Rise: A Gay Fairy Tale
Read Rise: A Gay Fairy Tale Online
Authors: Keira Andrews,Leta Blake
About
RISE
What happens when Jack meets a sexy man atop that beanstalk?
Rumors of treasure have long sent fortune hunters clambering up a magic beanstalk to a mysterious castle in the clouds. Survivors told of an evil giant who guards the gold and glittering jewels with savage strength. No sane man would dare risk the climb—but Jack has nothing left to lose. Shunned for his evil red hair and abandoned by his cruel lover, he’s desperate to escape his life.
Rion isn’t a giant, only a man bearing the burden of protecting his family’s legacy. It’s a lonely existence, but he’s duty bound. Then Jack appears, and Rion’s world is turned upside down. After a blazing confrontation, undeniable lust sparks. Isolated in the clouds, Jack and Rion give in to their desire and growing connection. But do they have the courage to let go of the past and follow their dreams?
Soon they must protect the treasure—and each other—from a new threat. And they have everything to lose.
RISE
A Gay Fairy Tale
© 2015 Keira Andrews and Leta Blake
First publication of a previous version as
Ascending Hearts
in 2013
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author or publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
ISBN
: 978-0-9940924-0-3
Cover design by Marianne Nowicki
Formatting by Indra Vaughn
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. No persons, living or dead, were harmed by the writing of this book. Any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Table of Contents
Prologue
Over the crest of a small hill, the base of the stalk came into sight. Even at a distance, Jack could see it was withering. The first frost had covered the land only a few days earlier, and now winter’s icy fingers had taken hold. Jack wound his scarf tighter around his neck and glanced back toward the village. Steadily falling snow had nearly erased his footprints. As flakes melted in his hair, a memory chilled him.
On his hands and knees, the snow soaking through his mittens and breeches. Bent over and rubbing his head back and forth, his skin going numb, eyes squeezed shut and begging the heavens that the ginger color would bleed away into the white.
He’d been but a small, shivering boy, and his prayers had gone unanswered.
Jack approached the beanstalk and pulled his hands from his pockets to grasp the thick trunk. Like many of the trees in the nearby forest, it was just a smidge too wide for him to wrap his arms around. The stalk was rough beneath his palms, yet felt surprisingly solid considering how the wind battered it.
Perhaps it’s still safe to climb
.
Reaching up, Jack took hold of a thick stem. The stalk was a mystery that sprouted every springtide anew, reaching full height at solstice, and fading during harvest. He knew that in the warm months, it was strong enough to hold the weight of many men. Each spring since his nineteenth year, Jack had vowed to climb the tall, taunting thing along with the other brash, young fortune hunters, but there was always one reason or another to remain close to home.
Go now. Do it. What is there to lose?
He thought of the others who had climbed before him. Some tumbled to their end, while others clambered back down without even making it halfway. They told of the giant’s thunderous rage bellowing from above, and how the beanstalk quaked with it.
A very, very few in the twenty-seven years of Jack’s life had made it all the way to the top, into the ever-present clouds. Yet these few had returned without a single sparkling jewel or gold coin to their names. They bore bloody wounds and wild expressions, so grateful to have escaped with their lives that they warned all who would listen—and those who wouldn’t—to stay far away from the giant and his treasure.
Jack knew thieving was a sin, but even the priest had made it plain—the ogre was in Satan’s employ, keeping the treasure to himself for centuries, heedless of the suffering of men. Besides, Jack had no desire to take
all
of the giant’s bounty—just enough to leave the kingdom and discover new lands.
At the thought, hollow longing echoed in his heart, and he gripped the stalk harder. Perhaps in those new lands, he might find a man who shared his desires. Who wouldn’t cringe away from his cursed hair? Perhaps he might find happiness.
All I have to do is climb. One hand and foot at a time
.
Heart thumping, Jack gripped the stalk. It was closing in on the longest night of the year, and soon the stalk would wither into the earth. He need only lift his foot to the lowest stem and push.
Do it!
His mother’s shrill and piercing voice—Jack was quite certain it could be heard across the kingdom and all the way to the netherworld—reached him on the wind. “Jack! This wretched beast won’t milk itself!”
With a sigh, he lowered his arms and turned his face from the sky, his feet still firmly on the ground. Here he was at the start of another winter, a failure once more. If he had a coin for every time he’d stood at the base of the beanstalk uselessly gathering his courage and peering up at the distant clouds, he’d be a man of great riches
. Coward. Abomination. Filthy thing
.
