“Well, I’ll show you who’s better,” responds Hook. He packs a powerful punch that sends The Prince to his knees, gasping for air.
“You like pain? I’ll you show you pain,” says Gallant, getting back on his feet. At full force, he charges at Hook and knocks him down. Pinning his opponent to the sawdust-covered floor, The Prince delivers a series of hard blows, one right after the other.
Poor Elz winces with every blow and, finally unable to stomach it any more, buries her head in her arms. My heart hammers. Gallant’s going to do the pirate in!
Suddenly, Hook whips out his sword with his good hand and slices Gallant across his neck. The Prince recoils, freeing Hook. Oh my God. Blood is trickling down his neck. I’m going to be sick.
Undeterred, Gallant staggers to his feet and draws his sword. “I challenge you to a duel for the fair maiden’s heart!”
I can’t believe this is happening! The Prince must be drunk out of his mind.
“My pleasure,” says Hook. Without wasting a second, he lunges at The Prince, who ducks his assault.
Clinkity-Clink. Our Girls’ Night Out has now turned into a life-or-death jousting match minus the horses. The pub-goers crowd around the dueling duo and cheer them on. They’re even placing wagers.
“Round 2 goes to the challenger,” someone shouts out. Gallant gives a nod of acknowledgement as he holds off Hook.
Elz peeks up at the fight and bites her lip. “It’s all my fault,” she says tearfully. “I should have never brought you guys here.”
Winnie consoles her with a hug. “Life happens.”
“But Winnie, what if death happens?” asks Elz, her voice shaking.
“Good question.” Winnie ponders. “Let’s think on the bright side.”
Forget it, Winnie! There is no bright side! If Gallant kills Hook, Elz will never forgive me. And if Hook kills Gallant? Oh, God! I can’t even begin to imagine the consequences. And then, there’s the third scenario: they kill each other…
A loud gasp from the crowd stops my thoughts cold. Gallant has knocked Hook’s sword out of his hand, sending it flying across the room.
“You think you’ve got me?” says Hook, red with rage. “Well, you’re wrong!”
The Prince doesn’t see it coming. Neither do I. In the blink-of-an-eye move, the pirate whacks Gallant in the head with his heavy metal hook. The blow is more than The Prince can bear. He crumples to the floor as I gasp.
Hook retrieves his sword with his good hand and brandishes it victoriously above his head. “This time, drinks all around on me!” he shouts boastfully.
The crowd charges to the bar as I race over to the unconscious Prince.
“Hook! You’ve killed him!” screams Elz, in hysterics.
“He’s alive!” I yell on the top of my lungs. “Help me get him out of here!”
Winnie and Elz rush to my aid. Elz calls out to Hook for help. He ignores her. He’s too busy drowning himself in another bottle of rum.
Elz fights back tears. The poor girl! I despise the swine more than ever.
“Come on, Elz. Let’s get The Prince into your coach and take him home,” I say, surprised I can still think straight. Or think at all.
Winnie and Elz each take a leg while I take his arms. On Winnie’s count of three, we lift him up.
“He must weigh a ton!” grunts Winnie.
“He doesn’t look like he weighs that much,” says Elz. “What do you think, Jane?
I want to smack her. Who cares! All I care about is getting him home.
Somehow, we manage to carry him out the door. There’s only one “little” problem: Elz’s coach is no longer parked outside the tavern. It’s gone!
“Read that!” says Winnie, pointing straight ahead at a road sign.
TOW AWAY ZONE
PARK AT YOUR OWN RISK!
We silently read it together. Winnie and I shoot Elz a scathing look that reads something like: We’re going to kill you even if you’re our best friend.
Elz shrivels with guilt. “That sign must be brand new,” she squeaks meekly. “I’ve parked here dozens of times.”
We are so screwed. Now what are we going to do? Maybe we should toss The Prince’s body into the gutter and make a run for it.
And then, out of the corner of my eye, I spot a handsome white horse parked just outside the tow-away zone. I recognize the animal instantly. It’s Gallant’s steed. What good luck! We’ll get him on the horse and send them both home.
