“Why does the Forest obey you?”
He affectionately patted a maple as we passed. “They’re loyal to their prince. But despite their allegiance to me, they love you the most.”
We approached the edge of the trees, which opened enough to show a glimpse of the palace, its windows lit with glowing lanterns. The single path wriggled before us before splitting into two, one leading to the palace and the other snaking deeper into the Forest in the opposite direction.
Aiden squeezed my hand. “Which shall we take?”
I didn’t even need to study the two diverting pathways to know the answer. While the Forest had initially forcibly led me to the Sortileyan Palace and the competition that illuminated my true feelings for Aiden, the choice to return was up to me, and that decision had already been made.
I tugged Aiden down the path leading to the palace. “This one.”
Together we walked it to an unknown but undoubtedly beautiful future.
Epilogue
I stood in front of the tall, gilded mirror, staring in awe at my reflection. I scarcely recognized myself dressed in my white gown of silk and lace, my dark hair arranged in an elegant updo woven with pearls that matched the earrings adorning my ears and the necklace Aiden had given me. I looked exactly like a princess. Alaina fussed with my appearance, making sure my dress was just right.
Mother came up behind me to rest her chin on my shoulder, which she gave an affectionate squeeze. “You look beautiful, dear.”
“I never imagined I’d ever find myself dressed in a wedding gown, mere minutes away from marrying the love of my life.”
“I kept telling you over and over that one day you would.” Rosie appeared in the mirror behind me to hook my lacy veil in my hair. “Everyone has a happy ending, including you. To think yours includes an actual prince…” She sighed contentedly. “It’s the most magical ending imaginable.”
I smiled. “I don’t care that he’s a prince, just that he’s my prince.” The words sounded foreign on my lips, for they were ones the old Eileen never would have spoken. But that was the wonderful thing about journeys: they had a way of changing oneself.
Rosie stood back to survey her handiwork and gave a nod of approval. “Stunning. You deserve nothing less on the first day of your happily ever after.”
Mother’s beam grew as she took in my appearance. “I’m so happy for you, dear. Your father would be so proud of you.”
I took a steadying breath, allowing the ache his absence had caused to fill me again. Aiden had informed me only a few days previously that he’d finally received the results of an investigation into Father’s fate that he’d been conducting ever since the night I’d given him my necklace: while on his way home, Father had succumbed to a terrible illness that had swept through the capital, which meant he’d been on the road to return to us at the time of his death.
While the knowledge was healing for both me and Mother, it still left an ache in my heart, one that would likely always be there, but the pain was different now. I knew my love for Aiden and for my family and friends would help heal not only that hole but also those I didn’t even know I had.
“I miss him,” I murmured. How he would have loved the adventure I now found myself in.
“I miss him, too. But he loved us. And Aiden loves you.”
“And he won’t ever leave.” I’d said the words countless times since choosing to trust my heart to him. Making the decision hadn’t made all my fears, insecurities, or pains go away completely, but it had brought new emotions I’d never expected in the years I’d fought against this future—peace, contentment, fierce joy, and love, always love.
A knock on the door pierced my reminiscing. Before Alaina could move to open it, I rushed over to fling it open myself, ignoring her usual mutterings about my refusal to be waited upon properly. I could do without the royal nonsense of servants and protocol, but I couldn’t live without my prince, who stood outside the door dressed in his own regal finery.
His black eyes widened and his mouth fell agape. For a moment he merely stared before he stepped into the room and put his arms around my waist.
“My princess.” He leaned down and kissed my brow. The moment he pulled away I stood on tiptoe to place my own kiss on the tip of his nose.
“My prince.”
My favorite crooked grin lit up his face. “I still can’t believe my good fortune.” He pressed the tenderest kiss on my lips, leaving me no doubts as to his affections.
Aiden pulled away and stared into my eyes with such an adoring look that I felt utterly cherished. “It’s bad luck to see your bride before the wedding,” I said.
