Romantically Enchanted: A Twisted Fairytale Collection

by Madeline Martin

  “Such a waste, but I will return to Annanvale.” With a shriek that shook the leaves of the trees and bushes, the queen vanished into a puff of green and purple mist.

  “At least she is gone.” Averell maneuvered to her knees so she could look at Quinn. “Set your brother free and leave this place.”

  Perhaps he would kiss her one last time…

  As she leaned on one hand, her lungs hurting with each breath, Quinn shifted from his wolf form in a mist of white light. While proudly and apparently unashamedly naked, he manipulated the bonds that held his brother.

  “And you thought our family had issues,” he said to his brother in a joking manner as the ropes dropped away and Prince Charming stepped from the tree.

  Averell smiled. He had such a pleasing voice. His form was every woman’s dream. Perhaps he could learn to love again once she had left this moral world. Find happiness.

  “I think I’ll be more appreciative of Father and his foibles from now on,” Charming replied as he rubbed his wrists. “You have yourself quite a formidable woman, Quinn.” He waved at her, grinning as he did so. “As you know, I’m Prince Charming, but I’d be honored if you call me Henry. I have a feeling we’ll see much of each other in the coming days.”

  “Thank you, but I am dying.” Her words were a whisper. She put both hands onto the ground. The cool, soft grass rasped against her palms. The light of the moon frosted it over with silver. How beautiful it looked, and combined with the heady scent of roses, it was a romantic place. A peaceful spot for her final rest. “Quinn, I…” Her heart thudded painfully, preventing her from speaking the words she most wished to tell him. She’d failed to complete the queen’s task, which ushered in her demise, but she had accomplished her own. “Quinn.” As he raced over the grass toward her, she closed her eyes and collapsed to the ground. Through the haze clouding her brain, she remembered the kindly centaur. “Tumius, help me.”

  Heavy darkness snatched at her and pulled her under.

  “Averell!” Quinn’s cry of anguish followed her down.

  SHE AWOKE to the warm pressure of lips upon hers. Insistent lips. Lips that didn’t belong to the man who should kiss her, but magical lips just the same, for her whole body tingled with awareness and renewal. Energy zipped through her veins as if she were being knitted back together by a power she didn’t understand.

  When she blinked open her eyes, from her position on her back, Averell stared up into the handsome face of the centaur she’d helped the night of her father’s death. She expelled a sigh, and then realized she was indeed alive, so she inhaled deeply and let out that breath. “You came.”

  His blond hair gleamed in the moonlight. “I said I would, and I pride myself on keeping my promises.” He eased her into a sitting position, the muscles in his arms and chest flexing with the movement. Yes, he was a gorgeous creature, but he wasn’t the man who set her world on fire. Where was Quinn? “Careful, now. Reanimation after death is a delicate process and you’ll want to go slowly until the magic has finished its repairs.”

  “How is any of this possible?” Her mind spun with the impossible implications.

  “All beings possess a certain amount of magical powers. It is limited to specific tasks. However, most humans rarely wish to cultivate that power, so it fades, and they eventually grow out of it. Only the extraordinary ones hold it dear. My skill happens to lie in bringing back newly dead beings. It’s a one-time shot, so don’t waste it.” When a growl erupted behind her, the centaur chuckled.

  Averell glanced over her shoulder. Quinn, still naked, had been frozen in mid-stride, but the flash of ire in his eyes was evidence he still lived.

  “I can also temporarily halt someone’s movements.” Tumius smiled. “In some cases, because reanimation is activated by a kiss that essentially breathes life back into a being, others, especially the territorial ones, must be frozen for their own good if the magic is allowed time to work.” He smirked at Quinn and snapped the fingers of one hand. “Your man isn’t best pleased I’ve intruded on what he sees as his.”

  Quinn regained his forward momentum but stopped abruptly when he reached their position. “If you wish to keep your arms, I suggest you step away from her before I rip them from their sockets and beat you with them.” The warning rumbling through his voice was unmistakable.

  Behind him, Henry approached the scene with more finesse and grace. He had a glass shoe clutched in one hand. “Don’t make more of an ass of yourself than you can help, Quinn. Can you not see the man saved the life of your lady love? He has no designs on her.”

