Charming, Volume 2

by Jack Heckel

  Elle wanted to tell him that she liked his company, was worried about him, and wanted to go on worrying about him if he would let her. Instead, she said, “I am sorry that we didn’t have a chance to talk alone. Perhaps we can when I return to Castle White with your sister.”

  “Yes,” he said. “I suppose.” She waited a moment to see if he would say more, but his eyes seemed to be frozen on the reins in his hands. She moved as if to turn her horse away, but as she did Will put out his hand. “Lady Rapunzel . . . Elle, wait.”

  In the past Will might have let the moment pass, or he would not have even noticed it passing. But this time, a sudden strength of resolve surged through him, and he took her hand in his and placed the tips of her fingers gently to his lips. She thrilled at his touch and felt her breath catch, this time in pleasure, as he kissed her hand.

  His eyes locked on hers and he murmured into her palm, “What I mean to say, what I want to say, is that you have captured my heart, Lady Rapunzel. And though, given my recent infatuation with Princess Gwendolyn, I might be exposing myself as inconstant and fickle—­if you allow, I shall do all in my power to prove myself to you.”

  Rapunzel’s face flushed as she was stunned to silence. Then her color cleared and a smile, a beautiful radiant smile, rose in her face. She bent forward, closed her eyes, and rested her lips on his fingers in return. “I will allow, Lord William.”

  “You will?”

  “Of course,” she said and her eyes opened on his. “I have wished for it ever since the night we met and I tried to claw you to death.”

  They both laughed in a mutual sigh of relief, and then they found themselves engulfed in another silence, only this one felt so comfortable neither wanted to break it. They sat there a while in the middle of the road, hands entwined, the horses beneath them occasionally shifting impatiently on their feet.

  Finally, Elle said, “I have to go.”

  “I know,” Will replied slowly, but did not release her hand.

  She leaned forward in her saddle, her face a pale flower within the folds of her hooded cloak, and kissed him softly on the check. He breathed in her heady jasmine scent and then, reaching up, slowly lowered her hood, and ran his fingers through her hair, tucking a loose strand behind her ear. Her eyes, wide with shock, were two brilliant emeralds shining in the afternoon sun. Kissing her hand again he said, “Fair travels, Lady Rapunzel.”

  “Fair travels, Lord William,” she replied softly.

  She began to turn her horse. The moment of mastery past, he stuttered, “Oh, I . . . I was supposed to give you this.” He held out the dripping mess of her soiled handkerchief.

  “Keep it as a token of my devotion until our next meeting,” she said and pressed it back into his hand.

  Long after she had gone, Will sat on his horse holding the handkerchief and staring after her. Finally, he turned his horse and trotted after the King. For the first time since the dragon died, he found himself thinking about the future. He did not know what life held in store for him. Perhaps one day he would be king. Perhaps the Prince would return in triumph and he would find himself back on the farm in Prosper. But none of that mattered anymore, because one thing was certain. He was in love.

  Chapter 3

  Dark Days in Castle White

  PRINCESS GWENDOLYN DROVE her fingernails into her palms, her face twisting with anger, as she watched the unfolding of Elle and Will’s affair from her darkened sanctuary in Castle White. “That little harlot,” she snarled as she hunched lower over the glass ball and stared at the flickering images.

  “Just look at her!” she urged the dead faces. The shadows twisted and stretched from their corners to peer over her shoulder. “Fluttering her eyes like a common streetwalker. ‘Fair travels,’ ” she mocked, and there were whispers of cold gaiety from her bodiless companions.

  The shades were ever-­present now. Even when she was in the middle of court, she could see them mingling with the other nobles, whispering secrets and staring boldly down the dresses of the ladies. She knew that she should be afraid of them, but she was not. They were familiar, and even if she did not trust them, she would have felt alone without them.

  “He will be mine,” she said with a conviction that was belied by the worried frown that came unbidden as she watched Will stare after Elle. “He must be mine. There has to be someone for me,” she pleaded in a voice that belonged to a young woman from decades ago, a scared young woman who believed that love could be found in a wish. For a brief moment, the shadows withdrew, but, within a heartbeat, they were back in numbers drawing Gwendolyn’s attention away from the scene and her mind back to the present.

