Dreamer of Briarfell: A Retelling of Sleeping Beauty (Fairytales of Folkshore Book 7)

by Lucy Tempest

  “I still do what I can to remedy it.”

  Like my heart was a night-blooming jasmine, it began to unfold beneath the moonlight, opening in elated disbelief. I hadn’t heard anything like this from any of the men who’d been brought before me.

  Could it possibly mean he’d help me if he knew my problem? Could this mean that he was the one?

  Heart fluttering in my throat, I probed again, “How does remedying a lost cause work exactly?”

  “That depends on the cause. But in my experience, it requires some actions most would disapprove of for ‘ethical’ reasons.”

  I frowned. “How else would you fix something, if not ethically?”

  “Same way I rid you of the wolf-man who looked ready to swallow you whole. By manipulating the situation, with the help of some white lies and sleight of hand. Maybe even more than that, if need be.”

  This somehow didn’t sit right with me. If I believed the end justified the means, I would have done anything it took to get rid of Ada. But I hadn’t. Even now I could end up paying with my life for that principle, I still stood by it.

  “I do appreciate you coming to my rescue, beyond words,” I said tightly. “And thankfully, it only needed a mild form of subterfuge to extract me from his claws. But are you saying you would resort to any questionable methods, if the situation warrants it?”

  He only shrugged. “To be honest, I don’t particularly care how things are done, just as long as they get done. You can debate the rights and wrongs after the issue is settled, not before taking action.”

  “Like we are now?”

  “Exactly.” He leaned back against the bannister, crossing his arms, clearly closing the subject.

  I was about to argue some more, then I noticed how the material of his thick coat stretched over his broad shoulders and large arms. And just like that, all my misgivings evaporated into the cold night air.

  What kind of palatial sport or military training created such a physique?

  Enraptured by his form, my focus strengthened by my inability to examine his face, I instinctively reached out to touch his arm. “Another guest tonight told me I looked weak. How did you manage to become so strong?”

  “I hunt a lot,” he said, like it was some personal joke. “It involves a lot of running, riding, and climbing.”

  “Climbing?”

  “Vantage points are important when it comes to shooting things.” He waved. “Enough about me, what about you?”

  “What about me?”

  “You implied earlier that you had some experience with theater? Or where else would you be told the phrase, ‘break a leg?’”

  “I sing,” I explained. “Though my performances have been limited to sitting rooms. I never got to sing in a theater like my instructor did. She was an opera singer in her youth.”

  “I used to sing as well. It’s why mother called me—” He stopped, stiffening. Before I could wonder why, he resumed his casual stance. “How come you’ve never tried singing in a theater?”

  “You must know it’s improper for a lady to pursue a career in the arts. Or in anything else for that matter. I can only sing for select company, not for the masses, not even for paying gentry and nobles in the royal theater here in Eglantine.”

  “You must not be very good then.”

  I couldn’t resist the urge to smack his arm. “I’ll have you know I have a classically-trained voice with perfect pitch!”

  “I’m joking! Though…” He stopped again, and I made a hurried “go on” gesture. “Well, you must wonder if you’re truly any good at anything if all you have are the opinions of people who feel obliged to flatter you.”

  That was the whole point of the masks tonight, so the men I met wouldn’t show me false personas as the king’s daughter. So far, they had worked, perfectly. More than ever before, what I had seen of my candidates’ true selves had been disheartening.

  Except this one. From the instant he’d put himself between me and Lycaon, he’d been nothing but a surprise, showing all the traits becoming of the noble man he was.

  Well, if you didn’t count his willingness to engage in dishonorable measures…

  His question interrupted that train of thought. “So, have you ever had unbiased or uninfluenced opinions before?”

  “I was in a talent competition in another castle recently.”

  “And you won?”

  I hadn’t been able to discuss the Bride Search with anyone since my return. But though the memories still pained me, I found I wanted to share some with him.

  I exhaled heavily. “No.” He tilted his head at me and I blurted out, “But it had nothing to do with my singing. I did give the best performance.”