  “It’s true,” Tumius said, but he did stand and back away a few steps, his impressive half human half horse form on display in the moonlight. “I have a woman of my own, and while she isn’t fond of the way I heal, it is a necessary annoyance which I make up to her in spectacular fashion.” His smile was as dazzling as the sun, and he extended a hand to Quinn. “I am Tumius, and my debt to Averell is now repaid.”

  With an expression akin to a thundercloud, Quinn shook the proffered hand. “Thank you for the kindness and consideration.” The words sounded pulled from him. “If she had died…” He didn’t finish the thought but a muscle in his cheek twitched.

  “I understand and you are most welcome.” The centaur nodded and then set his startling green gaze upon her. “I must away. The forests are filled with many horrors; some of which I can fix. Live your life happy and fulfilled. Show compassion to others as you have been given. Discover you magic and use it wisely.” He switched his attention to Quinn. “A word of advice, my friend? Find some clothes. There are times when naked is not a good look for a man. A well-dressed human can arouse more effectively as one unclothed.”

  “You’re merely jealous of what I offer,” Quinn tossed off with a cheeky grin.

  “Am I?” Tumius moved a hand up and down to indicate his sculpted chest. “You haven’t seen me in my full human form; otherwise, it would be you who is jealous, wolf.” In a twinkling and with a wink, the centaur bounded from the rose arbor to disappear into the tree line beyond.

  Henry’s laugh chased away any lingering ill-effects from the queen’s magic. “Oh, this has been a most memorable night indeed.” He snickered again until a look from Quinn quelled his mirth. “Obviously the two of you need time to adjust and no doubt utter sweet nothings. I; however, have a woman to find who fits into this slipper.” He held the footwear aloft. “Wish me luck. Would that I will be as happy as you, brother.”

  Once they were alone, Averell sighed. “Your brother is correct. It’s been a most memorable night.”

  “Don’t remind me.” Quinn held out a hand and when she slipped her fingers into his palm, he assisted her into a standing position. “Are you well? Will you suffer a relapse?” A trace of fear lingered in his eyes.

  “I am weak, but my strength gains with every breath.” So wonderful was the ability to breathe again, she inhaled a lungful of crisp summer night air and expelled it. “And you?”

  “Healing. My wolf’s magic is efficient. I’ll suffer no ill-effects.”

  She nodded. There was much to learn about him. “I am free of the queen’s influence.”

  “You lost whatever magic you possessed.”

  “Yes, at least what was given to me from her.” She frowned. She’d never know what she’d been capable of. Even now, she no longer felt the restlessness deep inside, but perhaps magic came in many different forms, as the centaur had said. “I am unremarkable.”

  “No.” He pulled her into his arms and wrapped her in a tight embrace. She borrowed from his strength. “You are as you’ve always been: extraordinary.”

  Her heart fluttered from his words as a butterfly ballet began low in her belly. “Ah, Quinn. How glad I am that you are here.” Pushing out of his arms, she retrieved the leather pouch she’d dropped. When she emptied the remainder of the fairy dust into her palm, he gasped and stepped away.

  “What are you doing?” His dark eyes rounded.

>   Averell didn’t answer. She threw the fairy dust at him. It shimmered in the air as it settled around him and soon the gossamer thread that connected them gleamed golden in the moonlight.

  A sick expression crossed his face. “Do you wish to shatter our connection too—our fated bond?” He pressed a hand to his heart as if the very thought caused him pain.

  How dear he was. “No.” With gentle fingers, she traced the cord. It emitted a faint hum and gave off a sharp zap of energy. She left it alone as the fairy’s magic faded and the thread was no longer visible. “I merely wished to see the truth, the evidence with my own eyes of how I felt for you.”

  “Which is?” Now that she allayed his concerns, a wicked gleam sparked in his gaze that promised wonderful, delicious, decadent things.

  A shiver wracked her shoulders. Her heart trembled. “I love you, every part of you. Man or wolf, it doesn’t matter. You are mine. It’s as simple as that.” Truly, it was. She smiled as need for him warmed her insides. “We’ve known each other for three days and already, I know I cannot live without you. What more do you want to hear?”

