Page 19 of Wickedly Ever After (A Fairy Tale Romp, #1)

Ida

Exponentially, dear readers, this was a disaster.

The spiders sewed up the players’ jerseys, starting with the Rogues’, no doubt a ploy the Wicked Witch of the West, Hector West, formerly Hector Prim, devised in order to give his favorites, the Thieves, the victory.

They were thwarted by the myriad of attack butterflies, created by the Good Witch of the North, Ida North, formerly Ida Moonshadow, which descended on players and fans alike.

The insects then infiltrated the royal box and caused much excitement when the spiders sewed up the queen and her ladies inside their dresses, while the butterflies, armed with curiously pointed proboscises, amputated the king’s nose.

See related story on page eight: Rupert’s Magical Nose Job: Queen Says New Nose Matches King’s Member in Length and Shape!

—The Sorcerers’ Star

“How do I look?” Ida asked, turning around once in front of the glass.

The mirror said nothing. It wasn’t enchanted. But Hari, walking through with the blue robe she’d foregone in favor of the ecru one, spoke for it, and with much more candor. “White’s not for you. Makes you look like a ghost.”

She frowned. “I know, but it’s traditional, and after last night, I need to do everything I can to appear like I generally uphold law and order.”

“Instead of starting a riot?”

“I didn’t start the riot. Hector threw the first punch, metaphorically.” Hari was right about the ghost business. Gingers going silver probably shouldn’t wear white even to their own funeral. Maybe a band of ivy and pink roses on her hat would help.

“Heels or flats?” Hari asked.

“Heels,” Ida said firmly. She’d done enough looking up at Hector yesterday. Even an inch would be an improvement.

Hari returned from the wardrobe with her white pumps.

His eyes were bloodshot this morning, and he squinted as if they stung.

He’d been crying ever since she’d told him who Tinbit actually worked for and how everything must have been a trap to trick him.

He stood listening while she confessed that she’d discovered it when Tinbit and Hector came to the garden, color draining from his face like she was a vampire sucking every bit of the happiness out of his body.

And when she apologized brokenly for not telling him sooner, for not speaking up after the garden, he only said, “Thanks for telling me. I guess he didn’t stand me up after all. ”

It wasn’t as bad as she’d feared—it was worse.

She’d already cancelled all of her engagements after the Happily-Ever-After except the annual Witches’ Council meeting this afternoon.

Taking Hari home would help. Time cured all wounds—or at least she hoped it would.

But she was worried. Two people couldn’t exchange letters and then fall in love the moment they met—that only happened with magic.

Probably, Hector had put a love potion in the ink.

He’d have found that incredibly funny—Gods, she wanted to smack him so hard.

“I’m ready. You may call the coachman.”

She rose, tucking her second-best wand in her robes. Hari would be all right. So would she. Everything would work out in the end.

***

The castle grounds were a splendor of gold and purple banners.

Enchanted flowers sang in perfect tune from every flowerbed, and the lawn had been manicured into diamonds of spring green and emerald.

Even in the carriage, she could catch a hint of fragrance coming from the ever-scented roses blooming on every trellis.

A dance of dryads performed on the lawn, singing down charmed birds and bees for the little children of all the lords and ladies to play with, and even the common people, who had to be content with lottery seats on the west side, looked happy about the many kegs of dwarf-brewed beer on tap.

Some of them had brought picnic baskets, and the meadow sprouted a tapestry of various checkered cloths.

It didn’t please her the way it would have a day ago.

She glanced at Hari sitting across from her, tiny hands folded in his lap, eyes downcast. “I wish you’d stayed at the hotel. A letter would do to break it off with him, surely. You don’t need to confront him. Hector put him up to it anyway.”

“I have to tell him why it’s all over,” he said. “Because Hector might tell him you did it on purpose, sent me to distract him, and I don’t want him to think that for a minute. He deserves the truth—even if he won’t give that to me.”

Oh, bless him, still wanting to see the good in everyone.

She didn’t have the heart to tell him that this Tinbit was probably as much of an asshole as his witch.

Instead, she reached for his hand. “Dear, promise me, whatever he says, you won’t take it to heart.

I couldn’t forgive myself if this hurts you further. ”

“This can’t hurt me further,” Hari said in a dead voice. He gazed blankly through the windows.

The carriage jolted to a halt. Hari rose, opened the door, and stepped down to hold it for her.

She glanced around, startled by the cheers of the many common folk without lottery tickets who had turned out to watch the dragon carry off the princess from any vantage point they could find.

A few knights extricated a family of gnomes from a grumpy old tree, reminding her forcefully of Hari.

“Stay with the coachman,” she told him. “This won’t take long—it’s just the dragon coming to take the princess and then the prince’s declaration speech.”

“But I need to find Tinbit—”

She took hold of his shoulder. “I know. But I want to be with you when you do.”

“Ida—”

“Please. Count it against what I owe for not being there when you needed me the most.”

“You’ve always been there when I needed you,” he said. He patted her hand.

“No hunting for Tinbit.”

“No hunting for Tinbit,” he sighed and climbed back in the coach.

Oh, when she saw Hector today, she would give him a proper piece of her mind.

“Your Goodness?” The Captain of the Guard stood just beyond a bower of white and red clematis, looking dashing in a chain mail waistcoat and light helmet.

