by Aron Lewes
“Honestly, Sharman, I just want to go home,” Donnabella told him. “I've had very little sleep, you know. I always have very little sleep. And to be honest... I feel a bit nauseous after all of the kissing, and I really need to--”
“I care about you,” Sharman blurted. “I care about you, Donnabella. Genuinely. I enjoyed the time we spent together, and I think you're really... beautiful.”
“B-beautiful?” Donnabella silently chided herself when she stuttered the word. “But... you couldn't possibly mean that.”
“But I do,” Sharman insisted. “What I felt for Cinderella was pure infatuation. What I feel for you is... different. I care about you. I want you to be happy. I want to share my world with you. If you left, I... I think there's a very good chance I would be brokenhearted.”
“Brokenhearted, you say?” Donnabella could feel a smile crawling up her lips, so she forced it back down. “Well, I wouldn't want that.”
“Do you think you could ever like me?” Sharman asked. “I know I have flaws. I'm pompous...”
Donnabella nodded, “Yes.”
“I'm a bit self-absorbed.”
“Uh huh,” Donnabella agreed. “More than a bit, though.”
“And I am rather vain about my hair, if I'm being honest...” Sharman went on, “but if you'll have me, I would happily give my heart to you.”
“Then give it to me,” Donnabella said, “I'm sure I could use it for some sort of potion, now that I think about it.”
Sharman's smile dropped as he groaned her name, “Donnabellaaa...”
“I'm only teasing you, Sharman!” Donnabella closed the distance between them and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. “I care about you too, of course... even if I didn't want to admit it. My heart is yours as well.” She brought her mouth closer to his, hoping he would take the hint.
But he didn't.
“I am rich, you know,” he reminded her.
“I know.”
“Extremely rich. Absurdly so,” Sharman continued. “I imagine that would appeal to you, yes?”
“I honestly haven't given it a thought,” Donnabella confessed, “And now... if you don't kiss me soon, I will seriously consider turning you into a toad, Your Grace.”
Prince Sharman was happy to oblige. He brought his lips to hers and kissed her so deeply, he made her squeak with surprise.
Donnabella's pulse pounded as Sharman's arms encompassed her, pulling her close. She never expected to snag a prince's heart. For the first time in her life, Donnabella was truly overjoyed.
Apparently, even wicked witches could hope for a happy ending.
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If you enjoyed The Wicked Witch's Prince, you might enjoy The Darker Ages as well: https://www.amazon.com/Darker-Ages-Complete-Aron-Lewes-ebook/dp/B078W6H7GN/
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Keep reading for a sample of The Darker Ages, and thanks again!
CHAPTER ONE
“Mirror,” Prince Jonah demanded, snapping his fingers at the peasant to his right. When the looking glass was raised, Jonah grinned at his reflection. There was no face he liked better than his. He checked his teeth. Perfect. He checked his nose. Perfect. As he dragged a hand through his floppy golden hair and all the lustrous tendrils fell into place, it took him less than two seconds to decide it was--
“Perfect,” Jonah said aloud. Turning to his brother, he asked, “There's no way she won't like me, right?”
Prince Findlay indulged himself in a cavernous yawn before he bothered to answer his brother's question. “Probably not.”
“She'll think I'm handsome, won't she?” Jonah checked the looking glass again, making sure his appearance didn't need any minor adjustments.
“Most women do,” Findlay replied, sounding bored.
“Do you think she will be pretty? God, I hope she's pretty. Even if she was plain, I could tolerate it. But I'd rather not be leg-shackled to someone so unappealing, I can't stand to look at them.” Jonah checked the looking glass a third and final time. He could see the princess' carriage in the distance, kicking up a storm of dust as it sped toward Castle Fellborn. Turning to the servant on his left, he commanded, “Cloak.”
The servant immediately tossed a black hooded cape over the prince's broad shoulders.
“Gloves,” Jonah demanded of another servant. Though he owed them no explanation for his whims, he gave them one anyway. “I'm cold.”
