Once Upon a Fairy tale: A Collection of 11 Fairy Tale Inspired Romances

by Danielle Monsch, Cate Rowan, Jennifer Lewis, Jeannie Lin, Nadia Lee, Dee Carney

  She nodded.

  “But the real stories do not end there, only the stories in your fairy tale books. And they lived happily ever after. What do you suppose that means?”

  “That they lived happily ever after, of course,” she said. “What more can there be?”

  “And what is this happily ever after? What is a happily ever after truly like?”

  Melinda frowned, feeling confused. She’d never really thought about what happened to her favorite fairy tale characters after their stories ended. “Maybe…they’re always happy no matter what? They stay upbeat? They lead charmed lives?”

  “You mean they never have to worry or be sad.”

  “I guess.” She shrugged. “I don’t know. Why don’t you ask them yourself? Aren’t they your friends?”

  “They are my friends and thus I know. Happily ever after does not mean they don’t experience exasperation with each other, or are somehow exempt from life’s hardships and misery. Living happily ever after is hard work, but you do it because you want to stay in love with the other person. Because your life without this one other, very special person would be something not full, but only half-alive.”

  Melinda felt like she’d been hypnotized as she gazed into Edward’s eyes. What he’d just said was the most romantic thing she’d ever heard. To work to stay in love forever… She sighed. Edward was right. She’d always wanted a happy ending, but she had never really sat down and figured out what it meant to her. She didn’t even know what kind of man her Prince Charming was. It was as if she’d lived her life in some vague expectation, waiting for something good—never mind what that something good was—to happen to her. Why was it that Edward was fated to be with Beauty and not her? And his twin was already with Cinderella. There had to be some gross cosmic conspiracy against her or something.

  Something moved in her peripheral vision, and her heart skipped a beat. A security guard? She turned her head, then jumped, shrieking.

  The executioner mannequin, hoodless and predatory, stepped forward, ax firmly in its hands. A wide nose sat flat above a lantern jaw, and the pale light from the room’s dusty windows gave its face a waxy complexion like a bad makeup job in a low-budget horror movie. It glared at Melinda and Edward with a pair of bloodshot eyes. “You stole my ’ood.”

  Edward drew himself up. “A prince does not ‘steal’ anything. He appropriates.”

  “Which is exactly stealing!”

  “I have need of it,” Edward said, almost carelessly, but the fine tension in his shoulders and the wide ready stance betrayed him.

  “You ’ave need of it?” The executioner was working himself into a fine rage. “So you just take it? Young scoundrels! No manners or moral fiber or, or even a shred of decency. None!”

  Edward shrugged, and Melinda’s palms grew clammy with sweat. This was no time for fairy-tale heroics; he’d said that ax was sharp. “We didn’t mean anything?” she tried. “We’re very sorry?”

  The executioner seemed not to hear her. “Why, when I was your age, I prayed every night for my ’ternal soul, so I did. So’s I might overcome temptation and remain pure in body and spirit.”

  “If you are that concerned with your purity, perhaps a resignation from your post would be in order,” Edward said in his haughtiest and most princely voice. “Beheading women for failure to bear a boy for their husbands is beneath a true gentleman’s code of honor. You should be ashamed of yourself.”

  Melinda inwardly agreed with Edward, but really, must he choose now to talk about it with an angry ax mannequin?

  The executioner let out a scream of frustration. “You’re worse than a bleedin’ Spaniard!” He raised his weapon. “I’ll not stand to be insulted by thieves!”

  The ax cut through the air. Edward jumped on Melinda, knocking her over. The two of them went tumbling across the carpet, and she heard the executioner’s blade whispering just before it slammed into the floor an inch from her head. Edward’s big body crushed her, and adrenaline and shock made her shake.

  “Do these dolls often come alive?” he said.

  “No!” she wheezed.

  “It must be the Evil Witch.”

  “You shouldn’t have taken his hood! Then he wouldn’t be so mad!” She could hear the executioner grunting as he worked to free his ax from the floor.

  “Foolish woman. You should’ve let me take his ax when I had the chance.”

