The Wrath of Roses

The Wrath of Roses is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. Copyright © 2023 by Violet Taylor All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without written permission of the copyright owner except for the use of quotations in a book review. For more information, address: [email protected] First edition April 2023 Book design by Sweet ‘N Spicy Designs Editing by Michelle Morgan: https://fictionedit.com Interior Artwork designed by Jonas Spokas of Stardust Book Services (eBook) violettaylorauthor.com CONTENTS 1. Prologue 2. Chapter 1 3. Chapter 2 4. Chapter 3 5. Chapter 4 6. Chapter 5 7. Chapter 6 8. Chapter 7 9. Chapter 8 10. Chapter 9 11. Chapter 10 12. Chapter 11 13. Chapter 12 14. Chapter 13 15. Chapter 14 16. Chapter 15 17. Chapter 16 18. Chapter 17 19. Chapter 18 20. Chapter 19 21. Chapter 20 22. Chapter 21 23. Chapter 22 24. Chapter 23 25. Chapter 24 26. Chapter 25 Epilogue Thank you for reading!! SNEAK PEEK of Demons and Damiana Also by Violet Taylor Stay In Touch Acknowledgments About Violet Taylor To anyone who grew up fawning over noble princes, and now daydreams of devilish villains instead… PROLOGUE RENARD Hunting a human is far more exciting than hunting a beast. Especially one as deserving of death as the witch. The frost-covered forest blurs past as I ride my horse hard through the trees. My breath materializes in quick, clouded puffs and the world dissolves into a blurred frame of sugar-white snow. The frozen air tears into my lungs, rooting within them the cold presence of a reckoning that cannot be escaped. I let the chill of anticipation crawl through my blood and mingle with the lofty taste of bitter revenge as the icy flakes are swept into my mouth. This day will end with blood. The harsh wind rips across my face, biting all the areas not covered by my fur-lined riding attire. The hounds bark excitedly ahead and my hunting companions cheer as they catch the trail of her scent again. Evidence of her attempts to flee cover the forest floor. Bloody footprints paint a traitor’s path along freshly fallen snow. We’re gaining on her. I work to adjust myself in the saddle. The thrill of the hunt sends blood rushing to my cock. These finely crafted trousers feel suffocating as they constrict painfully around my engorged length. “Find the witch!” I command and the group gallops ahead. The moment of excitement is tempered with the realization that it never should have taken this long to find a lone woman fleeing on foot. Nonetheless, my erection twitches painfully and I urge my horse forward. Let us end this chase so I can bury myself in the closest nobleman’s daughter. She won’t object to me stealing her virtue. They never do. The dogs howl in the distance, signaling they’ve cornered their quarry, and I grin. Finally. By the time I catch up to my hunting party, they’ve surrounded her. The snow seems to part as I approach, lifting a tenebrous veil from my sight and melting the ice from my lashes. There she is, the woman who has caused my family such pain. The witch. The dogs have her trapped up against a tree as their frothing jaws snap at her ankles. “Tie her up.” My voice can barely contain the well of fury and expectation swirling within me. By the time I dismount, the witch is strapped to the tree. Her pale face contorts as tears soak her flushed skin. I march toward her and soft-blue eyes lock onto mine. I thought her beautiful once. The thought drains the heat from my limbs as a sickening feeling claws at my insides. “Please,” she cries out. “I didn’t do anything, I swear to you, my prince. I only tried to help. They were sick. I—” The sound of my palm striking her cheek echoes so loudly through the forest that snow falls from the branches above. Red wells up beneath the imprint my hand leaves behind and sobs wrack through her body. “You have been charged with the murder of the King and Queen of Mon de Fleur and have been sentenced to death.” The sleek sound of steel unsheathing makes my heart beat with the thunderous pounding of a thousand wild horses. The sword feels weighty in my hand, different than usual. I flip it casually over but the strange feeling remains. “I grow flowers, plants. I make herbal medicines, that’s all. They were sick. I did everything I could, my prince, please…” Her crying becomes so violent that her words are lost. I lean in close to the distraught woman, pinching her chin between my thumb and forefinger and forcing her to look at me. “You poisoned them. They died after drinking your floral concoctions. And now you will die.” I raise the tip of my sword to her chest. The moment the blade touches her skin, something changes. The witch stops crying and her eyes harden. A golden glow surrounds her body, flaring to life and causing the men to shield their eyes. The witch’s hair floats wildly around her face. Every vibrant, coppery strand writhes as if a mass of great serpents has suddenly awoken. I stumble back, unbelieving of the tricks my eyes play upon me. “A monster has hidden beneath your angelic face for far too many years. Allow me to bring it to the surface,” the witch sneers. The light around her intensifies, filling the forest with an unnatural daylight. “Mark my words, spoiled prince. My wrath you will taste and a beast you will become. Never again to know the willing touch of a woman, the love of another, or even one moment of true happiness. You will wallow in your