Prince Jonah's servants had to be ready for anything. Within a few seconds, they located an appropriate pair and tenderly tugged the black leather over the prince's chilly fingers.
“Be glad you're not the eldest, brother,” Jonah said to Findlay as the carriage drew near. “Be glad you're not subjected to this sort of... unpleasantness.”
When the princess' carriage halted in front of the castle, Jonah momentarily stopped breathing. Two women alighted from its interior, and one of them was his future bride. Both of them were at least passably attractive, but they were as different as they could possibly be. One was a statuesque, olive-skinned brunette, while the second woman was petite and pale with strawberry blonde hair. As they headed in his direction, Jonah couldn't decide which one he preferred.
“Greetings!” Prince Jonah exclaimed, bowing as the ladies approached. “Which one of you is Princess Arienne?”
The strawberry blonde stepped forward and bobbed a curtsy. “That would be me.”
“Wonderful!” He raised the princess' hand to his lips and barely brushed a kiss across her knuckles. “I'm Prince Jonah.”
“I assumed as much,” Arienne responded with a sigh.
“I'm your fiance.”
“Indeed.”
“The fiance you're meeting for the very first time,” Jonah pointed out. “Even though we're to be married in three days.”
“I know.”
When Arienne sighed a second time, Jonah's eyes narrowed. She sounded extraordinarily dissatisfied. But how could she possibly look at him and feel anything less than overwhelming satisfaction? Her reaction disappointed him.
It wasn't the prince's lack of appeal that made her glum. With his shiny blonde hair and face full of freckles, Prince Jonah was, without question, a striking young man. In some ways, he had the face of a cherub. The softness of his features made him look more pretty than handsome. However, there was an undeniable wickedness and mischief in his pale blue eyes. It was as if devils and angels were at odds on his face.
“Your journey was safe and uneventful, I hope?” Jonah spoke again.
Arienne nodded stiffly. “It was.”
“And you're not too tired to join me for supper?”
“Not at all.”
“My brother will be joining us.” The prince directed her attention to the man at his side. “This is Findlay.”
“Hello, Prince Findlay. It's a pleasure to meet you.” Arienne dropped into another curtsy as she greeted the second son of Fellborn. She preferred the look of the younger brother. He was shorter and more slight than Jonah, but he looked friendlier by far. His smoke-colored eyes were much less sinister than his brother's. They sparkled with modest wisdom behind a pair of horn-rimmed spectacles. His hair was light brown, slightly curly, and kissed by sunshine. Unlike Prince Jonah's, Findlay's lips were not averse to smiling.
“It's a pleasure to meet him?” Jonah asked with a snort. “Is it not a pleasure to meet me?”
Arienne's eyelashes fluttered at the unexpected coarseness of his words. “O-of course it is.”
The prince's nostrils flared. “If so, why did you not say it was?”
“I'm quite certain I did.”
“No. You didn't,” Jonah corrected her. “But I suppose it doesn't matter. Who is your companion?”
“This is Jalen.”
Jonah could feel his nose puckering as he studied the woman at his fiance's si
de. She was well-dressed, but he had a bad feeling about her. She had the look of a peasant. “And what is Jalen to you, exactly?”
“She's my friend.”
“But what does she do?” Jonah required a better answer. “Is she nobility?”
Arienne exchanged nervous glances with her friend. After a few seconds of hesitation, the princess replied, “Not... exactly.”
“So that means she's a commoner.” The prince sounded less than impressed. “Why do you keep a commoner at your side? That seems odd. Do you care to explain?”
Arienne wasn't sure her fiance deserved an explanation, but she gave him one anyway. “Jalen was once a maid in my father's castle. We're rather close in age, so we befriended each other. There's nothing odd about it. Not really.”
“Of course it's odd. Your companions should be the daughters of dukes... or earls, at the very least. The company you keep says a lot about you, Princess Arienne.” Jonah sent a blatant sneer in Jalen's direction. “I hate to say it, but your friend will not be permitted to join us at the dinner table.”
Jalen suddenly spoke up. “I'd like to stay with the princess, though. I want to keep an eye on her.”
