Rumpelstiltskin (Timeless Fairy Tales Book 4)

by K. M. Shea

  “Thank you, My Lord. If that is all?” Gemma said, curtsying.

  “It is. Thank you, Miss Kielland.”

  Gemma curtseyed again before she fled.

  Still followed her out of the throne room and was quiet as Gemma soaked in the sanctuary of the poorly-lit hallway.

  “What will you do next?” Stil asked.

  “I don’t know,” Gemma said, struggling to stay upright in a world swiftly changing. The idea of returning to Lovland manor was not pleasing after her exit from it, though she knew Lady Linnea and Lady Lovland would welcome her back.

  She would not return to her parents’ mill, even though her mother had helped her earlier, it wouldn’t be wise. Her heart was softened enough to mend her relationship with her mother, but living with her would undo all her newfound good will. Perhaps she could stay with Grandmother Guri?

  “If you like, you could stay with Angelique and me in my camp, for tonight at least,” Stil said, edging up behind Gemma.

  Gemma smiled at the craftmage. “That would be nice,” she admitted, before frowning. “Angelique? She’s here?”

  “Yes. I managed to call her back. She is why we were able to arrive in time,” Stil admitted, extending his hand.

  “Pegasus?” Gemma said, hesitating before she took Stil’s hand and allowed him to lead her.

  “Yes. I owe her for more than that, though. She summoned up the snow storm—I could never have done it without her. I wanted to get the Snow Queen’s magic riled, and the fastest way I know of is to add to the ice and snow in this country.”

  “Were the starfires a signal to her?”

  “Yes. I had her stationed at the base of Fresler’s Helm. Communicating with her would not be easy with all I needed to do.”

  “Who started the starfires at the palace and city gate?”

  “They said their names were Rudd and Børres,” Stil said as they strolled down the corridors of the palace.

  Servants wove around them, carrying letters, documents, books, or food. Gemma had a feeling they weren’t supposed to let random citizens wander the halls, but after the public spectacle Stil put on with King Torgen, it was unlikely anyone in Ostfold didn’t recognize Gemma—even without the hideous dress.

  “Ah, yes,” Gemma said, a fond smile flickering on her face. “My dungeon guards.”

  “It seems your sense of sacrifice has earned you a few friends,” Stil said, leading the way outside.

  When the brisk wind hit her, Gemma shivered and let go of Stil’s hand to pull her cloak closer.

  “This way,” Stil called, trudging through the snow, moving towards Lake Sno.

  “How is your shoulder?” Gemma asked.

  “It’s fine. It aches a little, but it will pass. Angelique used some of her healing magic on me before we left for Ostfold,” Stil said. “Although that does remind me,” he said, pointing to the forest.

  Standing at the edge of the forest was the white lupine with black paws and black facial markings. When the canine saw Gemma, its curled tail wagged.

  “It followed you?” Gemma asked.

  “No, it followed you. It was already here, sniffing outside the palace walls when we arrived this morning,” Stil confirmed.

  “But it is a hellhound, and it crossed the border?” Gemma said, observing the creature.

  “Whatever it is, it’s not a hellhound anymore,” Stil said. “It glows like a firefly in the middle of the night.”

  “Do you think it was the starfire it swallowed?” Gemma asked. “And when it passes through its system, it will go back to being a hellhound?”

  “No. Whatever you did was permanent. I haven’t seen a creature like it—and neither has Angelique. Hellhounds are exclusively used by practitioners of dark magic. By claiming it with light, you have forged a new kind of canine,” Stil said as they hiked past the creature.

  Gemma hesitated before she wriggled her fingers at the dog.

  The white furred animal happily yipped and broke away from the trees, its tail twirling wildly as it followed Gemma and Stil.

  Stil and Gemma walked the shores of Lake Snow—the unusual dog following them. When they rounded a bend of the lake, Gemma saw the familiar tent and donkey waiting.

  Angelique was outside, leading a bare-backed Pegasus, who gleamed like the patches of night sky that could be seen through breaks in the clouds.

  “Gemma,” Angelique said, a smile blooming on her lovely face. “I am so glad you are safe.”

  “As am I. Thank you for all you have done to help me.”

