The Wicked Witch's Prince

by Aron Lewes

  “This is ridiculous!” Rose squawked as she leapt to her feet and followed Gideon into the hallway. “Even if my brother wronged you, why do you want to punish me? Why do you want to take my home?”

  “I'm taking more than your home, Princess Rose. I'm taking your freedom as well. If you're lucky, I might even make you one of my attendants.”

  Rose's eyes swelled when she left the drawing room. An endless queue of King Orun's soldiers spilled down the hall and wrapped around the corner. “They're all over the palace!” she gasped.

  “Indeed. And we're kicking out Sharman's knights... unless they pledge loyalty to me,” Gideon calmly informed her. “I checked your guards' quarters, and it looks too small to house all of my men... so we're taking over the entire east wing of the palace.”

  “B-B-But... my own bedchamber is in the east wing!” Rose sputtered.

  “Then I suppose you will have to find a new bedchamber, won't you?” Gideon snapped his fingers at one of his guards, and he didn't stop snapping until the man rushed over and dropped to his knees. “I have new orders for you, Bronson. I need you to find the prettiest women in the Winter Palace and line them up in the drawing room. Don't waste my time with anyone who isn't the definition of loveliness.”

  “It will be done, Your Grace,” Bronson obediently murmured.

  “Oh! And I don't want them to be over the age of... say... twenty-two,” the teenage prince decided. “Even that is a bit too old, but I'm willing to bend if she's pretty enough.” When Gideon held out his hand, Bronson's lips ascended to the rings on the prince's fingers. As the guard's mouth brushed against Gideon's rings, the prince continued, “Oh... and I have a particular fondness for blondes. The blonder the better. Now go.”

  As soon as he was dismissed, Bronson leapt to his feet and charged down the hallway. Rose's brow furrowed as she watched him dash away. When she glanced back at King Orun, she was stunned to find him sitting in the drawing room, where he was mindlessly sipping tea and licking frosting from his fingers. While his son took over the Winter Palace, Orun didn't budge.

  Rose dared to ask the prince, “Why are you assembling young women?”

  “If you were listening properly, you would already know the answer. I need attendants, Princess Rose. I need a legion of women who are willing to bend over backwards to please me.” When Gideon pointed at a fleck of lint on his coat, one of his guards rushed forward to pluck it off. “See? Men can be decent servants as well, but I prefer women. Young women. Pretty women. They add to my happiness.”

  When she saw Prince Elliot heading down the hall, a relieved sigh spilled from Princess Rose's lips. While she wasn't particularly fond of Elliot, she was thrilled to see a familiar face. “Elliot!” she cried. “Elliot... Prince Gideon is doing terrible things!” In an effort to elevate his concern for her, she smacked away tears that didn't exist.

  Gideon calmly defended himself. “I am doing no such thing. I am merely taking a palace from a man who deeply offended me.” When Elliot stopped in front of him, Gideon stuck out a gloved hand. “It's a pleasure to see you again, Elliot. Will you be my ally or enemy?”

  “I'm... neutral,” Elliot replied as he shook Gideon's hand. “Is that agreeable?”

  “I'm fine with neutral. Neutral will suffice. You will, of course, be treated as an honored guest at my Winter Palace,” Gideon told him. “Speaking of which, Winter Palace is a stupid name. I think I'll rename it. Do you have any ideas?”

  “Um... not really,” Elliot replied, glancing at Rose. Her fake weeping continued as the first young women were herded into the drawing room.

  “I'll think of something. Or I'll pay someone to think of something. I'm not that creative,” Gideon confessed. “Now... I have a question, and either of you are welcome to answer it. Who is that young man standing over there? He keeps glaring at me, and I don't like it.”

  Elliot followed the younger prince's gaze to the hallway's end, where Tye was unabashedly watching them. “That's Tye, Rose's lover.” Elliot's honesty earned him a punch from the sniffling princess. “He's the reason we didn't get married.”

  “Rose has a lover? Well, that's unacceptable!” declared Gideon, who motioned for two of his knights to step forward. “Sir Erik. Sir Stephen. I need you to go over there and kill that man.”

  “What?” Rose shrieked. “No! You can't do that! You can't!”

