Page 46 of Wickedly Ever After (A Fairy Tale Romp, #1)

“It’s not so bad, flying by dragon. A bit hard on the tailbone, considering the spikes, but not much worse than a broom.”

“And how were you after your first flight on a broom?”

He frowned. “Decidedly queasy.”

“So was I,” Ida said. “I hope—” She went quiet.

“What?” He turned around, staff up, in case of a manticore, but there were no fantastic beasts there, only Ida, standing on one leg, dumping a rock out of her boot.

“I hope she wasn’t too afraid,” Ida finished. “I would’ve been, going with a man I’d never met, with no idea what he’s like, or what to expect. Of course, I always consider that when I compose the love spells, but…”

She trailed off, and Hector thought uncomfortably of what he’d said to her about abdicating responsibility and incompetence and felt rather worse than queasy. How could he have been so cruel?

“What kind of man is Alistair?” she asked.

“He’s not a man. He’s a dragon—”

She rolled her eyes. “You know what I mean. What kind of person is he?”

“A young one,” he said after a moment. “Impulsive, artistic, hotheaded, but kind and thoughtful. He would never hurt a princess. Do you need to rest?”

“Perhaps for a moment.” She chose a rock beside a small stream and sat, stretching out her legs. Hector knelt and drank, and seeing him drink seemed to make her feel more comfortable. After a minute, she knelt and drank too. “If Amber wanted to leave him, would he let her go?”

“I suppose it depends on the strength of his need to retain his prize,” Hector said.

“But I think he would. He didn’t wish to participate in the Happily-Ever-After, but he did come.

And when I asked him to remember his role, he did—albeit a bit belatedly, and he didn’t do it the way I expected.

He’s always been more difficult to read than his father.

He’s so locked inside himself all the time. ”

“He’s introspective.”

“Yes.”

“Like you.”

He laughed. “Perhaps so. But I know other people depend on me to do my duty. I can’t let them down, now can I?”

She gazed at him. “No, I don’t suppose you could. And that’s what I’m worried about. If he believed his whole world depended upon him retaining the princess, would that be enough to override his thoughtful nature?”

It sounded like she was confronting him, but they’d agreed not to talk about it.

He glanced up at the mountains above them.

“I don’t know. I confess, I hoped he’d be somewhat older when the time for this magic came about.

He’s just a boy, and I don’t like that all this responsibility has fallen on his wings. He’s my godson after all.”

“Your godson?” Ida stripped her other boot and rubbed both her feet, wincing.

“The Flamelord honored me with the role. It’s very rare they don’t choose a dragon, but the egg was dark.”

“What does that mean?”

“They candle the eggs, you know, to sex the child and read their future. When they passed the light through his shell, the yolk got in the way; they weren’t even sure it was a boy.

Without the spread of the blood vessels, they couldn’t tell his future.

It was muddled. A dark egg. So they put me in charge of protecting him should things go wrong.

And now they have gone wrong, catastrophically so. ”

Ida touched his hand. “I am sorry. I really am. You must feel very unhappy about all this.”

He waved his hand. “The responsibility would still be mine were I not his godfather. Only…”

“Only?”

He sat beside her, leaning over his knees. “Perhaps I would not have thrown a shield so quickly. I would’ve let him defend himself.”

“I know what you mean.” Ida stretched out next to him, arching her whole body like an upside-down cat in an explosion of small pops and cracks.

“I confess, I felt much the same way about Amber. She planned to kill the dragon to save herself. I swear, for a few minutes, I thought she might. She reminds me of myself at that age. Foolish. Headstrong. Temper like a wildcat.”

“The temper and the headstrong, I’d vouch for,” Hector said, smiling. “Foolish—no. You were never foolish, Ida. Even if I said so.”

“I’m not so sure you weren’t right.” She sighed. “Have you ever tried to stop a fairy war?”

“No. But I did go spelunking with goblins once, and they abandoned me in the mountain for three days because I was na?ve enough to think a troll hunt meant actually hunting for trolls.”

She laughed and rolled over to face him, lavender eyes sparkling, pink lips parted. “That’s the oldest trick in the book.”

“And I fell for it.” He leaned over her, hand pressed against her palm.

“Ida, I know we weren’t going to talk about it, but I have to say something.

I deeply regret what I said the other night.

You were never guilty of abdicating your responsibility, and you didn’t deserve the accusations I threw at you.

I will not be calling for your resignation, or revoking your immortality, or firing you, because if you accidentally had a role in destabilizing Happily-Ever-After, you never meant to.

The guilt is mine. I’m the senior Cardinal Witch, and you were right. I should have been much more involved.”

She curled her hand around his. “And I should have told you earlier. I know that now. But what’s done is done, as Cear reminded me yesterday.

Whatever our differences, we can’t let anyone else suffer for our mistakes.

But I am worried—what if—what if we’re just making things worse?

Hari and Tinbit, and now the princess and the dragon—”

“Do you believe we are making things worse?”

“I don’t know. And that terrifies me.”

He went down on one elbow, chest brushing her arm. “I’m as scared as you are. But we said we’d fix this together. And knowing you’re with me gives me some hope that we can.”

“Me too.” Her chest rose and fell as she looked up at him, and he remembered that morning with her in bed, when he’d touched her, and desire filled him again.

Gods. Tinbit was right about the balls. It would be the simplest thing in the world to lean over her, to kiss those upraised lips, to turn the soft streambank moss into a bed. He wanted to.

“Ida, I—”

“It’s getting late,” Ida whispered. “We’d better be getting on.”

“Yes. Yes. You’re right.” He rolled onto his back, staring up at the whispering leaves, trying to compose himself. She was right. The sun was already high overhead. Tinbit and Hari would not be far behind.

***

The Flamelord’s cave came into view around noon. It was a far, far steeper climb than Hector remembered. Breathing hard, he stopped at the last place on the trail where he could rest and leaned against a rock to catch his breath.

“Let. Me. Do. The. Talking.” With a groan, he leaned on his staff and struggled up the last stretch, hoping against hope that when Tinbit arrived with Hari and the pony, he’d have the arnica tincture. His shins were killing him.

“It’s quiet,” Ida gasped from behind him. “Are they home?”

Hector drew in a deep breath. He cupped his hands around his mouth and roared a greeting. “Flamelord! It’s Hector West! May I come in?”

For a moment, there was no reply. Then a figure came to the door.

It wasn’t Adair.

It wasn’t Morga.

It wasn’t Alistair.

It was the princess.