Once Upon a Happy Ending: An Anthology of Reimagined Fairy Tales

by Casey Lane

  But before being a man, Finn was a King, and that was that. He knew he had to obey his father’s will – otherwise, the throne was supposed to go to some distant cousin who didn’t even live in Atela.

  Unacceptable.

  “So,” he said, changing the subject, to her visible confusion, “How do you like the palace?”

  “Very much so. It’s fascinating, if a little bit…”

  She left it at that, biting the word back. That wouldn’t do.

  “Spell it out, sweetheart.”

  It couldn’t really be worse than her accusing him of wanting to take advantage of her.

  “Well, a bit selfish, I’d say. How many servants need to dust and clean and polish this whole place every day? And all so that one person may live in abundant luxury while other people struggle.”

  Never mind. It totally was worse.

  “I mean, it’s not your fault,” she added. “That’s how the world goes around.”

  “So, what would you do in my stead?” he asked. “Pack up and rent a cottage?”

  “Perhaps not. Close up some rooms unless they are needed, maybe?”

  Finn nodded, filing the idea away, on top of his to-do list. That was a damn good idea.

  “Or perhaps open up the doors of the palace to visitors – there’s plenty enough tourists in the summer. Make them pay a fee and inject the funds in the economy.”

  Alright, enough was enough.

  He took a step towards her again, and wrapped one arm around her waist. If he didn’t touch her now, he might very well perish on spot.

  “Dance with me,” he ordered, before leading her to the middle of the ballroom, filled with kids who played silly games.

  But the entire world had disappeared the minute he’d had Anya Dawson in his arms.

  He was going to go mad, he was certain of it.

  Finn was pacing a few steps away from the room where Anya and her daughter had been shown, trying to force himself to wait. Every second was pure, unadorned torture.

  “How long have you been here?” Charles asked in a low voice, joining him around nine in the morning.

  He just glared, refusing to admit that he’d awoken at dawn and taken his position then.

  They had a plan; the usual technique they’d employed dozens of times before.

  In a few minutes, a housekeeper would knock and go in. They’d pretend to pass in front of the room just at the right time, and they’d stop by to say hello, presumably.

  The other times, the ritual hadn’t even been needed: the sound of the women’s snores was all he’d needed to know that they’d slept through.

  There had been no noise the previous night – he would have known, as he hadn’t slept a wink.

  Finally, the housekeeper appeared. She smiled at them, before knocking on the door, and going in at the sound of a cheery little “come in!”

  The voice was young and sugary sweet, obviously coming from Anya’s daughter.

  Finn’s heart contracted, and to his surprise, his feet refused to move, firmly planted in place.

  “Come on,” Charles encouraged, pushing him forward.

  He took one step, and another one; then, a third. Finally, gulping, he dared to turn and peek inside the guest room.

  Anya was asleep.

  He stared blankly, trying to make sense of what his eyes were seeing.

  The large bed was unmade, and completely empty; both mother and daughter were in the little bed added to its feet.

  “Oh dear! Did you have a nightmare, little one?” the housekeeper asked Gillian, who shook her pretty red curled.

  “No, but I think Mama did, because she came in and snuggled up to me.”

  The voices woke her up, and she groaned as she stretched, trying to get rid of the thousand knots in her shoulders and back.

  You’d assume that the beds in the royal palace would be all comfy – it looked pretty nice, but the minute she’d laid down, it had felt like there had been a thousand thorns and bumps under her back.

  “Morning, Mini Me,” she breathed, reluctantly opening her eyes.

  Oh dear.

  All of a sudden, she wished she could go back to sleep and pretend the whole episode hadn’t occurred, because right in front of her, there was a lady and two very attractive, very refined men in front of her door, looking at her with wide, shocked eyes.

  There was no wondering why. She knew what her hair looked like in the morning: it couldn’t get worse even if she got soaked and put her fingers in a plug for fun.

  Today had started out beautifully.