Using all the strength we have left, we hoist up The Prince and slide him over the saddle. His arms and legs dangle lifelessly over the beast’s flanks. The horse doesn’t mind.
“Beat it, horsey!” I give the animal a slap on his rear. “Go home!” I don’t think the horse understands me. He doesn’t budge. Damn it! I wish I knew the horse’s name. Maybe that would help.
There’s only one solution. I’m going to have to ride the horse and take The Prince home. While I’ve ridden a few times, I’m not what you would call an experienced equestrian. Coupled with the fact that I’ve had a couple of beers or three or four or more, this is not going to be fun. Oh, and did I mention, I have no idea where we are? Let’s hope the horse will know the way back to the castle since Gallant mentioned he’s been here before.
“What about you guys?” I ask Winnie and Elz.
“Don’t worry about us,” says Winnie with her usual optimism. “We’ll figure out a way home.”
“Maybe I can get someone to take us to the local impound,” chimes in Elz. “It’ll be easy to spot my coach.”
Winnie and I roll our eyes. Remind me never to come back here.
***
Except for the fact that my inner thighs are killing me, the ride back to the castle goes smoothly. Lucky for me, the steed indeed knows his way and gallops confidently across the dark countryside. I’m just nervous that The Prince, who’s draped over the saddle in front of me, will fall off. Or that I will in my tipsy state.
I let out a big sigh of relief (and so do my thighs) when we at last reach the gated castle. Gallant is still out cold. The guardsmen let us in without saying a word. It’s as though they’ve seen The Prince like this before.
I lead the horse to the front entrance. So far, so good. Suddenly, something spooks the animal. A snake! Hissing, it slithers across the cobblestone path. The steed rears up, catapulting us to the ground.
It takes me a minute to come to my senses. I’m straddled on top of The Prince, his torso rising and falling beneath me. With every breath he takes, his taut chest presses deeper into my ribs. Even in this lifeless state, he’s so strong. So powerful. I gaze at his moonlit face. The blow he received from Hook is beginning to swell, but other than that, he looks so peaceful. And so handsome. I resist the urge to run my fingers over his fine features.
In the distant meadow, the horse is grazing. “Get your ass back here, horsey!” I shout, staggering to my feet.
The animal trots off. It doesn’t really matter because there’s no way I could have gotten The Prince back up on it by myself.
Okay. So, now what am I going to do? I can’t leave him here. I mean, a wild beast could come along and eat him alive. Or a storm could erupt, and he could drown or get struck by lightning. Or that snake could come back and bite him. Poor Calla would never get over it if he died just like her mother.
Think! Think! The problem is I’m exhausted and have had way too much to drink. I can’t think. Luckily, the obvious comes to me. I take hold of The Prince’s muscular arms and drag him face up to the castle entrance. Cripes! He is heavy!
The front door of the castle is unlocked. I kick it open and pull him inside, hoping not to wake up Calla. She’ll freak out if she sees her father in this state. Marcella doesn’t concern me. I remember what Calla told me. She sleeps with earplugs. Nothing could wake her. Not even a cannonball blowing through her window.
Taking a deep breath, I rest for a moment. Now, all I have to do is get The Prince up to his chamber. Forcing mysel
f back to work, I slide him across the entry hall, then lug him up the grand staircase. Each step is torture. Pure torture.
Finally, we reach the top of the stairs. I’m a sweaty, wheezing, woozy mess. I take another breather, then haul him down a long, dark corridor. It seems much longer than I remember. And he seems to be getting a lot heavier. His chamber is unfortunately at the very end. When my head slams against a wall, we’ve hit a dead end and made it.
The door to his chamber is unlocked. Swinging it open, I poke my head inside. It’s pitch-black; the drapes must be pulled. I can’t see a damn thing. I glance down at The Prince lying by my feet; he’s still out cold. It’ll be easier to leave him here at the doorway and come back for him after I locate his bed.