He chuckled. “I simply couldn’t wait to hold you in my arms once more.” After another kiss—this one on the top of my head—he looped my arm through his. “Shall I escort you to our wedding, my dear?”
I gave his arm an affectionate squeeze before turning to Mother and Rosie, both watching me with tears of happiness and wide smiles. I hadn’t seen Mother so happy since our tearful reunion after Aiden arranged for her to come to the palace to find me safe and sound. My happily ever after truly seemed like the most beautiful of fairy tales, just like Rosie and the stories we’d read together had always promised it would be.
They followed as Aiden escorted me to the grand ballroom, where we became husband and wife. As we gave our vows and sealed our union with another kiss, I knew that whatever obstacles lay in our future, we’d overcome them together, for Aiden was not only the right path for me but the one I’d continue to choose forever.
Spelled
Chapter 1
The problem with baking up spells was there were so many things that could go wrong. I frowned at my rather lumpy cookies, burnt around the edges and hard as rocks when I bit into them. Ew. No way I was going to eat these. I sighed as I dropped the tray unceremoniously on the counter before squinting at the faded recipe titled “Eliminating Grief” in Enchanted Sweets and Delights.
My cookies looked nothing like the illustration. What had gone wrong? I’d included all of the correct ingredients. I nibbled my fingernail. Perhaps that extra spoonful of unicorn tears had tampered with the recipe, causing them to overbake and dilute the magic.
I sighed as I pulled out a clean mixing bowl, determined to keep trying until I got it right. I’d just started measuring the flour when the bell above the bakery door jingled. I gasped, slammed the book of magical recipes shut, and shoved it in a drawer. Footsteps approached the back kitchen before my brother, Ferris, appeared in the doorway. Of course the intruder was him, coming to annoy me even during my time of grief.
I rested my hand on my heart, beating wildly beneath my fingertips. “You scared me.”
Without any sign of remorse, Ferris warily eyed the drawer I’d hidden the book in. Too late I realized a corner stuck out, preventing the drawer from closing all the way.
“You’re baking from that book again, aren’t you, Rose?”
I scowled. Years ago, Ferris had developed the annoying habit of shortening my adorable name after it’d occurred to him that being the eldest should have domineering perks to it.
“Rosie,” I corrected for what must have been the millionth time in the course of our annoying life together as siblings.
“You know Mother and Father told us we’re not to bake from that book.”
“I’m not planning on giving away what I bake, so what’s the harm?”
“It’s still dangerous. Magic is too fiddly to tamper with. If you should get the recipe wrong…”
“I never get any wrong.” Except for every attempt to bake a relief from my all-consuming grief…and then there’d also been that time Eileen and I had accidentally made enchanted pudding that resulted in three days of uncontrollable laughter, which a group of village children had consumed after sneaking into the kitchen to pilfer pastries. My lips twitched at the memory, even as my heart wrenched to be thinking of my missing best friend.
Ferris leaned against th
e counter and glanced at my rather pathetic-looking cookies. “What are these supposed to be? They wouldn’t happen to be an example of your getting the recipe wrong, would they?”
I bit the inside of my lip to hold back a sigh. “If you must know, they’re a spell to eliminate grief. Or rather, that’s what I’m trying to make…” I twirled a strand of my golden hair around my finger as I frowned at this morning’s disaster. I slid the book from its hiding place and flipped it open to my bookmarked recipe. “I must be doing something wrong, because no matter what treat I bake them into—whether cookies, tarts, or shortbread—they always turn out like this.”
Ferris’s disapproving look—which had been directed at the book in my arms—softened slightly. “You’re still trying to bake that?”
The near constant anguish that had been gnawing at my heart all week attacked anew, squeezing my insides with tight, burning pain. I blinked back my tears. “One doesn’t just get over the disappearance and likely death of her best friend.”