  The executioner finally wrenched the ax free. He glanced at Anne Boleyn’s portrait. “’Tis time to behead Queen Anne!” he wailed and thumped the wall with a meaty fist. He raised his weapon and pointed at Edward. “Give me my ’ood back, thief! Or so ’elp me I’ll cut off your bloody ’ands!”

  Edward had rolled to a ready crouch. “So you actually do cut off people’s hands,” he said incredulously. “How barbaric. No wonder you didn’t understand anything about our court system.”

  She was forming a tart reply when suddenly inspiration struck. She’d watched a movie about Anne Boleyn. Hollywood wasn’t famous for its historical accuracy, but it was worth a try. “Hey, Mr. Executioner, you aren’t supposed to kill her with an ax. Remember?” she called out.

  The mannequin stopped his ranting and turned toward her. His expression changed from angry to somewhat distressed. “Well…it’s a special circumstance, y’see. Queen Anne, I mean.” His expression started to change back. “But I can’t do my job until I have my ’ood back, so it’s a moot point until this thief ’ere—”

  “But maybe you should get the sword first, and then the hood,” she said. “I mean it’s really important that you have everything ready to go, isn’t it? Or else His Majesty might be displeased.”

  “I s’pose you’re right. I was told to sever ’er neck with a clean blow.” He gave her a significant look. “Not many executioners can boast such skills, you know. There’s a reason ‘Is ’Ighness favors me.”

  Ugh. She felt her coffee start to come up, but whatever kept him talking.

  “A good broadsword,” he mused. “I ’ope they sharpen it up right…”

  “Why don’t you check? It’ll be such a shame if you can’t cut her head off with style.”

  The executioner nodded, his eyes flicking toward a glass case on the opposite side of the room.

  Melinda followed the mannequin’s gaze, but Edward was already in motion. He jumped over to the display case, shattering the glass with his elbow and pulling the blade from its scabbard. “We are equally matched now.”

  “’Ere now! Stealing my sword as well?! Return it forthwith! I’m to execute Queen Anne, else ’Is Majesty can’t marry Lady Jane and beget an ’eir to the Crown!”

  Edward grinned ferociously, and for a moment Melinda saw the Beast in him again. “Come and take it from me.”

  “Edward, no!” She couldn’t stand the idea of him fighting and possibly getting hurt.

  But it was too late. Edward and the executioner came together with a crash.

  Chapter Five

  In Which Our Hero and Heroine Are Caught Red-Handed

  ‡

  Melinda moved quickly out of the way, fleeing to an empty corner near the door. It provided cover on two sides and was comfortingly free of mannequins. She had no idea what to do, but staying away from any more potentially life-sized threats seemed prudent.

  The men were busy grunting with exertion, and there was a lot of clanging going on. She knew better than to try to break up the fight. Her experience was generally limited to a couple of small hot-tempered children, not two full-grown, testosterone-fueled males swinging lethal weapons. She wished she had something herself—a short knife, or at least a shield—but there was the possibility of another bloodthirsty mannequin coming to life if she took one.

  Edward moved with sureness and grace, but the executioner was no stranger to hand-to-hand combat. He handled his weapon as if it weighed nothing. The sword in Edward’s hand looked too frail to withstand the abuse from the ax, but so far he seemed to be doing a good job of stay
ing—

  Melinda gasped and flinched as Edward slipped and the executioner’s blade almost connected with his neck. Nobody in the Fairy Court had mentioned anything about the possibility of getting killed by an Evil Witch minion. It had never even crossed Melinda’s mind that they could lose their lives. Fairy tales didn’t have dead main characters, did they? They were supposed to end well, with their heroes and heroines triumphing over evil…

  If Edward got hurt…or…

  No, Melinda told herself. She refused to think about any bad possibility. He was a fairy tale prince. Surely he could defend himself against a common executioner.

  The mannequin nicked Edward with the tip of his ax. A red line sprang up on the muscular arm, but Edward didn’t seem to notice. He feinted to the left of the executioner, then used a powerful kick to break the mannequin’s knee.

