Page 14 of Wickedly Ever After (A Fairy Tale Romp, #1)

Ida

Dearest, bestest Witchy-Woman Ida,

Confirming you’re coming to the game on Moonsday.

Ticket for you. It’s the King’s Box, of course.

I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve invited some of the ladies and lords to come party with us!

And I’ve ordered that delicious rich cake you served for me at my Common Princess election—Angel’s Dream Cake. Yummy!

Confidentially, I don’t believe a word those awful tabloids say, but is it true Amber shouldn’t be the Common Princess?

Love,

Annabeth

Ida’s headache, already at a level four from the carriage ride and a busy day, escalated to an eight. She lay back on the garish pink comforter and pulled the heart-shaped pillow from the mountain of surplus over her head.

Of all the princesses in her life Ida regretted, none bothered her more than Annabeth.

The dossier called her a dairy girl with a buxom physique, blond hair, and blue eyes, possessed of a sweet, kind nature.

Birds flew down from the trees to sing on her shoulder.

Butterflies followed her wherever she walked.

Sometimes she sang for no apparent reason while she worked.

Classic princess behavior. Ida didn’t think she could do any better, really—the crop wasn’t great that year.

Only afterward did the dirty secrets come out.

Annabeth was no common dairy maid. She was the daughter of a popular duke’s herdswoman, but it turned out she was actually half-royalty, her farmer “father” being somewhat notable for having no other children with his wife.

She’d bought a glamour off a hedge witch to entice birds and butterflies.

She “borrowed” the voice of an operatic mermaid and never gave it back.

Her hair was her own, but that was about it.

It was quite the scandal when the story broke.

Damned investigative trolls. Ida wanted to tell them the truth—that for the past few hundred years, the contest to become Common Princess had become a farce, with every girl hiring personal coaches and trainers in order to get their grabby hands on the tiara.

But that would have meant a grilling by Hector, and so she held her tongue and appeared as the good witch to Hector’s bad at both the wedding and the christening of the prince the following year.

Annabeth never publicly treated Ida as anyone but her agent of good fortune.

But she was a notorious gossip. No wonder the Sorcerer’s Star got the exclusive.

Ida tossed the letter on top of the complimentary copy of the paper.

“Coffee?” Hari poured a cup for himself and took a raspberry tart.

“I suppose,” Ida said, rubbing her temples. She’d love to nurture this headache into an excuse to get out of dinner, but that sounded more like something Hector would do. She, at least, wouldn’t shirk her responsibility.

Hari paused pouring, then resumed. “A nice cuppa always helps a headache. After that, do you mind if we visit the gardens before I do your hair? I got a letter from Tinbit saying he’s arrived. His witch is all settled in, and he invited me to take an evening walk.”

She smiled. “Well, I didn’t think you’d want me along for that.”

“But I do. I’m…I’m scared.” He glanced down at his feet in a shamefaced way.

“Oh, Hari, it’s in the open, there’re lots of people—”

“No, you don’t understand,” Hari said, shaking his brown curls.

“I’m scared I’m not going to like him. I’m terrified it’s going to be like all the others.

No spark. No nothing. No feelings at all.

Oh, Ida, what if I’m one of those people who never falls in love?

What if I’m alone for the rest of my life?

” His face blanched. “Worse, what if he sees me and hates me? What if he thinks—” he swallowed hard. “What if he finds out I’m…I’m ugly?”

Ida sighed. “Sweetheart, you aren’t ugly. How many times do I need to tell you that?”

“I know—but he’ll have to know about it someday, and—”

“And if he’s the man for you, he will love you, even then.

Give it a chance. For all that love at first sight is wonderful, real love happens when the magic wears off and you see the person you married across the table, shriveled and gray, eating prunes for breakfast, and you realize that if you were eighteen, you’d do it all over again because you’re still in love with them.

The spark will happen for you if it’s right, but it won’t ever happen if you don’t let it kindle. ”

Hari didn’t look convinced.

“I’ll go with you,” she said with a sigh.

He grinned and squeezed her hand. “Thanks.”

***

The gardens attached to the hotel were some of the finest in the kingdom.

Her own surpassed them, and truthfully, she’d been far more interested touring the Garden Club grounds to view their rare and magical plants, but she always took pleasure in walking through a well-tended rose trellis.

She leaned forward, brought one of the fragrant sprays toward her nose, and inhaled appreciatively.

“We should plant musk roses around the chicken house next year,” she told Hari. “It would help with the smell in high summer.”

“I don’t think any kind of rose would help the smell of chickens.” Hari glanced around again, anxiously looking through the thorn-covered canes, peeping past leaves and heavy, red blossoms.

“Hari…”

“I don’t want him to see me first,” he hissed.

“We’ve been walking the gardens for the past half hour and we’ve seen no one. Do you think he might be doing the same thing, hiding from you? You are a rather secretive people, after all. It’s instinctive.”

Hari rolled his eyes. “It is not.” A robin breezed through the arbor, and Hari ducked.

“It was a bird.”

“Shit,” he muttered, clutching his heart. “Let’s just go back to the hotel. My hands are sweaty, my heart is pounding, and I feel like I’m about to puke. He’s not here anyway.”

“You don’t know that. Tell you what, Hari, let’s split up,” she suggested. “I want to see the goldfish pond. You take the forest trail where you can hide behind ferns if you’d like, and I’ll find you at the end and tell you if I’ve seen any gnomes, yes?”

“Yeah—yeah. That would be better.” Before she could ask him how long he wanted to take, he was gone, running down the arbor path. He hopped headfirst into some azaleas.

“Not instinctive, my ass.” She set both hands in the middle of her back and pushed as she stood. Crouching in the bushes was a pastime for kids, not grumpy old witches.