  “Kill me now,” she begged in the pillow.

  Her daughter, damn her, laughed at her expense.

  “Mama isn’t a morning person,” she confessed, to the crowd who could probably have worked it out for themselves.

  “Someone want to tell me why there’s an audience in here?”

  Everyone ignored her, turning the question on her instead.

  “Was there something wrong with your bed, Anya?”

  That came from Charles, but both men looked like the question was vital. Obviously, they cared about the comfort of their guests, so she didn’t mince her words, saying it like it was.

  “I’m not fussy, but someone needs to burn that damn mattress. Seriously. There were at least a thousand bumps, loose springs – you name it.”

  The men exchanged a look she could only call meaningful, and if she wasn’t mistaken, Charles did look rather smug.

  “Go on,” the advisor said with a laugh. “You tell her.”

  About the Author

  I really hope you enjoyed That Damn Pea, my version of the Princess and the Pea. Note that it’s integrated in the world of Not Quite the Fairy Tale.

  I will publish a lengthened version at a later date. Books from that series usually have some smexy content, so if you don’t mind that, go on and give them a try!

  - May

  To read the first one for free, click here and join my newsletter!

  www.maysageauthor.com/

  Beastly Beauty

  By T. Rae Mitchell

  I am old, born long before the land was cut and divided into what mortals call countries. Back then, the highlands bloomed with magic. Heather carpeted the moorland, glens and hills year round, and the air was laden with a sweet, earthy scent. I was the guardian of forest and field, the very embodiment of nature itself.

  Until he came into my domain and everything changed.

  I smelled the knight long before I saw him. The metallic odor of iron sliced through the clean mountain air, stinging my nose. Sunlight glaring off his silvery armor burned my eyes. My insides grew cold, triggering a primeval instinct to kill. I hissed and retreated into the shadows of leaves, watching this human trespass into my forest.

  The knight seemed in no particular hurry and kept his horse at a slow trot. His helmet was off, his face held skyward as he drowsily soaked up the sun's rays. When he came to where the waterfall meets the pool, he stopped his horse and dismounted. The harsh clank of armor hurt my ears as he removed his gauntlets and dropped them near the horse’s feet. He lay down on the ground, stretching his arms behind his head before closing his eyes.

  I scrabbled across the treetop and eased out to the end of a limb, allowing my weight to bend the branch. Had he not been clothed in steel, I would’ve pounced and made a meal of him. The other invaders only ever carried axes and knives. I never worried about the iron they carried. Fright always made them drop their weapons when they saw me.

  But I couldn’t risk touching this intruder's armor. Manmade metals are harmful to me, possibly even deadly. I had to think of another way to mount my attack.

  Tangling my tentacles round a branch, I lowered myself to the next limb to take a closer look. He was young, still very much a boy, with dark hair, a strong jaw and thick lashes that feathered against skin as smooth as a water-polished stone. His face did not repulse me.

  I slithered down the trunk of the tree, quiet as a snai
l.

  Or so I thought.

  His eyes opened–blue like the sky, full of hope and dreams of a heroic future. He glanced up into the canopy of the tree.

  I froze just above the bottom branch, confident in the belief he wouldn't be able to tell the difference between myself and the tree. With my bark-like skin and form as gnarled as branches, I must look like a mass of fungus and vines growing over the trunk.

  “Who goes there?” he said, his voice soft with sleep.

  I tilted my head ever so slightly to look again into the brilliance of those blue eyes. Unlike so many others, I saw no malice in them. Only curiosity.

  “Come out. I won’t hurt you,” he promised.

  The smile in his voice stirred something I didn’t know existed. A feeling of warmth spread through my chest, melting the ice in my heart.

  He sat up and turned his head to the sky. “Do you live here? It’s a beautiful place. Maybe we could take a walk and you could show me more.”

