A Spell of Heart & Havoc

by Kristen Vale

Genres: Romantic Fantasy; Fantasy Romance

Synopsis

​A half-dwarf thief with zero patience for wealthy snobs. The rich noble she’s assigned to as a fake bodyguard. And an art heist that must go on. . . despite any feelings that might be catching.  
 
Forced to join the Takers Guild in order to save a loved one, Maerryl Kirim thought her life had already hit its low point. But then she’s assigned to play fake bodyguard for Lady Dove out in the countryside. Rich, snobby, privileged beyond belief—Maerryl despises everything about her from their first meeting. 
 
Dove Wistrallo has no desire for a bodyguard, thank you very much. But her parents insist, and getting out from under their thumb is like pushing a boulder with a paintbrush. Plus, there’s her dangerously lucrative magical ability that paints a target on her back. . .  
 
Tied together despite their protests, Dove and Maerryl’s friction grows as rapidly as their irksome attraction. But as they learn about each other—their hurts, hopes, and hearts—will their tightly-held secrets keep them apart? 

Release date: September 15, 2026

Publisher: Grand Central Publishing

Print pages: 352

Sample

Sidestepping a group of rowdy revelers, I scowled and continued stalking down the busy road. Curse all these happy fools filling the streets, laughing and cavorting, as if they hadn’t a care in the world. And double curse idiotic assignments on what should be my night off. It had been months—when will the Takers Guildmaster be done testing me?

Scents of grilled meats, ale, and fruit handpies filled the cacophonous night air as I passed through a small night market, nimbly dodging passersby. Tempting aromas, but I knew by now how to stay on task. How to deny myself to get what I needed. My destination grew close, and I ducked down an alley that would bring me there faster. And with less… joviality around.

Near midnight, the streets of Talon were still busy, but far less so in the residential area I headed toward. Crowds slowly dwindled the closer I got to the outskirts. I’d only been living in this city a few months, but I knew my way around easily by now. With nothing much else to do other than learn my surroundings and fulfill regular assignments for the Takers Guild, I spent a large chunk of time lately just wandering—trudging around twisty alleys and wide avenues, visiting the various markets, finding out-of-the-way pubs where I could enjoy some peace and quiet.

Well, quiet at least. Peace always felt near impossible.

Life here wasn’t half as bad as I’d had before, never sure if I’d manage to scrape together enough coin for meals and a room. I needed to save every copper I could, and that meant scrimping—because every coin I spent on myself meant one I didn’t have for Balfie’s cure.

I rubbed a suddenly sweaty palm over the runic tattoo on the side of my neck. Hated, horrible to the touch—but the only thing keeping my brother alive. A magical tether that bound his life to mine before the sickness could overcome his small body. This new plan had to work. Tucking my dark shawl more firmly around my neck, as if to smother the ink away, I slunk farther into Talon’s ramshackle neighborhoods on the outskirts, all senses on alert. Quieter here, any footsteps or dog barking that sounded nearby jangled my nerves.

No matter how frugal I’d been, how much I went without, it wasn’t enough coin. Not nearly enough. The bounty hunter jobs I took on for the past couple of years, making the most of my decent dagger skills and innate need for constant action, kept me busy but left my purse frustratingly light. In Willowisp Woods, far from the crime hotbeds of Kurriel’s capital and port cities, bounties were too low and competition for each job was too high. But I couldn’t make myself travel too far away from Balfie… just in case.

And after one utterly chaotic job some months ago, involving a feisty elf, a gentle half-giant, and near-disastrous decision-making on my part, my heart just wasn’t in bounty hunting anymore. The thrill of the chase; the satisfaction of a job well done; the feeling of doing something right and just with my work, even if everything in my personal life was wrong—it didn’t mean anything after realizing how flawed Kurriel’s justice system was anyway. And it damn well didn’t pay enough to continue supporting it.

After whisking around a corner, I hopped over a dank puddle at the last moment and then paused to steady myself. From the corner of my eye, I spotted two city guards, chuckling tipsily as they exited a nearby pub, and forced myself not to tense or make a sudden run for it. Carefully, I continued on my way, keeping my gait normal and even, expression relaxed, just as I’d been trained. They barely glanced at me before strolling on their way.

This was getting easier and easier every day.

It had only been a matter of time, I supposed, before I’d swallow my morals and join the Takers Guild. I should have seen it coming. Picking up the pace, I swept along the street to my destination, keeping a sharp eye out for any more roaming city guards.