  With a forced serenity, she said, “Of course, the boy will want me. I am Princess Gwendolyn Mostfair. I am the most beautiful woman in the world. I am his desire, and he will get his fill and more.” By the time the last word escaped her lips, calm confidence colored her tone.

  She thought over her plans, and a sly smile replaced the worried frown as she tapped her crimson nails against the glowing ball. All was in readiness. The charms for Will and the King were finished. For the power of the fairy to work, all she needed was their presence, and they were coming.

  They were coming. But the waiting was driving her mad. Her face contorted again, and the shadows, sensing one of her rages, swirled about in anticipation. A large one seemed to flap enormous bat-­like wings. She shrieked, “Fairy, do something!”

  “What wouldst thou have me do, Mistress?” came the tired voice.

  “Seize control of the Royal Herald or the squire. No, one of Rapunzel’s servants.”

  Her shadow court liked all these plans and howled its approval with shrieks that made the hair stand on the back of Gwendolyn’s neck.

  “Such is beyond my powers, Mistress. To seize a person’s mind, they must be in mine presence,” the voice said flatly, as though it was something it had often repeated.

  Perhaps Gwendolyn had asked it before, she really couldn’t say. The last week had mostly been a blur of dark enchantments, evil incantations, and planning the wedding. Now, with her plots in order, she spent more and more of her time in this dank little room, consulting with the shadows and waiting.

  “It is nice to hear that you have your limits, little one,” Gwendolyn smirked.

  “Yes, Mistress, we do seem to have more in common than I had originally thought,” came the dour reply.

  If Gwendolyn heard, she did not honor the fairy with a sign, but fell back into her chair, exhausted. There was danger in fatigue. The shades always seemed to grow more daring and malicious. Even now, they were transforming. They swirled and boiled into wispy apparitions—­ghosts stolen from her past: a young King Rupert, her mother and father, her sister. She wondered, not for the first time, if these visions were the lingering dreams from her long sleep or the result of trying to harness fairy magic. If it was the former, it would fade in time, she tried to reassure herself; and if the latter, it was a price that had to be paid. The fairy was no help. All she would say is that they were dangerous, but danger or no, Gwendolyn had promises to keep. She turned her head and tried to catch the image of Rosslyn, her sister, but it flickered away again to hover just out of sight. She stood and began to pace. She had found the only way to keep the ghosts at bay was to keep moving. I must not allow the madness to consume me, she thought. Not yet. But, after only a few turns about the room, her weariness forced her back to her chair. She shielded her eyes from the fairy’s glow with her intertwined hands. “I wish you were not quite so bright.”

  “Sorry, Mistress, we cannot all be dull,” the fairy replied, adding an unnecessary twinkle out of spite.

  The fairy congratulated itself on the insult, but glimmered in annoyance that it had been wasted—­Gwendolyn had fallen asleep. Spent from magic and madness, her breath slowed, and the shadows encircled her, bending inward, already making designs on her dreams.
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  THE NEXT EVENING, the King’s procession came over a small rise—­and there stood Castle White, painted in reds and purples by the setting sun. The carriage came to a reluctant stop, and His Majesty opened the window and waved Will over. “You lead us into the castle, Lord Protector,” the King said brightly. “The ­people must see their hero returning in glory.”

  “Yes, Your Majesty,” Will responded. He gripped his reins but hesitated, looking over to the King. “Your Majesty, what do you think about Princess Gwendolyn?”

  The King raised an eyebrow. “Do I think she is plotting our demise?”

  “Yes, Your Majesty.”

  The King did not answer for several heartbeats. Then he spoke slowly and deliberately. “No, Will. That is to say, she could, but I don’t believe the woman I remember would, if you understand.”

  “I suppose so, Your Majesty,” Will replied with a sense that he knew far less of the Princess than he had imagined. He reached into his pouch and fingered Elle’s handkerchief for comfort. The King tapped the roof of the carriage with his ringed fist. The driver whistled and Will, along with the coach, began a slow ride up the rolling hills to the main gate of the great keep.

