Page 64 of Wickedly Ever After (A Fairy Tale Romp, #1)

Hector

My dearest detested Ida,

The black rose is dead. I killed it forever when I destroyed my own immortality. Happily-Ever-Ater is now effectively destroyed, and you won’t need to lift a finger.

One day, I hope you’ll understand why I didn’t tell you.

First of all, I had to ensure you didn’t sabotage my plan, as I knew you would.

You’re far too devious—it’s one of your most endearing character traits, by the way.

Secondly, you are the best person to watch over Tinbit.

I know you’re worried about maintaining him once I’m gone, but by sacrificing my immortality for him, I’ve made the necomancy permanent.

He’ll live out his normal lifespan, just as I will live out mine.

And I’m sure both Hari and Tinbit will prefer your castle to a rundown gingerbread house, although I hope all of you will come visit me.

Thirdly, you are right about Happily-Ever-After. Always remember that, no matter how tough things get. They might, but I hope my resignation and suggestions to the Council for the future will alleviate that somewhat.

But just in case I don’t see you again after today, I want to tell you how much I’ve enjoyed your companionship, not just over the last week, but over the last thousand years.

There was a time when I thought that I alone sacrificed everything for Happily-Ever-After, which I did gladly given the world we lived in.

But I was wrong. You were always there with me.

This is my way of returning the favor. I will never forget your kindness, your compassion, or the way you loved a man who has always, although he never would have admitted it until now, loved you.

Yours wickedly ever after,

Hector

Tinbit said they should all go back to the capital together. Hector said no. He put his foot down so sharply that Tinbit, sitting at the skullery table supervising Hari as he flipped eggs and turned bacon, shut his mouth and didn’t say any more about it. But Hari wasn’t so easy to shut down.

“We ought to be there,” he said, serving Ida first. “Let us come—we can tell them what we saw. No one should judge either of you until they hear from eyewitnesses.”

“We have an eyewitness. Cear will tell them everything they need to know.” Hector rubbed the small of his back painfully.

He’d wrenched it on one of Adair’s sharp turns rescuing Ida, and it was plaguing him this morning, largely because he’d been up most of the night trying to put his thoughts into words and failing utterly.

The library fireplace was full of bits of charred paper.

“But Cear can’t tell them all that we could,” Hari said. “We’d tell them how hard you both worked to fix Happily-Ever-After—”

“Which wouldn’t help anything,” Ida interrupted.

“Hector and I will handle this together. You stay here with Tinbit. He needs you to take care of him, and Hector is right. Nothing you can say will help.” She winced, twisting slightly as if her shoulder still bothered her.

Hector noted this with concern. He’d wanted to take the coach, but she’d refused.

They would have two days’ hard ride to the city on his constructs, and it wouldn’t be a comfortable one, even with extra padding.

Hari didn’t look pleased, but appealing to his love for his husband-to-be worked. He dropped his protests, gazing with doe-like adoration at Tinbit’s frowning face.

“Are the horses ready?” Hector asked the skeleton who passed through.

The grating reply assured him they were.

“Are you ready?” He turned to Ida.

“As I’ll ever be.” She drained her teacup and rose.

His uneasiness increased. Ida couldn’t do much to sabotage him on the way to the city. But all matter of things might go wrong when they got there. She was too compliant, too subdued. Moreover, she’d said he was right . That alone would keep him up tonight if his back didn’t.

***

He was right. It did keep him up. Nothing went wrong on the trip, however, other than Napoleon deciding he was a young colt and shying at every fluttering leaf, jumping deer, or manticore scat they encountered.

He unseated Hector once, and only a quick grab around the horse’s bony neck column saved him from a ridiculous spill.

Ida’s horse, Scary Mary, behaved herself.

Periodically, she gazed at Napoleon out of large, crimson eye sockets like she couldn’t believe he was being so silly.

They camped in the woods that night, far enough away from the road to avoid bandits, or so Hector thought until four highwaymen came into their camp determined to rob and steal.

But one of them was the innkeeper’s son.

He recognized Hector before Hector could turn all four men into stone as a reminder that not all travelers were helpless.

