Ellie and the Prince (Faraway Castle Book 1)

by J. M. Stengl

  © 2018 by J.M. Stengl

  Published by Rooglewood Press

  www.RooglewoodPress.com

  www.JMStengl.com

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—for example, electronic, photocopy, recording—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

  This volume contains works of fiction. Names, characters, incidents, and dialogues are products of each author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Cover and book design by Bulbous Squirrel

  To Hannah C., aka “Ariel,” first official fan of Ellie and Omar, encourager, and friend.

  Blessings on your own writing journey.

  OTHER BOOKS IN THE

  FARAWAY CASTLE

  SERIES

  Cinder Ellie

  The Little Siren

  COMING SOON

  The Siren and the Scholar

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Coming Soon!

  About the Author

  Don’t miss your chance to read

  THE LITTLE SIREN

  When independent-minded Kamoana encounters a human boy in danger, she knows she should have nothing to do with him. As a siren, she is forbidden even to speak to humans, let alone rescue one. But how can Kamoana simply watch the boy die and do nothing to save him?

  Available free to all subscribers!

  Ellie had just entered the castle lobby when her wristband pager sent a tingle of magic up her arm. She checked it then hurried over to Faraway Castle Resort’s front desk. “I’m here, Sten. What’s going on?”

  The dwarf perched atop a stool behind the desk looked up from his own wristband in surprise and beamed his friendly smile. “Good morning! Glad I caught you before you left the building. A hobgoblin just tried to steal a cake from the kitchen. The brownies snagged him.”

  A minor event. Ellie relaxed. “Geraldo, no doubt. Did the cake survive?”

  Sten’s eyes twinkled. “Sounds like it escaped injury, but a few of the brownies got scratched.” Sten, like all dwarfs working at the castle, wore a glamour that made him appear human to unmagical guests. Ellie barely noticed the glamour. Her friend was middle-aged with gray in his beard, but his dark eyes were bright and young.

  “This shouldn’t take long. See you later!” She pushed away from the desk, took a service elevator down to the basement, and entered the huge kitchen, where brownies swarmed in a flurry of breakfast clean-up and lunch preparation. Despite their frenzied labor, not a speck of dirt marred the flagstone floor, and delicious scents wafted to Ellie’s nose. Dark wooden beams supported the kitchen’s low ceiling, and half a pig roasted over the huge open fireplace. It might have been a scene from centuries past but for the gleaming cookstoves, stainless-steel sinks, granite countertops, and a restaurant-quality dishwasher. Here the brownies produced fine cuisine for large crowds of discriminating resort guests three times a day. Magic was decidedly involved. The room fairly buzzed with it.

  “Is Geraldo here?” Ellie asked a passing chef.

  The brownie looked way up at her, his dark eyes huge in his small face. “They chased him up to the dining hall, ma’am. Our cake survived the attack.”

  Ellie nodded, trying not to smile. “I’m glad to hear it.” To a brownie, the loss of a cake to a hobgoblin would be akin to murder. No matter if the sweet was created only to be eaten; hobgoblins had no right to any dessert intended for castle guests.

  She hurried up the back service stairs and entered the formal dining hall directly. Sunlight angled through a bank of windows facing the lake, glinting off the polished silver coffee set on a side table. No guests were present, but brownies scurried about, already laying fresh tablecloths and setting tables for the noon meal. Near the dumbwaiter she spotted Geraldo, his spindly arms held fast by a brownie on each side.

  “Thanks for waiting patiently,” Ellie addressed the brownies. “I’ll take care of him now.”

  They released Geraldo, bowed respectfully, and returned to their regular duties. Brownies seldom smiled, yet they were cheery creatures who delighted in housework of all kinds. Ellie couldn’t comprehend the appeal of menial labor, but she was grateful. Who wouldn’t appreciate such diligent, flawless service?

  Geraldo hunched, arms crossed over his chest.

  Ellie sat cross-legged on the parquet floor and focused on the scowling hobgoblin, ignoring the quiet bustle around them. “I’m disappointed, Geraldo. You know very well that guests will drop plenty of cake crumbs on the floor after dinner this evening,” she said. “The children never fail you.”

  His scowl deepened. “Crumbs, pah!”

  “You are ten inches tall. You don’t need an entire cake.”

  “I want it anyway,” he mumbled. Although wizened, toothless, and unimaginably old, Geraldo thought and behaved like a child. When Ellie first arrived at the castle six years ago, the scowling, grouchy hobgoblins had frightened her, but before long she’d realized their dramatics were only for show. The silly creatures insisted on wearing colorless rags no matter how many new garments they were offered, all for the sake of claiming ill-treatment.

  She focused on producing a calm, soothing tone. “I don’t want to call for the Gamekeeper, but I shall have to if you start stealing entire cakes. The director will insist on it, and what a shame that would be!” She didn’t have to fake sincerity, for she was fond of the grouchy hobgoblin despite his sulks and threats. “Please try to be content with the crumbs that fall tonight. We have many active and messy children with us this month, you know.”

