Page 24 of Wickedly Ever After (A Fairy Tale Romp, #1)

Hector

When one has been a Wicked Witch for most of one’s life, one acquires many important skills.

One also learns to refer to one’s self in an oddly unnatural way, to monologue when necessary, to never seal one’s power in things like magical rings, or if one must, never live close to an active volcano where heroes are itching to throw your magical doodad in the lava, and a million other things to keep one’s self alive and largely intact. These are all excellent things to know.

Unfortunately, handling a whole council of squabbling witches isn’t taught as part of any curriculum, and has turned out to be about as rewarding as asking the mermaids to stop eating sailors.

A Thousand Years of Wickedness: A Memoir

Hector West

Personally, he’d like some answers too. The immediate problem—his protection spell had struck a princess right in the heart—he could explain, even if he was reluctant to do so.

Not that the thing was exactly illegal, but the fact that he’d had to use it at all was certainly suspect, and it would lead to more questions he didn’t want to discuss.

Like why the dragon had needed convincing in the first place.

What he’d wanted to do was give Alistair a strong desire to take the princess in his claws and carry her off to his lair where he would guard her until the prince arrived to rescue her.

When it hit the girl, it gave her a frantic desire to protect Alistair, the effect of Hector’s dark magic on a good and valiant heart.

Which meant—and this was a particularly irritating admission—Ida had picked one gem of a woman to be the Common Princess.

And if nothing was wrong with the princess, he couldn’t blame Ida at all, which was even more irritating, and deeply concerning because he couldn’t, for the life of him, confess that he’d made a mistake.

He’d been in charge of Happily-Ever-After forever—he couldn’t make mistakes.

He faced Agatha, deliberately disguising his weariness as boredom and said what he’d been rehearsing during the coach ride to the Council Hall. “You’re quick to demand solutions for a problem you don’t understand, Agatha.”

“Then you admit something is wrong with this Happily-Ever-After.” Agatha crowed like she’d scored a point.

“That’s patently obvious to anyone with magical sensibility,” he said, reaching for the dark cup of smoke-flavored tea the salamander set before him.

“Then what went wrong?” Tara asked with genuine curiosity, like she’d never once considered that magic could go wrong. In Hector’s opinion, she was by far the weakest of all of them—far too many of her spells involved cooking and nothing else. She didn’t take real risks.

“I’m not sure,” he said. “Yet.”

“Well, whatever happened, we will fix it,” Ida said, leaning forward. “Repairing Happily-Ever-After is not a matter of saving our reputations. This is about saving the world.”

Agatha struck faster than an injured griffin. “And I suppose you aren’t claiming any of the blame? Your princess charged the field like a knight, not a maiden. Just who is this girl?”

Ida flushed an angry shade of mauve. “A princess . And I absolutely take full responsibility for her behavior, which I personally found quite understandable under the circumstances. But this is not the time to be deciding who is to blame. Hector is right. No one needs to be encouraging the Star in their speculation—they’ll do that on their own without our help. ”

Ida was actually agreeing with him? Had she struck him, he couldn’t have been more surprised. But almost as soon as he felt gratitude, he squashed it flat. Of course, she was. She was reminding him of exactly what she’d do if he so much as mentioned the laughing charm.

“Ida is right,” he said, gazing at her pointedly.

“When the magic is corrected and the princess wed to her prince, we’ll see who assumes full responsibility.

First, we need to seek out the princess and the dragon and bring them here to untangle the magic.

I will go in search of them both. The Dread Mountains are my domain. ”

“Not by yourself, you’re not. I’m going too,” Ida broke in. “I don’t trust a Wicked Witch to be versed in how to alter my magic.”

“I can handle your good magic,” Hector said, nettled.

“You couldn’t even handle your own dragon today,” she retorted.

Hector’s reserve, always so easy for him to maintain in public, felt as loose as his stomach right now. “But he is my dragon. I see no reason for you to come,” he said.

“She’s my princess. I’m coming.”

Was she insinuating she would take responsibility with him? He felt like he’d stepped out of reality and into a whole new fantasy world. “Very well,” he said, now completely wrong-footed. “Can you be ready to leave this afternoon?”

“We can leave now. My carriage is waiting outside. I’ll transfer my belongings and send the coachman and my…manservant, home.”

“This is all very responsible of you; almost chummy,” Agatha said with a sneer.

“One would think that both of you have something to hide. One might think you’ve joined forces to cover up your mistakes rather than fix them.

One does find this very interesting, and others might also find it… interesting.”

“You do know that talking about yourself like that went out of style about five hundred years ago,” Ida scoffed.

“Agatha’s right, though,” Tara said. “I, for one, want another observer along. But someone…more unbiased.” She shot a suspicious glance at Agatha. “Perhaps, I should go.”

“Out of the question.” Hector shook his head. “I can’t guarantee anyone’s safety, especially that of a good witch. We’re talking dragons here.”

“I can take care of myself,” Ida said icily.

Agatha glanced at the salamander, standing respectfully near the fireplace. “What is your name?”

Fire-bright eyes contracted down to narrow black coals. “I’m Cear, Your Wickedness.”

“Can you travel, Cear?”

“Yes, Your Wickedness. If I must leave the hearth, I travel in a flame.”

“You’ll accompany them. A salamander can’t be burned by a dragon. They don’t need protecting. And they always tell the truth. Hector will prepare a flame jar for you to travel in,” Agatha said.

Hector eyed the salamander. It had been a very long time since he’d spent any length of time with an elemental guardian of magic.

In Council, they kept largely to themselves, only attending their respective Witch and maintaining the hall before disappearing back into their meditative existence.

But he knew they were as long-lived as any Cardinal Witch.

This one might even have been the entity staring him down at the dawn of Happily-Ever-After.

Carrying them around in a can seemed demeaning.

He could practically see the blue flames of anger lighting in the salamander’s orange-and-red body.

“Only if they wish to go. I wouldn’t presume to order an elemental to do anything,” he added, shooting a warning look at Agatha.

“I will prepare the jar,” Ida said. “I can make it as large as a fireplace on the inside. I’ve done things like this before.”

“Not for elementals surely,” Hector said.

Ida’s jaw tightened. “For dryads. Before the forests were protected, I helped them transplant saplings from areas being developed for farmland. I used magical pots. They needed to be transported with their soil linked from one place to another to keep them from reverting into screaming babies. Cear, I would be honored if you would help me prepare the firepot. I’d like to make sure it is exactly what you need. ” She bowed to the salamander.

Cear’s fathomless eyes softened. “I will, but only if his Wickedness assists. Your magic feels odd,” they said, reaching out a hand to touch Ida’s collarbone. “Almost as if something, or someone, has broken it.”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” Ida said, flushing purple.

“I have felt such things before,” they said, withdrawing their hand, “when the land was broken and magic with it.” They glanced at Hector. “It was long ago, but his Wickedness remembers. He was there.”

“I’ll fix it,” Hector said firmly.

Agatha’s face became a glow of happy accusation, and Tara smirked. Hector had never wanted to curse so much in his life.