Into Madness Part 2

He was madly in love. There were many things about his love that were maddening. For one, he was in love with a princess and he was nothing more than a knight. And so their love was to be kept hidden from all. But even more maddening was watching his lover marry another. 

But now, he was simply mad. But of course that was to be expected when one ventured into a world where all reason was abandoned. Where a White Rabbit lured young men and women from their homes. Where a Caterpillar gave advice in silly riddles. Where a young knight was forced to live the same day over and over again until it drove him mad as a hatter. 

He stared at the party before him. Kettles of tea, cups stacked high atop one another, tiered cakes that threatened to topple over with icing dripping down the sides. It all felt familiar to him. A celebration he was so sure he had celebrated before. 

But what was the celebration, he wondered. Why was the little Dormouse beside him napping upon his plate? Why did the March Hare leap onto the table to collect a cube of sugar for his tea? Why was he dining with such strange guests?

But as much as he tried, he could not recall. He could not think about the day before, nor the day before that, or even last week. All he could think about was today. 

Today. Today. Today. 

And what was so special about today?

Why, it was a birthday!

No, not a birthday. He didn’t know the birthday of the Dormouse or the March Hare. It wasn’t his birthday. He didn’t even know if he had a birthday. Or if he had a name. He didn’t remember anything except that it was time for the tea party. 

Yes, the tea party. It was time for tea. It was always time for tea. 

He joined the March Hare and climbed with his knees onto the table to reach the teapot perched precariously on the stack of plates and sang along in merriment for the tea party before him. 

***

Alice waited night after night for the White Rabbit to reappear. She kept the strange bottle in her bedside table just in case that sleepy spell ever fell upon the castle but it seemed as if the Land of Wonder had forgotten them.

Until the night before Alice’s wedding. As Alice lay awake in her bed, listening closely for the pitter patter of the Rabbit scurrying down the hall, she felt as if a dusting of sand fell upon her eyes, making them feel heavy as a candelabra.

Quickly, before sleep could take hold, Alice grabbed the bottle labelled “Drink Me!” and drank.

The spell instantly wore off and Alice felt more awake than ever. She hurried to her door and peer into the hall, just catching a glimpse of white before it turned the corner.

With no time, Alice followed in her nightgown, her shoes already on her feet. Alice stole through the city where everyone lay fast asleep in the night. The Rabbit never noticed her behind it and Alice hesitated only a brief moment before tumbling after it through the rabbit hole.

***

Sometimes, Louisa could hear her mother’s voice. She had a way with telling stories that were all at once exhilarating, drawing the listener in so that they yearned to hear what happened next, and yet, lulling, pulling the listener into slumberland. 

In the sparse moments when Louisa could lay her head down and close her eyes, her mother’s voice recited the tales once more, as if she were there with Louisa.

Before she became the Queen of Hearts in this Land of Wonder, she was the second eldest princess in her kingdom. She lived a life sheltered by her father and shadowed by her older sister, Alice. 

Alice was the cleverest. Alice was the loveliest. Alice would inherit the kingdom while she would be married off to one of the princes of a distant kingdom. Perhaps the vain Prince Aven who could not be satiated. Or the cruel Prince Maxen whose disappearance was perhaps the only thing that saved Louisa from a marriage to him. 

She was doomed to live a life chosen for her while Alice would get the world. 

But Louisa could choose one thing. When the King of this land had taken notice of her, Louisa was not slow to act. She did all she could to keep the King’s eyes on her and away from her sisters, especially Alice.

She had lured Evans into this land to ensure Alice’s banishment and her marriage to the King.

In the few moments when Louisa wasn’t tormented by the madness clawing at her mind, she would smile to herself, knowing she had won.

***

Alice remembered this feeling. As if one were tumbling endlessly into the abyss. No sense of time, no sense of mind, just the never-ending freefall until one finally found the solid ground once more. 

She hit with an audible “Oof!” Usually, she came into this world in a daze, cast under the White Rabbit’s spell. But not tonight. 

Alice slowly rose to her feet and brushed the dirt from her nightgown. For the first time, she felt afraid as she stood before the door that had welcomed her in many times before. 

The Doorknob was asleep, snoring through the keyhole that was its mouth. Alice wondered if perhaps she should wake the Doorknob. But it slept so soundly that she felt it rude to interrupt. So she squeezed the knob that was its nose but as she turned, it let out a horrible yelp and Alice let go. 

The Doorknob wrinkled the knob, water filling its eyes until a sneeze erupted. 

“Who has the audacity to wake me up at such an hour?” the Doorknob exclaimed. It blinked its teary eyes until it could clearly see who had grabbed its nose so violently. “My, my, is it truly so?  Alice returning to the Land of Wonder? You, my dear, are no longer welcome. Now, off with you!”

“But I must see my sister,” Alice cried, but the Doorknob had fallen asleep once more. 

“Wait!” Alice screamed and clasped the knob with both hands. She tried with all her might to twist it open, to get back into the Land of Wonder. 

But the knob would not turn and the Doorknob would not awaken. 

“You must let me in,” Alice pleaded. 

“Perhaps if you were smaller,” whispered a voice.

Alice released the door and searched the room for the speaker. But the room was empty but for the table with a basket of biscuits and tiny bottles of colorful drinks. Labels on the treats enticed Alice either to eat or drink them but Alice was wary for she had seen what the strange food from this strange land could do to a person. 

“If you were small enough, you could perhaps slip through the keyhole,” the voice coerced. 

“Perhaps…” Alice muttered, staring at the keyhole. She then looked at the treats, considering her options. Her sister was on the other side of that door. Evans was on the other side of that door, waiting for her to free him from that world. 

“Drink me,” the voice taunted. A smile that belonged to no one grinned at her, hovering over the biscuits and drinks. 

Alice had no choice. She was out of time and so she picked a bottle, twisted out the cork, and drank it in one gulp. 

Slowly, the world around her grew and grew until the table was a mountain, the tiny bottle she had dropped now bigger than her, and the keyhole a door. A door that was well out of her reach. 

“I’m no closer to my sister than I was before,” Alice shouted.

“Don’t be so quick to despair,” the voice replied. A hand without a body hovered over her, dangling a fresh green leaf over her head. “You’re a clever girl, aren’t you?”

The hand vanished and the leaf floated down to Alice’s feet. She clasped it on both ends, the leaf big enough to wrap around her body. 

“What am I to do with a leaf?” she asked aloud. 

But this time, the voice did not come to her aid. Alice had to do it on her own. 

Alice recalled the tumble down the rabbit hole. How her skirt would flare out and almost seemed to slow her fall. She looked up at the Doorknob, still slumbering away. Breathing in and out. In and out. In. 

Alice wrapped the leaf around her shoulders, clasped the edge of the table cloth hanging just above the floor, and climbed. 

