Swan Duchess Novels & Stories

As Max had phrased it, ‘You could fuck a tree, and as long as you are a good person, I would accept you. I’m currently sitting by the lake; this has become my paradise. We have been blessed with a small flock of swans who have decided to make a stop on their way south for the winter. They are truly majestic creatures and appear unfazed by the presence of wolves. Their pure white feathers glisten when wet, and they own the water.

A chandelier hung from the center, crystals catching moonlight and scattering it across the smooth floor. Beyond it stretched a lake so still it looked staged, swans gliding across the surface like ornamental pieces placed by a designer who thought nature needed editing. I stared at them for a moment. “Did the owner buy the swans for the view,” I murmured, “or do they come included once you hit a certain tax bracket?” Douglas laughed, genuinely this time. People really do have money, I thought to myself, stepping into the pavilion. Douglas stopped near the railing and turned to face me.

It was my fault Beatrice was in this situation to begin with. “Luke, bring me Rosalind and Edmund!” Walda commanded, ready to get to work. Luke followed her instructions and brought forward the peculiar swans—one black, one white. Then, under Walda’s direction, he carefully placed them on Beatrice’s chest, which was rising and falling erratically. Everyone seemed to hold their breath, waiting for what was about to happen. I think I stared so hard my eyes nearly popped out. The two swans curved their elegant necks together, almost like they were dancing or embracing. And then, just as I was starting to process that weirdness, the white one laid a golden egg.

“When she came in today, limping, there was blood on her sleeve. She looked up at me, and one of her contacts must have come out because that’s when I saw her real eye colour.” “As soon as she got Violet settled, she came to me and told me. That’s when we called you. We know there is only one family line with those eyes.” Vitaly said. “We can’t thank you enough for bringing the Printzessa back to our family,” Adrien said. “She will be looked after the way she always should have been from now on. You both will also be protected. We owe you for bringing her back to us.” “So, she is definitely the White Dove?” Miranda asked.

A voice—cool as glacier wine—cut through the velvet noise. “Enjoying the illusion, dear?” We turned. Standing a few feet away in a dress that looked like it had been sewn from crushed emeralds and other people’s misery was Duchess Gloria Wintermellon. Yes, Wintermellon. No, I couldn’t say it with a straight face either, but this woman looked like she hadn’t smiled since the last solar eclipse. Sharp cheekbones. A fan made of peacock feathers. A smile dipped in venom. She didn’t even look at me when she said, “Lady MacMayer, I suggest you remove your hand from the Duke. It’s rather unbecoming to cling to a man who is already promised.”

The very first thing I did was to add a new rule to Swift Corp. [Anyone who maliciously obstructs, harasses, or assaults crew members will be permanently banned from all Swift Corp cruises.] Swift Corp would always stand on the side of justice.

Leaving the midwives and the lady in waiting to their miserable fate. ‘Help me,’ The duchess whispered in a raspy voice, ‘Please get it out of me.’ She sobbed weakly as her hands lay limp beside her. Her lady-in-waiting moved closer to her and bent forward to touch her belly. The spot where her hands rested lit up in a bright orange light, and the midwives shrank back in fear and shock. The servant stepped back and, in one command, ordered the midwives to cut through the duchess's abdomen.

The clouds part further, and a beam of pure silver light falls directly on the swan. And she changes again. The white of her feathers begins to blush. A soft, delicate pink spreads across her wings, her body, her neck. It deepens, becoming richer, more vibrant. She glows in the moonlight, a creature of impossible, breathtaking beauty. A pink swan. I gasp. The sound is torn from my throat. Raymond's hand clamps down on my shoulder. "Alec. Alec! Is that..." "A Royal," I breathe. "The Rosethorn line. They said they were all lost. At the Lake of Tears. But she's..."

"Perhaps you've got an excellent idea, after all." She smiled. "Yes. And you can always have those decadent Cyprians over when the season is at the end." Her smile had grown even more maliciously gleeful. "I understand you have a new opera singer in your stable of ladybirds that will tide you over nicely until then." "My dear duchess," Henry said with deceptive calm, "you have the tongue of a billingsgate fishwife." "Do I?" The duchess asked with a lifted brow. "Perhaps I've been around my nephew too much."

He slipped his foot off the brake. Diana had been so intent on fleeing confinement that, when the night watchmen discovered her hiding in the moat, she didn’t realize how chilled she'd become. In her wolf form, the March temperature didn't bother her. But, as a naked human, she was frozen to the bone. “Jesus, Randolph, she’s . . . she’s naked,” the younger male voice said, as he hung over the railing where zoo patrons normally observed the animals in the pen. “Yeah, Mack. Call for backup. We don’t know yet how badly she’s hurt.” He tugged off his jacket and dropped it on top of her. “Miss, we’ll reach you as soon as we can. Are you injured?”