  He nodded grudgingly. “Very well. I’ll wait for my cake. But if no crumbs fall tonight, I make no promises about tomorrow.” He glared up at her over his long, hooked nose. “You can stop bewitching me with that voice of yours, missy.”

  “Speaking of children,” a shrill voice interrupted, “I must tell you something important, Miss Ellie.”

  She turned to see a slim brownie in a maid uniform gazing up at her. Even seated on the floor, Ellie loomed over the brownies and hobgoblins. “What is it, Sira?”

  Sira twisted her apron between long-fingered hands and bobbed a curtsy before speaking. “Just now, some of us saw the Zeidan children sneak cinder sprites into the castle and head upstairs. Their nanny was nowhere in sight, and the royal parents are at a lecture today. I would have tried to stop them, but you know how angry Madame Director is if we brownies show ourselves to guests, even children!”

  “How many sprites?” Ellie asked, already rising and prepared to run.

  Sira shrugged her tiny shoulders. “Four or five? It was a whole litter, and the mother too.”

  “Did they seem frightened?”

  “They were squeaking. Oh, and Miss Ellie, you know Geraldo will try to steal another cake . . .”

  Geraldo gave a “Harrumph” and slouched off to disappear under a table.


  “Squeaking” was useless information; cinder sprites always squeaked. Ellie flashed Sira a quick grin anyway. “I do know, and thanks for the alert, Sira!” She checked her equipment pack and grimaced. Only three cages. She’d forgotten to restock. “I’ve got to run for more equipment. With any luck the sprites will remain calm, but if there is a fire alarm, please let Madame know I’m on my way.”

  Ellie sprinted from the castle to her small staff cottage, shoved a dozen of the one-inch glass-cube cages into her pack, then sprinted back to the castle. The weather was perfect—sunny, clear skies, a light breeze. She heard laughter and splashing from the lakeshore, the thunk-thwack of balls from the tennis courts, the distant whinny of a horse at the riding stables, and, laced through it all, the light hum of magic.

  To be the official Controller of Magical Creatures at Faraway Castle—an exclusive resort for royal and noble guests from around the world—was a tremendous privilege, Ellie often reminded herself. Especially at her age, with her lack of magical training. But the Gamekeeper had appointed her, and not even the resort director dared overrule his decisions.

  She entered the castle through a side door, charged up a set of service stairs, then hurried along a hall adorned with fine art pieces and crystal chandeliers, her footsteps muffled by thick carpeting. Rumor had it that Faraway Castle was once the palace of a great king. Ellie had no reason to doubt this story, for it retained much majestic beauty.

  The royal suite in the castle’s east wing, offering views of both the lake and the mountains, was currently occupied by the sovereigns of Khenifra, a kingdom located on a continent far to the south and reputed to be an important military power. This exceedingly handsome royal couple had produced numerous offspring who were, in Ellie’s opinion, the most beautiful on earth.

  The four youngest of these had accompanied their parents to the resort this year. “Lively” was the word most often used to describe them, a description usually spoken in fond tones but occasionally emitted through clenched teeth and a fake smile.

  As soon as Ellie reached a large marble griffin and turned right, she heard muffled shouts and screams. She sprinted the last few yards then pounded on the suite’s main door. When no answer came, she resorted to her passkey and rushed inside, puffing for breath. “Hello?” she called while pulling a cage cube, her spray bottle, and a scoop from her pack. She didn’t yet smell smoke, but there was no time to lose.

  “Little cinder sprites,” she cooed softly. “Are any of you near me? I’m here to rescue you and take you to a quiet, beautiful place where you can eat sweet greens and run about without fear.”

  A soft, wistful squeak caught her ear. Going down on her knees, she peered under the ornately gilded hall table, saw a pair of shiny black eyes, and sensed the little beast’s helpless dismay. “Hello, darling,” she cooed. “You must be the mother. How did you end up here? Would you like my help? I promise to catch your babies and return them to you, but you need to let me capture you.” Ellie continued to babble such reassurances, hardly paying attention to her words, for her tone was far more important.

  The little creature made no objection as she reached in to pick it up. Not once did it brandish its sharp horns or show its long teeth. “You are a pretty mama,” Ellie told it, stroking the soft hair that sprouted in all directions from its head and body. This sprite was white and red, and its tiny feet were pink. As soon as she felt its fright dissolve into trust, she tucked it into the cage, which magically expanded to a manageable yet comfortable size for the sprite and was already stocked with sprite food. The little creature immediately began munching on fresh greens.

  Leaving that cage near the door, Ellie pulled several more from her pack and tucked them into her coverall pockets. These cages, blown from tempered glass to her exact specifications, were vital to her success. Cinder sprites, rare magical creatures native to these mountains, were adorable yet dangerous, for one frightened or angry sprite hiding under a pile of dry leaves or a sofa could start a raging fire in minutes. Ellie used her gift of soothing talk along with an herbal potion, her own recipe, to calm or quench the sprites as needed. Once isolated in tempered-glass cages they could safely be transported to a place less combustible than an ancient magical forest or castle.