  “Can I not?” Gideon haughtily raised his chin. “I don't see anyone telling me I can't... except for you, Princess, and you can't do anything about it!” When Rose tried to punch him, Gideon stepped out of range and clicked his tongue. As his guards restrained her, he continued, “Nuh uh uh, Princess Rose! If you strike me, I'll stop playing nice, and you really don't want me to stop playing nice.”

  When Gideon's guards tackled Tye and shoved a spear into his throat, a sob—a genuine sob—exploded from Rose's throat.

  “How dare you!” Rose screamed. “How dare you! When my brother returns, he'll kill you for this!” When she tried to kick the guards that held her, they tightened their grip and pushed her into the drawing room.

  “Will he?” Gideon chuckled at the thought. “You can keep dreaming, I suppose. And by the way... a princess shouldn't have a lover. It isn't proper. A princess should remain chaste until her wedding day. I'm sure Prince Elliot agrees with me?”

  Elliot didn't respond. The gobsmacked prince had been shocked into silence by the death of Rose's lover.

  “Well, whether he agrees or not, it doesn't matter. My word is the new law around here, and if I think you should be chaste, you should be chaste! Although... it's probably too late for you, isn't it, Princess? Dirty girl.”

  Three more women were muscled into the drawing room. A few minutes later, six more women were led inside, including Cinderella and Terra, who looked thoroughly perplexed by the turn of events. When Bronson's search was complete, Gideon returned to the drawing room, tugged off his gloves, and addressed the line of women. There were sixteen of them, all between the ages of fourteen and twenty-two.

  “Hello, ladies.” As Gideon greeted them, he paused in front of the shivering young woman who was unlucky enough to be first in line. “Aww, are you shaking? You needn't be afraid. I won't hurt you... and becoming my attendant is a good thing, I assure you. I shower my ladies with all sorts of gifts and rewards for good behavior.”

  Behind him, King Orun was still sitting on the sofa. As his son spoke, the king nodded and stroked his stomach. The king consumed so many biscuits, he challenged the strength of the buttons on his shirt.

  “What's your name, sweetheart?” Gideon asked the first girl.

  “M-Molly,” the timid maid squeaked.

  “Molly. And how old are you, Molly?”

  Molly paled as she stuttered her answer. “S-Sixteen...”

  “Sixteen. So... just a year older than me? That's practically perfect. And your hair is almost blonde as well,” he said, flicking the braid on Molly's shoulder. “You have lovely eyes, Molly. I like green eyes.” When the shaking maid didn't respond, the prince cleared his throat and added, “When someone compliments you, you always thank them... especially when the compliment is coming from me.”

  “Th-Thank you.”

  “Do you have a permanent stutter, or are you merely afraid?” Gideon asked.

  When she spoke again, Molly tried to speak as clearly as she could. “I'm... a bit intimidated, sir. I don't often stutter.”

  “Good. Because if you had a permanent stutter, I'm not sure I could tolerate it.” Gideon took a step backward and combed his eyes down the length of Molly's body. “You're a bit too skinny, but you're still young, so you might fill out. I think you're good, Molly. I think I'll make you one of my attendants.”

  Gideon gave a nod to one of his guards, who led Molly into an adjacent room, where she was given a new uniform and further instructions.

  The second young woman was a stocky redhead, who was attempting to console the sobbing Princess Rose.

 
“And what's your name?” Gideon asked as he circled the redhead.

  “Rebecca, sir.”

  “I'll call you Becca. It's snappier,” Gideon declared. As Rebecca stroked Rose's hair, the princess sobbed into the girl's freckled neck. “Hmm. I like your face, but you might be a bit too fat for me. How old are you?”

  “Twenty-one,” Rebecca solemnly replied.

  “Hmm... yeees... that's a bit on the old side.” When Gideon dismissively flicked his hand, two guards rushed forward to extract Rebecca from Rose's clutches.

  Then it was Rose's turn.

  “Let's see...” Gideon deliberated as he stalked around her. “You're twenty. You're a princess... so that's a plus. You're unchaste, and that's a huge minus. You're pretty, of course, but not phenomenally so.” When he stopped in front of her, Gideon dragged a hand along her tear-stained cheek. “I think I will make you an attendant. I quite like the idea of having a princess as a personal servant.” He gave a nod to one of his soldiers, who escorted the weeping princess to the adjoining room.