  The executioner fell groaning to the floor, his ax landing beside him. “Not fair,” he whined. “Fight like a bloody man!”

  Melinda crept out of her hiding place and ran to Edward. “Are you all right?” she said, touching the gash. The blood had started to congeal, and it felt sticky against her fingertips.

  “Of course.” He deigned to glance at the wound. “A mere scratch.”

  The executioner was rolling around clutching his knee. “Ah it ’urts, it ’urts! I’ve been tricked, I tell you, tricked! ’Twas a low blow!”

  Edward stepped up and placed the tip of his sword at the mannequin’s throat. “Why are you working for the Evil Witch?”

  “Wot? ’Ow dare you! I don’t work for any Evil Witch, you foppish cheater. I only work for ’is Majesty!”

  “Where is your mistress?”

  “I ’ave no mistress. My wife would open my skull for me, she would.”

  Melinda turned to the executioner. She actually felt bad for the pitiful thing. “I’m sorry we broke your leg. But maybe you can still do your job with just one knee?”

  “You’re a wicked wench! Taunting a man when ’e’s down.”

  “Watch your tongue,” Edward warned, but to no avail.

  “You’d ’ave me just swinging around ’ither and yon on my one knee, is that wot you’re saying? I’ll like as not cut off their arms instead of their ’eads! My, I might even specialize in quartering, like a bloody butcher!”

  What a delightful man he was. Melinda made a face. “I’m sure the Tudor Land staff will fix you.”

  “But my ’ood…!”

  Edward finally lowered his sword. “It was my intent to return it to you when I left.”

  “Oh.” That seemed to mollify the executioner. “Well, why didn’t you say so?”

  “You didn’t give me a chance.”

  “’Ad the time to insult me,” the mannequin muttered.

  Here we go again. “Mr. Executioner,” Melinda said quickly, “Do you know where the Evil Witch is?”

  “Course I do.”

  Melinda’s heart beat faster with excitement. Maybe this was it.

  The executioner pointed at the Anne Boleyn mannequin. “There.”

  She slumped.

  “This is futile,” Edward said. “Most of her minions don’t even realize they’re under her control.”

  The executioner gasped. “’Ow dare you! I’m not under any old witch’s control! I’m no one’s puppet!”

  “But she’s here, right? Somewhere?” Melinda hugged herself, ignoring the rant. The mannequin was actually easier to block out than some of her students. “Probably watching us…”

  Edward was looking around. “That is my assumption as well.”

  “Creepy.” She checked her watch again. It still read HERE. But where? The Tudor House had over a hundred rooms. The Evil Witch could be anywhere.

  Something creaked over them. Melinda grabbed Edward’s exceptionally solid arm. “Did you hear that?”

  He nodded.

  She pointed upward. “Maybe she’s upstairs.”

  “Let’s go.”

  “’Ere now, make sure you give me back my ’ood when you’re done!”

  “Yes, yes. You have my word.”

  They started moving toward the staircase, crossing over the enormous white-on-red double rose carpet in the center of the big room. Another creak, this time from directly overhead, and the chain holding the chandelier over the Tudor Rose snapped.

  “No!” Edward shouted, shoving Melinda out of the way.

  She landed on her stomach, the air knocked out of her. A deafening crash rattled the walls, even with all the noise-muffling velvet in the room. Fine dust rose from the carpet. Coughing, Melinda waved to clear the air around her. “Edward?”

  When he didn’t respond, panic surged through her. “Edward!”

  Was he badly hurt? Melinda crawled to the chandelier. It was steel-framed, with hundreds of faux crystals arranged in circular patterns. She couldn’t imagine how much it weighed, and it had struck Edward full on.

  He lay on his back, unmoving. A heavy metal strut pinned his lower body, and he wasn’t making any sound. A wave of guilt washed through her. His reflexes were quicker than hers. If it hadn’t been for her, he would’ve been able to move out of the way.

  Melinda touched him with a shaking hand. He was still warm, and she didn’t see any blood on him. That had to be good, didn’t it? She pulled the hood from his head. Thank God he was still breathing. Maybe more air would bring him around.