Her arms ached and trembled as she pulled herself higher and higher, threatening to give up on the climb. But each time she nearly let go and tumbled all the way back down, she thought of her upcoming wedding. She saw her future, unhappily married to a stranger while Evans wasted away losing his mind. Each time she remembered, her strength swelled and she made it up another inch. 

With a heaving breath, Alice made it over the edge and sprawled out across the table. But this was only half the battle.

Pushing herself back to her feet, she broke a piece of a biscuit, stuffed it into the pocket of her nightgown, and unwrapped the leaf from her shoulders. 

She stood at the edge a moment, waiting for the right time. Hesitating from fear.

With her eyes shut, she brought memories of her sister to mind. How she was always so careful to bring them back home every morning. How she had failed to protect Louisa from the wonders of the land beyond the door. How she had lost her sister that night.

Alice opened her eyes. Then she leapt.

The Doorknob breathed in, pulling her close. But before Alice could get a foothold in the keyhole, the Doorknob blew out, sending her back towards the table.

Alice did her best to stay on course, to keep from going awry.

The Doorknob breathed in once more and Alice quickly guided herself back. She got a hold and pulled herself through before she could be blown away again.

Alice crawled through the dark passageway towards the light on the other side. To the side where wonder awaited her. Once through, she used the leaf to gently float down to the grassy meadow.

Ready to be herself once more, Alice quickly ate the biscuit stuffed in her pocket and she grew and grew until the blades of grass no longer reached over her head.

Alice’s heart raced. The world was all at once familiar yet strange. For she had not come as a guest but as a trespasser. The court was not there to greet her and lead her away to the festivities. Instead, Alice felt vulnerable, like eyes were peering at her from all around. Even the pansies at her feet seemed to be looking up at her, watching her every move.

She felt naked.

Exposed.

“Ah, you remembered,” the voice said. “I was afraid you would be stuck as small as a thumb.”

“Who are you?”

“Someone you have yet to meet, but someone who has seen much of you.”

“Do you have a face or are you simply a voice to taunt me?”

A tail unfurled from a tree limb and swung from side to side, as if ticking the seconds passing by. A mouth grinned followed by a face.

“A cat?” Alice asked, perplexed by the smiling Cat stretched across the tree limb.

“Oh Alice, after all the wonderful things you have seen here, you’re bewildered by a cat?”

“Well yes. A cat that speaks and grins. I must admit, it is a first, even in a place like this. I’ve never seen you before in all my visits.”

The Grinning Cat rolled over, his grin turning into a frown. “Stay in this world long enough and nothing will seem odd ever again.”

“Is that what happened to you?”

“I was odd before I ever came to this land. It merely allowed me to become truer to myself. And soon, you will become that way as well.”

“I don’t intend to stay long. I’ve come only to save my someone.”

“Someone? Or some two?”

Alice’s breath caught and her heart raced. Louisa had drawn away from her. Could she even be saved?

“I can take you to him.”

“Why are you helping me? Nothing in this world wants me here.”

“I do not adhere to the wants and needs of this world. Only to my own wants and needs.”

“And you want to help me?”

“What I want I will not say. But, my dear Alice, what I need is something that your dear sister will not give to me. I will take you to him and then I will guide you to her.”

Alice should’ve known better than the trust anyone in this world and what they wanted. But the Grinning Cat had gotten her here and so she followed him.

***

Louisa had become the Queen of Hearts in this strange land. She desired them, she ruled over them, she swayed them. So when she felt a new heart in her realm, one swelling full of love, she became curious.

She must have that heart.

***

Today was a birthday. No, no, not a birthday. Just a day. With a party. A party for…the Dormouse! No, he was busy sleeping.

Maybe for the March Hare currently grabbing a large slice of cake and dropping it on his plate.

He wanted cake.

As he reached for the knife, he paused. There was a heart engraved on it. Just a simple heart, no bigger than his nail. But it stirred something in him.

Grief?

Yes, yes, he had lost something. Or was it someone? Or had he even lost it yet?

Or did he feel anger? His knuckles clenched as he closed his fist. There was an anger in him but towards whom?

Why was it impossible to remember anything?

Why was he at this tea party again?

“You should eat,” the March Hare coerced. “You’ll feel better.”

Eat. Yes, it was hunger he felt. How silly! He was so very hungry.

His fingers wrapped around the knife and he sunk it into the cake.

***

Alice wanted to walk faster but the Grinning Cat was in no rush.

“Tell me, Grinning Cat, are you of this world? Or are you a stranger like me?”

“Everything in this world is strange.”

“Well yes. But do you belong?”

“Can anything truly belong? Do you belong to your world?”

“Of course I do.”

“Then why return? Night after night after night after ni-“

“Alright,” Alice quipped. “Maybe I don’t belong. Not fully.”

“No one can belong but those who make the rules.”

“And who makes the rules here?”

“Your sister. She is our queen. Until she is no longer.”

“What will happen when she’s not the queen anymore?”

“What always happens to the Queen of Hearts. The madness will consume her.”

“How much time until it does?”

“It’s already begun.”

***

Louisa hadn’t felt anything like this in her heart in a very, very long time. Instead, all she had felt for as long as she could remember was envy. Even when she was able to recall her life before she became queen, there had been envy eating away at her. It drove her, it pushed her. It would’ve been the end of her if she hadn’t found this new heart. All the hearts in this world were tainted but this one…this one was strong. It was fractured and full of cracks, but it was strong

It would be hers.

***

Singing was the first thing Alice encountered. Two voices, sometimes joined by a drowsy third. She recognized one of them and she ran to it.

Alice stumbled into the garden and found a strange, strange sight.

A long table set with many teapots, stacks upon stacks of dishes, three-, four-, even seven-tiered cakes. Pots with honey overflowing onto the tablecloth, sugar cubes scattered, spilled tea dripping from the cup.

And amidst the chaos sat the three Alice had heard singing. A March Hare bouncing in his chair, a Dormouse chiming in intermittently, and him.

Evans was all at once familiar and strange. He looked exactly as he always did but something in him had changed. Something was consuming him. She could see it in his eyes.

“How is he this far gone? It’s only been a couple months.”

“For you, my dear. But not for him. For him, it’s been years.”

“It’s not too late, is it?”

“To save him? Or to steal his heart back?”

“I do not steal, only retrieve what was once mine.”

“But, my dear, it’s much too late for that. For you have stole your way back into this world. And you have stolen the attention of our queen. If you want to save your beloved, you must now steal his heart.”

“So she knows I’m here?”

“She knows there is an intruder in her land. She does not yet know it is your heart she seeks.”

“Then I believe I must hurry.”

Lifting up the skirt of her nightgown, Alice stepped over the hedge.

Silence immediately fell and the partygoers all turned their eyes on her, including the drowsy Dormouse.

“What’s this?” the March Hare demanded. “I don’t recall giving you an invitation.”