“No one knows what’s happened to her,” Ferris said, his tone uncharacteristically kind. “She’s only been missing for a week.”
“A week where all manner of dreadful things could have transpired.”
I clutched the edge of the counter as my mind raced with the horrific stories that had been occupying my thoughts ever since the night my best friend had failed to return from the enchanted Forest surrounding our village. No number of search parties had uncovered any trace of her.
“She could have become lost, and after days of wandering without food, suffered a tragic demise. Or she could have been devoured by wild beasts. Or”—I shuddered in horror—“maybe she was murdered. Oh.” I buried my face in my apron.
“Where do you come up with this nonsense?” Ferris asked, his expression twisted in disgust from my recitation.
“Books, of course.”
He snorted. “Of course. Just because it’s in a book doesn’t make it plausible.”
My eyes widened at such blasphemy. “Of course it does. How is a storybook any different than a book of history?”
“One day I hope you stop living inside your head and finally join the real world.” Ferris looked as if he had a multitude of other annoying retorts to that statement, but to my surprise, rather than arguing with me, he instead rested a light hand on my arm. “I know you’re upset about Eileen, but this”—he jerked his head towards my recipe book—“won’t bring her back.”
“It’ll at least help dissipate the pain.”
I returned to my baking, dumping my pre-measured flour into the mixing bowl before pulling out the jar of fairy dust Mother and Father kept in their “off-limits” cupboard. I carefully measured out a teaspoon. As I did so, a tear escaped and slid down my cheek into the bowl. Hopefully, it wouldn’t hurt the recipe’s outcome.
“Rosie?” Ferris stepped forward to wipe away my tears with a surprisingly gentle touch. “Are you going to be alright?”
My lip quivered and I frantically wiped my eyes with the back of my hand. “Whatever fate has befallen her wasn’t supposed to happen. Heroines don’t die in their own fairy tales.”
“Life isn’t like your stories, Rosie,” Ferris murmured as he wiped away another tear with his thumb. “It’s best you finally realize that.”
I clenched my jaw. He was wrong. Believing anything else was out of the question. No matter how tragic certain chapters seemed, ceasing to believe in happy endings was something I would never do, despite how dark this chapter currently was.
“Rosie dear, you’re burning the custard.”
Mother’s voice tore me from my daydreaming—or in this case, once again reliving the dark memory from last week that had changed everything. As midnight approached, Eileen’s mother had rushed into the bakery during a terrible storm—dripping wet and sobbing, her expression wild and her eyes frantic—and informed us that Eileen had gone missing, having never returned from the Forest.
My constant worry knotted my gut. What had happened to her there?
“Rosie, the custard.” Mother gently pushed me away from the hearth and took over stirring the custard.
I blinked dazedly. “Oh, sorry, Mother.”
Not ceasing her stirring, she laid a gentle hand over mine. “Perhaps you should take a break today. Your father, Ferris, and I can manage.”
Guilt swirled through me alongside relief. Unless I was trying to bake my ever-elusive grief-eliminating spell, the thought of spending an already hot afternoon over a sweltering fire was not at all appealing.
I nodded. Mother offered a tight smile as she caressed my cheek with flour-coated fingers. “Don’t give up hope, dear; she’s only been gone just over a week.” Despite her assurances, she gnawed her lip worriedly. A week was a long time to be lost in an enchanted forest that possessed a mind of its own. “Perhaps you should read. That always cheers you up.”
I’d been inhaling scores of books the last several days, mostly fairy tales, to somehow try to dispel my aching grief. Immersing myself in magic and happily-ever-afters helped me hope they still existed.
But one could only escape the real world for so long, for no matter how many times I lost myself within the pages of a book, I was eventually forced to leave. Once I did, I found myself swirling in the dark despair that came from the absence of my best friend and the unsolved mystery of what had become of her.
I suddenly couldn’t remain confined in the bakery any longer, the place I’d tried time and time again to bake a way to escape my heartache. I’d just started to untie my apron when the bell above the bakery door rang, signaling the entrance of a customer.