  “Then how did the winner win?”

  I shuddered at the memory of that test meant to display our “worth” to the prince and judges. I’d sung my heart out, but Ada, who had no talents whatsoever, had scaled down the palace walls to save another competitor.

  So Cherine Nazaryan had fallen over the wall because we’d gotten into a shoving match. I’d been scared out of my wits thinking she’d die, and had only wanted to run and hide. But after Ada had risked her life to save her, everyone had assumed I’d pushed her to her death on purpose.

  Ada had ended up punching me in the eye for it—and still escaped elimination. The judges had decreed that worth was not synonymous with talent, and she’d showed her worth as a selfless savior.

  Though I hadn’t lost that day, had stayed in the competition, there was no doubt in anyone’s mind who had really won that round. Ada.

  It was truly hard not to hate her some days.

  I finally answered him with a dull sigh. “She was totally devoid of accomplishments, but she performed some bumbling yet unexpected feat of heroism that swayed all in her favor.”

  He nodded. “That’s the best way to win people over, not by being good at what you’re doing, but by doing something different, memorable.”

  I let out an offended gasp. “That’s the exact opposite of what I’ve always been told.”

  He raised placating hands. “I’m just relaying my experience, where I found ‘good’ is subjective—not to mention suffers in quality from the constraints of what is ‘accepted’ and ‘proper.’”

  “No, it does not,” I exclaimed. “Good is good, bad is bad. Simple as that.”

  “If you experienced life outside this castle, you would know that nothing is ever that simple.”

  “I just told you I’ve been outside this castle! I even spent months practically imprisoned in—” I bit my tongue, afraid I’d just given my identity away.

  It might be common knowledge by now that the Princess of Arbore had been in Cahraman, not just for the Bride Search, but during the coup that had followed it by Nariman and her genie. I’d remained her captive among all of Sunstone Palace’s denizens during her reign of terror. I’d only returned after the kingdom had been restored, my uncle had abdicated, and my ex-betrothed had had his coronation.

  Reynard returned my hurrying gesture. “Go on, I’m listening.”

  Exhaling in relief that he didn’t seem to connect the dots, and bound on holding my tongue better, I shook my head. “It’s a terribly long and boring story.”

  “Perhaps you could put it to song?” he suggested.

  Before I could stop myself, I bristled, “Are you mocking me?”

  “Not at all. Music always makes long, boring stories more palatable.” He poked me playfully. “Now there’s a way to be memorable—putting your experiences into tales, even tunes, that might outlive you.”

  That would have been a lovely prospect, if I weren’t worried about butterflies outliving me.

  I slumped against the bannister with a deflating exhalation. “My life isn’t interesting enough to warrant books or ballads.”

  “I’m sure that isn’t true. You should try your hand at writing either or both about your long story. Maybe even an opera.”

  Against all reason, my cheek
s lifted into a wide, bashful smile that I heard in my voice. “I don’t have the material for an opera.”

  “An operetta then. Isn’t that what the shorter version is called?”

  I nodded, heart pattering in excitement for something that would never come to pass, because I was who I was, and my destiny was not mine to chart. “What would I call it?”

  “Whatever you think exemplifies you. Exaggerate as much as you like.” He reached out and walked his fingers up the slope of my mask. “Cast yourself as a centaur, if it’s horses you like.”

  I thought of my prized steed, my unicorn Amabel, gifted to me as a child, and meant as a luxury pet like my mother’s cats. I’d soon realized how cruel it was to keep her locked up, when all she wanted was to run and be free. I’d spent years sneaking her out of the stables, and training with her, until she’d become better than any race or show horse.

  Regarding Reynard now, I wondered what Amabel would think of him. Unicorns were said to detect the pure of heart. She’d certainly judged everyone around me correctly. Her approval and friendship were a big part of why I believed myself essentially good, no matter how rotten everyone in Cahraman had thought me. One reason I wanted to survive was that she wouldn’t lose her closest companion.