“Perhaps it slipped your mind,” the Dormouse muttered with a yawn before returning his head to the slice of cake he had been using as a pillow.  

“I most certainly did not invite her,” the March Hare asserted, crossing his arms with a ‘Harumph!’ “Did you invite her?”

Evans stared and stared but he simply couldn’t remember inviting this young woman. And yet he felt…relieved to see her? Like he had been expecting her? No, how could he expect someone he didn’t know? Or maybe he did know her.

He saw it. A flash, a memory fleeting. A hand reaching out to save him. He had been…drowning? Lost? He saw her smile and he felt warm.

For a brief moment, he saw a childhood nearly forgotten. A young girl, giggling in the shadows of a hall, hands pressed to his cheeks, lips parted to invite him closer. But then, the anger returned and he did not want to see her any longer.

“You were not invited,” he proclaimed, throwing the spoon across the table.

Alice’s heart gained speed. For a moment, she saw clarity return to his eyes. But now it was gone once more and he only saw her as a stranger.

“You’re right,” she replied. “I was not invited to your party.”

The March Hare huffed with a smile and said, “See!”

“But,” Alice continued, “I see so many empty seats that I thought I could join.”

“There’s no room,” the March Hare exclaimed.

Alice looked over the many, many empty chairs and the tea and sweets set out for at least twenty. “Surely you can spare one seat?”

“Each seat is taken by a guest we await to join us,” the March Hare explained. “The Dormouse awaits the Moon to wish him a goodnight. I await Sense to come indulge me in a chat. And he awaits Time to return to a past almost forgotten.”

“Well I certainly believe your guests may take time to arrive. In the meantime, perhaps I can offer my company? I know a lullaby my mother used to sing to me and I can give a stirringly good conversation to you. And perhaps I can help him hold onto the memories until Time arrives.”

The March Hare stared at Alice with a skeptical brow raised. “Quite the arrogant one, thinking you can take the place of our awaited guests. But if you fail to uphold your bargain, we’ve no problem giving you to the Queen to have you executed.”

Alice brought her hand to her neck, the company she offered now a daunting task.

“Alright,” she agreed and dropped into a chair. “Until your guests arrive, you will have me for entertainment. I’ll start with you, Dormouse. A good night’s rest? Is that what you seek?”

“I would if night were to come to this land but the Moon has been away for many, many days. One would think the Sun would tire of shining.”

“Well perhaps you must trick the sun,” Alice offered. She helped herself to a plate, a cup, and a teaspoon. She set the cup on the plate and propped it with the spoon. Using a napkin, she made a tiny bed for the little Dormouse.

The Dormouse dragged his feet across the table, fluffed the napkin and crawled into the little shelter Alice had made for him.

“Where has the Sun gone off to?” he asked.

“Perhaps like you, the Sun has gone off to bed. Though I suspect you’d want that lullaby?”

The Dormouse let out a long yawn, rubbing his eyes. “That was promised, was it not?”

Alice closed her eyes, recalling one of the lullabies her mother sang to her as a child.

‘A land, a land awaits you far

Away, away.

In time, in time, you’ll find

Your way, your way.

Where a moon shines bright to light your path

Through stars and clouds

And into dreams that lie awake

For those to slumber.

A land, a land awaits you near

It’s time, it’s time to find

Your way, your way’

As Alice trailed off the last line, the Dormouse fell into a deep slumber where dreams had been waiting for him all this time.

“Careful or the Moon will steal you away to bring dreams to everyone in this land,” the March Hare warned.

“And now for your promise,” Alice said, leaning on her elbows. “Tell me, what sort of conversation would you like me to indulge you in?”

“One far more sensible than this,” he huffed.

“I take it you consider yourself a very sensible one, then?”

“More than you, it appears.”

Alice didn’t let the jab persuade her as she helped herself to a slice of one of the high-tiered cakes. But then she remembered what the food would do to her in this peculiar land and she pushed the plate aside.

“Then tell me, sensible one. What is the party for?”

“What a silly question. It’s for a birthday, of course.”

“Your birthday?”

The March Hare paused, thinking a moment, and frowned. “No, of course not. Why would I throw a birthday party for myself?”

“Then it must be the Dormouse’s birthday?”

Once more, the March Hare went into deep thought, overfilling his cup with tea. He slammed the kettle down in a sudden anger. “No, why would he sleep on his own birthday?”

Alice looked at Evans. He had his eyes on her but they were distant, unfocused. She knew it wasn’t his birthday but in this bizarre land, anything could be.

“So it must be his birthday,” she concluded.

The March Hare didn’t need to think this one over. He gestured at Evans, spilling tea along the way. “How could it be his birthday if he remembers nothing?”

Alice sat back, crossing her arms. The March Hare grinned, thinking he had won the conversation. Alice felt every beat of her heart as her fingers brushed over her neck.

“Well…it’s not your birthday, it’s not the Dormouse’s birthday, and it’s not his birthday. It’s not my birthday, and I do not know if your awaited guests have birthdays. It seems odd to throw a birthday party with no birthday to celebrate.”

“Are you calling me odd?” The March Hare asked, throwing down his teacup. “It’s very rude to insult someone at a party.”

“I don’t mean to call you odd. Only the circumstance odd. A birthday party with no birthday to celebrate. Why, you could call it an…an un-birthday party.”

“An…un-birthday party, the Hare muttered. He rubbed a paw along his chin, repeating it over and over again under his breath. Suddenly, his ears perked up and he clapped his two front paws together. “Yes! That’s it, precisely! An un-birthday party. To celebrate this day of no birthdays!”

Alice finally allowed herself to picked up one of the many, many teacups and raised it to the air. “To our un-birthday! A very usual and ordinary day.”

The March Hare, now in a very different mood, raised his glass alongside hers while the Dormouse continued to sleep and Evans remained in his trance.

Alice slowly lowered her cup. Only one remained. The one who was waiting for Time.

But was Alice too late?

Or was she simply on time?

“You seek to remember a past almost forgotten, do you not?” Alice asked.

Evans blinked slowly, trying to see her clearly but couldn’t quite grasp clarity. “I can’t remember.”

Alice lowered her eyes, chewing on her lip. It had to be the right memory to get through to him. There were many, many memories to choose from but which one would save him and which would make him succumb to the madness clawing at him?

Maybe she should tell him of the first memory she had of him. When his mother brought him to the castle when he was but a child and they slipped into the kitchen to steal a tray of sweet buns meant for dinner.

Or the night she confessed her love for him as they hid themselves away in the garden to watch the stars

But would her proclamation of love only drive him further into madness, thinking she had abandoned him all those years?

“There once was a knight of the kingdom,” Alice began in a gentle, singsong voice. “He came to the castle as a young boy, bright eyed and brave. He met the five daughters of the king who quickly grew to twelve daughters. The young boy spent every day with the eldest daughter of the twelve. They made the castle their own, a riotous and raucous pair that ruled the halls and the shadows.”