Jack pulled his woolen cap from his pocket and tugged it on. His mother had covered his hair since he was a babe, although there was not a soul in the village who didn’t know of the wicked color sprouting from Jack’s head. Even in the heat of midsummer he covered his hair as best he could with his woolen hat, and kept it trimmed short all year round. There were fewer stares that way, although the whispers still carried on the wind.
He made his way back to their tiny cottage on the outskirts of the village. His cow, Inga, lowed softly as he circled around to the small yard. Jack took a handful of feed and held out his palm. Inga ate lazily as Jack scratched behind her ears with his other hand. He picked up his pail and sat on a low stool. Leaning against her warm flank, he spoke softly as he squeezed what drops of milk he could from her teats.
Very soon she would be dry, and Jack’s stomach churned at the thought. He wasn’t sure how he would afford to feed her and his mother without income from the milk. For years he’d spent long hours telling Inga stories of princes and knights and adventure, and she was always content to listen. As he had many times, on this evening he told her a tale that was dear to his heart. It wasn’t long, but it culminated with the happiest ending that Jack could imagine.
“And after he captured the treasure, he traveled to distant lands—of course accompanied by his faithful cow—and met a handsome, valiant knight with arms of steel, yet love in his heart. He thought Jack most becoming, and didn’t even mind his hair. They lived in happiness together until the end of time.”
He patted Inga’s side to tell her he was finished milking, and she shuffled around to nuzzle him with her wet snout. Inside, Jack’s mother was ranting and raving—about what, he didn’t know, but surely it was his fault—and her tone was increasingly strident. With a final pat, Jack said goodnight to Inga and covered her with a thick blanket.
He paused at the cottage door and looked back toward the stalk, which was barely visible amid the increasing snowfall, rising up into the heavens.
There was always next year.
Chapter One
“What is that stench?”
Jack skidded to a halt outside the cottage, swiping his arm across his sweaty forehead, his hair damp beneath his cap. He’d recognize Adair’s deep, smooth voice anywhere. The knife of humiliation paired with desire cleaved him. His cheeks burned, and he wondered if he could retreat without being seen. It wasn’t often his sister and her husband visited, and he wondered what could have prompted their appearance.
Damara’s singsong laugh floated out. “It could only be Jack!”
Adair and Jack’s mother, Maura, laughed as well, and Jack glanced down at himself. His worn cotton trousers and tunic were stained, and surely he did reek of the manure he’d spent the balmy spring day spreading on the baron’s growing fields. Given the curse of his hair, it was the only job Jack could get, and he counted himself lucky the baron kept him on with each passing spring. It didn’t pay well, but he was careful to make his coins last through the long winter.
With a deep breath, he lifted the latch on the door.
Best to just get it over with
. He didn’t remove his cap as he walked inside, and his false smile froze on his lips as he took in the bare room. His belongings—some books, his clothing and a glass ball holding a map of the kingdoms of the realm—were still stacked in the corner, visible through a part in the faded curtain that separated his pallet from the rest of the cottage.
Yet his mother’s things, chiefly her figurines and tokens, which had been spread out willy-nilly over the rest of the space, were nowhere to be seen. Her bed had been stripped of linen and her closet stood empty. A blackened pot remained on the stove on the far wall, along with a cracked plate and bowl.
Jack had never seen the cottage so neat, or so very bare. “What’s happened?”
Damara and their mother shared a glance. It was Adair who stepped forward, teeth gleaming as he smiled. Not one of his fair hairs dared to be out of place. His high cheekbones and creamy skin were as flawless as the day Jack had met him as a boy. He was still the most beautiful man Jack had ever seen.
Hands clasped, Adair smiled warmly. “Jack. So wonderful to see you, old friend.” He turned to Damara. “Isn’t your brother looking well?”
Damara managed not to scowl. “Yes. Quite well.”
Her belly swelled with another child and she rubbed it idly. Her dark comeliness, with her wide eyes, full mouth and lustrous mane of gentle curls, was the perfect counterpoint to Adair’s luminously pale features. Despite her low birth, her staggering beauty had eased her way since childhood, and when she’d blossomed into a woman, it had sealed her future as Adair’s wife.
As the baron’s son, Adair was certainly everything Damara could have dreamed of in a husband. He’d once been everything Jack had dreamed of too, but not for his wealth or power. Jack cleared his throat, which had gone dry. “Congratulations on your impending child, Damara. You look as lovely as ever. But I must ask what brings you here and why our home is so changed.”