I wandered into the front of the bakery and froze at the sight of an elderly woman wearing a patched dress and stooping over a cane. It took me a moment to recognize her as the village storyteller.
For the first time since Eileen’s disappearance, a thrill rippled up my spine. A visit from the storyteller was a rare treat indeed. What a perfect way to remind me that perhaps the world wasn’t as bleak as it seemed, even though the anguish riddling my heart suggested otherwise.
“Can I help you?” I asked as she hobbled over to a display of freshly baked cookies.
The storyteller paused and stared unblinkingly up at me, her clear grey eyes looking as if her mind were elsewhere. “One honey-lemon muffin,” she finally said in a raspy voice.
“Certainly.” I carefully wrapped one up for her, my hands shaking in excitement as I cast several sideways glances towards the storyteller, still staring off into space. What could she be seeing? The rumors wandering our village whispered that her stories were more than fantastic tales—they were predictions of the future. Was she thinking up such a story now? How thrilling would it be if I, Rosalina, were witness to one of her fantastic tales, concocted right in this very bakery?
I finished wrapping her muffin and slowly approached, not wanting to startle her from whatever revelation she was surely experiencing. It took a full minute before she stirred, blinking rapidly as she turned back to me.
“Your muffin.” I held it out to her, hoping she’d share something with me before she took it. But no. She accepted her treat with a soft smile before pressing her payment into my palm.
“Thank you, dear.” She suddenly squeezed my hands and stared at me, as if searching for something. I waited in anticipation, holding my breath, hoping…was she about to prophesy? Her wrinkly hand patted mine. “Don’t be upset, my dear; your friend is quite safe.”
The tears I’d fought against all week came gushing out. “Is she? Are you sure?”
The storyteller nodded and gave my hand another affectionate pat. “You’ll see soon enough that I’m right.”
She started to turn but paused, glancing over her shoulder to give me another penetrating stare, as if looking into my future once more. I waited with bated breath.
She smiled, crinkling her ancient face further. “You have quite the adventure ahead of you. Keep an eye out for your own prince.” And with
that, she slowly tottered out of the bakery.
I stared out the window and watched as she took one wobbly step after another until she was swallowed up by the crowd. My heart pounded as her words swirled through my mind. Keep an eye out for your own prince. What a fantastic statement! But what did it mean? How could I find a prince in my small village of Arador?
I was still trying to decipher it all when the door opened again and Eileen’s mother, Doreen, entered the bakery, her eyes bloodshot as usual.
I stiffened. Ever since Eileen’s disappearance, I’d avoided Doreen as much as possible. Witnessing the grief of a woman who’d not only lost her husband years ago but now her only child made my own torment more sharp and agonizing.
I managed to move to poke my head into the kitchen. “Mother, it’s Doreen.”
She immediately removed the custard from the hearth and strode over to pull Doreen into a hug. “Any news?”
“I’m not sure.”
Mother yanked herself away to gape at her. “Then you’ve heard something?”
Doreen held up a gilded envelope, her name and mine addressed in elegant calligraphy. “I just received this by courier. It bears the royal seal.”
I gasped and scampered over to see for myself. The Sortileyan emblem stared back at me in purple ink. “What does it say?”
Doreen fiddled with the edges. “I haven’t opened it. I can’t imagine why I’d be receiving anything from the royal family. It can’t be good news.”
How could she possibly delay? Already my fingers itched to tear it open. It wasn’t every day that common folk received royal correspondence.
Mother seemed to be thinking the same thing. She frowned at it. “The only way to find out is to open it.”
Doreen handed it to me, unable to open it herself. I carefully slid my nail beneath the seal and unfolded the creamy stationery, gilded in gold. “His Royal Highness, the Crown Prince Deidric, invites Doreen and Rosie of Arador to the palace…”
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