As Alice continued her tale, she rose from her chair and moved closer to Evans.

“But the boy and girl grew older. One into a loyal knight, swearing his life to serve the kingdom with his sword, and the other into a princess, swearing her life to her kingdom with her vows. They knew that one day their fantasy would crumble. Until the brave knight asked the king to marry the princess. And the king agreed but only if the knight could save his daughters from the world that threatened to steal them away.

“But the knight did not know the dangers of that world and so he accepted. Before he could save his princess, he was caught and trapped in that land, awaiting his beloved to save him. But time passed and she never came. Time ate away until he lost hope.”

Alice slowly pressed her fingers to Evans arms. He began to flinch but soon relaxed at her touch. She could see him fighting to grasp those memories just within reach. Memories of the life he had lived before coming to this mad, mad world.

“The princess did come back to save her knight. She is here now. It’s time to remember and come home,” Alice whispered, leaning over Evans.

Evans blinked slowly, his pupils dilating as recognition washed over him like the tide gently easing itself higher and higher up the shore.

“Alice?” he muttered softly.

“Yes, Evans. It’s me. I’m here.”

Alice pressed her lips to Evans’, her fingers slipping into the soft curls of his hair. Evans, no longer startled by this stranger he did not know, returned the kiss. Alice was just in time to bring back his memories nearly forgotten.

“Alice,” he repeated.

Alice nodded eagerly, filled with joy as Evans finally recognized her and looked at her the way he once did.

“You came back.”

“Of course I did. I love you.”

“Such a lovely reunion,” the Grinning Cat said, his form slowly appearing over a thickly iced cake. He grabbed a pawful and stuffed it into his mouth, much to the March Hare’s dismay.

“What is that?” Evans asked, for he was not as accustomed to the oddities of this world.

“What are you?” the Cat asked in return, turning his head entirely upside down so his grin turned to a frown.

“A friend,” Alice explained to Evans.

The conversation came to a sudden halt as all eyes turned to the White Rabbit who had lured the princesses to Wonderland. He stood on his hind legs, checked his pocket watch, then cleared his throat.

“Alice, you are hereby summoned to appear before the Queen of Hearts and stand trial.”

“What am I accused of?”

“Theft from Wonderland.”

“Alice,” Evans whispered, slipping his hand in hers. “We should run.”

“I won’t leave Louisa. If she wants me to stand trial, then I will face her.”

“A foolish choice,” the Grinning Cat remarked. “But a brave one. I shall attend as your character witness.”

“What do you intend to take from my sister?”

“Just like you my dear, I only intend to take back what is mine.”

“Then so be it. You will speak to the court on behalf of my character. And I will ensure my sister returns what she has taken.”

***

A fit of rage and jealousy consumed Louisa suddenly. The heart she wanted had mended itself a small bit. True love seeped through it, bleeding over in rich, warm floods.

Louisa needed that heart.

The heart that belonged to her older sister.

***

Alice approached the castle that the White Rabbit had led the party to. She had never entered its halls in all the times she visited Wonderland despite it always looming over in the distance. The towers reached higher than Alice thought possible but so much impossible was possible in this land.

As the White Rabbit began leading them to the doors of the castle, the Grinning Cat floated in front of Alice and Evans, stopping them from getting any nearer to the palace.

“Perhaps a trial outdoors? The air will help us all keep our heads. Until we reach a verdict that is.”

The White Rabbit’s nose twitched and he checked his pocket watch again. He let out a sigh. “The Queen does not like those who are late.”

“Perhaps it is she who is late,” the Cat responded. “For we are ready for the trial right here. And we are waiting.”

The White Rabbit checked his watch once more, contemplating the Cat’s words. “Late, late. Yes, late. The Queen is late.”

And the Rabbit hopped right into the doors to retrieve the queen.

“Why a trial out here?” Alice asked.

“Trust me,” the Cat assured her. “If you step into that castle, you will never leave. That is the King’s domain and no one keeps their head once they enter.”

“And will we keep our heads after the trial?”

“That all depends on you, my dear Alice. Will you prove your innocence?”

***

“Late?”

The word echoed in her head, bouncing as if a mallet were hitting it around and around.

Was she late for the trial? But she had called for the trial. How could she be late for it?

But that was what the White Rabbit had told her. That Alice was already in attendance for her trial and she was waiting on her for the trial to begin in the gardens.

The gardens.

Right! Louisa had a round of croquet planned in the garden. Alice must be there to join her. She hadn’t seen her sister in so very long.

Louisa lifted the full skirt of her gown and hurried down the hall to see her dear sister who she hadn’t seen in what seemed like ages.

The doors opened and there stood Alice, dressed in her nightgown of all things! What an odd thing to wear to a game of croquet.

Alice was always the most beautiful of the twelve sisters. Her bright blonde hair fell in perfect curls, her green eyes the color of new spring grass.

But if you asked Alice which of her sisters was the most beautiful, Alice would always say every single one of her sisters were beautiful. She loved something different about each and every one of them. She loved Louisa’s heart-shaped face, speckled with little dots that spread further every summer after they spent hours in the sun.

Alice loved Louisa dearly, even after all this time, so when her sister ran to embrace her, Alice wrapped her arms around her tight, never wanting to let go.

“I’m so sorry for being late!” Louisa exclaimed. “Come, come. Let’s start our game now, while the sun is shining.”

“Game?” Alice asked, following Louisa into the garden.

“Yes, just like we used to play. Is your memory failing you, Alice?”

Alice did not question the odd turn of events. A game of croquet was a far better ordeal and perhaps the memories would bring Louisa back to her.

“Of course I remember,” Alice replied. “I even brought spectators.”

Evans had watched the sisters play their game many times before so Louisa thought nothing of him joining them. But she did take notice of the Cat the seemed to walk on air, grinning at her.

“What an odd pet,” she commented.

Alice grabbed the Grinning Cat’s mouth before he could reply but his mouth simply vanished and reappeared next to her.

“She is an odd one indeed,” the mouth said. “But a trained one as well.”

“A clever little thing too.”

Louisa snatched one of the tall pink birds standing in the garden, stretched out its legs, and used its long beak to hit the ball through the hoop.

She smirked at Alice and said, “That will be a tough one to beat.”

Alice looked at the poor birds. They didn’t flee, even after one of them had been snatched to be used as a mallet.

“Come now, Alice, before the sun gets tired of waiting.”

She needed to bring her sister home, so Alice grabbed a bird, straightened its legs, and hit the ball. Afraid of hurting the bird, she hit softly so her ball didn’t even make it to the hoop.

“You know I hate it when you throw the game,” Louisa said. “I want to beat you at a fair game.”

