Chapter 69 Laurent
sixty-nine
Laurent
The forest breathed differently now. I stood at its edge, watching sunlight filter through leaves that had once been gnarled and twisted with corruption but now stretched toward the sky with vibrant life.
A week had passed since we’d broken the curse, since we’d reclaimed our human forms and our kingdom, since Isabeau had bound us all together with a magic older than time itself.
My fingers traced the claiming mark on my shoulder, still warm to the touch, still pulsing with the connection to my brothers, to Alain, and most importantly, to her. Everything had changed, and yet somehow, I couldn’t shake the feeling that the most significant transformations were yet to come.
Marcel and Bastien stood nearby, their naked bodies dappled in shadow and light as they surveyed what had once been our prison and was now our kingdom reborn.
We’d come far enough from the castle that servants wouldn’t stumble upon us, yet close enough to see its gleaming spires rising above the treeline.
The last thing we needed was to scandalize the staff who were still adjusting to serving princes again after decades of imprisonment.
“The stonemasons have nearly finished the modifications to the throne room,” Marcel said, his voice carrying that edge of authority he’d never lost even as a beast. “Five thrones instead of two. Father insisted.”
“Five fucking thrones,” Bastien muttered, though I detected no real anger in his tone. Just his usual bristling at change, at formality. “Like we’re all going to sit there in a neat little row.”
I smiled, knowing Bastien would sooner prowl the perimeter of the throne room than sit still during court. “It’s symbolic. A statement to the kingdom that we rule as one.”
That was the compromise our parents had reached.
They would step aside, allowing us to rule the Enchanted Realm together, with Alain as the bridge between our kingdom and Durand.
The claiming bond made us one in the ways that mattered most, but the rest of the world needed visual reminders, physical manifestations of power and connection.
“King Geraint seemed skeptical,” Marcel observed, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “Though he couldn’t argue with the results.”
The King of Durand had returned to his own kingdom three days ago, taking most of his men with him.
The alliance between our realms had been reestablished with formal treaties that acknowledged the sovereign nature of the Enchanted Forest and its magic while establishing mutually beneficial trade agreements.
Decades of separation had changed both kingdoms, created different needs and priorities, but the foundations of friendship remained.
“Alain promised to return to Durand within a fortnight,” I reminded them, thinking of how the youngest prince of Durand had looked torn as he watched his father leave.
“He needs to settle affairs about magic there first before we discuss our alliance,” Alain stepped forward.
Bastien snorted, kicking at a fallen branch. “You mean come to terms with you sharing a bed with three other men and a woman isn’t a reason to disown you.”
“Bastien,” Marcel warned, though we all knew there was truth in the statement. Royal marriages were complicated enough when they involved only two people from different kingdoms. Our arrangement defied all convention, all precedent.
“King Geraint understands more than you give him credit for,” I said, remembering the private conversation I’d had with the aging monarch before his departure.
His shrewd eyes had assessed me not as a beast or even a prince, but as one of the men who had claimed his son’s heart.
“He cares more for Alain’s happiness than for tradition. ”
“And I am not the heir to the throne. My brother gains Durand,” Alain added. “My merge here benefits our kingdom too.”
The forest rustled around us, a gentle breeze carrying the scent of wildflowers and fresh earth.
In just a week, the land had transformed itself beyond recognition.
Where once stood dead trees and poisoned soil now flourished life in every form.
The magic ran deep, repairing damage that had festered for decades under Enid’s curse.
Most remarkable was the network of paths that had appeared overnight, wide, smooth trails connecting our castle to Thorndale, to the Noble City of Durand, and to the villages that had once feared to approach the Forbidden Forest’s edge.
The forest itself had created these roads, bending trees and compacting earth to invite travel where once it had repelled it.
“The western fields have started producing,” Marcel said, following my gaze toward the distant shimmer of golden grain. “Potatoes, wheat, vegetables of all kinds. The village granaries will be full before autumn.”
That had been Isabeau’s doing, though she denied taking deliberate action.
