdom is invited. And there shall be a party and dancing as well. In short, as large a celebration as we can muster.

Really? asked Eirwyn. Vanita’s not going to like that.

Oh, Vanita can go chew a rat’s bottom, said Gwen, prompting a laugh from her friend. It’s your twentieth birthday and the day of your coronation. By tonight you’ll be our new queen! So Vanita can just step aside. It’s high time she did that anyway.

I must say I agree, smiled Eirwyn. Well, I’m going to take my ride and check up on the townspeople. I’ll be back in plenty of time for the celebration.

Okay. Be safe out there, Princess, said Gwen, curtseying.

I shall, said Eirwyn, and she pulled her cloak a little more tightly around her shoulders