Alice tread carefully, searching for the right memory that wouldn’t upset Louisa. One particular memory came to mind and she smiled.

“I still take offense to your accusation that I was faking my twisted ankle.”

Louisa paused, her eyes becoming distant as she searched for the memory deep in her mind. Alice waited, fearing perhaps the memory was too far for her to remember.

But after a moment, Louisa broke out into laughter. “You were faking it!”

“I was not!” Alice objected, taking her turn. With her second hit, she nearly caught up to Louisa. “I was limping for three days!” 

“You only limped when I was looking.” She hit the ball, sending it too far for Alice to pass her. “And to be clear, I would’ve won anyway.”

Alice smiled. Louisa was always so competitive. She always wanted to win, getting angry when she did not. Alice, though, just wanted to play and enjoy the time with her sister.

Louisa suddenly frowned, as if the memory soured. “I did beat you. I didn’t need you to fake your injury.”

“I didn’t – “

Louisa cut her off by slamming the bird down. It screeched, spread its wings, and flew off.

“You stole that victory. You are a thief, Alice, and you are to stand trial.”

“Louisa, please,” she begged. “Let’s just go home.”

“No. I am the queen here. I will not go back to being second best.”

“You were never second best.”

“Enough! Your trial begins now.”

Two knights grabbed Alice’s arms, but they were not knights like Evans. They were playing cards, just like the ones Alice and Louisa used to play with.

Evans had no weapons to stop them so he and the Grinning Cat were taken along with Alice to the trial awaiting her.

Every resident of Wonderland was there, watching her, including the woman with the petals for hair, the Caterpillar who spoke in riddles, the March Hair frowning at her, and the Dormouse nodding off.  

And overlooking the trial as the King of Hearts. Alice’s heart fluttered at the sight of him, as it always did unwillingly. He smiled at her with his dark and piercing eyes. Alice had thought her trial would end well. She was adored by those of Wonderland but she had disobeyed the King by returning and now she feared her sentencing. She had seen so many stand before the King and receive their punishment. Being on this side now, she trembled.

“Do not fear my dear Alice,” the King reassured her. “I am not your judge. She is.”

Louisa stepped up to the throne next to the King. They looked quite the pair, both dressed in red as dark as blood. The King wore a necklace of thorns that pressed into his skin, drawing blood that dripped down. Louisa wore ruby jewels that glittered, giving the illusion of blood on her neck.

Alice rubbed her neck, thinking of all those who had lost their heads before her. Surely Louisa wouldn’t find her guilty.

But as Alice sat, Louisa did just that. She cried out the guilty verdict without giving Alice a chance.

“Surely I can defend myself,” Alice argued.

“You have stolen therefore you are guilty,” Louisa declared.

“I do say that means I have a mistrial,” Alice went on, appealing to the Wonderland inhabitants whom she had entertained all those nights. “A just a fair trial should be given to the accused.”

A consensus was immediately reached in the crowd. They at least wanted to watch a trial.

“Don’t be so rash my dear queen,” the King said. “They came to see a show. Give them a show.”

“So be it,” Louisa relented. “Alice will face her trial for her crimes of theft.”

“And what have I stolen?”

“You have stolen the heart of the knight named Evans.”

“His heart was mine. I merely took it back after it was taken away.”

“His heart was taken as punishment for trespassing into Wonderland.”

“Evans did not come to Wonderland willingly. He was lied to and lured here with something stolen and brought to our world.”

Alice pulled from her pocket the strange bottle, nearly empty after she had drank from it. Anyone could tell it came from Wonderland.

Louisa paled and she shrank back into her throne. Meanwhile, the King leaned forward, intrigued by the revelation.

“And who gave him such a thing?”

“Someone who would steal him,” Alice answered, refusing to tell her sister’s name. “Now, is it theft to retrieve what was yours?”

The audience murmured among one another, seemingly in agreement.

Louisa’s heart raced, fear taking hold. She would lose everything if she didn’t do something.

“Alice, you are also charged with theft from Wonderland, in the case of the stolen drink.” She smiled at her sister, knowing Alice would never turn the blame back on her.

And she was right. Even as the court turned against her, Alice could not bring herself to put the blame on Louisa.

Evans stepped forward to do so himself, but Alice grabbed his arm, stopping him.

“I call a character witness,” Alice declared. “The Grinning Cat.”

The King frowned and Louisa squirmed again as the Cat slowly appeared at the stand, grin first.

“Do you know Alice well enough to attest to her character?” the King asked.

“Does anyone know Alice well enough to attest to her character?”

Alice pursed her lips. She should’ve known better.

“Then how do you plan to stand as witness?”

“Does this pose not suit Your Highness?” the Cat asked and he rearranged his body so that his front legs stood on the stand and his back legs were in the air. His head came to a rest atop his tail.

The King was not amused and his anger made the land feel even more dangerous. “What will you bear witness to?”

“The things I have witnessed.”

“And what are they?” he asked, his annoyance causing his neck to tense and the thorns to press further into his skin.

“I have witnessed much in my time with Alice. She bravely stole her way into Wonderland, then she pilfered the company of the March Hare and Dormouse, and she nearly looted the mind of our dear queen. But never has she stolen the heart of the knight named Evans.”

Alice stood frozen. The Cat had been on her side and he betrayed her.

“So she is a thief?” the King asked.

“Quite the thief, yes. But is she on trial for those thefts or for the heart?”

“She has taken the heart,” the King reiterated. “The heart that did not belong to her, for everything in this land is mine. Even Alice is mine.”

Alice pondered a moment. She was thankful for all the conversations she’d had with the Caterpillar, for it taught her to speak in riddles.

“But I am not yours,” Alice argued. “I am not of this land.”

“And yet, here you are.”

“But I belong to my kingdom. I have a duty to my people.”

“A princess is not beholding to her people. She rules them.”

“But I have a husband waiting for me.”

The King frowned and leaned forward in his throne. “Your wedding has not come to be.”

“Do vows before an audience make a marriage?”

“If no one is witness, who is to say it’s true?”

“And yet, if you look into my heart you will see it is not yours.”

The King narrowed his eyes. “You do not love the prince. He does not have your heart.”

“I am not speaking of the prince. I made a vow to Evans, many years ago, that I would always love him. That my heart would always be his, no matter what the future may bring for us.”

Rage burned in the King’s eyes. More blood seeped from the thorns digging into his neck. For Alice’s words rang true. The King never owned Alice or her heart, no matter how often he lured her to his land. He had ensnared her mother years ago and the moment he felt Alice’s heart, he needed it.

He nearly had her that first night but his greed had gotten the better of him and he wanted her eleven sisters as well, even if their hearts weren’t as strong as Alice’s. Once her sisters were in danger, Alice became guarded and her heart was further away than ever. Even when the King sought to instill jealousy in Alice by pursuing Louisa, her heart only hardened further.