  Gideon paused in front of the fourth girl, turned up his nose, and coldly declared, “Pass.”

  He accepted the next two girls, and paused in front of the seventh.

  “What's your name?” he asked the seventh girl.

  “Sam.”

  “I assume that's short for... Samantha, perhaps?” Gideon guessed. “And how old are you?”

  “Twenty-two, sir.” As she answered, Sam pushed back her thick black hair, revealing more of her face.

  As he leaned closer to Sam, the prince's nostrils flared. “Are you really twenty-two? I doubt it. You look closer to thirty. You look like my mum.”

  “I like her!” interjected King Orun, who brandished a chicken leg as he shared his opinion. While his son sorted through women, the king demanded chicken and cheese from the Winter Palace's kitchen. His stomach was already stuffed, but he always made space for succulent meat and tangy cheddar.

  “If you like her, you can have her,” Gideon said, turning to his father. “I don't want an attendant who reminds me of Mum.”

  Finally, it was Terra's turn. As soon as he laid eyes on her, Gideon pulled back his upper lip. He reminded her of a snarling dog.

  “I'm Terra, Your Highness,” Terra politely introduced herself.

  “Did I ask?” Gideon snapped. “No, I didn't. And I don't care to know your name because I have no reason to know it. To begin with, you're plain. You're plainer than any woman in here, even the fat one in the back.” He thrust a thumb at the curvy girl at the line's end. “And even if you were pretty... which you most assuredly are not... I would have to pass. I have no use for a crippled attendant.”

  As Terra exited the drawing room, she sent a pitying glance to Cinderella, who was next in line. Naturally, Gideon's eyes lit up when he saw her.

  “And who are you, sweet lady?” Gideon asked.

  When she spoke, Cinda's voice was soft. “Cinderella.”

  “Cinderella...” he repeated, as dreamily as Sharman often did. “How old are you, Cinderella?”

  “Eighteen.”

  “Eighteen. Not bad. Not bad at all.” Gideon circled Cinda and stood behind her. His gaze dragged across her rear end before settling on her hair. “You're blonde. I like blondes. My god, your hair is like gold! I like it.”

  Cinda knew he was expecting a reply, so she quietly said, “Thank you, Your Highness.”

  Beside her, one of the maids revealed, “Cinderella is Prince Sharman's fiance!”

  “Is she?” Madness ignited in Gideon's eyes as he considered Cinderella's status. “I like that even better! I'll claim Sharman's fiance for myself. You will most definitely be my favorite attendant, Cinderella. I look forward to furthering our acquaintance.”

  When Gideon's decision was made, a pair of knights escorted Cinderella into the next room, where Gideon's attendants were waiting—and not-so-secretly dreading his return.

  When Donnabella reappeared, she was cross-legged in the middle of a desert with a frog in her lap. Her toes crunched dry sand as she sprang to her feet and smacked the grains from her dress. As she checked her surroundings, she cradled the frog prince in the palm of her hand.

  Everywhere she looked, it was barren, brown and devoid of life. Ripples of sand stretched as far as she could see. Heat from a descending red sun had already dappled her forehead in beads of sweat. “Ugh!” the witch cried. “This is awful! Where are we?”

  Suddenly, Sharman hopped from her hand and raced across the desert. His small body carved a line through the sand as he attempted to flee.

  “Get back here, you idiot!” Donnabella cried. “Where do you think you'll go? You'll die in the desert!”

  Donnabella raised the hem of her form-fitting black dress and attempted pursuit.

  “Sharman!” she shrieked. “Sharman, please come back! Do you really think a frog can survive in the desert on his own? You're being stupid!”

  Sharman's leaps were long, and Donnabella's bare feet were roasted by the sand, so she couldn't keep up. With a frustrated grunt, she wiggled her fingers and lifted the frog off his feet. For a few seconds, Sharman was suspended in midair. Donnabella was frustrated with him, so she made him twirl a few times before she finally pulled him back to her.

  When the frog prince was back in her hands, she lectured him, “Don't do that again... alright? Believe it or not, I don't want you to die out here.” As her pale blue eyes scanned the desolate sands, she quietly added, “I don't want to die out here...”