He extended his hand to take her arm when she approached the bower.

“I’m here to escort you to the Witches’ Box.

” His teeth shone amazingly white beneath his dark mustache.

She took his arm. “You’re Caedan Cay, aren’t you? I didn’t get a chance to congratulate you on your first quest last night. I hope it’s a very fruitful and fulfilling experience.”

His jaw tightened, but his smile never wavered. “I’d rather hoped I’d be joining the prince’s retinue on the rescue, but a quest is a great honor, of course. Good weather we are having for the day, isn’t it?”

Of course it was. It always was. She made it that way.

Bright sunshine, warm as summer, shone over everything like a benevolent God of Love, glazing every tower gold and making the white marble walls glitter like diamonds.

Every banner hung still or stirred only briefly in the light breeze.

Flights by dragon were never comfortable things for any princess, and anything to make the journey more pleasant was a good thing.

Ida glanced at the tall man by her side, noting the way he threw his shoulders back, the way his hair waved when he lifted his chin.

He looked every inch the knight she was sure he would be.

No wonder the Star seized on this man as a candidate for the prince’s affection.

The tabloids loved a sensational story on the brink of Happily-Ever-After.

What had it been for Annabeth and Rupert’s big day?

Oh, yes. Annabeth had been carrying on with a baker’s boy, and Rupert paid off a tavern wench who threatened to expose him in a sex scandal with a threesome of randy elves.

“Can I get you anything? Refreshments? A cushion for your seat?”

“No thank you. I don’t expect I’ll need either.

You should return to the prince. I’m sure he wants you by his side when the dragon arrives.

” Caedan stared over his shoulder at the large pavilion where the prince would be waiting for his cue to rush to the rescue of the princess.

A large white charger, arrayed in festive red and gold blankets, was being led toward the tent.

“Yes, I’m sure he does. Don’t hesitate to ask if you need anything, Your Goodness. ”

She smiled. What a nice young man. She had her doubts about Prince Archie—he’d never seemed all that kind as a child, and at the game he’d looked downright surly—but with a good wife in Amber, and thoughtful people like Caedan surrounding him, he’d do fine.

But then, almost anything would be an improvement on Rupert.

“Ida, dear, come up and visit with me!” Tara, her Good Witch counterpart from the South, waved her toward the stand. “The princess just arrived. The attendants have their work cut out for them—she arrived in a leather apron and breeches, can you believe it?” Tara looked scandalized.

“She’s a working blacksmith,” Ida said. That girl.

But at least she had shown up. After the fiasco last night, Ida had begun to wonder what would go wrong next.

That whole “the prince is sick” lie Annabeth had orchestrated rankled almost as much as Hector’s letters.

For once, she was on the same page as he was—this event was getting entirely too political.

Ugh. She couldn’t believe she was actually agreeing with him!

“Interesting.” The chill voice of Agatha cut in.

“You always did pick the most…unusual…princesses.” All in black, Hector’s counterpart, Agatha of the East, fanned herself with a copy of the Star .

“The papers are saying the most outrageous things about the girl, and about you.” She smirked.

“They say you deliberately yanked the rose out of the Common Princess’s hand and gave it to this one, a girl chosen by some committee? ” Her lip curled.

“The Star is hardly noted for telling the truth.” Ida took her seat beside Tara, pointedly ignoring the front-page photo of her and Hector wrestling in a most undignified way on the stairs.

The smirk on Agatha’s face got wider. Evil old witch.

She was almost as old as Ida, but not quite, and she’d always wanted to be in charge of the Witches’ Council.

No doubt she completely approved of the riot.

It irked Ida deeply that she’d wind up paying for Hector’s part in that mess if Agatha decided to blame it on her.

He’d probably lean back in his chair and gloat.

Where was that man? It wasn’t like him to be late, not even fashionably late.

She craned around, searching for the dreadful coach and his skeleton horses.

Speaking of the bastard, here he came, jogging across the field, wearing ratty dark robes that looked like they’d been hand-dipped in indigo. He climbed the stairs, distinctly out of breath. “Sorry I’m late,” he said, tipping his hat. “One of my carriage horses broke a leg this morning.”

“Oh, what a shame. I hope you buried the poor creature decently.” Agatha sniffed.

Hector’s green eyes lit up. “A silver bone plate and it will be as good as new. I’m not about to bury a good horse simply because he’s old.

” He gazed around the field, at the knights on parade, the military band warming up next to the stands, and at the brightly colored pavilions set up on either side of the field where the drama would play out.

“Pardon me if this is a foolish question, but where is the princess? Should she not be presenting herself by now?”

Ida rose. The princess’s tent stood on the left-hand side of the field, a flamboyant affair with decorative turrets and flags of blue and gold covered in fanciful stars and crowns. The princess should have been visible through the open doorway, but the tent flap remained stubbornly closed.

Agatha glared at Hector. “For that matter, Your Wickedness, where is the dragon?”

Hector’s mouth became a concerned, tight line.

Good. He needed to squirm.

“You go see about your dragon. I’m going to go down to the tent to give the girl a last bit of advice,” she announced. She hurried down the stairs and breezed across the field to see a princess about her destiny.