“I have stolen nothing from Wonderland,” Alice declared. “In truth, it is Wonderland that has stolen from me and therefore the King is guilty.”

Madness erupted in the audience, shocked by Alice’s bold claim. It seemed as if the King had no more rage and yet, he found more to boil over.

“All I ask,” Alice shouted, “Is to take home what is mine. Evans and Louisa.”

The King stood, looming high over Alice. That sinister smile that had terrorized so many before was now on Alice. “Louisa is no longer yours. She has given me her heart.” He pulled from his robe the throbbing red heart that once beat in Louisa’s chest. “If you take her, then you truly are a thief.”

Alice paled at the thought of leaving Louisa behind. It made her sick, but what could she do?

“Louisa,” Alice begged. “Please come home.”

Louisa, who had looked terrified through the whole ordeal, suddenly hardened again. “Why would I ever go home?”

“Because we miss you, especially father. I miss you.”

Louisa scoffed. “I will never go back.” She rose to her feet, scowling at Alice. “Alice is so perfect,” she mocked. “Alice is so lovely. Alice is so kind. Alice, Alice, Alice.” I will not got back to living in your shadow.”

“You were never in my shadow.”

“I was always second best. Except here. Here, I am the Queen of Hearts.”

“You see, Alice,” the King taunted, “Louisa is mine.”

“And she has something of mine,” the Grinning Cat interjected, slowly appearing wrapped around Louisa’s shoulders. Before she could react, his tail slipped into her coat and yanked out two vials, each holding a red wisp of light in it.

Louisa tried to grab them back but the Cat vanished, only to reappear on Alice’s shoulders.

“Those are my hearts!” Louisa screamed.

“Actually, they are the heart of a dear friend and an acquaintance, “ the Cat explained. “Given to me to fulfill an important request.”

“Bring me their heads!” Louisa screeched.

One by one, the Playing Cards shuffled around, circling Alice, Evans, and the Grinning Cat.

Alice met Louisa’s eyes but all she saw was bitter hatred in them.

Suddenly, the Grinning Cat leapt from Alice’s shoulders and took off running before the gap could close and trap them in.

Alice could not wait another moment. This was her last chance to escape. And so, she grasped Evans hand tight so as never to lose him again and she ran and she ran.

The Grinning Cat was far ahead of them and Alice feared he would leave them behind but he never did. He led them into a giant hedge maze and Alice followed.

Alice kept running through the endless maze, turning corner after corner, getting dizzier and dizzier. It seemed as if they were trapped forever.

Until a valley appeared in the distance, so tiny, Alice could hold it. It was a valley Alice knew better than anywhere else.

Her kingdom was just within reach and she ran faster and faster. Through the burning in her legs and the pain in her chest, she ran.

And in the blink of an eye, Alice was back in the valley where her castle sat. To her back was the lake, no sign of Wonderland to be seen.

Relief was short lived for this was not the kingdom she had left the night before. Thorny vines wrapped around the tall towers of the castle, strangling the stones. The vines stretched all around the castle and through the city, enveloping every home and shop in its sharp grasp. Not a soul stirred in the city and darkness hung over the valley so Alice could not tell if morning had come.

Evans squeezed Alice’s hand as he also stared in dismay at the castle he grew up in now hidden beneath the dark vines.

“What have we done?” Alice muttered.

“My, my,” a familiar voice said. Alice turned to the Grinning Cat only to find a man standing next to them. He had sharp, almost feline features and Alice thought she could just barely make out whiskers on his cheeks. “It seems I have come out the wrong way. I should retrace my steps.” He flashed the two vials he had taken back from Louisa and gave Alice that familiar grin. “I can’t keep a prince waiting for his bride.”

“Wait!” Alice cried as he turned to leave. “Can’t you help us?”

The man turned back to her, his face dark and serious. It nearly frightened Alice. “There is a dark and powerful magic at work here.”

“The King,” Evans muttered, clenching his fist tight.

“No, this creature is of this world and it has brought despair unto the kingdom,” the man explained. As he spoke, he moved closer and closer to Alice, his hand outstretched. Sharp claws reached for Alice and came to a rest just over her heart.

“You’re a brave young woman, Alice, with a strong heart. Protect it, for there are creatures throughout the land that would steal it for themselves.”

Alice’s heart raced and he could feel it against his nails.

“You are exactly where you are supposed to be, Alice. My son is awaiting my return so I must leave you now. But,” his claws pressed against her but Alice felt no pain. She stopped Evans from reaching out to the man. “If you allow me to take just a small piece of your heart, I will be indebted to you.”

“Yes,” Alice said with a nod, only needing a brief moment to think it over. “Only one piece so that I may call for you.”

The man grinned and he slowly drew a long red wisp of light from Alice’s heart. She felt no pain but she did feel the tiny absence in her heart.

He held out the wisp between his hands and looked at it closely, his mouth wide in a smile. “This is a good heart. It won’t work well in my current concoction but it will save me one day.”

He placed the wisp of Alice’s heart into a new vial, tucked it away with the others, and bowed to Alice and Evans.

“How will I call you?” Alice asked.

“Just simply call out my name.”

“And what is your name?”

“You may call me Rumpelstiltskin.”

And he finally departed, vanishing down the rabbit hole once more. Alice and Evans turned back to their city ensnared by thorns.

And Alice started walking back home with the man she loved.

Into Madness Part 1

Madness is a descent. Sometimes it’s slow. Sometimes it is swift. Sometimes it’s like tumbling down a rabbit hole. 

You can’t help that. We’re all mad here.

There exists a land as dangerous as it is alluring where a young princess became a queen. Where a lover was frozen in time and driven mad by the memories that haunt him. 

How do you know that I am mad?

Eleven princesses escaped the Land of Wonder that night. One remained and her descent into madness was as quick as a hare. That was a mercy. His descent was as slow as a snail. And that was his punishment.

Oh but you must be or you wouldn’t have come here.

One princess vowed to return and rescue the two of them. That was her folly.

***

A White Rabbit hopped through the castle halls. This was the first odd thing one might notice. The second thing would be the pocket watch that the Rabbit had tucked into its waistcoat. And the most peculiar of all were the twelve princesses opening their doors one by one and following the Rabbit into the night. The youngest led the line, her eyes glossed over as if in a daze.

Each princess had this same look except for the two eldest, Louisa and her older sister Alice. Alice glanced over her shoulder before leaving her bedchamber, ensuring Evans was fast asleep like all the rest of the inhabitants of the castle.

Alice couldn’t remember the first time she followed the mysterious White Rabbit to the land of wonder and magic. She had gone alone that first night and had that same dazed look in her eyes that her younger sisters now had. She never wanted to leave and everything back home was forgotten: her beloved father, her dear sisters, her duty to the kingdom, even the man she loved with all of her heart. Nothing in the real world mattered to her, only the party where music compelled her to dance even after her feet ached, and the irresistible food that begged her to eat past her fill.

