Page 35 of Wickedly Ever After (A Fairy Tale Romp, #1)

Hector

When I think back over the number of years spent in these mountains, I am humbled by people traditionally consigned to the lexicon of monsters—dragons, giants, goblins, even gnomes to a lesser extent.

History may record I did a great deal to advance the protections for the folk in my care and improved their lives, but it wouldn’t be honest.

In so many ways, they’ve taught me my own insignificance as a human, reminded me a millennium is not enough time to even break the surface of the great mystery of magic, and have changed my life in ways for which I am profoundly grateful.

(Editor: redact whole passage. Entirely too personal.)

A Thousand Years of Wickedness: A Memoir

Hector West

Hector hesitated before opening the door to the skullery.

Tinbit hated it when he looked over his shoulder or made any kind of suggestions regarding dinner, how he’d like it to be served, or even what he’d prefer for breakfast in the morning.

As a wicked witch, Hector knew he should expect total and complete control over his employees, but then, he doubted any wicked witch ever had an employee quite as stubborn as Tinbit.

Or one he considered so much a friend. He took a deep breath and pushed the door open.

Tinbit glanced up from the crabapple pie he’d plated. “Her Goodness is settled in?”

“Yes.”

Three skeletons prepared dinner, bustling about with a happy clicking and clattering.

One tossed greens and flowers with a vinaigrette, another basted the haunch of venison in the oven, and the other tended a pot of soup over a raised burner, maintaining a delicate simmer.

A warm, oniony aroma drifted from the pot.

“I moved dinner to five, not six,” Tinbit said, artfully applying a generous portion of whipped cream over the pie. “I thought you and Ida might like a walk in the gardens afterward before you retire to the library, or the bedroom.” He left off swirling with an angry jerk.

A retort formed in his mouth, but he thought better of it. “Is that for Hari?” he asked.

“Yes,” Tinbit said. “I took him some potato and leek soup. He ate it all and he’s feeling much better, so I thought he might like dessert.”

“Good,” Hector said. “I’m sure Ida will be pleased that he’ll be well enough to leave for her castle in the morning.”

Tinbit huffed. “He’s not well. And neither am I.”

“It will pass,” Hector said. “Ida and I will find the dragon and the princess and sort all this out soon. I don’t know when we’ll be back, but I really think you might be better staying here at the castle.”

“That won’t suit.” Tinbit jabbed a fork in the pie slice. “I’m going with you. And Hari is going with Ida. He’s her gnome and he’ll want to go with her. It’s no different than me saying I’m going to the mountains with you. You need me.”

“I go to the mountains without you all the time—”

“In a giant’s knapsack,” Tinbit said, glaring. “I trust Pocket to get you out of trouble if you get yourself into it. But you aren’t taking a giant this time. I’m coming. Besides, someone has to take care of Hari.”

“That’s not a good idea, not with the love magic still running rampant.”

“Maybe not. But we’re all in this fuck-up together now, Hector, whether you like it or not, and we’d best sort it out together too.” Tinbit picked up the plate and left the kitchen.

Hector flopped into the chair Tinbit had vacated. He’d call it a magical cascade failure rather than a fuck-up, but Tinbit had a point.

It was one thing to know that his own feelings were the reaction to Ida’s obnoxious love magic, but it was another thing to believe it wasn’t more than that.

He enjoyed her company, and when he thought back over the last thousand years, he always had.

He liked their conversations. They’d always been stimulating, thought-provoking, and when it came right down to it, fun.

Her mind engaged him, her temper provoked him in the best kind of way, and when he remembered how the light hit her hair as she stood, bathed in the hellhound’s flames, he burned inside.

If she’d asked him to take up where he’d left off that morning, he’d have been out of his robes in a hot second.

It was enough to make him question his proposal to Sebastian.

He groaned under his breath. Tinbit was right. Love magic or not, this was a complete and utter fuck-up.

He rose and tapped the skeleton stirring the soup on the scapula. “Serve dinner on the tea table in the library instead of the great hall, please. Send someone to tell Ida to meet me there. And bring a platter of fresh-cut sweetgrass to the table as well.”

At least in the library, Cear’s presence would keep him from making any more mistakes.

***

He found Ida waiting for him in the library dressed in her white robes.

She’d taken the sensitive fern from its stand and was telling it how green and robust it looked while it curled its fiddleheads in happiness.

