Page 50 of Wickedly Ever After (A Fairy Tale Romp, #1)

Ida

I am extremely reluctant to take the unprecedented step of removing both of our oldest and most talented witches.

I know you feel, as I do, we owe a great deal to Ida North’s unwavering commitment to advancing the understanding and perils of good magic—however you may feel about her prickly personality—but we can’t simply kick her out of the Council to make a ridiculous queen look less ridiculous.

We must proceed carefully here, not just for the optics of the situation (seriously, could Annabeth have made this more awkward!) but for the sake of magic.

There’s no doubt this is a magical disaster of epic proportions, with far-reaching ramifications, but I, for my part, would rather fire Hector than Ida. After all, anybody can manage monsters.

Letter from Good Witch Tara South to Wicked Witch Agatha East

Dinner with the dragons was a strange affair.

Morga served them at a long table in the formal room with the firewall, clearly determined to extend all the hospitality due to visiting celebrities, but her heart clearly wasn’t in it.

She wouldn’t quit crying, and the hot tears created enough steam to make the whole room feel like a sauna.

Ida was glad when Morga finally excused herself to tend to her mate.

“Where are Tinbit and Hari? They should be here by now. Something’s happened.” Ida tossed her sandwich on the plate, still hungry, but she’d eaten as much chargrilled cheese as was wise. Exactly two bites.

Hector chewed through his sandwich as placidly as a cow. “The pony had a thorn. Tinbit won’t push the animal hard.”

“It will be dark soon.”

“Not for another two hours on this side of the mountain.”

“I wish I’d taken my crystal when we left this morning.”

“If they aren’t here in another hour, I’ll borrow a broom and go out and look for them.”

Someone must have told the man if he didn’t chomp his food into mush he’d choke. “How can you be so calm?” Ida tried to push back her chair but found it far too heavy and stony to move.

Hector finally swallowed. “Because I can’t do anything right now.

My medicines are on the pack pony. The pony won’t be here until Tinbit and Hari arrive, and I couldn’t speed it up if I tried—those creatures are simply immune to haste spells.

” He took another bite of sandwich. “I gather it didn’t go well with the princess and Alistair? ”

“Horribly,” Ida said. “They refused to separate, even to talk.”

“That’s not surprising. Newly mated dragons rarely leave their cave for the first few weeks. It’s essential they have sex almost continuously in order to develop a tolerance for each other’s venom.”

So that’s why Alistair had laughed. Ida blushed. “Well, I’d say they’re handling that little requirement quite well.”

Hector sipped his tea with an infuriatingly unconcerned look on his face. “Surely the princess doesn’t want to leave her family to become a dragon queen. She can’t know what it entails.”

Ida folded her arms. “She claims she does. It’s clear they’ve talked a great deal about it. He intends for her to be queen. And she feels the same way.”

Hector sighed. “I knew about Alistair. Adair told me. But the dragons will never accept it. It may well tear their nation apart.”

“I’ll let you tell him that.” Ida rubbed her temples. “I got nowhere with him, and I used the same argument—he wasn’t thinking about his responsibility.”

He reached across the table and touched her hand. “You handle the princess. Let me handle the dragons.”

“Good luck. Honestly, Hector, I don’t know if I will get anywhere with her until this earthquake in my head abates.”

“When Tinbit arrives, I’ll have him mix you a headache cure after he’s done with Adair. You should go lie down for a while.”

“Hector, you know I want to do as the dragons do for your sake, but I can’t sleep on a stone bench with no blankets, no sheets, and a lumpy old rock for a pillow.”

Hector laughed. “They keep a guestroom for humans here—quite comfortable. There’s even a bed with proper linens and not asbestos.”

“I suppose next you’ll say they’ll give us bear skins and wolf pelts to keep warm.”

“Five hundred years ago they would have, but no, I keep them well supplied with quilts. You and Hari can share the guest room. I’ll stay with Tinbit in the stable, so long as it suits you.”

“What would suit me is a bath,” Ida said. “And a fresh change of clothes afterward.”

“A bath can be arranged. And Morga probably has an extra robe you can borrow.”

“Can you do anything for the Flamelord?” she asked, rising.

“I think so. His wounds are not severe—at least for a dragon. He’ll recover. Now go lie down. I’ll clean up here.”

***

Ida found the guest bedroom by avoiding doors with scorch marks until she found one without any.

It was much smaller than the others too.

From this she concluded that at least in this part of the cave, the dragons kept their human shape.

From a diplomatic perspective, it made sense.

Most humans probably wouldn’t be comfortable sleeping where a dragon could enter at will.

A fire immediately ignited in the center of the floor when she walked in, a single jet of flame roaring skyward with a loud whoosh, then subsiding into a merry crackling blaze over a few chunks of reddish-black obsidian, carefully arranged and carved to resemble chunks of wood.

Cear would love this. How were they doing, trapped in their firepot, tied on the back of a goblin pony, somewhere in the mountains?

What would they say when they arrived? They’d have questions, and of course, she’d have to answer, because Cear would want to stay with her.

Not that she blamed the elemental—a stable was no place for a firepot.

She set her hands in the middle of her back and stretched, hearing every pop, feeling every tight place.

The bed at the hostel had been bad, worse even than the one at the inn. But she’d been less sore after the inn.

She crossed the room to test the mattress, deliberately not thinking about the way Hector’s eyes had burned this morning, bright as dragon’s fire, when he leaned over her lying on the moss.

For a moment, she’d been almost sure he was going to kiss her.

And she was absolutely sure she’d have kissed him back if he had.

She shuddered. When this was over, she didn’t care if she ever spelled a truelove’s kiss ever again.

She’d swear off romance for her entire retirement; become a grumpy old witch with a little gingerbread cottage, a garden full of nettles, blackberry hedges, and rampion; and keep an evil white goose to bite the backside of any lovelorn fool who came calling.

The bed yielded springily under her hands.

She lay down, kicking off her boots, and eyed the large tub in the corner of the room longingly, but until Tinbit and Hari arrived with the pack pony or Morga brought a robe, she only had her dirty sweater and pants.

The idea of crawling back into the filthy things again repulsed her.

She stared up at the bright firelight flickering on the ceiling, thinking about Hector’s castle, the library, the funny little fern, and the deep, rich scent of the black rose drifting in through the windows, so like the scent of Hector.

The vision came to her of that little cottage with the garden and the goose, the smell of flowers drifting through those open windows, over a cozy bed where she lay nestled next to Hector, one hand resting on his chest after making love to him—warm, happy, replete.

She could practically hear his soft breathing and see his salt-and-pepper ocean of hair drifting over the pillow, waterfalling into his deep green eyes as he smiled, as happy as she was.

She blinked fiercely. She was too old to think about things like a lovesick princess, believing every problem could be solved by one kiss on some enchanted evening.

But she couldn’t help but wonder if Hector had been a nice farm boy who’d come calling when she was a girl, whether she’d have heeded her father’s advice, or if she, like the princess and the dragon, would have given up everything for one simple lifetime of love.