by Megan Derr
Table of Contents
Little Moments
Book Details
Miscommunication
Basking
Good Bad Behavior
Well-earned Respite
Close of Day
Royal Paramour
In Threes
Family Schemes
Gloating
The Healer's Spouse
Letting Go
Visitors
Little Moments
COLLECTED SHORTS OF WHAT COMES AFTER 'THE END'
VOLUME ONE
MEGAN DERR
A collection of ficbits initially posted on Patreon, short tales of life after the happily ever after of the official stories. This volume contains shorts for:
Spellweaver
Backwoods Asylum
Love You Like a Romance Novel
Kiss the Rain
Jewels of Bangkok
The Toad Prince
The Witch in the Woods
Hold Still
The Rose and the Fox
Brightleaf
The Troll
Black Magic
Little Moments
Volume One
By Megan Derr
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission of the publisher, except for the purpose of reviews.
Edited by Sasha L. Miller
Cover by Megan Derr
This book is a work of fiction and all names, characters, places, and incidents are fictional or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people, places, or events is coincidental.
First Edition April 2020
Copyright © 2020 by Megan Derr
Printed in the United States of America
Miscommunication
SPELLWEAVER
Johan looked up from the papers he was skimming as his office door opened. Only one person would dare to enter without knocking, and sadly it wasn't his lovely young lover looking for an afternoon tryst.
He smiled anyway, and set down his papers, rising to bow in greeting. "Your Highness."
Prince Trisar scoffed as always at Johan's manners, the gold thread in his lace cuffs and at his throat glinting in the afternoon sunlight. "Are you busy?"
"Never too busy for you," Johan replied with a smile.
Most of the royal family was far too serious for their own good, leaving Prince Trisar the very odd one out. He was the size of a house and built like a fortress, but where his family all dressed like they expected to attend a funeral at any given moment, Trisar's style had more in common with a boudoir. Or a cake.
They'd been friends from the moment they'd met as boys, Johan hiding from doing yet another pile of syrup-sticky dishes, Trisar sneaking off with some of his sisters' old dresses to try on.
He wasn't wearing a dress today, though his thigh-length jacket could nearly pass for one of the scandalously short dresses the people on Lovers' Lane wore to draw in customers. It was dyed in purple ombre, with a delicate, barely visible swirl of silver roses and vines. His long, long black hair was bound up in an elegant twist and decorated with purple roses, and amethysts dripped from his ears and gleamed on his fingers.
The only contrast to the ensemble were the green gloves he wore, precisely like Johan's. The second child of the royal family—the spare, as people loved to call him—it was Trisar's duty to oversee magic, ensure the laws were obeyed, violators suitably punished, and so forth.
As a child, Johan's aspirations had been no greater than getting a job away from the kitchen—maybe something as lofty as head footman. But after he'd accidentally become Trisar's best friend, he'd been drawn into the world of magic and proven to have a knack for it—a knack the queen had not wanted overlooked.
And now he was the second most powerful magic user in the kingdom. Only the Lord Breaker, Kirra, was stronger than him, and Trisar was a very close third. Kirra handled the broader aspects of the job—international tangles, mostly, and some of the thornier and more delicate matters involving nobles. Johan dealt with local problems, and everyone not a noble.
Trisar smiled. "I need your advice on an important matter."
"Intriguing." Johan shoved away from the desk and walked with him out of the office and through the halls, until they came to one of the more remote courtyards—not private, per se, but enough of a walk that few people bothered to use it unless specifically ordered or invited to be there.
Currently, it looked as though it had been set up for some private little gathering, where people could meet one another, chat for a time, nibble on sweets and such. Johan hated them, and avoided them as much as he possibly could. More often than not, he sent one of his secretaries or warlocks to stand in for him—they enjoyed the chance to make powerful connections, he enjoyed being able to get real work done.
"Who do we have here, then?" he asked, brows lifting, because it wasn't hard to pick out the three princes and solitary princess in the mix, and the ten or so people who comprised their various entourages. "What's being negotiated today, and why would I have any useful advice?"
"My marriage," Trisar said with a sigh. "I'm to pick one of the four by the end of the month, or else my mother will do the choosing herself, and frankly I'd rather go about naked the rest of my life. Everyone else can rattle off the political reasons I should marry; I'd like your non-political input."
Johan laughed briefly at the idea of Trisar forsaking clothes, then sobered and gave the candidates a more thorough going over. The princess seemed… well, honestly, a lot like Trisar. In demeanor and dress they could have been siblings, though her skin was moonglow pale and her hair the color of rubies. "I'm not sure you and the princess would get along in the child-making way, which I'm sure is an expectation piled upon her."
"Oh, quite," Trisar replied. "She's a lot of fun, but every time I think about kissing her, I feel vaguely ill, like I'm getting amorous with a sister or cousin. She feels the same. I suppose alcohol and determination would get us through the matter, but why make us both miserable? Still, she's honestly the least depressing of the lot."
"Interesting," Johan said. "What about the dark, brooding one in the corner? He's beautiful."