  “This.” He sank to one knee before her, a picture of manly perfection and devotion. “Marry me. Spend your life with me. Discover the magic we can make together.”

  “Will we live in the castle?” She chewed her lower lip. “I’m not certain how I’ll feel about that. The plush luxuries leave me anxious even if the trappings of such are beautiful.”

  He snorted. “There are other residences my father owns, some even tucked away in the woods. We shall live in one of them if you so wish.” Quinn grabbed her hands in his, the heat of him sinking in through her gloves. “Your answer please, Miss…” A hint of embarrassment flooded his face. “Gah, I don’t even know your surname.”

  A delighted laugh bubbled up from her throat. “It’s Woode. Averell Woode, and yes, Quinn, spare prince of Annanvale, I will marry you.”

  With a shout of victory, he pounced, rolling with her in his arms, kissing her cheeks, her lips, her forehead, the tip of her nose as she landed on her back, while her hair wrapped around them. “When I thought I’d lost you…”

  “Hush.” She pressed a fingertip to his lips, and then promptly lost her train of thought when he took the digit into his warm mouth. “I am here with you now. Let’s make the best of it and as Tumius said, don’t waste it.”

  “Good advice.” He kissed her until her thoughts fled and her body responded with heated awareness.

  Averell broke the embrace to hug him tightly about the shoulders. “I cannot wait to begin our new adventure.” Then she put her lips to his ear. “Let us start deep in the trees. I know a place near a stream where the moonlight shimmers on the water and the moss is soft…” She squealed when he moved with alacrity and caught her up into his arms.

  Yes, everyone had a choice, and she was glad she’d chosen wisely.

  EXCERPT: WHAT THE STUBBORN VISCOUNT DESIRES

  SANDRA SOOKOO

  CHAPTER 1

  MISS SOPHIA WICKHAM traversed the crowded expanse of the London Docks with a mix of anxiety and excitement buffeting her stomach.

  A porter trailed quietly after with her carpetbag in hand. She appreciated the fact that he didn’t pepper her with inane and unwanted conversation or censure as she chose the most efficient path through the teeming collection of people. Talking didn’t appeal to her at the moment, and certainly not about things that didn’t matter.

  Especially when the only thing occupying her mind was Viscount Trewellain and the mess her life had been in for the last two and a half years because of him.

  The heels of her half boots echoed dully against the wooden boardwalk as she marched in the direction of the vessel, the HMS Spirit. Another round of worry coiled snake-like in her belly, for she would not be a proper passenger on the ship. In fact, she didn’t intend to make the voyage to Gibraltar at all, regardless of what she’d told Lady Archewyne. The carpetbag, though packed with a change of clothes and other essentials, was merely a cover and would help her sneak upon the vessel. The key to convincing people of a thing was carrying off a deception with confidence.

  These past years have led to this very meeting.

  She shook her head in the attempt to banish the misgivings still churning. Even though Lady Archewyne had given her the funds to book passage home from this fool’s errand, Sophia would rather die than use that coin. Regardless of the wastrel her father had become—said lifestyle had plunged her into this present coil—she was not a charity case. Neither would she deplete her meager savings on a ticket to Spain. There was no need. The solution was quite simple, really. She would gain access to the viscount’s quarters, wait for him to board, and then they would talk in a civilized manner.

  There’d be nowhere the viscount could run, and the much-needed conversation would take mere minutes. The outcome of which would set her free to live her life in whatever way she wished. What that would entail, she had no idea, but without the yoke of doom weighing down her shoulders, the possibilities were endless. He only needed to answer one question.

  A tiny smile curved her lips. Yes, quite simple. This would go off splendidly. After having her destiny released from Trewellain’s, she would then sneak off the ship before the last passenger and piece of luggage had come aboard. No one would know, and her mission would be accomplished with her customary efficiency.

  There was little chance of failure; she wouldn’t allow it. Not now, not when she’d felt exactly that for far too long.

  No more.