  I didn’t understand why, but I wanted to go to him. I held very still, extending my senses to touch the aura of energy around him. He seemed open, like the buttercups that spread their petals to the sun, yellow and inviting. He had visions of faeries in his head. He was hoping for a chance meeting with a girl clothed in a gown of rose petals and morning dew. He imagined touching her silky, honey-colored hair as she met his gaze with wild, green cat eyes.

  The air stirred around me as my rough skin hardened into a shell, cocooning me within a metamorphosis I’d never experienced before. The dry husks curled off, peeling away from me as I wriggled out of my old skin and shucked it aside. I pushed off the lowest branch and fell to my knees. I had never stood on two legs before.

  The knight was at my side in an instant, helping me up. His hand was warm against my bare arm. The touch of skin on skin was foreign to me. A wave of fire rippled through my body, making me buzz all over.

  “Who are you?” he asked. “What’s your name?”

  I looked up into the blue pools of his eyes, unable to keep from drowning in them.

  His mouth curved into a boyish smile.

  I leaned in toward him, not quite sure why.

  “Do I know you? You seem familiar,” he said.

  I was still too astonished over my spontaneous transformation to answer him. I couldn’t stop marveling at the gentle form I had taken. Raising an arm, I admired the lustrous gleam of my new skin and used my delicate fingers to feel its silky surface.

  So soft, so fragile…this human form.

  I glanced down at the gossamer fabric covering the mounds of flesh below my collarbone. They rose and fell with each breath, straining against the constricting garment–a gown dyed in the color of a pink sunset. Stitched atop the bodice and flowing skirt was a garden of silk rosettes, each sprinkled with tiny teardrop diamonds. Breathless with wonder, I reached for the thick locks cascading over my shoulder and held the strands to the sun. Threads of gold curled round my finger.

  His voice brought me around. “Can you speak?”

  I shifted my gaze back to him. I wasn’t sure exactly. I’d never used my mouth for anything other than ripping flesh from bone. I wanted to speak, but I didn’t know how. A noise vibrated in my throat. “Aye,” I managed to say. The feminine voice was unfamiliar to my ears, but pleasing.

  He seemed relieved because his smile widened enough for me to see his teeth, white as sun-bleached bones. “Ah, she speaks at last. Tell me your name, love.”

  My heart fluttered at the affectionate term. What is my name? I glanced down at the purple blossoms at my feet. “Heather,” I said.

  “A fair name for a fair lady." He gave me a regal bow. “Sir Tristan Quinn Ashdown, at your service.” He held out his hand. “What say you? Care to take that stroll with me now?”

  I nodded shyly.

  My steps were timid at first. I was used to moving fluidly through the trees with the strength of four strong arms, while relying on my tentacles to hold me securely to branches. Walking upright seemed unnatural and inefficient.

  Tristan walked alongside slowly, holding me by the hand and elbow to keep me from tipping over as we walked along a path the deer take to the pool. I took him to the topmost hill, where the stream feeds the waterfall. In this human form, I tolerated the pungent odor of iron easier, but I was still careful to avoid touching his armor. We sat on moss-covered rocks, staring into each other’s eyes and talked the whole day away.

  The sun was setting and casting a burnished glow over clouds shredding thin across the sky when our conversation took a turn. “I’ve always dreamt of meeting a siren of the woods, such as yourself,” he said.

  I already knew this, so I kept silent, but with an increasing sense of wrongness. I was not what he wished me to be. I was an imposter, and the idea of that pierced my heart with an awful sting. In truth, I didn’t know what I was. I’d always been alone, existing throughout time immemorial. As far as I knew, I was the only creature of my kind.

  “Where are your people?” he asked. “Plainly, you come from royalty. Is your kingdom nearby?”

  He seemed impressed by these lofty assumptions.

  A chill passed through my heart.

  “Is your father a king? Take me to him, that I may ask your hand in marriage.”

  I grew rigid, my back straightening as shards of ice radiated from my stiffening spine. I glanced down, my stomach clenching at the sight of my pale pink hand reverting to coarse gray. I hid my hand beneath the fold of my skirt. “What if I’m not what you think I am, would you still wish to marry me?”

