Fractured Slipper

by Adrienne Monson

  She stared at her hands, willing herself to gain her composure back, not wanting to see the rejection coming. But when Bastion chuckled, her head shot up.

  The prince was laughing, his body suddenly relaxed.

  Humiliation and disappointment swelled. He was laughing at her? At her pain?

  Sobering, Bastion grabbed her and pulled her to him for a deep, hard kiss. Felicia melted when she tasted him, felt the pressure of his mouth on hers. She wanted to savor the moment, until she realized that they were in front of an audience and that he wasn’t making a lick of sense.

  Pulling back, she went to the step above. “What in the world are you doing?” she gasped.

  Not looking at all contrite, Bastion pointed to the front doors, which were now closed. “Do you see Cynthia here?”

  She looked around, seeing that only the prince and his servants had entered with him. “Well, no…”

  He laughed some more. “I rescued her, as you bid me. But I am not in love with her.”

  He stepped up, closing the gap between them. “I informed her that my true love was waiting for me at the castle. And then the maiden Cynthia asked me to take her to Lady Ella’s villa.” He grabbed her hands and held them against his chest. “And then I raced back home to be with the woman that I love.” His face leaned toward hers, his warm breath blowing against her lips. “The woman that I want to marry and spend the rest of my life with.” He kissed her again, softly this time. “Please stay, Felicia,” he whispered against her mouth. “Rule the kingdom with me. Now that you’ve been in my life, I cannot imagine it without you.”

  Tears spilled over her cheeks once more. The love she felt for Bastion was too powerful to contain. She laughed and cried at the same time, collapsing into Bastion’s chest. She breathed in his familiar scent. She couldn’t believe that she’d be able to be with him every day. That he wanted her by his side. “Yes, Bastion.” Looking up at him, she smiled through her tears. “I love you. I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

  “I love you, too.” He smiled, then kissed her again.

  Felicia was certain she could get lost in his kisses, in his touch. She wanted the moment to last forever. But it ended all too soon when the king cleared his throat.

  They pulled apart as if water had been thrown on them, though Bastion was smiling unrepentantly.

  Felicia turned to see the king standing with the queen only a few steps above them. “Congratulations, my boy,” the king said. “I’ve never been more proud of you than in this moment.” He smiled broadly. “But you two still need to be wed before you can behave like that for all the world to see.”

  Bastion and the king laughed heartily. Felicia watched the queen as all four of them walked up the stairs and deeper into the castle. The older woman wouldn’t look at Felicia, and her face was stiff with no expression. Felicia wondered if it would be a battle between the two of them forever. Then she looked up at Bastion. He was smiling down at her, looking as happy as she felt. She would handle the queen. Bastion was worth it.

  THE END

  About the Author

  Adrienne Monson is an award-winning hybrid author who has been hailed by MSN as a "vampire expert". She has always had a voracious appetite for reading and enjoys all kinds of fiction. While she is primarily known for her vampire novels in the Blood Inheritance Trilogy, she also writes historical romance, dystopian, and other genre mash-ups.

  Join her readers club or find out more about her other books at http://www.adriennemonson.com/.

  You can also follow her on Instagram (https://www.instagram.com/adriennemonson/) or Facebook (https://www.facebook.com/adriennemonson/).

  www.adriennemonson.com

  Time After Time

  Angela Brimhall

  Time After Time

  Historical Fantasy

  by

  Angela Brimhall

  Time After Time is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2018 by Angela Brimhall

  Original cover design by Ampersand Book Covers

  Published in the United States by Tork Media.

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior return permission of the author.

  Chapter 1

  Trysts and Tragedies

  Every girl secretly dreams of meeting their own prince at one time or another and I was no different. Illusions of gold-flecked eyes, broad shoulders, and a commanding presence had ebbed in and out of my nightly dreamland excursions from the time I was twelve years old. So, when I heard the messenger arrive this morning with a summons for Father to negotiate a new royal trade agreement with the king, I bounded out of bed to dress.

  I wonder if today will finally be the day he lets me go inside the castle and meet the prince.

  “Are you ready yet, young lady?” Father hollered up the stairs.

  Hands shaking, I jammed the laces of my ankle boots into their eyelets, tied a bow, and pinched my cheeks to put color in them.

  “Coming,” I yelled, then hurried to grab the leather satchel with my sketchbook and chalks, just in case.

  “Going with Father to the castle again?” a voice called out behind me. I turned to see my new stepsister Ophelia giving me the evil eye. My cheeks burned. I tried to paint a friendly smile on my face before my eyes darted to the ground.

  “I don’t know why he always chooses you. It’s like he doesn’t even consider us his daughters.” She curled her upper lip and scrunched her nose as if something rotten had wafted up her nostrils.

  “It’s tradition,” I explained, trying to placate her. “When my mother was alive, she sent me with him a few times to keep him company. I’ve been going with him since she died.”

  Ophelia narrowed her eyes. “Well, my mother is still alive. Perhaps I should speak with her about starting a new tradition, now that we’re all part of the family.”