  I finally sighed. “Could I be a unicorn instead?”

  “A literal horned-horse, or a girl who shifts into one?”

  “A womanimal!” I said with a dry laugh.

  He echoed my laugh more freely, stretching out his arms, as if encompassing the whole city below us. “I can imagine the reviews in the gazettes now. Come see the greatest tale of transformation ever put to the stage! Womanimal: the Operetta! An epic as short as Prince Jonquil’s regency.”

  “But Prince Jonquil was regent throughout the five-year war.”

  “That’s the joke—that the time he enjoyed public approval was shorter than the two hours’ span of your horsey operetta.”

  That, of all things, was what finally cracked the dam of my polite reserve, and brought out a wave of nearly hysterical laughter.

  He pumped the air triumphantly. “I knew I could do it!”

  And for the next several minutes, we laughed until tears wet my cheeks, stitches beset my sides, and I could no longer draw breath.

  When I finally quieted down, we stood staring at each other, breathing hard, snickers still escaping every few seconds.

  “I knew you could do it,” Reynard said, his deep, muffled voice sounding so pleased.

  I tightened the cloak he’d “borrowed” for me, starting to shake again with too many emotions to decipher. “I don’t expect I would do it again. I don’t even know what I found so funny.”

  “It must have been hearing Prince Jonquil and public approval in the same sentence. But you probably never heard of his transgressions, living in the castle.”

  “I did hear of his mismanagement, which was to be expected. He wasn’t qualified to rule, as he was never meant to. The regent was meant to be the crown prince.”

  His response was a derisive sound.

  Though I wasn’t fond of Uncle Jonquil, he was still family, and I found myself defending him. “His ability to rule must have also been hindered by the wave of crime that swept the kingdom during the war. Bandits kept stealing the gold he collected, and I even heard that the one time he tried to speak to the people, his carriage was riddled by arrows, his party stripped, and left to return to the castle naked and on foot!”

  Reynard snorted, as if he’d never heard anything so funny.

  “Being targeted by criminals must have made conducting his duties impossible,” I persisted. “With the likes of that menace that keeps eluding capture—that robbing hoodlum—on the loose!”

  He tilted his head at me. “Robin Hood, you mean?”

  “Yes, that man! If he even is a man. I’ve heard so many strange and conflicting stories.”

  Reynard nodded. “My favorite is the one about him being a hobgoblin.”

  That was a story I hadn’t heard. So how did the Grand Duke of Opona know all this about Arbore’s wartime state, especially if he’d just arrived?

  “You sure know a lot about our local problems.”

  He shrugged. “Of course. I make sure to be informed about everything, wherever I go. Helps me make judgments of what issues are worth my attention.”

  That was to be expected of a crown prince. Leander was very involved in our kingdom’s affairs, and the rest of the Folkshore’s general goings-on, as they ultimately impacted us.

  “Where did you hear of what they call that robbing hoodlum?”

  “Just traveling through a kingdom you hear a lot. I heard quite a variety of stories and some ballads about them.”

  “‘Them’ meaning the hoodlum’s companions, or the theory that the actions ascribed to him are actually those of several different men?”

  “Either or.” He sounded like he was smiling broadly, and I couldn’t help smiling, too, despite our small disagreement. His moods were strangely infectious. “Pick your favorite version, and add it to your list of stories to adapt for the stage.”

  “Maybe I will. Any specific stories you’ve heard worth including in my masterpiece?”

  “Plenty.”

  “You should tell me all about them tomorrow, over tea perhaps?” I said, heartbeats tripping in anticipation.

  His shoulders slumped, then he pushed off the bannister. “I’m afraid I won’t be able to do that. I’m not here to socialize.”

  Panic spiked within me. Until I remembered that the suitors hadn’t been told that they were here for me, just for “opportunities.”

  I took an urgent step towards him. “Whatever business you’re here for, be it trade or connections, I’m sure I can help you smooth out the process.”

  For the first time tonight, he stepped away, putting more distance between us. “What I’m here for is a little more specific than that.”