Trisar sighed, eyes falling on the man in question, and he looked for a moment deeply sad. "Arran. Smart, good leader, would be bringing an alliance with Kartermine with him, and a personal connection to the Sharmora, which is worth a kingdom all on its own. But he hates me; every time we're in the same room he glares so hard I fear I'll catch on fire. No idea what I did to earn his contempt, but I have enough of it for three of me. A pity, because I'm told he's perfectly lovely, if somewhat stand-offish, when I'm not around."
"Hmm…" Johan said thoughtfully. "What about the remaining two?"
Before Trisar could reply however, two more people came into view, new arrivals to the private fete. Happiness burst in Johan's chest and spread through his body as he watched Myka, who practically clung to Lady Sartin out of terror as she introduced him to some of the local nobility in attendance, as well as the visiting royals.
"He's a darling," Trisar said with another sigh. "I wish someone looked at me the way you and Myka look at each other."
Johan was fairly certain that given half a chance, Trisar would look at Arran in such a way, but he forbore comment—and then forgot, as sharp, cutting words filled the clearing and one of the foreign princes gave Myka a ringing slap.
"I beg your pardon!" Trisar bellowed, and all heads immediately turned and snapped up, dozens of eyes filling with horror as everyone realized the man of the hour had quietly been watching them for who knew how long.
Trisar grabbed the edge of the balcony, swung neatly over it, dropped to hang from the edge, and then
smoothly dropped to the ground.
Johan lifted his eyes to the sky, but at the curt jerk of Trisar's head, deftly repeated the ridiculous maneuver. Gods knew they were old hands at doing stupid things in and around the palace, though leaping balconies had been easier when he was twenty.
"Myka," Johan said softly, crossing over to him and pulling him close. He gently grasped Myka's chin in one green-gloved hand, and tilted his head to get better look at the mark that was already bruising.
"Is he all right?" Trisar asked.
Johan let Myka go with a soft kiss. "Are you?"
"I'm fine," Myka said. "But I wish someone would explain to me why I got slapped. I didn't mean to cause offense."
Trisar barked out several sharp words at the man who'd slapped Myka. A few minutes later, the man looking muchly withered, Trisar said, "He took something you said as a massive insult, instead of remembering how often he himself has cast insult without intending it, because most of us can't communicate clearly in our own language, let alone others."
The prince said something else, and Trisar added, "He says he is sorry, and offers a full length of spelled Termion linen in apology."
Johan glanced briefly at Trisar, recognizing the look in his eyes. The man was offering no such thing, if he had to guess, but he'd hear about it at some point, and realize just how mad Trisar really was.
Well, that was two candidates firmly down.
The prince slunk off, his entourage close on his heels, and the rest of the party broke up almost immediately after, everyone eager to avoid causing more trouble—or more likely, eager to spread gossip.
Only Prince Arran lingered, and the look on his face—surprise, intrigue, and more than a little want—had Johan dragging Myka away, leaving Trisar and Arran alone.
Holding to Myka's hand, he led the way through the palace to the gardens, pausing only to have a maid fetch him some ointment from the palace healer. When that had been brought, he led Myka to the gazebo where they'd first dallied, during the royal ball when he'd thought Myka some passing stranger he'd never see again, without no clue his companion was really the spell weaver he'd pined and lusted after for months.
Myka shot him an amused look as he took a seat. "I'm not sure I trust your motives in bringing me here."
Johan laughed. "What's not to trust? Even if I had brought you here for a tryst, wouldn't you enjoy that?"
"True," Myka said with a laugh of his own. It vanished beneath a slight wince as Johan began to treat his bruised cheek. "I hope I haven't caused any trouble. Lady Sartin was showing me around, and introduced me to Prince Westen because we import so many valuable fabrics from his country."
"It takes more than accidentally calling some royal brat a mangy dog, or whatever he was griping about, to ruin trade agreements. Trust me. If one insult from a spell weaver was enough to cause that kind of rift, the wars would never stop."
Myka moaned and covered his eyes with his fingers. "I can't believe I said that. I practiced my greetings all week!"
Johan chuckled, and pulled his hands away, kissing the knuckles of both. "Beloved, I have enough stories of offensives I've caused—accidentally and on purpose—to fill a library. Trisar doesn't consider his day well spent unless he'd offended at least one person. Everyone from Their Majesties on down to the lowliest kitchen boy manages to offend some royal or noble at least once a week. As long as you don't strike them or something, very few people in the palace mind, and those who do mind are ignored."
"I suppose," Myka said, cuddling close when Johan pulled him in, seeming soothed by the kiss Johan dropped on his mouth. "I'm not sure I'm cut out for palace life."
"You're doing marvelously, and you'd realize that if you stopped fretting." Johan stroked his back soothingly, lingering every now and again to tease the back of his neck, eliciting lovely shivers. "Everyone I speak with mentions to me how lovely you are—in deed and in looks." He winked. "I think a few are pouting that I scooped you up before they ever knew you existed. I'm not terribly sorry." That got the laugh he'd been hoping for. "Have you gone into the city yet, today?" Johan asked.
"No, I was going to go after the party."