This is my first time inside Gallant’s personal quarters. The room must be very spacious because I can’t find his bed. Stumbling blindly, I knock into chairs, tables, candelabras, and statues. When I dip my hand into a water tank filled with finger-nibbling fish, I almost take a fall. Let’s hope he doesn’t have any loose swords lying around.
A thought crosses my mind. A new problem. If I ever find the bed, how will I remember my way back to it with Gallant in tow? I remember the story Winnie told me about her two kids. How they got lost in the woods and left a trail of bread crumbs to find their way home. That’s what I’ll do! But wait, I don’t have any crumbs or bread. Maybe I can find some parchment and make spit balls.
But why get ahead of myself? I still can’t even find his bed. Weary and wasted, I’m about to give up when I stumble over what could be a boot and tumble head first into a mound of fluffy down. Heaven! Gallant’s bed! It’s fit for a king with its luxuriously thick duvet and array of luscious, plump pillows. And it smells so fresh and inviting. I wish I could curl up right here, right now, and call it a night.
I force myself to get up. Rolling out of the bed, I knock something over. Crash! It must have been a vase because water is seeping through my shoes. I scoot down, find the vase still luckily in one piece, and fumble for the flowers scattered on the plush rug. They smell like roses. And there’s dozens of them. Brainstorm! Forget stinky beer-breath spitballs. I’ll scatter rose petals along the floor. Jane, you clever, clever, girl!
Creating a fragrant path with the velvety petals, I crawl back to the entrance and retrieve Gallant. With one hand gripping his collar and my nose to the floor, I inch back across the rug, sniffing away. My little plan is working though not exactly like a charm. By the time we get to the bed, my knees are stinging from rug burns; the smell of roses is sickening me, and I’m exhausted from lugging Gallant. I actually wouldn’t be surprised if my arms fell off.
Staggering to my feet, I gaze down at Gallant. How the hell I’m going to get him into the bed? Without over thinking, I grab him by his wrists and miraculously manage to heave him onto the duvet.
Okay, I can get out of here. I so need to get sleep. My head is swirling, and I don’t know how much longer I can stave off waves of nausea. As I creep away, Gallant groans. He groans again, this time louder. Of course! He must be miserable in his tight britches, those boots, and that buttoned up jacket.
I start with the jacket. Yet another challenge. Fumbling for the buttons, my fingers run down his chest, feeling the ripple of every finely honed muscle along the way. My fingertips feel like they’re on fire. With each button, I find myself growing hotter and fighting the urge to rip the jacket right off his body.
Grabbling for the last one, my fingers graze a hard bump between his legs. This is not a button. I hastily pull my hand away.
Suddenly, Gallant comes to.
“Branch, I want you. Come to me,” he mutters. At least, that’s what I think he’s saying. Holy crap! He’s into that tree-hugging game too?
I’m out of here. As I pivot around, he grips my arm and pulls me on top of him. To my shock, he gropes my breasts and strokes my neck with the tip of his warm tongue as if he’s painting me. The sensation arouses a divine tingling deep inside me. Moving his fluttering tongue to my chest, he wraps his muscled arms firmly around me. I struggle to break away, but he’s too damn strong for me in his drunken stupor. Or I’m too damn weak in mine. Rhythmically, he slides his body against mine. Up and down. Slowly. Then faster. I find myself rocking in perfect harmony. Inside, I’m throbbing. Moaning. I don’t want him to stop. It feels good. So good. Oh God! Too good!
The Prince lets out a long, loud sigh and falls back to sleep. I tiptoe out of the room, careful not to knock anything else over and relieved that I didn’t take his britches off first.
I hope The Prince remembers none of this tomorrow. And I hope neither do I.
CHAPTER 26
I wake up early again the next morning with a pounding headache and my tongue pasted to my palate. How many beers did I drink last night? I stopped counting after the first.
Downstairs in the kitchen, I encounter the last person I want to see. Not Marcella. Gallant!
Given all he went through last night, he looks miraculously good. There’s only a faint bruise on his forehead where Hook whacked him and a small, almost indiscernible gash on his neck from Hook’s sword. But that’s all. Even his blue eyes have regained their clarity. Let’s hope his memory hasn’t.