  “And what is that?”

  “The girl I’ve been searching for.”

  The whole world bated its breath for a long, exquisite moment. If my heart were a nightingale, this would be the moment it burst into song.

  That was why he was refusing to see “Zafira” again.

  He was here for me.

  Little did he know that he’d already found me. That he was the one I wanted. Even if my life didn’t depend on it.

  “There you are!”

  The shrill yell fell on my tingling nerves like a lash.

  Meira. I had forgotten all about her, and about everything else.

  Groaning inwardly, I made a staying gesture at him, before turning to run back to her.

  “Do you have any idea what we went through looking for you?” she yelled again as she rushed towards me from the ballroom. “We thought that wolf-man ate you!”

  I met her halfway, lifting my mask partially to grit between my teeth, “Go away, Meira. I’m in the middle of something important.”

  “Well, nothing can be as important as the Grand Duke of Opona! He has finally arrived.”

  “What are you talking about? He arrived long ago.”

  “No, he didn’t.”

  “Meira, I’ve been talking to him for a quite a while. See, he’s right—there…” I turned, pointing at Reynard—and found nothing but moonlight pouring over the spot where he’d been.

  He was gone!

  Chapter Five

  It was as if Reynard had disappeared into thin air.

  My handmaidens had insisted they hadn’t seen him with me, so I’d armed them with his description, and sent them off looking for him.

  It was a couple of fruitless hours of searching later when I’d finally gathered enough wits to realize Leander could find him for me.

  I’d caught up with Leander when he’d been seeing off the last of our guests, pouncing on him with my breathless demands that he find Reynard.

  Leander had looked down at me in total confusion, then had dismissed my hovering handmaidens, and gently
led me to his quarters.

  After listening to my account of the incredible man who’d saved me from Lycaon, and I’d thought the Grand Duke of Opona, Leander finally shook his head.

  “It turns out the real Prince Nikolai, while here for a bride, it’s not for himself. He wants you for one of his younger brothers, as it appears heirs to the Oponan throne are required to marry fellow mages, to ensure powerful magical offspring.”

  I stopped mid-pace, threw my hands up. “Who cares about him or his younger brothers or their magical offspring! I told you I already found the perfect candidate. Now all you have to do is find him for me!”

  Leander exhaled, dropping onto a couch as I resumed pacing agitatedly. “You want me to find this man, who came out of nowhere, then vanished into thin air? The man no one else but you saw?”

  “Are you implying I imagined him?” I turned on him, indignant.

  “I’m only saying that your handmaidens didn’t see you dancing with him, or talking to him outside. Then you turned, and he was gone. When you were on a terrace a hundred feet above ground. Not even magical people can do that so quickly, not without portals and elaborate spells.”

  “I’m not delusional, Leo! Wait—Lycaon can attest to his being real!”

  Leander exhaled angrily, his eyes escaping mine as if in shame. “Lycaon is long gone. I was told too late of new information that made me realize I made a grave mistake inviting him. Thank the Fates you escaped his clutches before he had a chance to—turn you.”

  “Turn…? You mean he could have made me into a werewolf?” I squawked, my stomach turning with the remembered horror of my encounter with him. So I’d been right to be terrified of him.

  Which also meant my gut instincts were as accurate about Reynard.

  Leander began to apologize and I waved. “It’s not important. I’m fine. Because the man who saved me is real. And now you must find him for me.”

  My intensity must have gotten to him, as he sat forward, the eyes that were so much like mine dead serious. “Apart from the facts that he was a little shorter than me, in good shape, was brave enough to go against Lycaon, and wore a fox mask, what else do we have to go on?”

  I rushed closer, words falling over each other. “He was a foreign prince who just arrived in Arbore, through the woods, was in some kind of hunt—and he was here for me! He’s taken it upon himself to be thoroughly educated about my kingdom and its events, in preparation for the alliance of our lands, and he considered now to be the best time to ask for my hand, with the nation stabilized, and with me no longer engaged to Cyaxares!”