Her connection to the forest as its new guardian meant her desires, her concerns for the people, manifested in tangible ways.
The fields had sprung up where villagers returning to their abandoned homes had worried about food for the winter.
The forest provided, as if apologizing for two decades of fear and isolation.
“We still need to find Estelle,” Bastien said abruptly, his face darkening with the thought of our missing sister. The one person who should have returned with everyone else when the curse broke, but hadn’t. “And Alain’s sister.”
The missing princesses. Two young women, one who should have been freed when Hades was banished, when the curse was broken, but who remained lost. Estelle, our headstrong, vibrant sister who had been seventeen when the curse struck.
Odette, Alain’s sister who had vanished years ago and somehow fallen into Gaspard’s clutches, stuck.
Their absence was a wound that wouldn’t heal, a shadow across our otherwise joyful reunion.
“Theron believes they’re connected,” Marcel said, referencing the Crown Prince of Durand who had proven himself a valuable ally in the search. “Two royal women, both taken by the Dark Lord’s agents.”
I nodded, recalling Theron’s grim face when he’d returned from Thorndale three days after the battle. “Any leads from what he found at Gaspard’s home?”
“Nothing concrete,” Marcel replied. “The house was mostly cleared out. Anything of value or magical significance was gone.”
Bastien kicked another branch, harder this time, sending it flying into a nearby tree trunk where it shattered. “Fucking Alf. When I find that goon, I’ll rip his throat out.”
Alf. Gaspard’s right-hand man, according to Isabeau and Margaret. Though, Isabeau never saw him in the home, she knew him as Gaspard’s shadow in town. Alf, the servant who had apparently been more than he seemed.
According to Margaret, the woman who had been Gaspard’s unwilling bedmate for years, Alf had disappeared the night before Gaspard’s death, taking with him several locked chests from Gaspard’s private study. He must have sensed the changing winds, known that his master’s protection wouldn’t last.
“Margaret couldn’t tell Theron much,” I reminded them. “Only that Alf always handled the private things, that he was the one who helped Gaspard communicate with... whatever was on the other side.”
“The wraith,” Marcel said grimly. “The trapped princess.”
I looked toward the castle again, thinking of the new protections Isabeau had established around it.
Barriers against dark magic, against scrying, against any attempt to spy on us or harm us.
She’d grown more confident in her powers each day, guided by instinct and the occasional whispered advice from her mother’s spirit that she swore she could sometimes hear in the rustling leaves.
“We’ll find them,” I said with more confidence than I felt. “Both of them.”
Movement at the treeline caught my attention.
Isabeau emerged from the shadows, her yellow dress a splash of light against the greenery.
Beside her trotted the unicorn that had become her familiar in the days since the curse broke.
The magnificent creature had refused to leave her side, its spiral horn glowing with an unnatural light, turning to a shade matching Isabeau’s eyes when she worked magic.
My breath caught at the sight of her, as it did every time.
The claiming mark made it impossible to hide my reaction when her dresses never covered her shoulders, sending ripples of desire through the bond that connected us all.
I felt my brothers respond in kind, their bodies tensing with awareness.
“There you are,” she called, a smile lighting her face as she approached. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you four. What are you doing so far from the castle?”
“Discussing affairs of state,” Marcel answered, his formal tone contradicted by the heat in his eyes as he watched her approach.
“Naked?” she asked, one eyebrow arching as she surveyed our unclothed forms with undisguised appreciation. The unicorn nickered beside her, seeming almost amused.
“Best way to discuss anything,” Bastien replied with that wolfish grin that hadn’t changed from beast to man. “You should try it sometime, princess. I hear we should do it when we fight too.”
She laughed, the sound like water over stones, clear and bright. “I believe I have, though not usually while discussing politics.”
I smiled, watching her fingers thread through the unicorn’s mane.
The creature leaned into her touch with obvious pleasure, its eyes half-closing.
Since bonding with Isabeau, it had become more than just a magical beast. It was an extension of her will, her guardian when we couldn’t be at her side.
A familiar in the truest sense, bound to her magic as surely as we were bound to her heart.