Page 57 of Wickedly Ever After (A Fairy Tale Romp, #1)

Hector

Among the most popular skills in a wicked witch’s arsenal is the transfiguration of a human being into a monster.

It provides the masses with an emotional boost thinking love has the power to take the monster out of the man.

I find it ironic that the true meaning is lost in the transformation—the “monster” was, and always will be, worthy of love.

A Thousand Years of Wickedness: A Memoir

Hector West

Hector lay awake for a long time, listening to Tinbit snore.

He’d done enough transformations over the years to be sure his spell would work.

Would it give Ida enough leverage to keep her job when this was over?

That was less certain. As much as he needed to keep his, he didn’t want to be responsible for costing hers.

He’d let her take credit for having known all along that Prince Archibald’s true love was the boy next door, not the girl.

It would make a good story. Aside from Amber’s family, no one would be interested in what happened to the wrong princess, would they?

They’d never cared what happened to nasty stepsisters or wicked aunts once there was a happily-ever-after.

And it was essential that Amber stay with the dragons.

Short of killing Alistair, he couldn’t remove the princess.

Dragons mated for life. No magic Hector could conjure would combat the instinct, not even his strongest forgetfulness charm.

Alistair might not know he’d had a mate, but he would feel her missing inside him nonetheless.

He would be restless at first, then anxious, then determined to seek what was lost. Even if by some miracle, Alistair took another, there would be no eggs.

The dragons would depose their heirless king and fight over the rule.

Their carefully built society would fall apart then, and Hector would be the architect of their ruin.

He wasn’t going to let that happen if he could help it.

He worked the transformation out by midnight.

Once Tinbit was snoring, Hector left the bedroom, staff in hand, and headed toward the dragon’s lair, feeling that for once in the last two weeks, he’d finally done something right.

This would preserve his bad name, save the dragons from themselves, Ida would keep her job, he’d keep his, and together, they’d do something about Happily-Ever-After so nothing like this would ever happen again.

***

The dragon’s hospitality room was dark but for a thin stream of fire coiling from the gas vent to the ceiling.

Cear dozed in the inky peace. Hector eased in, not wishing to disturb the salamander, and took a chair where he could rest until daylight.

Strong necomancy took it out of him. Dismally he wondered how many plants in his garden he’d killed to make it happen.

He’d have a desolation to replant when he got home.

***

Morning came late for Hector. He’d underestimated how tired he was, and when he woke to the sound of plates rattling in the kitchen, it was well past dawn.

Cear, consuming a small pile of sweetgrass in a leisurely fashion, gave him a side glance as he yawned and stretched. Somehow, he’d managed to sleep despite the discomfort. He ought to get up, go out to the stable, change his rumpled clothes and comb the tangles from his hair.

Tinbit’s voice grated harshly in his ear. “No, I don’t know where Hector went. I stayed awake as long as I could, but he slipped out as soon as I nodded off. What of it?”

Hari spoke softly. “Ida went out last night. I asked her where she was going. She said she needed fresh air. Do you think…they…well, you know, again?”

“No,” Tinbit said. “Hector wouldn’t. Your witch might; she’s the mistress of love magic after all.”

“Gods, Tinbit! Whatever you may think of her, Ida did nothing wrong. I demand an apology.”

“I’m not in the mood to hand them out this morning—tend those eggs before they burn!”

“Mind the toast then; it’s the last of the bread!”

Hector rose, sore and grumpy. He twisted his head from side to side. Sleeping in a stone chair wasn’t good for the neck or the back.

Ida emerged from the hallway, looking cross, and sleepily tugging her robe around herself. She almost ran into him.

“What is it?” he asked.

“I thought I heard something,” she said.

“Tinbit and Hari are in the kitchen making breakfast.”

“No. It came from Alistair and Amber’s room.”

“A—”

He didn’t finish his question, because a roar came from the hallway, the kind of roar that preceded fire. A huge, golden-brown dragon loomed in the doorway, chestnut eyes flaming. It bore down on him, jaws agape. “What have you done with my husband? Tell me now, or I’m going to eat you!”

It was the princess.