“Very well. If you're incapable of extracting yourself from Arienne's side, you may stand against the wall and watch us eat. Is that acceptable?” The prince's ice blue eyes shifted between both women. Neither of them looked particularly pleased by his edict.
“I... suppose,” Jalen tensely conceded.
“Thank you for being reasonable. Now, if you'll follow me inside, I'll escort you to the dining room.”
“Wait!” It was Jalen who protested. “The princess has only just arrived. Can you not give her a moment to rest?”
Jonah was already facing the castle, but when he heard Jalen's voice, he spun in her direction. “Pardon?” he gasped. “Did anyone ask for your opinion, maid?”
Jalen didn't give him the satisfaction of a response. She just glared at him.
“I don't know how servants are treated elsewhere, but in my castle, servants don't speak unless they're spoken to.” To the princess, Jonah added, “Unless you want your friend to offend me every time she opens her mouth, you need to make her understand this.”
Arienne could feel her fists clenching at her sides. As much as she wanted to speak up on behalf of her friend, she couldn't. She wanted to make every effort to get along with the man she was doomed to marry.
“Now...” Jonah continued, “If, in fact, you are too exhausted to join me for supper, don't be afraid to speak up, Princess Arienne. Your opinion matters more than your maid's.”
“I'm not too exhausted.”
“Good. Then let us proceed to the dining room. Shall we?”
Princess Arienne followed the pompous prince through Castle Fellborn's magnificent bronze doors. With its towering white pillars and shining silver buttresses, the castle inspired awe. In comparison, her father's cold, stone fortress was practically a hovel. Even Castle Fellborn's interior was unlike anything Arienne had ever seen. The hallways were gold, the stairs were crystal, and somehow, every candle burned with a violet flame.
“Your castle is beautiful.” Arienne quietly paid the compliment as they climbed the crystal staircase.
“Indeed it is... if I do say so myself,” Jonah agreed. “Once we're married, I hope this is where we choose to stay.”
Arienne didn't want to commit to anything, so she softly replied, “Perhaps.”
“It's a shame we aren't getting married here,” Jonah complained. “Castle Fellborn's rainbow ballroom would have been a spectacular setting for our wedding.”
“I'm sure it's lovely, Prince Jonah, but I daresay you won't be disappointed in Drakesley Castle,” Arienne defended her ancestral home.
Of course, the prince had a different opinion. Under his breath, he snorted, “I bet I will be.”
As they made their way to the dining room, every servant and soldier stood at attention and saluted the royalty. Despite being a princess, Arienne was unaccustomed to such special treatment. Surprisingly, it was Jonah who held the door for her when they arrived at their destination. “Both of our fathers won't be able to attend the wedding. It's a shame, isn't it?” Jonah lamented. “But they're both too old, frail and feeble to make the journey across oceans. Deep down, I don't think my father gives a damn about the wedding, which is why we're traveling Drakesley tomorrow.”
“I haven't been home in the last six months,” Arienne remarked as Jonah pulled out her chair. “It'll be nice to see my father again.”
“Ah. That's right. You've been living with an aunt,” Jonah recalled. He sat at the princess' right, while silent Findlay sat at her left. “And your aunt is a...?”
“Baroness,” Arienne reminded him. “The Baroness of Dipley.”
“I suppose that's respectable enough.” Jonah removed his leather gloves and snapped his fingers at the nearby servants, who left to find food for their prince. Within seconds, the first course was served. A soup with an unpronounceable name was presented in a fancy silver bowl.
As soon as the first spoonful passed through Arienne's lips, the prince asked, “Is it to your liking?”
“Yes. It's very good.”
“Well, it's not to my liking.” Jonah held up the bowl and barked at one of his servants, “You! You there! This soup is cold! Who thought this was acceptable?”
“I'm sorry, sir.” The servant stepped forward with a bow and recovered the bowl from the prince's outstretched hands. “The error will be corrected, Your Highness. We're terribly sorry.”
“Would you like a new bowl as well, Arienne?” Jonah asked his fiance.