All of the guests were as enamored by Alice as she was with them. They poked and prodded Alice with their long claws, they danced with her even as she pleaded with them to stop, and they all vowed to keep her to themselves. And they would have but for the King who took an interest in Alice. She couldn’t remember the conversation they had that night but she did remember telling him about her adored eleven sisters and the following night, twelve princess followed the White Rabbit instead of just the one.

Instantly, Alice watched her sisters fall in love with the strange world and she quickly learned to keep her wits about her. It was only by keeping her senses in this topsy turvy world were they able to return to their beds before the dawn every single night. She made sure they stopped dancing, that they didn’t gorge themselves on food, and she did her best to make sure her sisters did not fall in love. 

But try as she might, she could not stop Louisa from falling in love. Not with a man but with that world. Over time, Louisa grew more and more distant in the day, only coming alive as day turned to night and the Rabbit would soon appear.

There was nothing Alice could do. She could not stop the White Rabbit from luring the princesses every evening. But she could ensure their safe return. Even as it seemed harder and harder for some of her sisters to leave.  

Louisa slipped her arm through Alice’s, giddy at another night of revelry. Alice smiled at her beloved sister, her closest friend in this world that knew everything about Alice, who always stood by her side through every joy and every heartbreak. It pained her to watch Louisa become a cold shell of what she once was in their world and she loved seeing her light up, even though the thing that now brought her joy threatened to steal her mind away.

“Do you think they’ll like my new dress?” Louisa asked, holding out a handful of her full skirt so that the torchlight caught the beading. The vibrant crimson color almost looked like blood cascading over her body.

“You’ll steal all the eyes this evening,” Alice assured her.

“The King has begun to favor me,” Louisa boasted, her cheeks flushing to match her dress. “The red really catches his attention.”

Alice’s stomach fell. She had indeed noticed the King drawing Louisa nearer and nearer to him and it terrified her.

“Perhaps you should stay by my side tonight,” Alice suggested. “We can dance together.”

Louisa frowned and drew her arm away.

The twelve princesses had left the warmth of the castle and ventured into the cold night. Not a single soul witnessed their venture, slumber holding everyone else captive but for one suitor who had promised the king he would find out where the princesses went to every night. He followed the young women in secret that night.

“Are you jealous that the King is more interested in me now?” Louisa taunted, her smug expression unmissable. 

“Of course not. I only worry about you. You know you can’t stay there.”

“And why not?” Louisa demanded, her face now reddening from anger. “I’ll be sent off to marry someday. Why shouldn’t I marry the King?”

“Louisa, perhaps you should stay behind tonight. We can talk about th – “

“I’m not talking about anything with you.”

And before Alice could stop her, Louisa went tumbling down the rabbit hole.

***

Evans kept his distance as he followed Alice and her sisters. His body still felt warm from the golden drink Louisa had given him that morning which freed him from the heavy slumber that fell upon the other residents of the castle. After Alice believed he was asleep, he quickly tugged on his boots and followed her all the way to the rabbit hole by the lake.

***

Alice wanted desperately just to crawl back into her bed and sleep the night away. But she would never abandon her sisters and she slid down and tumbled into the place known as Wonderland.

She fell in a free fall, but she felt no fear. It was as if she were floating, her dress billowing out to slow her, yet everything around her rushed by in a blur. Her feet gently touched the ground when she finally reached the bottom and she could already hear the music.

The door was wide open, welcoming the princesses into the world yet again. Crumbs of already snatched treats led the path to the party where princesses danced with the many odd inhabitants of this world.

Alice had danced with and conversed with many of them in previous nights. The young woman with the vibrant purple petals of a pansy for hair was the best dancer and the older gentleman whose lower body was that of a blue caterpillar had the best conversations, though he often blew plumes of smoke from his pipe into Alice’s face when he talked

But Alice did not want to talk or dance tonight. She wanted to keep her sisters safe. Especially Louisa.

A hand clasped her shoulder and Alice turned to find Evans here in this strange Land of Wonder. Her stomach sank, her heart racing as she realized her lover had somehow followed her here.

Alice immediately pushed Evans to a dark corner, shrouded in thick foliage and mushrooms the size of them. She had seen firsthand what happened to intruders here. It was a fate worse than death and it was why the princesses never told anyone where they went every night.

“What are you doing here?” Alice whispered, looking over her shoulder to make sure no one had seen him. Everyone seemed too preoccupied to glance their way, but nothing escaped the King’s notice for long.

“I told your father I would tell him the answer,” Evans explained. “So that we could finally marry.”

The king had been desperate to learn the truth of what caused his precious daughters to disappear every night, for he had lost his beloved queen one day when she vanished in the night and no one had seen her leave. He feared the same would happen to his daughters and so to entice one to follow the princesses, he offered up their hand in marriage. Many had undertaken the task but every one of them had failed. In his rage, the king had executed them all the next morning when they were found fast asleep while the princesses had run off on another evening of dancing.  

“I told you not to,” Alice reminded him, bewildered he had went against her wishes. “You will be hanged like all the others.”

“No, because I found you,” Evans explained, taking Alice’s hands in his. His smile was bright, hopeful of their future marriage.

But Alice knew better. “How? How did you escape the sleep spell?”

“Louisa gave me a drink. I feel more awake than ever.”

“Louisa?” Alice whipped around, remembering her sisters. Ten princesses danced and ate like usual but Louisa was with the King.

The King of this land was a terrifying being, yet so enthralling. One could only dream of being in his presence, to feel his eyes on them and be the center of his attention. But his temper was unpredictable and that made him haunting.

Alice had seen him turn a prince into a frog and boil him alive and a woman into a fish who floundered and gasped for air for several minutes before he changed her back. Their offenses had been so miniscule that Alice could not even remember them.

And yet, he was so captivating. He had a strange handsomeness that Alice could not quite understand but she wanted to be by his side, even though her heart belonged to Evans.

“I had no choice,” Evans whispered. “Your father found a husband for you.”

Alice pursed her lips. They both knew this day would come when she would be forced to wed a future king and have to say goodbye to her knight. As much as they wanted to pretend it would never happen, they could not escape it.

“Do not let anyone see you,” she whispered, squeezing his hands. “When you see us leave, run.”

Alice left Evans in the shadows and made her way through the crowd, rejecting all the offers of food and dance. Louisa did not notice Alice, all her attention on the King. And the King only had eyes for Louisa in her beautiful crimson dress.

“Sire,” Alice interrupted, bowing to the King. He had always shown an interest in her and favored her more than anyone so se felt little fear in getting his attention. “If I may, I would like to borrow my sister.”

“Oh but I’m not ready to give her up,” he replied, grinning with his pointed teeth, exaggerating his foxlike features.