  Angelique laughed. “It was no trouble at all. It was a pleasure, actually. It is relieving to deliver happiness in a time like this,” she said, patting her mount.

  “Pricker Patch? When did he get here?” Stil asked, rubbing the donkey’s face.

  “Not over an hour ago. He was quite unhappy and put out. I don’t think he appreciated being left behind,” Angelique said.

  “He couldn’t have possibly kept up with Pegasus, and we left him with a farmer who promised to feed him. One would have thought it was the ideal situation for such a disagreeable animal,” Stil said as the donkey—to Gemma’s shock—tilted his head forward the tiniest degree to lean into Stil’s hand.

  “Perhaps,” Angelique said. She glanced between Stil and Gemma before adding, “If you will excuse me, I need to set Pegasus loose for the night. He needs to stretch.”

  “Certainly,” Gemma said, slightly confused by Angelique’s language. “Enjoy?”

  The enchantress raised her hand in acknowledgment and walked off, leading Pegasus away from the camp.

  “Let’s get out of this wind,” Stil said, giving Pricker Patch a final scratch before motioning to the tent. Gemma followed him in, nearly tripping when the white lupine dove in front of her to wriggle its way inside.

  “You…,” Gemma said to the dog.

  The white canine gave Gemma a doggy smile and scampered behind a settee. He poked his head out from behind it, his triangular ears pricked.

  “Leave him. He’ll be fine,” Stil said, taking off his cape. His hair was short, and his clothes were unusually plain—black boots with tan cotton pants and a loose, royal blue shirt.

  “Are you sure? He is a wild animal. He—,”

  “Gemma.”

  Gemma slowly raised her eyes to meet Stil’s gaze.

  “We need to talk,” the craftmage said.

  “Yes,” Gemma agreed, shedding her cape.

  “Why didn’t you run?”

  “Why?” Gemma repeated.

  “Yes.”

  Gemma pursed her lips. “I tried to run. Servants tracked me down and dragged me back. I think Lady Linnea underestimates Prince—excuse me—King Toril’s backbone—,”

  “That’s not what I meant,” Stil said, his voice patient as he spoke over her. “I was referring to the rider, and to when the soldiers found us. I told you to run.”

  Gemma sat in a settee and felt awkward. Why do I feel awkward? I know he loves me. I should tell him that I lov—no, maybe not.

  “Gemma,” Stil said, crouching down in front of her.

  The look in Stil’s uniquely beautiful eyes tore the words from Gemma’s mouth. “Because I love you,” she hiccupped.

  Stil and Gemma stared at each other, both a little shocked.

  “I didn’t mean to say that,” Gemma said, sliding down the settee and moving across the room.

  “You didn’t mean to say it, or you didn’t mean it?” Stil asked, gliding after Gemma with an infuriating amount of elegance.

  “Let’s make matters simple and pretend I didn’t say it,” Gemma said.

  “No,” Stil said.

  Gemma sighed. “I didn’t run from the rider because I couldn’t leave you like that. When I finally got my head on straight, I realized that we were so busy countering him that we weren’t bothering to take advantage of his greatest weakness,” Gemma said. “Although, I did not know the light would have such an effect on the hellhound,” she added, g
lancing at the white lupine sniffing her shoes.

  “I can understand that. You thought to use something I see as only a trinket as an ultimate weapon. Well done,” Stil said. “So, about love.”

  “As for the soldiers, it made the most sense. Obviously,” Gemma stiffly said.

  “So, about love,” Stil repeated.

  Gemma strode back to the settee. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “I find it amusing that a hellhound, a mad king, and the threat of death won’t make you bat an eye, but mentioning love makes you lose your eternal serenity.”

  Gemma narrowed icy eyes at Stil. “I am perfectly fine—STOP IT,” she barked when Stil reached out to touch her cheek.

  Stil’s lips quirked in the slightest smile. “Gemma,” he said, his voice gentle. “You can trust me. I’m not going to let you go. That is not to say that I will not disappoint you in the future or make you glare at me frequently, but I will never stop loving you.”

  “You can’t know that,” Gemma said.

  “Do you ever wonder if your Lady Linnea will stop your friendship?” Stil asked.

  “No.”