  He laughed, a musical sound that chased back the frost crystallizing in my chest. “How can you ask such a silly question? You’re everything I’ve ever wanted. Beautiful, kind and of noble birth–that of the faery folk, no less.”

  “Fae and mortals have been forever divided,” I warned him. “And for good reason. Our worlds clash. We are too different.”

  “I’m willing to give up everything to learn your ways and make them my own,” he offered.

  And what would he be giving up? Shelter from the elements, the sustenance of food I cannot begin to imagine eating. And those of his own kind, the humans who have been my enemy from the beginning. And for what? To live in the wild with a wolf in sheep’s clothing? He would never accept me in my true form. My chest tightened and filled with pain, knowing he would reject me for what lurked deep inside. I couldn't bear to see the horror that would materialize in his eyes.

  He reached out to wipe something off my cheek and held up a tiny drop of water on his fingertip.

  I stared at it, utterly bewildered. Did that come from me?

  “Why the tears, my love?” he asked. “I cannot bear to think I hurt you with something I said.”

  The light in his dazzling blue eyes dimmed and lines of concern marred the brilliance of his beautiful features. It pained me to be the cause for anything other than an expression of happiness on his face. Everything in me reached out to him. I was consumed with a longing for any small contact.

  He leaned in toward me, and before I knew what was happening, his lips were pressed against mine. His mouth was even softer than I expected. Warmth and electricity unfurled throughout my body. He framed my face in his hands, kissing the corner of my mouth, my jaw and the length of my neck, and back again. I closed my eyes, memorizing each kiss in my heart.

  I drank him in, but I could not get enough. This unfamiliar thirst awakened a monstrous hunger from deep inside. I could feel the beast stirring in my bloodstream.

  Terrified of letting it loose, and what it might do to him, I pulled away.

  Tristan was breathing hard as he gazed at me, his lids half closed, eyes shining with passion. Currents of desire rolled off him. The air between us buzzed with yearning, prompting a dark longing I didn't understand or know what to do with. All I knew was that it would never be satiated, regardless of how many times I gave into it.

  I stood up abruptly, and turned to leave.

&nbs
p; He caught me by the wrist. “Please, don’t go.”

  “I have to,” I insisted, but there was no ignoring how much I ached for his kiss.

  He knew it too. Circling his arm round my waist, he drew me into an embrace.

  Fire lanced my skin, hot and mercurial. The acrid stink of burning flesh struck my nose. I looked down where his armor touched my bare arms and saw blackened, bloody welts.

  I'll never know exactly what happened after that. All I remember was unbearable pain, the uncoiling of ice inside me, and the dark red rage before I blacked out.

  When I came to, I was high up in a tree. Gone was my frail human form and the beautiful rose gown. I was once again the beast I’d always known myself to be. Except for one difference. My heart hurt with a dreadful feeling of loss, as if something had been ripped from inside me.

  It hurt to breathe for the longest time. I stopped eating. I couldn't move. I took no joy in the birds that kept me company, or from the wind whistling in the leaves and the gentle rocking of the branches beneath me. I thought surely the ever-present ache in my chest would kill me. In fact, I welcomed death. But it never came.

  Such mercies are not for creatures, such as I.

  I am doomed to be forever haunted by the images of the bloodstained armor I found strewn at the base of that tree. The claw marks, the trail of blood that led away from the horrible scene and ended with nothing. Not even the tiniest bone was left. The beast had devoured the blue-eyed knight, whose only trespass had been to gaze lovingly at the beauty I had become for one brief moment in time.

  I learned that fairy tales can indeed come true, but they are fleeting, and there's no such thing as a happily-ever-after. Tragedy is the only guaranteed ending.

  As with all things, time allows for the wounds of the heart to heal over, though not without its scars. I’ve been forced to leave the past behind. Times have changed. Even the place has changed.