  By the time they reached the bridge across the moat, news of the Lord Protector and the King’s return had spread throughout the castle, and they made their entrance to a roaring crowd of well-­wishers. Gwendolyn, however, was not present to greet them, rather, the Royal Steward stepped forward as the Royal Herald announced, “Presenting, the Lord Protector and His Royal Majesty, the King!”

  A purple carpet was unrolled between the carriage and the door of the castle, and as the servants opened the carriage door, the assembled masses bowed as one. The King took a deep breath as he set both feet on the carpet and surveyed the castle. Then he walked over to the Royal Steward. “You may rise,” the King said.

  The Royal Steward rose, stretched out his hands, and, with many apologies, told the King that the Princess had taken ill just the night before, and that she had been secluded in her rooms ever since. The King nodded and gestured for Will, the Royal Herald, and Tomas to follow him as he entered the castle proper. Will tried to fall back, but Tomas gently nudged him into position alongside the King.

  “Bit of luck there, Will,” the King remarked as he strode through the halls toward Gwendolyn’s rooms.

  “What do you mean, Your Majesty?”

  “I mean that I will be able to confront her in private. There will be no risk of a scene. God, how I hate scenes.”

  After too short a walk, they reached her door. Somewhere along the way, Tomas and the Royal Herald had vanished. The King put an arm around Will’s shoulder and whispered, “I will go in first, Will, and then once I’ve set her in her place, I shall bid you enter. I think it will give her a lift to see you, but let’s not mention Lady Rapunzel.” He frowned at this. “No need to broach that subject just yet.”

  Will started to say that he didn’t feel comfortable deceiving the Princess, but the King was already knocking imperiously on her chamber door. The King was admitted, and Will found himself leaning against the wall of the corridor, waiting for a summons and thinking about Elle. How are you going to tell the princess about Elle? he asked himself. Last time we were together, you were dancing with her and telling her how magical she was.

  It was with this last thought, and his guilt over it still rattling around in his head, that the door opened and the King stood in the doorway with a broad, almost slack-­jawed smile on his face. He looked as if all the stress and sadness of the last few days had been utterly wiped away. He spread his arms wide, and in a strange stilted monotone said, “William-­good-­to-­see-­you.”

  Will pushed himself off the wall, “Your Majesty? Are you okay? I take it there was no scene?”

  “Scene? No. She-­explained-­everything. It-­was-­a-­misunderstanding.” The King took a step forward and gripped Will firmly, very firmly, by the arm. “Come-­my-­boy-­she-­is-­anxious-­to-­see-­you.”

  Boy? When has the King ever called me ‘boy’? But his retrospection was cut short as the King pushed him into Gwendolyn’s chamber.

  Will coughed. The smell of burnt nutmeg was overpowering. He opened his mouth to say something about it to the King when his eyes fell on the Princess. She was arrayed on a low settee in a splendorous dressing gown of white and blue surrounded by the warm light of dozens of candles. Yet, despite the perfection of the setting, there was something wrong. She looked ill. Her face was pale, her hair dull and disheveled, and her eyes were sunken and dark.

  “Dear Lord Protector William, it is so nice to see you,” she was saying. “I am sorry about what happened with your sister, but I have something here that will explain everything.”

  He heard the bolt being thrown on the door behind him. Some part of his mind found that odd, but at the same time he was distracted by a glowing ball of light the Princess drew from the folds of her clothing. The shadows in the corners of the room seemed to spring from their places and close in around him. Before he could react, she thrust the flickering sphere under his nose. “Now, my dear, for the wedding I think you shall wear blue or maybe green . . .”

  My dear? he thought, followed quickly by, wedding? The light in the orb began to dance, and he stopped thinking altogether.

  A FEW DAYS LATER, while the King was announcing the upcoming nuptials of the Lord Protector and Princess Gwendolyn Mostfair to the court, Lady Rapunzel arrived home to discover that things had not gone as she had intended.