  “How am I any different from her?”

  “Would you like me to list the differences alphabetically or numerically?”

  “No, I mean—what is different about her that would have you readily believe her love?”

  “I can’t think of anything,” Gemma admitted.

  “Then why won’t you believe me?”

  “It just doesn’t seem possible…or plausible.”

  “Why? You are an incredible woman.”

  “You’re a mage, wealthy, and handsome, and I—,”

  Stil held up a hand. “Wait, you think I’m handsome?”

  Gemma paused. “I…”

  “So you did notice my stylish hair and charming good looks. I was starting to grow worried,” Stil preened.

  “Stylish is a broad term.”

  “Why are you even fighting this?”

  “Because you already have the ego of a peacock.”

  “No, no, not my stunning looks—”

  “I never said stunning.”

  “—I was referring to your affection for me.”

  Gemma blinked, disarmed by the direct question. “What?”

  “It seems to me like you don’t want me to love you, even though you just admitted you feel the same way I do. Why?”

  “I find it hard to believe in people,” Gemma said.

  “With your background, I can understand that, but I’ve never done anything to make you doubt me,” Stil said, edging towards Gemma as if she were an easily frightened deer. “I have come to your rescue whenever you need me. I won’t let you fall,” Stil promised.

  “I’m afraid,” Gemma whispered.

  “Of me?” Stil asked, resting his arms on her shoulders.

  “No,” Gemma said as Stil pulled her in to hold her. “I don’t know. It’s so confusing, and that is unacceptable,” she said, glaring into Stil’s shirt.

  Stil chuckled. “I’m afraid, too,” he said.

  “Of what?”

  “I’m afraid something will happen, and you’ll feel the need to run off and sacrifice yourself,” he dryly said. “I’m afraid you will keep pushing me away, and that I’ll never get to see that firstborn child.”

  “Stil,” Gemma hissed.

  “But most of all, I’m afraid you will never let me love you. I choose you, Gemma. I love your loyalty, your practicality, and those rare smiles you will occasionally shed. I love you. Please, let that be enough,” Stil whispered in Gemma’s ear.

  Gemma moved her arms to embrace him back. They stood together for a few silent moments that seemed to stretch on for ages.

  “And I love you,” Gemma finally admitted, her shoulders hunching in defeat.

  “You sound so enthused,” Stil said.

  Gemma gave Stil a wan smile.

  “Gemma, I love you,” Stil repeated.

  Gemma raised an eyebrow, wondering at the response, when Stil abruptly kissed her on the lips.

  Although the movement was sudden, the feeling behind Stil’s kiss was anything but. It was passionate and warmer than the heat charm. It reminded Gemma of the starfires at their most brilliant—overwhelming but beautiful.

  They parted when the white canine wriggled its way between them, making the pair chuckle.

  “What now?” Gemma asked as Stil adjusted his hold on her waist to bring her closer to him.

  “Loire? I still need to meet with Prince Severin and Princess Elle.” Stil said.

  Gemma thought for a moment and shook her head. “I can’t leave Verglas yet.”

  “Why not?” Stil asked, stiffening.

  “Lady Linnea. I can’t leave her like this.”

  “Won’t she be coming to Loire as well?” Stil asked.

  “Maybe…but I don’t think that’s what she really wants,” Gemma said.

  “I see,” Stil said. He kissed Gemma’s lower jaw. “Is there nothing I can say that will change your mind?”

  “Does it bother you that much?” Gemma asked.

  “I will miss you fiercely, but I won’t begrudge you this time. I only wish I could stay with you,” Stil said.

  “You can’t?” Gemma asked.

  “The fight against darkness,” Stil sighed. “I have to leave tomorrow with Angelique. It is cruel to part from you so soon, but I’m afraid I don’t have a choice.”

  “I trust you,” Gemma said.

  “And I will wait for you. When can I return for you?” Stil asked, pulling Gemma closer.

  “In a year?”

  “A month.”

  “Eight months, no less.”

  “A month and a day.”

  The pair bantered for some time before they finally agreed that Stil would come for Gemma in early summer, or sooner if she wrote to him.

  “I feel I should have you negotiate with merchants for any purchases I need. Arguing with you is tiresome,” Gemma frowned.