"Do you mind if I tag along? Incognito, of course." If he wore his green gloves anywhere near Ash Street, people would run and hide. So many in the poor districts were precisely as Myka had been: struggling, unlicensed, harassed by slum lords, and half a step away from being arrested for things that ultimately were not their fault.
That was the very last thing Johan wanted, especially since Myka went there to help out his old friends and neighbors. He drew a paycheck now that was, according to him, more in a month than he tended to earn in at least two years.
And instead of spending it, or saving more than a small sum of it, Myka gave it away to help out others. If Johan hadn't already been in love after the past several months together, he probably would have fallen in love at just that.
It also made him want to do more himself to help, though his methods were more general and sweeping, as he simply didn't have the time to do it Myka's much more personal way.
Soft lips brushed his cheek. "Shouldn't you be working, not out here soothing and cozying up to me in hopes of a gazebo tryst?"
"I only sought to soothe, I promise," Johan said with a smile. "Tempting though you always are, even I would get in no small amount of trouble for being caught behaving so in the middle of the day. Very few in this place want to see that much of me."
Myka laughed. "I think the numbers might surprise you."
Johan pinched his nose, then kissed him. "It's the green gloves and the fact I call Trisar by his name, more than anything. I've only known one person to nearly pass out in terror because of who I am." He chuckled when Myka made a face. "So about a tryst…"
"Oh, no," Myka said, though he laughed again. "Lady Sartin is probably looking for me, and I know you have work aplenty. You can wait until tonight."
"Fine," Johan said with a sigh, pouting as he stood. He drew Myka into his arms and kissed him properly—long and deep and full of delightful promise. "But I expect it to be worth my wait, Your Highness."
"Hahaha," Myka retorted. "Isn't it always?"
Johan kissed him again in reply, and added in a bit of fondling that got him a startled squeak. "See you later then." He sauntered off, laughing at Myka's flustered shouting, as it would probably be a few minutes before he was fit to leave the gazebo.
Whistling, Johan headed back to his office.
Basking
BACKWOODS ASYLUM
Was there anything better than basking?
Well, yes. The three puppies sleeping off their forays into the pond, and the handsome man who would be joining them eventually. But sprawling on his rock and soaking up the sunshine, with nothing before him but a weekend with his family at his house in the woods, was a close second to those dual firsts.
Skylar smiled faintly as he heard the soft rustle of someone trying to approach unnoticed. "You can't think you're really going to sneak up on me on my own turf."
"I wouldn't even bother trying," Brady said with a warm laugh. "I just didn't want to bother you. I was also admiring the view. Whenever you talked about basking on your rock, I stupidly assumed clothes were involved."
Brady sat down next to him, resting a cool hand on Skylar's heated skin, and Skylar finally opened his eyes and stared into Brady's beautiful green-yellow ones. "Silly you. What's the point of basking if you have all those clothes in the way? They just get sweaty and itchy."
"Silly me," Brady said, skimming a hand lightly along his torso. "Cruel you, looking like this when there are children nearby and I can't do all the things I'm thinking about."
Skylar laughed and sat up, reaching for his clothes. "Help me carry them home and maybe we can steal a couple of hours to ourselves."
"Well I suppose that's a suitable trade for my promised afternoon of swimming and sunbathing," Brady replied with a smile, and reeled him for a nice, long kiss that tasted
faintly of chocolate.
"Someone's been in my candy jar," Skylar said as he pulled away.
Brady just grinned as he took Skylar's hand, weaving their fingers together, even though the pups were a short distance away. It was just one of the many little things he did that Skylar loved about him. Sometimes, he wondered how on earth he'd ever thought Brady hated him.
As they reached the little pile of sleeping puppies, Brady kissed the back of his hand before letting go, then knelt and scooped up Hansel and Gretel, who were big enough now that Skylar couldn't easily carry them both anymore. Instead, he picked up a snuffling Annabelle—Bella—and cuddled her close. The twins were plenty capable of shifting, had been for the past couple of months, but Annabelle was little enough she couldn't yet manage it. To keep her company, and because they could move more easily with four legs, the twins generally stayed in wolf form.
The hike back to the house was quiet, save for the rustle of animals and a chorus of birdsong. Throughout, the pups didn't so much as stir, save for Hansel, who mumbled sleepily in that 'I want cookies' way of his before falling silent again.
Once the twins were in their bed, because they refused to sleep separated, and Bella was in her crib, Skylar headed back down the hall to the living room, followed a moment later by Brady.
His phone promptly went off, making them both groan.
Skylar loved being a father, even more than he'd thought he would. Better still, he had a partner, when he'd always assumed he'd be a single parent.
But jeez did he hate being a famous parent. Ever since the media and everyone else had gotten wind of the adoption, his weeks had been filled with interviews, requests to give speeches, luncheons, banquets, and more—everybody wanted to talk to him, or listen to him, or ask for his help.
It wasn't that he minded, he was all for being an advocate for the kinds of changes that allowed people to adopt whatever child they loved, regardless of shifter species. He was definitely enjoying people not being scared of him, though there would always be assholes who called him feral, half-wild, and worse.