She left the arbor and moseyed across the open ground, stopping to admire a drift of cosmos that changed color based on the mood of the person passing.

She got a lovely pastel shade of robin’s-egg blue with saffron streaks.

Which color was lingering irritation about Annabeth’s invite and which was amusement over Hari’s romantic anxiety?

The goldfish pond wasn’t far away, but given how Hari had hidden in every bush on the way, it might not be a stretch to assume his suitor might be disguised in the pachysandra.

She found no lurking gnome, however, and made her way to the pond.

She’d give Hari another half hour in the woods before going to find him.

Voices drifted over the green, coming toward her.

“Hector, I can’t do this. My heart’s doing dragon flights, and I keep forgetting to breathe. Let’s call it and go in, okay? He’s not here. I scared the hell out of him and now he’s gone for good.”

“Calm down. He may be at the pond.”

Ida dove into the nearest rhododendron bush. She crouched, trying not to breathe herself.

Hector came into view. His hair and beard were more silver than black now, but his green eyes were as vivid as she remembered.

Even in ratty old trousers and a weathered and ridiculously outdated red tunic, he still impressed her as he had so many years ago, back when his hair was the color of midnight and the startling green eyes stared out of a younger man’s face.

He leaned on his blackthorn staff, gazing at the vivid red and yellow goldfish and their fabulous tails with interest. “These are lovely. I’d like a fish pond in our courtyard, but with razor-toothed redfish. I always wanted a pool of redfish.”

“We’d have to put in a heater. They’d freeze in winter,” said a disembodied voice somewhere on Hector’s right.

“Maybe I’ll buy The Quintessence of Being from Alistair. It would go some way to getting him to forgive me for insisting he do his dragonly duty.”

Great. First a poet and now he sends a sculptor. What is it about dragons and fine arts? Ida leaned into the bushes, trying to see the other speaker.

Hector sighed. “Tinbit, come out of the daisies. He’s not here.”

“What if he’s in that rhododendron, watching me? That thing’s so huge you could put a whole family of gnomes in there.” A wild, disheveled little gnome with black hair and flame-colored eyes appeared, brushing a forest of leaves from his gray overalls.

Hector shook his head. “You told me you couldn’t wait to meet him.”

“I did, but I didn’t know I’d be sick to my stomach about it! I can’t take any more of this. Let’s go back. He doesn’t want to see me. If he did, he’d have come out to meet me.”

“Oh, for mermaid’s tears, Tinbit! Something must have come up, that’s all. I’m sure he’d be here if he could.”

“Maybe you’re right.” Tinbit relaxed a fraction. “Can we go back anyway? If I saw him now, I’d have to explain this.” He gestured to his clothes.

“I could say I pushed you into the leaf pile,” Hector said. “I am a wicked witch after all. I’m supposed to mistreat my servants.”

“Yeah right,” Tinbit said. “He’d take one look at you and know you never did. You couldn’t keep a straight face.”

Hector chuckled. “You’re probably right.”

“You really think he couldn’t come? He didn’t stand me up? Because I don’t think I can take it if he doesn’t come to dinner on Moonsday. Oh, Gods, Hector, what if he doesn’t? Maybe I should just say I can’t make it, send him a letter—”

“You’ll do no such thing,” Hector said. “I’m going to the game, you are going to dinner, he will show, you’re going to have a great time, and I’m not coming back early, in case something happens.”

“Nothing is going to happen,” Tinbit said, blushing furiously.

“Well, if it does, I’ll be out of your way.” Hector strolled around the pond and set off across the lawn.

Tinbit kicked a hazelnut that rolled almost to Ida’s feet. “I swear, Hector, you’re enough to make me want to thump you.” He trotted off after his witch.

So that was Tinbit. Hari had said the name, but it hadn’t meant anything to her. Hector had never mentioned him before. Of course, he hadn’t. He’d set this up. More payback for his scalded behind.

“Of all the reprehensible, vindictive, petty…” She crawled out of the shrubbery on all fours, shaking with rage.

Well, she’d just have to put a stop to it. Hari was not going to fall in love with Hector’s gnome.

***

For the rest of the evening, it was all she thought about—how best to thwart Hector’s diabolical plan.

Hari styled her hair for the dinner, valiantly prattling on about how it was okay, he hadn’t promised Tinbit he’d come to the garden and maybe they had just missed each other.

She fumed, hearing the heartbreak in his voice.

It made her want to stomp out of her room, go find Hector, and scream in his face about just how much he couldn’t take a joke.

But that would mean admitting he’d gotten her with his spell, and she would never give him that kind of satisfaction.

No, she’d have to get Hari out of this carefully, or more things than Hari’s heart could be hurt.

“I may be back late,” she said. “Annabeth hinted at something like a palaver afterwards and you know she can go on and on when she’s in the mood. Are you sure you won’t come? The castle library is one of the finest in the world, and it might take your mind off…things.”

“No, I’ll be okay,” he said. “Now you, I worry about…”

“I can control my temper,” she promised.

With Annabeth. But if Hector so much as showed his long nose tonight, she wasn’t sure she could do the same with him.

Then again, he never went to these things if he could help it.

He hadn’t cared about her end of the magic almost since the inception of it, so why would he change now?

Glumly, she opened her valise and pulled out a slender glass vial adorned only with a golden stopper made in the shape of a rose to identify it.

This was the second half of her part of the Happily-Ever-After, a love potion brewed from rose petals, the same rose that the Common Princess had crushed under her heel when she left.

She gave it an experimental shake, and all the gold and red within swirled inside like a romantic dream, or a freshly opened wound.

There were times when she was sure that love magic should never have been the province of a good witch. It looked too much like poison.