Hector watched quietly from the doorway, curling in happiness himself.

How could such a robe, decidedly unrevealing and covering every inch of Ida’s body, thrill him like a boy at Midwinter Feast, eager to open a present?

He swallowed hard, and stepped aside to let the skeletons set out the repast on the small table where he often took breakfast.

Cear rose in human form on the hearth as the skeletons brought in a wrought iron balcony chair and table for them to use. The fireplace glowed with a warmth in keeping with the evening chill, but Hector sweated uncomfortably around the collar as he entered, coughing to announce himself.

Ida turned around and smiled. Her cheeks colored red as poppies in the firelight and her lavender eyes shone, changing almost the same way her hair did in different lighting.

One more day. One more, and he’d be done with this nonsense. He took his seat across from Ida. “I see you’ve made a friend,” he said, nodding to the fern.

“It really is charming,” she said, petting it gently.

“If it ever sends out runners, I’d like one.

” She set the fern gently on its stand and took the seat the skeleton pulled out for her.

“Thank you for serving dinner here instead of the grand hall. While I applaud your attention to evil detail, blood moss, damp stone, and guttering torchlight isn’t my idea of a tasteful dining experience. ”

She was being professional. Good. Professional would help.

“Nor mine. The last time I served guests in the main hall, I hosted a masque for the fae university. I didn’t think we’d ever get the smell of mead out of the magic carpets.

” He tucked his napkin into his collar and sat back as the skeleton set a bone-colored porcelain bowl of greens sprinkled with borage flowers before him and drizzled it with creamy poppyseed dressing.

“This is lovely,” Ida said, gazing at the bright safflower petals and nasturtium blossoms in her bowl. “From your gardens?”

“Oh, no. Most of mine are devoted to magical plants,” he said. “Tinbit grows the edible flowers at his house.”

“Where is Tinbit?” Ida asked, sampling the soup. The skeleton clattered over helpfully with the pepper grinder. She waved them away.

“He never eats with me,” Hector said, waving the skeleton with the main course into the room. “He considers it inappropriate. He’ll eat in his house. Indeed, he took a bowl of soup to Hari earlier—you don’t need to worry. He’ll take good care of him.”

“It’s not that I’m worried about,” Ida said, frowning.

“I know,” he said. “Perhaps if they took the potion again—”

“You know as well as I do, it won’t keep them from falling back in love with each other,” Ida broke in, tearing open a roll to dip in her soup. “Separation should help, but—”

“It’s the love magic,” Hector finished. “As long as it’s spreading, it’s a factor.”

The skeleton served the venison next, hot, buttery, and redolent with rosemary and juniper berries.

Hector complimented the chef after tasting it.

Skeletons as a rule weren’t as temperamental as gnomes, but any chef, even a dead one, likes to hear their work is exemplary.

The skeleton blushed blood red to the marrow as he retreated.

“Perhaps it might be best you first tell me everything you can about how you conduct your end of the Happily-Ever-After before we meet with the dragons. The more I know about how Alistair is involved, the sooner we can counteract this magic,” Ida said, cutting her venison into small portions.

Cear, having finished their sweetgrass, gazed at the table with interest, but their plate of food, which Hector had insisted on serving, remained untouched. “Everything about Happily-Ever-After would take a long time to explain, would it not?”

“Not really.” Hector pressed his fingers together.

“The tradition has evolved somewhat over time, of course, but the magic itself hasn’t changed in centuries.

Once upon a time, the knights were chosen to compete for the hand of the Common Princess since, at the time, there were no true royalty—just warlords.

Even before Happily-Ever-After existed, dragons considered roast knight a delicacy.

Cooked in their armor, which acts like a cast-iron pot, great tenderness could be achieved, and with a little sage and thyme added—”

“We’re eating, Hector,” Ida said, taking a long gulp of wine.

“My point is dragons have always kidnapped princesses to attract knights. In fact, many of them used to collect princesses much as an angler collects their favorite lures. That made dragons a natural choice for the event. Of course, now that they don’t have to eat knights, there’s little need to collect princesses, but they are still avid collectors—it’s a matter of what and to what extent.

Adair, Alistair’s father, collects folk art.

Alistair is slightly unusual in that he collects what he makes. He’s a sculptor.”

“With what would a dragon sculpt?” Cear asked.