  “Hello?” she called, using her gift to calm humans and sprites alike as she followed the sound of voices to the sitting room.

  “There it is! Catch it!” cried the eldest, a boy.

  His sister grabbed for something under a chair but snatched her hands back with a cry. “It’s too hot!” she cried. “You try. The rug is starting to burn!”

  Ellie slid in between them on her knees and located a baby sprite that glowed red, snapping and crackling like a tiny bonfire. She quickly squeezed the trigger of her bottle to spray sweet-smelling liquid over the miniature inferno. The sprite collapsed into a steaming black puddle of goo.

  “Is he dead?” the youngest child wailed.

  “Oh no,” Ellie said in her calmest tone. “I would never kill a sprite. The baby was so frightened that he might have turned straight to ash, so I extinguished him. He will recover once he dries out.” She used her scoop to scrape the sprite from the rug and slide it into another expanding cage. The little girl sat beside the cage to make sure her sprite recovered. Her name was Rita, Ellie knew, having met the child as a tiny baby three summers ago.

  She spent the next several minutes chasing down and capturing three more baby sprites and putting out small fires. One baby never did ignite, which made things easier. The children romped around, eager to help her find the terrified babies and fascinated to see how the cages grew to fit each furry inmate. Ellie used a second spray potion to clear the air and to repair the burned rug, a scorched chair leg, and a blistered shoe.

  By the time the last creature was caged and the mess cleaned up, she was sweating and sooty but satisfied. She now knew the older three children by name: Princes Rafiq and Karim, ages twelve and five, and Princess Yasmine, age eight. She had seen them all around the castle many times over the years, watching them grow up without ever actually meeting them. They talked nonstop, usually all at once, which made communication a challenge, but she managed to calm them slightly and have brief conversation with each one individually. All four children captured her heart with their gorgeous dark eyes and brilliant smiles.

  So very like their older brother Omar’s.

  But then, Ellie had long ago lost her heart to that brother, so this conquest was no surprise. If only he had come to the resort this summer! His family usually spent four weeks every June and July in this very suite to escape the summer heat of their homeland, but this year all five older children were occupied elsewhere. The heir to the throne was married, as was the eldest daughter, and the second son was recently betrothed, she knew from gossip.

  But as far as she knew, Prince Omar was still unattached, and Ellie could never stop hoping that one of these summers . . . She had frequently met his steady gaze or encountered him in doorways, where he always politely opened the door for her and spoke a bashful word or two of greeting. Sometimes she even wondered if he might wish to become acquainted with her.

  But this idea was completely ridiculous, for a prince must marry nobility or royalty; in many countries, royal children were betrothed at birth. Every summer she had seen Omar in the company of some beautiful princess or lady, though never the same one two years running and never with any evidence of romantic attachment. But his freedom couldn’t last forever. For all Ellie knew, he was spending this holiday with his future wife’s family in a distant country.

  The temptation was strong to quiz these children about Omar, but she refused to use them in such a way. Glancing around, she noticed a distinct lack. “Where is your nanny?” she asked, pushing loose hair from her face. Her ponytail never seemed to last through a sprite hunt.

  Yasmine went wide-eyed, but Rafiq brushed off the question. “We don’t need her. I am old enough to watch over the little ones now.”
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  “Are you?” Ellie wondered about this. But she also knew that Madame Genevieve, the resort director, would never allow her magic-creature wrangler to fill in as a nanny, not even for royal guests. “I would feel more confident about your responsibility, Rafiq, if I didn’t know that you helped bring these cinder sprites into your rooms,” she said, giving him a level look.

  He frowned and looked away, then shrugged and gave her a charming grin. “We won’t do it again. How could we know they would light themselves on fire? Do they always do that?”

  Ellie restrained a frustrated sigh. Guests were always warned about possible hazards, including sprites, but few seemed to pay attention.

  “Only when they are frightened or angry,” she told him. “But they are easily frightened, and some have hot tempers.”

  Rafiq and Yasmine chuckled. Rita kept a vigilant eye on her melted sprite, which was beginning to quiver in its cage. “Will he be all right?” she asked once more.

  “He will be back to normal within the hour,” Ellie assured her. “And hungry, so I’d better get him back to my cottage where I keep sprite snacks.” She gave the little girl a wink. Rita lifted her arms, and Ellie caught her up for a big hug. Then Karim wanted a hug, and even Yasmine waited in line. Only Rafiq held out, considering himself far too old for such things.

  Rafiq and Yasmine helped carry the cages and her pack to the door while the little ones bounced along behind. Just as Ellie’s hand touched the crystal doorknob, Karim whispered something to Yasmine, who hushed him with a guilty glance at Ellie.

  Her suspicion rising, Ellie turned back to ask direct questions. Even as she opened her mouth, a disturbing sound reached her ears. “Wait! Do you hear that?”

  “What?” the children all asked.

  Ellie put a finger to her lips and heard it again—the unmistakable squeak of a cinder sprite in distress. The mother sprite heard it too and answered with sharp whistles.