  “Rrr-bbbibbit,” Sharman croaked. She had no idea what he was trying to say, but she assumed it was the frog equivalent of a curse.

  “I will get us out of here, alright?” the witch promised him.

  With a bulging throat, the frog prince replied, “Rrrr... beebit.” He was trying to glare at her, but his big, round eyes were as vacant as ever.

  “Itinerantus dissipatia,” Donnabella chanted as she waved her arm.

  Nothing happened.

  “Itinerantus dissipatia!” she tried again, pointing at Sharman's green body.

  She snapped her fingers, pumped her arm, and screamed at the top of her lungs, “ Itinerantus dissipatia!”

  They were still in the desert, and they hadn't moved an inch.

  “Why is my magic not working?” Donnabella whined to her amphibian companion. “I'm supposed to be the most powerful witch in the world, Sharman! I don't understand!”

  Sharman didn't reply. His throat thumped wildly as he watched her.

  Sweat trickled down Donnabella's neck as she made her way forward. Her lips dipped into a pout as she studied the hazy desert sun. As she trudged through endless sands, she occasionally whispered, “itinerantus dissipatia...” but the scenery never changed.

  When the sun's descent was complete, the temperature gradually plummeted. Donnabella's skin, which was moistened by sweat, was suddenly clammy. She plopped Prince Sharman in her pocket, cradled herself in her arms, and continued her trek.

  “Ribbit...” Sharman whispered from her pocket. Had it been possible, he would have asked her where she was going.

  “I hate this...” Donnabella hissed as her body was wracked with shivers. “I do. I really do. I hate everything about this terrible night!” There was a pebble in her path, so her ugly toes kicked it across the desert. “Do you know what makes it worse, Sharman? The fact that my Fenix has feelings for that fiance of yours! What's so special about Cinderella? Is she really that wonderful?”

  Sharman croaked a reply, which had the witch rolling her eyes. “I don't know why you bother! It isn't as if I can understand you!” she exclaimed. “I'd prefer it if you were quiet. Your croaking is wearing on my nerves.”

  When strong winds whipped up the sand, the desert was blanketed by a dusty fog. As the grains lashed her cheeks, Donnabella squinted and shielded her eyes. Her skin prickled when she spotted a cave. “We need shelter from the sandstorm,” Donnabella updated the amphibian prince as she raced to the cave. “I t
hink I'll take my chances in there.”

  The cave was pitch black, so she used her magic to manifest a torch, which drifted alongside them as they explored. “Apparently, I can make a torch... but I can't warp us out of here?” With a heavy sigh, she tried yet again, “Itinerantus dissipatia.”

  Again—nothing.

  Donnabella removed the prince from her pocket, letting him sit on her palm as they combed the cave. It was a relatively small space, and they found nothing but a tatty blanket draped over a dusty skeleton.

  “That... isn't particularly promising,” Donnabella whispered as she studied the human remains. She was cold and desperate, so she yanked off the corpse's blanket and draped it over her shoulders. “If he died in here... what does that mean for us?”

  Donnabella sat near the mouth of the cave, where she could see the sandstorm intensifying. She put Sharman on her knee, leaned back, and hugged the blanket against her chest.

  “I hate Cinderella,” Donnabella hissed. “I've never hated anyone more, to be honest. I wanted to transport her halfway across the world... not us!”

  Donnabella was tired of his croaking, so Sharman said nothing.

  “This blanket is worthless,” the witch complained as she tightened it around her. “It's so cold. If I'm cold, I can only imagine how you must feel.” With her finger, she lightly stroked the top of Sharman's head.

  “Do you know what?” Donnabella continued. “I'm actually getting a bit lonely, so... I think I might break your curse. Don't make me regret it.”

  Donnabella scooped him into her palm and took a deep breath, bracing herself for what would surely be unpleasant. She didn't want to kiss the prince in any form, but a frog was marginally worse. Sharman flinched as the witch raised him to her lips. When her mouth landed on his head, his body was encased in light.

  A moment later, human Sharman was sitting beside her.

  “How dare you!” the prince squawked, which immediately made her regret her decision to transform him. “How dare you meddle with my life! This is why I hate magic! It's dangerous and unpredictable!”

  “Uh... Sharman?” Donnabella chuckled as she averted her eyes.