When I’d first been accepted in the guild’s thieving ranks, I’d had to prove my worth. My past couple years of work as a bounty hunter were useful; I was a decent fighter, deft with knots, and well used to long days outside with little rest. My assignments had started small at first. Steal those candles. Pick three people’s pockets. Distract that sentry. Over a few months, however, the items I had to steal grew in value. The danger increased, as well as the harm. I knew they wanted—she wanted—to test me.

Tonight was no different. An address, a date, and a task. I must slip into a specified home in the dark of night and take everything of value that I could. Simple.

Now, though, as I moved down a side road on silent feet and arrived at the target, my steps slowed in confusion. I found myself at a tiny cottage… almost a hovel. Though this street was fairly well-kept—cleanly swept front steps, no nauseous scent of refuse, and pots of herbs and sweet-smelling flowers lining the windows—its occupants clearly were in the lower classes of Talon. This street had crumbling walls and broken lampposts. The houses were small and poorly constructed, with faded paint just barely visible in the sparse, eerie light of a flickering lamp down the way. I double-checked the address, but no, this was indeed where the guildmaster intended to send me.

Covering my face’s lower half with my shawl, I ducked around the side of the house and peeked in a small window. Just one candle fluttered, scantly filling the room. A tired-looking woman sat in a corner sewing as she tried to keep her eyes open, and the narrow bed held a small child, tossing restlessly in their sleep as the woman kept watch over them. Every so often, she put her sewing down—darning a pair of small breeches, I could see now—and smoothed a hand over the child, calming them as they slept.

My gloved fists clenched at my sides. These were the people I was meant to steal from? This household, that seemed to have nothing more than a half loaf of bread and some worn blankets and toys? They must have done something to annoy the guildmaster or one of her allies. Snatched something they shouldn’t have, perhaps, or angered the wrong person. This felt like a pointlessly vengeful task, but I had my orders.

As I watched the child, fitful in uneasy sleep, their tiny face scrunched up in distress, and the woman’s hand slowly brush, brush, brushing softly against their hair, my chest squeezed. Throat aching, I felt tears threatening to rise.

Suddenly, I knew I wasn’t going to enter that home. Not tonight, not ever.

When I finally returned to the guild near dawn, I felt ready to fall into my cot and sleep for days. I’d walked for hours around the city, trying to shake the image of that family from my mind.

But the guildmaster summoned me to her for a report as soon as I stepped back into the sleep hall. After a wistful look at my cot, I trudged back the way I’d come and set off through the guild’s winding bowels.

When Zephyra called, you always answered.

Part human, part demon, Zephyra li Novix was a tiefling—the most powerful in the Midlands of Kurriel, by far—and as feared across Talon as she was fiercely loved within the walls of her guild. With deep crimson skin, a whip-quick tail, and midnight black curved horns that jutted out from her equally dark hair, she cut a dashing figure. We met in her bright office, the magelight orbs a shock to my eyes after so long prowling around in the city’s darkness.

Laying a few apples, a brass candlestick, and some books on her desk—all nabbed from a shop with a conveniently unlocked window—I made up a story about successfully stealing them from my assigned address. Zephyra nodded along, picking up and twirling one bruised apple.

When I finished, a silence stretched out in the room. The glaring orbs scattered about were so bright. She said nothing, just played with the stolen fruit, red as her nails.

I began to sweat.

Pinning me suddenly with her golden gaze, the tiefling woman said in a voice like crushed ice, “We are all liars and thieves in this guild, Maerryl. But after tonight, you will never lie to me again.”

My heart stopped. I stared back at her, willing myself not to run.

She knew.

She must have had me tailed to the job. But did she know… everything? Was that why she sent me to that cottage, with the woman and child?

“Or,” she continued, fierce eyes drilling into mine, “you will be removed. Do I make myself clear?”

Unable to speak at first, I simply nodded. Panic crept up, clogging my windpipe. I couldn’t lose my place in the guild—this was the best chance I’d found in years of getting the coin I needed for my brother’s cure. I’d do anything to stay in Zephyra’s good graces. After clearing my throat, I looked away and quietly spoke.

“Yes. Yes, I understand.”

If I knew one thing by now, it was the street value of a stolen silver spoon. I could get seven silver coins for it on a good day. Five on a bad day, when I felt particularly churlish.

Forks were unpredictable; their delicate tines were often bent or twisted. Knives were the trickiest by far. The price they fetched on the black market varied widely depending on the sharpness of the blade, the amount of tarnish on the handle, and whether they were solid metal or hollow.