“I must have fallen off my horse last night,” he says, sipping a cup of that fragrant tea.
Oh shit! He remembers!
“I am sore all over.” He rubs the back of his head. “And I have this bump. But I honestly cannot recall when or where it happened.”
Phew! He doesn’t. I do and turn my head away. After last night, I can’t look him in the eye.
He pours me a cup of the tea.
“After learning how much Calla enjoyed her picnic with you, I have decided I need to spend more quality time with her. So I have planned a special outing.”
Great. He’s going to take her shopping at The Trove. I saw lots of fathers and daughters there.
“We are all going apple-picking this afternoon.”
What?
“It should be great fun.” He finishes his tea. “You, me, Calla, and Marcella.”
Marcella? Great fun? This is what I call misery. Pure misery.
“And perhaps tonight, you can make another delicious apple pie.”
I toss my tea into the sink.
***
“I can’t wait to go, Papa!” squeals Calla as we finish lunch. She’s already holding a basket with Lady Jane tucked inside.
Marcella, on the other hand, isn’t the least bit excited about apple-picking. She protests it will wear her out for the ball.
“The exercise will invigorate you,” says The Prince.
“My love, picking apples is for peasants.”
Great! Her Royal Skankiness hates apple-picking. Maybe she won’t go.
Her face brightens as she gulps down the last bit of my liquid diet potion. “On second thought, my love, you’re so right. I’ll burn lots of calories and lose weight!”
Dragonballs! She’s coming along. I think of Winnie’s mantra: “Look on the bright side.” An image of Marcella falling out of an apple tree and breaking her neck pops into my head. Maybe it will be fun.
“The coach is waiting,” says Gallant, rising from the table.
Why are we taking the coach when there’s surely an apple orchard on The Prince’s property, only a short walk away?
***
Inside the coach, Calla and I sit opposite The Prince and Marcella. I gaze out the window to avoid eye contact with Gallant. The bumpy ride does little to calm my nerves.
Calla rattles off her secrets to finding the best apples. The best ones are always on the tree; the “yucky” ones on the ground.
Marcella, bored to death, sips more of her “diet” (Ha!) potion and reads the latest Fairytale Tattler.
“I can’t concentrate,” she grumbles. “Calla, can you please shut up.”
Calla makes a face but complies. Maybe it’s because Marcella said “please” for once.
The P
IW tears through the tabloid pages. “Jane, why isn’t there any gossip about what I’m wearing to the ball?” Venom fills her eyes.
I make a mental note. Add to To-Do List: Leak Marcella’s gown.
The route we’re taking is familiar. It’s as though we are going to The Trove. We pass Midas this and Midas that. I swear the number of Midas properties has multiplied since I last traveled down this road. When I get back to my castle, maybe I’ll invite him over and have a little chat about expanding my empire.
My cliffside castle soon soars into view and that burning desire to reclaim it surges inside me. My eyes grow wide when the coach turns into the narrow road that leads to it. What is going on here?
The road is long and lined with potholes, bumps, and debris. With each fault we pass over, my heart slams harder against my chest. Is this some kind of surprise? Am I finally free to live in my castle?
“Are we there yet?” asks Calla.
“Almost,” smiles the Prince.
We’re at the base of my property. The moat is gone, completely filled in. No big deal. It was a nuisance to cross anyway. My eyes travel up the jagged hillside to my majestic castle. It’s shrouded by a thick, billowy cloud.
My eyes stay peeled to the window as the coach circles halfway around the mountain. I want to jump out, run up to my home. As the coach comes to a sudden halt, my stomach lurches.
A large sign with bold, gold writing is posted into the earth.
SOLD!!
ANOTHER MIDAS LUXURY HOTEL COMING SOON!
What! They’ve sold my castle to this Midas creep? Without asking me? My mouth opens so wide I think everything inside me will leap out.
“There is an amazing apple orchard here,” says The Prince.
I should know. This is my castle!
“The owner shall not mind,” Gallant continues.
Why don’t you ask? my head screams. You’re looking right at her!
***
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