  Father appeared at the top of the stairs, his eyebrows knitting together, face drawn. Moisture beaded in my scrunched hands and I swallowed.

  He’d overheard.

  “Ophelia, I didn’t realize you were interested in accompanying me. I’ll make it a point to save you the seat on my next trip. We’re still getting to know each other, aren’t we?”

  My stepsister’s glaring eyes never left mine.

  “Indeed. Thank you. That sounds grand, Father.” She turned and disappeared back into her room.

  Father cleared his throat and reached for my hand. “Come, Ella. We mustn’t be late.” I took it, deliberately taking deep breaths to calm my hummingbird heart.

  As we galloped across the countryside, Father at the reins as always, the cool fall air tasted sweet. Flocks of birds dipped, diving inside the wisps of clouds pressed against the morning sky, their songs permeating the air with soft prattles.

  “Birds are heading south for the winter,” Father observed, flicking the reins to encourage the horses to move faster. I pulled Mother’s shawl around my shoulders, trying to trap body heat to fight off the small shiver tingling up my spine.

  We rounded two giant boxwood hedges on the corner of the king’s estate and headed down the long dirt road, loose rocks churning up from the rolling wheels.

  “Will King Francis have you traveling during the winter months again? You nearly missed our first Christmas together last year. Lilith and the girls were dancing on their heels, waiting for you to return with their gifts.”

  “Yes,” Father sighed, then laughed. “Lilith surely has a spirit and mind to know what she wants, and those girls—I, uh, wanted to apologize for the way your stepsister behaved toward you this morning. Ophelia had no right to talk to you that way
. I’ll speak to her.”

  This wasn’t the first time. If you only knew, Father.

  “It’s okay. This marriage has been an adjustment for all of us. I overheard her talking to Gisella about their previous stepfather when I was watering the garden on Sunday. Their last experience with a new family was quite unpleasant. I’m sure Ophelia’s just trying to protect her and Gisella’s interests. Perhaps even prevent Lilith from being hurt again. I understand it’s going to take some time to get used to the whole idea of another new family.”

  “My Ella, you’re always so generous with your charity.” Father turned around and flashed me his legendary smile. The way his graying mustache curled when he grinned always made me laugh.

  I giggled and opened my mouth to tease him, but as the castle came into view, my throat tensed in anticipation. The gray marble stone caught the early morning light just enough to give off a glimmering sheen. My knee bounced and my toes curled inside my boots as we approached the ornamented wrought iron gate. I tipped my head out of the carriage window, searching across the lush grounds, then peered into the windows for a glimpse of Prince Greyson.

  Father stopped the horses and tied the reins. “I won’t be long, Ella. The king and I have a little business to attend to, then we can get back home. Lilith told me she was anxious to go into town. The ladies at tea informed her yesterday that a new shipment arrived at the dress shop. With Christmas coming, the party invitations will start circulating. She won’t hesitate to accept.”

  I blinked, pretending to rub a speck of dust from my eyelid to mask my rolling eyes. He noticed but didn’t comment. He just smiled.

  I agreed to be understanding when you married her. I never said I appreciated her ostentatiousness.

  “Of course, Father. I’ll be waiting.”

  He turned to leave, then paused and returned, an even wider grin on his playful face. My stomach swooped and I licked my lips.

  He’s going to invite me in. I’m finally going to get my chance to see the castle and maybe even the prince.

  “Ah, yes. I almost forgot.” He dug in his bag and retrieved a small crystal-blue paper box wrapped with pink ribbon. “To pass the time,” he said, giving me a knowing look.

  My heart dropped a little as he meandered down the pathway and through the castle entrance. For years I’d wished Father could read my mind or somehow realize how much I longed to be at his side and see what he saw.

  I looked down at the lovely package sitting in my lap. Even though I was somewhat disappointed about staying outside in the carriage, excitement bubbled at the prospect of Father’s new gift. I bit my lip and held my breath as I opened the pretty box. A brand-new set of chalk lay in a rainbow of deep, brilliant colors on a bed of deep blue velvet.

  He’s always brought me pastels before. What a wonderful surprise.

  I pulled out my sketchbook and searched the misty grounds of the royal estate for any sign of Prince Greyson. With the tip of my index finger I smeared the new robin-egg-blue chalk across the top sheet of blank white parchment, smoothing it in small circles to spread the color. The new stick wobbled in my trembling fingers, making odd streaks. I blew out a long breath, not realizing I’d been holding it in.

  The first time I had sketched the prince was five years ago, just after my thirteenth birthday. The sky had sobbed great streams of rain that morning, but the surge stopped just as we’d arrived at the castle. The air was rich with the scent of wet earth and grass. Father had just returned from a three-month errand. However, the king sent a message to the house just one week later for another extended trip. I’d pouted, not wanting him to go, vocal about what I thought of the king and his errands. Father had guffawed, then rustled in his bag.

  “Perhaps this will buy me and the king some forgiveness,” he’d said, a twinkle in his raven eyes as he presented me with my first sketchbook and chalk set. “Why don’t you find something to sketch while you’re waiting with the horses and I’ll be right back.”