But spoons—they were reliable. The most lightly used and the easiest for me to fence. And if I never saw another goddess-damned fancy silver spoon again, I would be a happy woman.

That, I reminded myself, seemed unlikely. This was my life now. Sorting and cleaning ridiculously ornamental items lifted from rich idiots’ homes and reselling them for as much as I could get. Working at the whim of the guild’s leadership. In return, I had a fairly clean bed, regular—if sometimes flavorless—meals, and a steady income that I hoarded away in hiding spots along my clothes. Not exactly what I’d imagined when I joined the Takers Guild half a year ago, but I couldn’t deny that my situation was better than it had been before. The past couple of years before I’d joined here had been… difficult, to say the least.

Sighing, I carefully inspected another stupid spoon for any dents or dings. Finding none, I gave it a thorough polish and placed it on the mound of silverware that had steadily grown over the past hours of tedious work.

The door creaked open, and a broad, bald green head poked into my tiny closet of a workspace. Stiv, one of the orcs who protected the guild’s leadership on trips through the city of Talon, gave me a small up-nod in greeting. I grunted back, then returned my attention to the miniature fork in my hand.

What did rich people even use this for? Eating their caviar piece by extravagant piece? It was as long as my forefinger, for fuck’s sake.

“Maerryl, she wants to see you in her office,” Stiv said.

My attention jerked up, pulse leaping. “Really? Did she say what it’s about?”

Stiv shook his large head. “Nope. But she’s in a good mood at least.”

“Thanks. Be right there.”

He rapped on the door in farewell, leaving it open as he clomped away.

I tidied my station and threw down the polishing rag. Took a deep breath in and let it spill out of my lungs.

Rolling my shoulders back, I stalked out into the hallway and made my way through the twisting bowels of the guild toward its heart. Her office was deep in the center of the guild’s sprawling building. One of the most secure areas that we had, it required passing through three guard checkpoints before reaching the magically protected hallway that led to her office. Our dear guildmaster was nothing if not thorough.

Though she called it an office, it was really more of a lair than anything. The hallway, with its deep bloodred wallpaper dimly lit with sconces, gave a creepy air to anyone unfortunate enough to be called down into her presence. There was no one guarding the door—just a ring of eight eyeballs circling, scanning for intruders, spelled to only allow in those whom she wished to see. Their spinning and squelching made my skin crawl.

Catching sight of me, the eyeballs whirred. A pause, and the thick iron door swung open with a groan. I slipped inside. It slammed shut behind me.

Okay. Not ominous at all.

The room was shockingly bright as always, washed in a fierce, white illumination only obtainable by the strongest magelights. Several orbs were scattered about, placed on tables and hung from the ceiling, showcasing the rich, sleek wood of her desk and large leather chairs. I’d made the mistake of looking directly into those lights once before, and I’d had spots in my vision for hours after. They were powerful magic, and costly. A show of her superiority, and, if rumors were to be believed, an attempt to stave off her fear of the dark.

A waste. The coin it cost to pay for these magelights each week could pay for a hundred children’s meals for a month. Beeswax candles weakly supplemented their stronger cousins’ flames, but they were mainly intended to add ambience to the room. Or so I assumed. Pompous asses.

“Maerryl. I see you are prompt, as always.”

Her throaty baritone made me freeze like a rabbit caught near a fox’s den, limbs tensing. She chuckled and gestured me toward a chair, coming from a shadowy side door into the harsh light.

“I live to serve, Zephyra,” I said wryly, forcing myself to relax and make a quick bow, rough linen shirt billowing from my chest. Plopping into the chair she’d indicated, I had to look up at my boss as her six-foot-tall frame loomed across from me. I cast an appreciative glance over her thick curves swathed in tight black leather, cinched all over with gleaming metal buckles and ties. Bet they were real gold too.

She wasn’t just a badass—she was a rich badass with money to burn. And she made sure everyone knew it.

Catching me looking, Zephyra met my gaze. Her solid golden eyes, glowing almost orange, made my heart stammer. I let their pull drag me in, trying to hold her stare for a long moment. Two. Three.

Then I looked away. She won, as always.

The guildmaster sank into her chair, leathers creaking. When I finally looked back at her, she was watching me with a broad smile, one sharp red nail tapping against her even sharper teeth. I resisted the urge to gulp.

