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WICKED IS THE REAPER
Copyright © 2022 by Nisha J Tuli
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations used in critical articles or reviews. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, 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.
For information contact : http://www.nishajtuli.com/
Cover design by Get Covers
ISBN: 978-1-7781269-1-8
First Edition: April 2022
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Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
About the Author
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To the girls who think the villain is kind of hot.
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Chapter One
Twenty-three potential suitors stalked into the forest, each with the promise of a crown and a bride in their sights. They were an adequate, if uninspired, lot.
Standing at the tree line next to my sister, our mother and father flanked us on either side, our castle at our backs. They had forbidden us from entering the forest when we were children. The tales of the Reaper who haunted the trees pierced our dreams, leaving us lying awake and blinking in the dark. As we grew older, we still kept our distance, fearing the evil that rooted in its soil.
“Ellis looks so handsome today,” my sister said in a wistful voice as she clung tightly to my arm. Two years my junior, Margaret would never share my fate. “You’re so lucky, Rowan.” My answering smile was tight as we both watched the man in question disappear into the dense trees.
For twenty-five years, I’d awaited this day. From the moment I’d been old enough, I understood the Hunt would be the arbiter of my future. Today I’d be bound by fate, by circumstance, by the order of my birth, to the man I would marry and the man who would rule as king of Aetherus.
When the Fae had colonized our kingdom centuries ago, they’d left behind not only the blemish of their rule, but a decree—the Hunt would decide the betrothal of any royal first-born daughter. It was the way they had always done it in their own world, and we were to follow the same archaic rules that would see me handed over to a man without my say.
It had never been clear to me why the Fae cared at all, but I suspected it was to remind everyone who held the balance of our lives in their hands. Now, we’d wait here for hours as my stable of potential grooms hunted, killed, and delivered the largest stag to the feet of the king.
My father reached over and squeezed my hand, his smile gentle. “Don’t worry, my love. Ellis will have this.” Still clinging to my tight smile, I turned to my mother, who clasped my other hand in hers, her expression meant to be reassuring. We all bore the same dark hair, light brown skin, and deep brown eyes. My mother, Margaret, and I were near images of each other.
Everyone knew Ellis was the best hunter in Aetherus and though it wasn’t a guarantee, today’s odds swayed mostly in his favor. We’d been friends since we were children and had both understood this wasn’t just my fate, but his as well. Ellis was handsome and kind and patient. I couldn’t have asked for a better match. What we lacked in passion, we made up for with respect, friendship, and a mutual desire to do right by the people we’d rule.
Anyone in Aetherus was eligible to participate, but the resources and training needed were the privilege of only the wealthy. Despite the confidence in the Hunt’s outcome, every eligible noble-born son in the kingdom had, nevertheless, arrived to throw in their lot. After all, their prize was a princess and a crown to go with it.
Even if there was an upset and someone else proved victorious, I knew these men. Had known them for years and none interested me either. Maybe some small part of me wished an unexpected suitor had shown up to try their luck, but I kept that errant thought to myself.
“How much longer?” I asked as the sun was setting, my feet tired from standing, my fingers numbing from the cold. I strained for the sounds that would signal anyone returning, praying this would be over soon. This entire spectacle was demeaning.
Behind us stood the whole of my father’s court, quietly waiting. Casting a look over my shoulder, I caught their anxious glances. What did they have to be worried about? I was the one being handed off like a dog-eared book at the market.
With a frown, I turned away, my breath fogging in the air. As the hours wore on, the temperature dropped. It was nearing the end of autumn, the chill of winter’s breath on the wind.
The leaves rustled, drawing my attention back to the trees. A man emerged with a dead stag draped across his shoulders. Hunched over from the weight, his steps were measured and steady. He crossed the tree line, stopped several feet from where we stood and dropped the stag on the ground.
He was a son of a lesser noble. Tyrion was his name, if memory served. He was a few years older, handsome in a classical if predictable way, but he was just window dressing. The stag was small by the standards of this forest, and he would pose no threat to my future.
A group of Fae-appointed overseers approached and began measuring, weighing, and cataloguing his kill for posterity. They would scrutinize everything to ensure we had followed their rules to the letter of the law.
When they were done, Tyrion stood and waited, his hands clasped behind his back as he cast surreptitious looks my way. More figures emerged from the trees, each one bearing their kill.
Every time another man appeared, my breath hitched as I anticipated a familiar head of dark brown hair. Ellis was the right choice for me. His family was influential, and he would make a good king. I didn’t need that furious longing I’d read about in my favorite romance novels. Those were just stories. That wasn’t real.
More suitors emerged from the trees, some of them looking decidedly less princely than they had this morning. Not every one of them would make it back alive. Stag hunting was dangerous, after all. That was the whole point of this barbaric tradition.
More and more hunters arrived, each dropping their bloody prize to be weighed and measured. The cloying smell of death and the forest’s life taken hung in the air.
“Where is he?” Margaret asked, her brow furrowing. “I hope nothing happened to him.”
I shared my sister’s concern, worried Ellis had met with an accident. Even if he was the most skilled, that didn’t make him immune to the spear of a stag’s antler through his gut.
“He’ll be here,” my mother said, focusing on the forest. “Don’t worry. Everything will be fine.”
I nodded, doing my best to believe her when, finally, I spied a figure I recognized through the trees. My heart leapt in relief as Ellis trudged out of the forest with an enormous stag across his broad shoulders. He peered up through a fringe of dark lashes, throwing me a confident smile.