  I’d glared at him as he made his way to the castle, a teapot still whistling inside me. But as Father walked under the wide wooden threshold of the entrance, Prince Greyson had emerged, greeting him with a friendly hello.

  The rough edges of my mood smoothed away.

  Dizziness had sailed across my consciousness. My lungs pumped, fighting for breath as if I’d sunk underwater. I watched his slow saunter and steady cadence as he made his way down the pathway. It sent a swell of nausea flooding across my already taut stomach. I nearly lost the eggs and ham we’d eaten that morning.

  The prince had headed across the grounds in my direction, and as he caught my eye, a flash of heat rose from my toes, burning the nooks of every square inch inside me. I ducked inside the carriage, waiting a few moments before peeking again around the side of the curtain to see him heading for the large stable on the east side of the castle. As he disappeared inside, my slender fingers flew across the new parchment capturing every detail.

  I’ve never forgotten that day.

  Although I always hoped to accompany Father inside the castle, I didn’t necessarily mind tending to the horses and carriage on the road outside the gates. Most times waiting meant gifts: new parchment, a new sketchbook, imported charcoals, and of course the guilty pleasure of spying on the mysterious prince.

  On our visits, it was rare for me not to see Prince Greyson riding his horse in the meadow or practicing his fencing on the veranda, but today, the grounds were empty of his presence. I stared out across the vast gardens and fountains, contemplating, but decided to sketch the many windows staring back at me from the stone and glass castle.

  I wonder where he is, what he’s doing? What it would be like to live behind those walls, inside those windows; to see the marble halls and gold-leafed walls of the castle? How would it feel to dine inside the huge ballroom, feel the prince’s embrace as we dance until midnight at a ball?

  A voice in the distance floated across the air and stirred me out of my reverie. I poked my head out to see where the noise was coming from and forgot the new box of chalk lay in my lap. It tumbled to the carriage floor, shattering the sticks into broken nubs. I sighed and popped the door open to gather what was left of the chalk pieces. The only stick still intact rolled out into the road.

  “Of course,” I mumbled. Cursing under my breath, I stepped out from the carriage and scuttled into the road to retrieve it. As I bent over to retrieve the chalk, the rapid clomping and loud snorting of a horse thundered behind me.

  “Macadamis! Easy boy! Whoa!”

  I whipped my head up to see Prince Greyson barreling around the fork in the road on his spooked stallion.

  “Watch out!” I screamed and jumped back, pressing myself against the carriage. He yanked the reins hard right to avoid crushing me. The jittery horse reared up and bucked him off. The prince’s body sailed through the air, then collided with the shoulder of the dirt road behind the carriage. He rolled twice and smacked his head on the rods of an iron fence.

  The Windsor Grey flew past the carriage and down the road, kicking up clods of dirt in his wake. I ran to the prince, fear clenching my throat. A wide stream of crimson blood pulsed and oozed from his dark hairline. He groaned, writhing back and forth, muttering incoherent words. I tore off a piece of my dress and knelt beside him, pressing the wad of fabric against his wound.

  “Are you al-alright?” I said, stuttering over the question. I leaned down closer to his face.

  “You fell off your horse.”

  “Mmmph.” Prince Greyson mumbled, his hot breath feathering up my cheeks. He blinked, trying to focus his pale green eyes on me. He licked his full lips.

  “Prince Greyson?”

  “As beautiful as your father said,” he whispered, his gaze so drawn into mine that I could see myself in his dilated pupils. Quivering fingers reached up and caressed my bottom lip with a tender stroke.

  Time paused for a sacred moment.

  His eyelids fluttered. He convulsed twice, then his
head fell to the side.

  “Miss!”

  I shot up to see a mass of uniformed guards flooding through the tall iron gate, a large burly man with a heavily medaled coat commanding the charge.

  “What have you done to the prince?” the man bellowed, beet-purple streaks coloring the pale skin under his blond mustache.

  I stood and put my hands up.

  “N-nothing!”

  A group of guards swooped in, scooped the prince’s body off the ground, and hurried to the castle. The commander and whom I assumed was his junior stayed.

  “Commander Drake—” The young guard attempted to speak, but the commander cut him off.

  “Get to the castle and inform the king of the prince’s injury. I’ll deal with this.”

  The guard threw me a look as if to apologize, then turned and ran for the castle.

  The commander stared at me, eyes blazing. “I asked you a question. What did you do to the prince?”

  I waved my hands side to side. “I didn’t do anything. I was trying to help him. His horse bucked him off and—”

  “Royal blood stains your hands!” he yelled, spit flying from his mouth onto my nose. I examined my hands. Crimson smears dripped down my fingers into my palm. I clenched my fists and pulled them to my side.

  “Yes, but I was only helping. I would never hurt him or anyone.” I backed away from him, my eyes darting around, looking for anyone who could attest my innocence.

  The huge man launched at me and grabbed my arm, squeezing it. The vein on his left temple swelled and his eyelid twitched.