  She had barely dismounted before beginning an interrogation of her footman, Collins. His answers made Elle increasingly concerned and confused. “I just don’t understand it, Collins. How did you lose Lady Pickett, and what do you mean you can’t ‘remember’ anything after meeting with the Princess?”

  “That’s just it, Your Ladyship. I remember kneeling down to pay my respects, then she pulled out a sort of ball of light or some such, and then . . . nothing.”

  Elle tapped a finger against her lips. “I don’t know, but it sounds like sorcery, Collins.” She shrugged emphatically. “Well, I’ve called her a witch before, but I never thought there might be truth to it.” She turned her attention back to the man. “I suppose you can’t be blamed for being enchanted.”

  “Thank you, Your Ladyship.”

  “But,” she said sharply, and Collins winced, “Liz is in the woods all alone. When the spell was broken, why didn’t you go after her?”

  “Well, there was this cave, and . . . dwarves!”

  “And dwarves!” she snapped, and began pacing back and forth across the floor of the stables, gesturing wildly, her face flashing between a pale white and a bright red. “Well, we simply must go back and collect her.”

  “We? Your Ladyship, but you shouldn’t . . .”

  “Of course I’m going, Collins. This is the Lord Protector’s sister we are speaking of. We can’t afford to have any more foul-­ups.”

  “But, Your Ladyship—­”

  “Be still, Collins. There is nothing further to discuss. You and I will go and save Lady Pickett, and then the three of us will continue onto the castle, where we will almost certainly have to save the Lord Protector and His Royal Highness from Gwendolyn’s sorcery.” She swiveled on her toe and began marching back to the main house. “Saddle the horses. We leave at once! . . . Oh. And, Collins. Tell the stable hands to clean the stalls. There’s an odd smell in here.”

  Collins sniffed intently at the air. Perhaps the air did smell heavily of spice. He checked his armpit suspiciously and flinched at the odor, but shrugged and went back to his work. After all it was a stable.

  For the servants’ sake, Elle maintained her composure until she got back to her rooms, and then she collapsed on her bed with a sob. “Oh, William, Liz, please be safe.”

  “YOU LIED TO me!” Gwendolyn screamed into the transparent little ball as
the flickering spark hovered and danced and the scene from Rapunzel’s home dissolved. Around her the shadows spun like a whirlwind.

  “Nay, Mistress, I cannot lie,” the fairy said smugly.

  “You told me Elizabeth Pickett was dead!”

  “Nay, Mistress, I merely said she was gone. It was thou that concluded that she was ‘dead.’ ”

  “You deceptive little insect!” the Princess hissed. “Well, it won’t matter. I already have Will and the King. Nothing more is needed. The wedding is scheduled for a week from today, and after that I shall be queen.”

  “Thy plotting will not work to bringeth thy desires to thee, Mistress. Thou art still under the curse of thy own wish.”

  Princess Gwendolyn held the ball before her face and laughed hysterically. “You still believe in the power of your impotent curse? Did your curse keep me trapped in that tower, or prevent me from capturing William Pickett or the King? Your curse is broken, it has no power over me anymore.”

  “If thou sayst so, Mistress.”

  “I do.” Then quietly she said, “But how to ensure that there are no complications . . .” Putting the ball in her pocket, Gwendolyn rose from her seat and ascended to the great hall above. She took her place on one of the high seats there, arranged her garments, and rang the bell. A footman appeared and made a low bow. “Fetch me the Captain of the Royal Guard.”

  “At once, Princess Gwendolyn,” he said, and bowed his way backward out of the room.

  As soon as the door closed, she pulled the ball once more from its hiding place. “Now, little firefly, let us set your ‘half-­truth’ to the right.”

  The shadows at her side stared down at the ball and whispered dark secrets, full of black magic and malice. Gwendolyn shuddered. For a moment she wavered, and then the shadows parted and she saw Rosslyn—­sculpted from patterns of light and dark. Gwendolyn felt her heart turn to ice, and she reached out for her sister. “Rosslyn?”