  Thus uplifted with renewed confidence, Sophia squared her shoulders. Never in all of her nine and twenty years had she looked forward to the future more. Why, she could pursue studies or travel or… anything she’d only dreamed of. Her smile widened. How lovely the world looked when one had a taste of freedom.

  Then her steps faltered as the frigate loomed, and frenzied activity buzzed about the ramps leading into the ship. There, off to one side and out of pedestrian traffic was that dastard Viscount Trewellain. Her smile faded as a frown replaced it. She came to a complete halt.

  “Is there a problem, miss?” the young porter asked with confusion in his voice.

  “No.” Yet she stood there, almost transfixed as her heart beat a frantic rhythm, while she took in Jonathan’s form. She’d seen him other times, of course, and had interacted with him as well, for in her capacity as the Hawkins’ governess and with him being the earl’s close companion, the viscount was always underfoot. Except… here with the backdrop of the water and docks and the tang of salt on the breeze and noise and the crush of people, he wore an air of mystery as he would a cloak.

  A curious flutter worked through her lower belly. Beneath the brim of a black top hat, his golden hair gleamed in the sun like molten gold. He wore it slightly longer than current fashion, and the ends curled just above the snowy cravat that was tied in an intricate knot. His jacket and trousers, well-tailored and no doubt quite expensive, fit his frame and even from this distance she was able to discern his lean, muscled body, for the clothes were made to highlight exactly that. Too bad the greatcoat hid much as it flapped about him in the breeze, lending to the intrigue. Damn him for looking so dashing. It shouldn’t be allowed after what he’d done.

  Or didn’t do as the case might be.

  “Miss? Shall we continue?” The porter’s prompt brought her out of her musings.

  With a soft curse and a firm shake of her head, Sophia gave the man a cursory glance over her shoulder. “In a moment. I think I see someone I know.” And wish to avoid. It wouldn’t do for him to see her and chastise her before she accomplished her mission. Or worse, order her home to await his leisure.

  After tearing her gaze from the viscount, she cursed again. Her muscles tightened with the sudden urge to flee. The Earl of Archewyne joined him as the Duke of Rathesborne moved off. Interesting, that. How had the earl come to be such contemporaries with one so high on the instep as a duke? “What is he doing here?” The t
all man with raven hair and dressed in dark, military-style clothing, launched into serious conversation with her quarry. They both turned out of the wind and the viscount’s face was lost to her.

  Having her employer in the mix hadn’t been part of her plan. Cold fingers of dread played down her spine. Never say the earl and his wife traveled with them.

  Damn and blast. Misgivings flared and she led the porter farther away but kept her focus on the two men. This whole endeavor smacked of secrecy —both on her part and the viscount’s—but the fact he met with the earl sent doubt spiraling through her gut. Above everything, she couldn’t be seen by him or Lady Archewyne, not after she fairly lied to the countess in order to procure a leave of absence from her post.

  To chase after the viscount on a madcap mission to free her hand from the betrothal her father had forced upon her. This is what she couldn’t bring herself to reveal to the countess, out of embarrassment and fear. For Lady Archewyne would want to fix it for her, smooth her way with her influence, and Sophia was not in the habit of accepting help. She would meet her problems on her own. It’s what she’d done since her father had put them all in the drink.

  Yet the chilly foreboding wouldn’t fade. If things went horribly wrong, how could she return to service within the Hawkins’ household? She would be humiliated… and still bound to the man she’d hated for almost three years.

  I won’t allow that to happen. There was no way her plan would fail.

  “Miss, we should continue,” the porter prodded after a firm throat clearing.

  “Yes, yes. One moment more while I gain my bearings.” She held up a gloved hand in a gesture to wait while never taking her gaze from the two men. As a gust of wind ruffled her cloak, she arranged the folds. She’d never traveled anywhere before, let alone out of England. Truthfully, she’d only been to London a few times. Most of her days were spent in the country on her father’s acreage… waiting for life to begin. She wished for her bow and arrows that she’d been forced to leave behind at her father’s house. Archery was a matter of stress relief for her, and she’d honed the skill after her eldest brother had died. Many hours she’d spent practicing and training her mind to concentrate only on the straw targets or the trunks of trees. Too bad she wouldn’t be able to use that skill now.