The affair ended with the robbers sharing their supper and begging a bag of everlasting salt, which Ida gave them with good grace.

After that, they both settled down to sleep with the two skeleton horses piled in comfortable heaps under the leaves, but Hector couldn’t get comfortable, although he did his best not to toss and turn.

As far as he could tell, Ida didn’t move all night.

But she didn’t snore, and that let him know she was as wakeful as he.

They rose as soon as the morning sunlight began to seep into the gray beneath the trees, and were on their way again, with nothing to prevent them from reaching the capital that afternoon.

Ida sighed and slowed down when the turrets of the castle came into view. After a few more steps, she pulled up completely and stared down at the shining buildings, clasping Cear’s firepot in her arms.

“What is it?” Hector asked, turning around in the saddle. “Is your wound hurting? I knew I should have changed your bandage last night.”

“No, it’s not that,” she said, rubbing her shoulder ruefully. “Well, it does hurt, but that’s not it. I was only thinking how different everything looks now.”

“How so?”

“Ever since I was a girl, I’ve thought that castle was beautiful, even back when it wasn’t much more than a stone fortress and a moat. It always sparkled, like something out of a fairy tale. I used to dream about living there. But today it doesn’t look so lovely. It needs something, I think.”

“I believe the king intended to request some magical renovations later this year, to celebrate the prince’s marriage.

A new treasury building, singing windows in the queen’s quarters, upgrade the nursery with some screens to keep malicious fairies out—that sort of thing.

I suppose those will be on hold until they sort out how they want to handle succession. ”

“I suppose you’ll say I need to visit the king and queen this evening to talk about that.”

“It would be a good idea. It might go a long way toward getting them ready to accept change.”

She folded the reins into one hand and brushed her hair back with the other. “Somehow, I don’t think it will. But I don’t suppose it can be avoided.” She lifted the reins and her mare broke into a gallop.

Napoleon bucked, and Hector had to get him under control as he raced to catch up.

***

When they cantered into the courtyard of the Hall of Witches, a tall sylph with white hair and blue skin was waiting to take their horses. An equally impressive salamander took the firepot from Ida’s arms without a word.

“Take good care of them,” Ida said. “They’ve had a long journey.”

The salamander said nothing and walked away. Ida’s gaze followed them with a curious intensity. She was planning something—he knew that look. Well, he’d have to get ahead of her, that was all.

“Are you ready?”

She sighed. “Whether I am or not, there’s no point in delaying this, is there?”

“I don’t suppose so.” He reached for her hand. “Ida, whatever happens, I—”

She raised her eyebrows.

He let go of her hand, a soft smile curving his lips. He hadn’t needed to write that letter after all. He didn’t need to say anything when she could read the look on his face so well.

They walked into the Hall together.

***

Tara and Agatha were waiting for them, each with their elemental attendant.

The fire crackled on the hearth as Cear emerged, dusting ashes from themself, and took their place beside Hector.

Agatha stared at him impassively, but Hector saw the look in her eyes.

Pure, unadulterated hatred. They’d always been professional rivals, but this was something different.

Momentarily, he wished he’d brought his staff.

But both he and Ida had agreed that if they were to get the other witches to listen, it would be better if they didn’t go in armed.

Ida walked toward her usual chair, turning to say something in a quiet tone to the sylph, who nodded and melted into the air.

“Are you going to sit down, Hector?” Agatha asked in a dangerously pleasant voice. “Or remain standing on your dignity?”

“Standing, I think,” he said. “I’ve been sitting most of the day.”

Ida eased around him, pulled out her usual chair, and sat. Tara stared at her with a sweet smile, but there was professional malice in her gaze. “Well? Is that it, then? No princess. No dragon. No prince. And no wedding.”

Ida spoke with acid in her voice. “Tara, don’t pretend you don’t know the prince has already married. I saw the news in the first mud puddle I happened upon.”

“And yet, Happily-Ever-After doesn’t seem to be working, given the flooding along the river or the unseasonable blizzard that wiped out two-thirds of the grain in the north, not that it was a huge loss, as it had ripened before it was ready and was already ruined.”