No matter how confident I felt walking into this office, she always had the uncanny ability to knock anyone down a few pegs within seconds. It was astounding. And mesmerizing. Either way, I knew beyond all doubt that she could incapacitate me—destroy my life, livelihood, and body—without breaking a sweat. Even after being in her service as a member of the Takers Guild for six full months, I still couldn’t decide whether I despised or adored her for that.

It doesn’t matter, I told myself. You need her and the guild, and she doesn’t need you. Stop moaning.

“Maerryl, dear. How are you enjoying life in our humble little guild? It’s been a few months now since your unfortunate incident.” Zephyra’s expression had shifted swiftly to mock concern, but her golden eyes pierced.

“I’m finding the work you give me very… informative. I hope I’ve been useful,” I said carefully. I wanted to bite off my tongue, but that was the only acceptable answer I could give to the guildmaster.

Since that failed assignment three months ago, when Zephyra caught me out in my lie, I had been set to cleaning and fencing duty, day in and day out. I’d barely caught a glimpse of the guildmaster in that time, and she hadn’t bothered to call me to her. Still a full member, though low-ranking, I had to wait until she’d determined my punishment period was up. Months of tedium felt like punishment enough, but it also meant I couldn’t take on any more lucrative jobs. No extra coin beyond my regular guild pay, and I felt the slowly squeezing sensation of worry constricting my chest a little more each day.

Now though, I found myself back in her office. She was in a good mood—I meant to make the most of this chance. I couldn’t stare at fancy spoons for another three months, consumed by boredom and anxious thoughts.

Gathering my courage, I said, “Zephyra. To be honest, I’d like to be more useful to you. To the guild. I have skills that could be better used if I was given the opportun—”

“Excellent to hear you say that, Maerryl, dear.” She cut me off with a sharp flick of her tail. “Because I’ve asked you here today for a very special assignment. One I think you’ll find quite a welcome change to your current… circumstances.” With a knowing smile, Zephyra sat forward and faced me directly. I shifted in my seat, straightening my posture and worn blue shirt under her scrutiny.

“There is a manor a two-hour ride south of the city, near Tilwren Forest. A wealthy family lives there, and we’ve been watching them for some time now. Lord and Lady Wistrallo. Very old money and rabid art collectors. You know the like.” Zephyra rolled her eyes at me, an invitation. I smiled with her and shook my head disparagingly. Rich nobles and their silly infatuations.

She went on, “We’ve hit them a few times over the years. Nothing they’d miss—a painting here, some jewelry there. From reports I’ve gotten, their wealth has been steadily declining for a while. No surprise. They sold their place in Talon a while back and have been staying in the country manor full-time. Quite reclusive now and bankrupt, by all accounts. Had to let most of their staff go. Never host their decadent parties or throw coin around at art galleries anymore. Very amusing—you know how I love to see nobles fall off their pedestals occasionally.

“Until about a year ago, when we learned that they’d begun flaunting their gold again. Paintings, dresses, jewelry, wine, you name it. My sources have no idea where their sudden influx of money has come from. It has been… frustrating. But earlier this week, we learned that they’ve begun searching for a trustworthy bodyguard for their daughter.”

Zephyra lounged back in her chair with a pleased smile.

My stomach dropped. Oh no.

“Conveniently, since you’re so new to the guild and have been working mostly in your little cleaning room, no one has reason to associate you with us. And you have an official track record marking your years of bounty hunting for towns and cities across the Midlands of Kurriel. To supplement that, we’ve already prepared your letters of reference from previous bodyguard ‘clients.’ Gleaming reports of your steadfast reliability and defense skills.” She pushed a neatly tied brown folder across the desk. I didn’t touch it.

“Your interview is at four o’clock, so you’d best be getting a move on. There’s a horse ready for you in the stables. And remember to focus on the mother—from what we’ve learned, she’s the one holding the purse strings, and she’s apparently rejected over a dozen candidates already.”

Gathering my thoughts, I said carefully, “Zephyra, with respect… working for rich folk—all the bowing and scraping and demeaning yourself—that’s the reason I joined the Takers Guild in the first place. To avoid resorting to all that. Surely… surely there must be someone else better suited for this job?” I forced myself to look at Zephyra directly, raising my gaze from her desk.

She watched me, the silence stretching out between us.

“But that’s not the only reason you joined. Is it, Maerryl, dear?” Her golden eyes seemed to see into me, and for a crazed moment it felt like she could somehow read my thoughts. I suddenly chilled all over.

Her voice hardened. “You will do this job that I’ve graciously given you. You will be my eyes and ears inside that house, and you will find out where the money is coming from and where it’s hidden. Then you will help me rob these rich fucks blind.