  “Good,” Stil said, pressing his cheek to Gemma’s head. “I will miss you,” he repeated.

  “I’m sure that lock of my hair you have tucked away somewhere will aid the pain in your heart,” Gemma dryly said.

  “I was wondering if you would pick up on that,” Stil said.

  “Mmhmm. There wasn’t really a price to your magic, was there?”

  “There is, but only for pieces of magic I deliberately perform for a person. The thimble wouldn’t have counted,” Stil admitted.

  “You are a hack,” Gemma said.

  “It could be worse. I could have made you play the question game with me.”

  Gemma raised her eyebrows in an expression of apathy, but she couldn’t help but laugh when Stil soundly kissed her again.

  The pair settled on the settee and laughed and chatted late into the night, petting the transformed hellhound and enjoying each other’s presence. (They did stop to hold a brief celebration when Angelique returned and Stil told the enchantress in training that he finally won Gemma over.)

  Gemma rested her head on Stil’s chest and listened to his heartbeat. “You have to go tomorrow,” she said.

  “I know.”

  “I wish you didn’t.”

  Stil kissed the top of Gemma’s head. “Me too, Gemma. Me too.”

  Chapter 19

  In spring, the wedding all of Verglas had waited for was finally held.

  The bride was beautiful, dressed in a gorgeous white dress—the likes of which had never been seen before. The groom was a dashing figure, waiting patiently for his bride with a smile as she walked down the aisle of the same cathedral that, months ago, had witnessed a battle.

  The crowd gathered on this spring day was very different from those gathered for King Torgen’s and Gemma’s near-wedding. Today, the witnesses wore smiles and waved small replicas of the Verglas flag. The citizens of Ostfold were particularly overjoyed, and they cheered and hollered with abandon as the bride joined the g
room on the dais.

  “Stick a quill in my head and call me a rooster, but that savage miss of yours looks right beautiful today. You did fine work on that dress of hers,” Grandmother Guri said, elbowing Gemma and speaking loudly to be heard over the joyous cheers of their fellow civilians.

  “Lady Linnea has always been beautiful,” Gemma loyally said, watching her close friend curtsey to the priest and her future husband—King Toril.

  “Perhaps, but she doesn’t look so false,” Grandmother Guri agreed, “like her expression is carved from marble.”

  “Yes,” Gemma said, smiling fondly as her eyes rested on the beautiful but serviceable dagger strapped to Lady Linnea’s waist.

  In the middle of winter, after he was crowned King and had ruled for a little time alone, King Toril—to the shock of no civilians and all Verglas nobles—asked Lady Linnea to marry him. Lady Linnea put aside all of her dreams of meeting military leaders and studying foreign armies to say yes, only to be surprised when King Toril modestly asked her to take charge of the Verglas military once they were married—which would, of course, mean she would need to travel and observe what other countries were doing and, most importantly, answer the summons of nations from the Commanding General of Loire, Prince Severin.

  That particular request shocked everyone—except for those who lived near Grandmother Guri and pressed close to the walls of her house when, for one week straight, King Toril called upon the legendary seamstress, Gemma Kielland, and sought her advice.

  He is one of the few men who could understand her, and she will make his reign even better, Gemma thought, smiling at the pair.

  “I wasn’t sure the bumpkin could tame her, but he managed,” Grandmother Guri said, as if she could hear Gemma’s thoughts.

  “Yes,” Gemma agreed, sitting down when the priest motioned for the congregation to be seated.

  Gemma and Grandmother Guri were separated from the crowd, seated in chairs of honor near the base of the dais rather than the pews. Since Stil’s public vow, Gemma had become something of a local legend, known as the girl who brought about King Torgen’s demise.

  Lady Linnea used the excuse to give Gemma special treatment, but truth be told, Gemma wished everyone wouldn’t treat her so reverently. She missed haggling with the merchants—who would now give her whatever price she asked for cloth—and holding dislikable people, like Malfrid and Mrs. Hagen, in distaste. (Mrs. Hagen hadn’t dared to criticize her chosen occupation since her return to Ostfold society, and Malfrid immediately married a farmer and moved away when the dust settled from Gemma’s adventures.)