Agatha pressed her fingertips together, leaning forward in a ridiculous parody of the way Hector often sat when he was hearing people out before deciding against their proposal. No wonder Ida had thought him such an insufferable egotist.

“No, it isn’t. And it’s my fault,” he said quietly. “I’m prepared to take full responsibility.”

Ida glared at him. “You ought to be. It’s been your fault the whole time.”

Oh, thank the Gods. She was going along with his plan. He’d been concerned, but at least the fiasco with Alistair and Amber had taught her that when they’d decided on a course of action, unity was the best policy.

“I’ll tell you what’s wrong with Happily-Ever-After,” Ida went on.

“Long ago, four witches thought they knew what was best for the world. And so they brewed a potion that forced a prince to marry a commoner—a sacrifice that would ensure the peace they paid for with their hearts would last. They even made it look good—a pumpkin coach, oversized white mice to draw it, glass slippers that pinched they were so tight. Everyone was happy. The long war was over. No one would ever be hungry. The clouds of magic polluting the sky were gone, the rivers became clean, and no one ever needed to worry about their future, because they would all live happily-ever-after.”

Wait a minute. No, no, no, no, Ida. He was supposed to explain this. Not her. “If I may interject here—”

“But was it Happily-Ever-After?” Ida rose, folding her arms behind her back, one much more slowly than the other.

The dragon wound was clearly bothering her.

“When was it better to take away anyone’s choice for peace?

I’m not just talking about the right to fall in love with and marry whom you choose.

We denied the world the chance to fix itself.

We fixed it for them. We erased all the horrible things they’d caused, and worse, we told them that all they had to do was perform a little ritual to keep it that way—to stage a fight with a dragon instead of fighting the monsters inside themselves.

That’s when we failed Happily-Ever-After.

That’s when we failed the world. Ironic that we cut out our hearts when maybe if we’d kept them, we’d never have done this horrible thing to the people we were trying to save. ”

“Ida, I—”

But she wasn’t even looking at him.

“This year, the courage of one woman, the valor of a dragon, and the subterfuge of a captain of the guard who couldn’t bear to lose the man he’d given his heart to almost destroyed the foundation of this world we worked so hard to create.

But for their love—real love—Hector and I might not even be here today.

We didn’t make Happily-Ever-After for them.

They made it for themselves out of the wreck of that spell.

And yes, there are going to be consequences that we’ll have to live with and fix.

We owe it. It should be our penance for ever thinking we were wise enough to fix the world’s mistakes with a spell. ”

Agatha’s sharp mouth curled upward at the corners.

Tara, though, looked down at the table. “Do you hear yourself, Ida? You’re saying you want Happily-Ever-After to end? After all it’s done for the world? For us? It’s kept the kingdom happy for a thousand years. If we let it expire, what happens to us?”

“What do you mean, what happens to us?” Hector asked. “Didn’t you hear what she said? We have work to do. There will be famines to fix, levies to build on the river, and it rather sounds like someone needs to go summon a warm front.”

“You too?” Agatha glared at him.

“I—” He looked at Ida. “Yes. Yes, I do think it’s time for it to end. We’ve been in charge long enough. It’s time we stepped aside and let the world handle itself with our help, but not our control.”

“Next you’ll be saying you set this up on purpose to fail this year,” Agatha said.

“As a matter of fact—”

“He didn’t,” Ida said. “I did.”

“What?” Tara gasped.

“I destroyed Happily-Ever-After. It happened at the very beginning when I didn’t choose the princess this year.

I asked the magic to do it, without oversight, without thinking about the consequences of what I did, and worse, I didn’t tell anyone what I’d done.

I didn’t trust anyone but myself.” She gazed at him, and a warmth filled Hector, and a peace that he didn’t think was possible.

“But I’m glad it happened this way. If it hadn’t, I’d have never known just how wicked I really was. Or how good other people could be.”

He reached across the table and set his hand over hers. “You were supposed to let me take the blame,” he said. “We agreed.”

“Yes, well—I knew you’d come to see it my way in the end,” she said. “Besides, you know I could never let you win.”

Ida turned to the others. “It’s time to abolish Happily-Ever-After forever.”