“No. I'm fine. I think the soup's delicious.” When Arienne glanced in Findlay's direction, he looked every bit as content as she did. The younger, quieter prince had no complaints about his food. Then she glanced behind her, where Jalen was standing against the wall, silently observing their feast. Arienne felt horrible.
“You should see the rainbow ballroom before we leave, Your Highness,” Prince Jonah suggested as another, hotter bowl of soup was delivered to him. “I guarantee it will take your breath away. The entire room looks like a pearl.”
“That does sound lovely.”
“You have beautiful hair, my lady,” Jonah suddenly complimented her. “It looks quite like a sunset.”
“Thank you.”
“Or a sunrise, perhaps,” he amended himself. “Either way, it's lovely.”
Arienne smiled weakly, but she didn't say a word. She wanted to enjoy at least part of her meal in silence, but she wasn't so fortunate. A new complaint hovered on the tip of Jonah's tongue.
“Aren't you going to compliment me?” he whined. “After all, I'm going to be your husband. It'd be nice to know you aren't repulsed by me.”
“Of course you're not repulsive!” Arienne rolled her eyes at the prince's remark. “I think you're very handsome, Your Highness.”
“Do you?” As the prince fished for compliments, the second course was served. “What do you like about me? Be specific.”
“I think you have... beautiful eyes.” It was only a half-truth. Jonah's impossibly pale blue eyes were indeed beautiful, but they were also somewhat chilling.
“And?” He wanted more.
“And... I quite like your freckles.”
“Good.” That seemed to satisfy him. “Thank you, Princess Arienne. That's very kind of you.” After thanking her, Jonah turned to one of the servants and complained about the meat on his plate, which was apparently too well-done for his liking.
Once again, Findlay had no complaints. Throughout most of the meal, the younger brother's attention was focused on the sketchbook on his lap, which was part of the reason why he was silent. He was fixated on his art.
Before the third course was served, Arienne's curiosity was piqued, so she asked him, “What are you drawing, Prince Findlay?”
With a tentative smile on his lips, Findlay showed her a remarkable sketch of Jalen.
“Oh wow!” Arienne exclaimed. “That's impressive! You should show it to her!”
“Don't,” Findlay whispered. “I wouldn't want to alarm her.”
Prince Jonah wanted the conversation to be about him, so he unabashedly interrupted their discussion. “I have talent too, you know.”
“Oh?” Arienne couldn't even pretend to be curious.
“Indeed. I am an accomplished pianist and an excellent swordsman,” Jonah claimed. “I look forward to demonstrating my skills for you, Arienne.”
“Uh huh.”
“But we needn't rush,” Jonah went on. “We have an entire lifetime ahead of us. As your husband, I'll have plenty of time to show you my many, many talents.”
Arienne could feel her stomach dropping and her heart sinking.
A lifetime. A lifetime with Prince Jonah. Reality hit harder than a punch to the gut.
Suddenly, she was desperate to escape.
CHAPTER TWO
“Jonah? Jonah, is that you?”
“Yes, Father, it's me,” the prince replied with a weary sigh. He could only assume he was talking to his father. As always, King Aldous was facing the wall, and he was cloaked from head to toe.
“Kiss my hand.” Aldous rolled up his sleeves, revealing a pair of disfigured hands, ruined by rheumatism and leprosy. His fingers trembled as he presented them to his son, who leaned forward to brush a kiss on his pater's twisted knuckles. “How do you like Princess Arienne, my son? Is she pretty?”
“She's... passable.” The prince was grimacing, but the expression was lost on his father, who never glanced in his son's direction. Jonah couldn't remember the last time he saw his father's face. Had it been two years? Three? The cloaked figure had his father's voice, but for all Jonah knew, he could have been talking to anyone.
“Passable?” Aldous wheezed as he repeated the word. “Surely you're mistaken. I was told she's quite beautiful.”
“Using the word beautiful to describe her is going a bit too far,” Jonah corrected his father. “But she isn't hideous, I'll give her that.”