  “Don’t just drop it there!” the mannequin yelled. “Give it back!”

  “Be quiet!” She turned to the fairy tale prince. “Please, Edward.” She caressed the handsome face, still as a death mask. “Say something. Say you’re all right.” Please.

  There was a low masculine moan. “By all the gods, woman. Let me catch my breath.”

  “Edward!” Melinda put both her hands on his lean cheeks. “You’re alive!”

  “Of course I’m alive.” He turned his head a little so he could look at her. What she saw in his eyes made her insides squeeze with warmth and affection. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes, thanks to you. You saved my life.”

  He grunted. “It’s in my contract.”

  She laughed with relief. “It’s the bravest thing I’ve ever seen anyone do in real life. I—” Something moved near the door, and Melinda stopped. Was it the Evil Witch? What was she going to do with Edward stuck like this?

  “Melinda, you have to run—”

  “Freeze!” A couple of uniformed men rushed in, guns pointed their way. “Raise your hands!”

  Melinda did as she was told. All she could think was that it would be totally anticlimactic to get shot by a guard after surviving a murderous executioner dummy and a falling chande—.

  The Executioner!

  She’d forgotten all about him in her panic. She twisted around to look for the mannequin, expecting the ax to fall in any second, but the life had disappeared from its eyes.

  “What the hell is going on?” the lead guard demanded. “What are you doing here?”

  “Nothing,” she said. She thought fast, wishing some of her more creative students were with her. “Look, I’m sorry, but we were lost, and this chandelier fell on…er, my friend.”

  “What friend?”

  “Here.” Melinda indicated Edward with her chin.

  Both guards moved slowly forward, until they could see Edward under the mass of crystals. Then they put their guns away and approached more quickly. “We need to get him out from under there.”

  “Yes, please,” Melinda said. She put her arms down. “Can you help me lift the frame?”

  They all tried, with no success. “Heavier than it looks,” the lead guard said. “We need to call for back-up.”

  The other guard gave Melinda a tired look. “He loves saying that.”

  *

  Ten minutes and two additional men later, Edward rolled himself out from under the chandelier. Melinda couldn’t help running her hands over him, feeling every line of his muscles, to make sure he was really unhurt. “Are y
ou all right?”

  Edward rolled a shoulder back and forth a couple of times. “I think I may have strained my shoulder a bit, but yes, I am well.”

  There was a conspicuous bit of throat-clearing. Edward and Melinda turned to the source of the sound. An older man with a name-tag that said “George” on one line and “Security Chief” on the next was looking at them. He was wearing a suit and seemed extremely unhappy. “What exactly were you two doing here?”

  “Well…” Melinda shrugged. “As I told the guards here, we got lost.”

  George’s look told her that he had heard much more creative lies in his time. “You got lost, Ms…?

  “Jones.”

  Edward raised an eyebrow. He could raise it until it disappeared under his hairline; she wasn’t volunteering her real name.

  Her brain worked frantically to find a way out, while she berated herself for the stupid fib she’d told. Edward wasn’t helping by assuming a condescending and bored expression. This was not the time to go all princely.

  The silence stretched, and George finally said, “There’s a fence around the park, Ms. Jones. People don’t just lose their way in.”

  Melinda felt a gathering tension in Edward. “Are you calling her a liar?” he said.

  “I’m calling her explanation implausible.”

  Semantics. Men. Well, maybe Option B would work better. “You see how the chandelier fell on my friend, nearly killing him?” she said.

  George ran a skeptical eye over Edward, who seemed to be quite rudely healthy standing there next to her. She wished he would faint or something. “What about it?”

  “What do you think your boss is going to say if we sue Tudor Land for that? It’s obvious that you haven’t done any decent maintenance around here. How else could it have crashed on us?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. If you hadn’t been trespassing here in the first place, it wouldn’t have fallen on you.”

  Melinda thought that she would be perfectly content never to hear that word again in her life. “Now really. Do you think such a flimsy excuse is going to work? How many parents are going to refuse to come here if they know? I mean, what’s next? The merry-go-round could break. Children could be injured. Think of the children, George. The poor, innocent children.”