“You know how much I adore uncovering everyone’s precious little secrets,” Zephyra said, smile sharpening. True—she was known for it across Talon and beyond. Positively relentless when it came to secrets, and she had half the nobles and officials in the city beholden to her through sheer blackmail alone because of it. I’d worked hard to keep my own matters private since joining the guild. My past. Everything I’d lost. That my little brother was the only one of my clanspeople left, and I’d only barely managed to keep him alive. He remained in a magical coma in a priory outside the city, kept safe but sleeping until I could finally save up the astronomical amount of coin needed to buy the cure from across the sea.

No, I could not let Zephyra find out—she didn’t need any more power over me than she already had.

“Prove yourself to me with this mission. I want the truth about the Wistrallos’ source of funds, and I want to steal their art collection out from under their snooty noses.” She grinned, twirling a small knife absently between her fingers. “Succeed, and I will give you more coin than you’ve ever seen in your life. A small fortune as a special bonus for your hard work. Along with better assignments in the future, a higher weekly stipend, and more freedom.”

“What if I don’t get the position?” I said desperately. “There’s no guarantee they’ll even hire me.”

Zephyra shrugged. “Then I wouldn’t bother coming back here. Ever. I have no need for useless silver polishers in my guild.”

Her catlike grin grew, but her golden eyes were ice cold.

“Good luck, little one.”

Dovey! Dovvvvey!!” A lilting voice echoed through the empty hallways. “We need you downstairs—now!”

I sighed for what felt like the hundredth time this week. My mother had been relentlessly cheerful for months now… a cheer bordering on mania. I understood she was relieved to have money coming in again. This time last year, we were running out of furniture to sell off and staff to let go. But the constant chatter, planning, shopping—good goddess, the shopping!—all frankly exhausted me.

Dropping my quill, I twirled my wrists and stretched both arms out to relieve the aching tension in my back. I’d been at this desk for hours working on the household books and budget, and it seemed I’d lost track of time again. The next applicant must be arriving soon.

I got up with a groan, shaking out the stiffness from my legs and looking myself over quickly. A new ink splotch was on the left sleeve of my silk periwinkle dress, but that couldn’t be helped. Taking out the clips that held my hair back while I worked, I fluffed my curls with one hand while scrabbling around in a desk drawer for a ribbon.

Dammit. Nothing. Well, this would have to be good enough for Mother. Goddess knew I didn’t have time to be dressing up for these pointless interviews. She could criticize all she wanted—ultimately, I should have the last word in how I looked and what I did now. Finally.

I scooped up Bluebell, my fluffy calico cat, from where she lounged on the desk and settled her into my arms, then traipsed down the corridors to our entrance hall. We’d been conducting the interviews for my new bodyguard in the front parlor until yesterday, when one particularly uncouth applicant shattered an antique vase and tracked dirty footprints all over a new, handwoven, buttercream carpet that had just arrived from the Southern Isles. From now on, Mother had announced at breakfast, we’d be vetting each of these coarse peasants by the door first before we let them farther into our home.

Which was perfectly fine by me. Hopefully at least a few would be so offended they’d simply leave after the snub. The longer I could avoid this ridiculous hindrance to my freedom, the better.

I made my way to the empty, high-ceiled entrance hall, its walls crowded with artwork, and our massive Wistrallo family portrait in pride of place. Petting the purring cat in my arms, I paused to gaze up at it. Mother’s prim, plump figure loomed over me in the painting, bronze-brown skin wrapped in maroon silks. Her tight, high-cheek-boned smile making me frown like always. Father stood beside her, a couple inches shorter and draped in austere charcoal, his eyes seeming to twinkle from his young, ebony black face at me through the painting.

I had been thirteen when the three of us sat for it—our discomfort neatly erased by the artist’s skilled brush—and now, at thirty-one, the severe braid and smart ruffled pinafore I wore in the painting had been replaced by my natural curly hair and colorful dresses that hugged my ample curves. I may have inherited the body, skin tone, and facial features of my mother, but as I grew up it became starkly apparent that our styles could not be more different.

At that moment, the flesh-and-blood Lady Iris Wistrallo swept into the hall, looking like she’d just stepped out of the portrait above us. The only hint to the passage of time was the strands of gray in her braided hair. She even wore a similar deep maroon dress, ever so slightly updated to acquiesce to the changing fashion of almost two decades.

She caught sigh. . .