Louisa scowled at her sister, visibly annoyed by the interruption. “We’ve nothing to discuss anyway.”

“My King if I may. I’ve learned that I am to be wedded and only wish the chance to be with my sister before all my time is devoted to my husband.”

“A marriage?” the King asked, his interest piqued as high as his brow. “I could marry you to one of my courtiers this moment so that you may remain forever.”

“What a splendid idea,” Alice remarked, for she had learned to never say no to the King. “But I’m afraid none of your courtiers have taken my heart.”

“Such a shame that none has stolen your heart yet, my dear Alice. Perhaps I ought to take care of that.” He reached out and ran a long claw over Alice’s beating heart and goose pimples erupted over her skin. “I am in need of a new queen.”

But before Alice could find the words to reject him, before the King could take her heart unwillingly, Louisa raised her hand and pointed a finger at the shadows where the intruder lurked.

“He followed us here.”

Thick, thorny roots emerged from the earth, snaking their way through the shadows. There was no where to hide, no way to escape, for the land obeyed the King and the roots coiled around Evans legs and dragged him out into the open.

“Louisa,” Alice gasped, her body numbing at the thought of what was to come.

But her sister only returned a grin, amused and triumphant.

The King stepped away from the sisters, approaching the knight who struggled against the roots holding him down. “I did not invite you to my kingdom.”

“I won’t allow you to steal these princesses any longer,” Evans shouted, defiant despite the terror most felt radiating from the King.

“Please sire,” Alice begged, stepping forward. Everyone around them collectively took a step back, afraid of the King’s wrath. “This is the man who holds my heart. I beg that you let him go.”

“Alice, you should know by now. I hold the heart of everyone in this land. I rule over them, even yours. I am the King of Hearts.”

“My apologies, my King. I only meant he holds my heart in our world. And I beg you to show mercy.”

“Have I not shown mercy to you and your sisters every single night?” He slowly walked around Evans, the claws of his fingertips seeming sharper than before. “I allow you into my kingdom, I give you food and entertain you. I let you return home. And you betray me?”

“I did not let him follow me. I have told no one of your kingdom.”

“And yet, here he is.”

The King grabbed Evans’ hair and pulled back, running one of those long claws along his neck slowly.

A bell chimed, all at once distant and ringing in Alice’s head.

They had to leave.

Now.

Alice looked at the crowd, her ten younger sisters cowering among the inhabitants of this land.

“If you leave, you may never return,” the King warned.

Alice’s heart raced as another bell chimed, piercing her ears and rattling her head.

Her sisters all stared at her, terror in their eyes. They just wanted to go home.

Evans met her eyes. He too was afraid, regretful of following Alice to this dangerous land. Nevertheless, he nodded. He knew what Alice had to do.

A third bell rang. Alice grabbed the hand of the sister nearest to her. She then grabbed another sister’s hand, and she did the same until eleven of the princesses held onto one another.

“You will never see him again,” the King taunted.

The fourth bell rang and Alice looked back at Louisa. She offered her hand but Louisa retreated back, out of reach.

The fifth and final bell echoed. If they didn’t leave now, they would be trapped forever. Their kingdom would soon be waking and looking for the princesses.

Alice ran before it was too late.

And as she ran, the King shouted after her, “He will lose his head. And you will lose your mind.”

***

Alice was in love. She fell in love many years ago with a knight named Evans who had grown up alongside her in the castle. He had been her first everything: her first friend who wasn’t one of her sisters, her first kiss, her first love.

Alice dreamed of marrying Evans and letting her heart be full. But she knew that could never be. For Alice was the eldest, expected to take the throne one day as queen. And it was not only her age that made her the perfect heir for the throne. Alice was kind and clever and loyal. The people loved her and awaited her rule with anticipation.

Evans knew and accepted that their love would not last. They relished every moment they could steal away before that fateful day until one night, Alice vanished and returned with the soles of her shoes worn through.

No matter how much Evans begged her to tell him what happened, something scared her enough to prevent her from doing so. Even when the king offered a marriage to one of his daughters as a reward for finding out where the twelve princesses went to each night, Alice made him promise not to try and win her hand.

And Evans agreed until Alice was finally spoken for and his heart could not take it. For several nights, he did all he could to resist the sleeping spell that befell the inhabitants of the castle at night and learn the truth of the princesses’ escapades but to no avail.

Until one day Louisa approached him with a bottle filled with a golden drink. For Louisa was the only one in the world who knew Alice’s secret. She had discovered it and vowed to never tell another soul, for she saw her sister’s love for the knight and did all she could to protect it. So when she promised Evans that the golden liquid would keep him awake and he could follow them, he trusted her.

But now, Evans was trapped in the Land of Wonder, undoubtedly suffering every moment he was there.

The King had vowed that Alice would never return but that would not stop her.

***

Alice’s eyes fluttered open. Her heart raced in her chest despite lying in her bed, dressed in her nightgown. Her shoes were still on her feet, the soles worth through yet again.

Alice pushed herself upright, still groggy as if coming out of a dream. But of course, she knew it was no dream. No, everything that happened that night was very, very real. Evidenced by the empty blanket next to her bed where she would find Evans every morning.

She couldn’t understand how he had followed her. How he managed to stay awake.  She stepped out of her bed, her feet aching as they always did the next morning. As she stepped across the room, her foot kicked something hidden beneath the blanket.

Alice knelt and found a bottle, half full of a golden liquid. From it’s neck hung a little tag exclaiming “Drink Me!”

Her heart sank, her hands beginning to tremble. She recognized the strange bottle as one of the many she had seen in the Land of Wonder. But how did Evans come to possess it?

Alice’s door flung open and she shoved the bottle into her pocket.

Her father ran into her room, disheveled and frantic. When his eyes fell on Alice, he breathed a sigh of relief that didn’t quite take away his distress.

“My dear Alice,” he breathed as he wrapped her in his arms. “Where is your sister?”

Alice’s heart ached once more at the memory. Louisa turning away, refusing Alice’s hand, and choosing to remain in Wonderland.

Alice wanted nothing more than to tell her father everything and have him send and entire army to that land to retrieve Louisa and Evans.

But as Alice opened her mouth to speak, she found no words, her throat swelling shut. She clutched at her neck as if afraid her head would topple over. The madness that always tried to dig into her mind during her visits to Wonderland crept upon her as she tried to tell her father the truth.

But she could never utter a single word to anyone. Even as days and days passed and her sister did not return to them.

The kingdom mourned the loss of their princess who had vanished the same way their beloved queen had many years ago. The youngest princess was just shy of her first year when her mother vanished.

And Alice mourned Evans alone, the only suitor to escape his hanging after failing to tell the king where the princesses went each night. This was the only relief that the king saw in the days after Louisa’s disappearance. For Alice’s betrothal to a simple knight would have devastated the kingdom. But now that he was no longer beholden to that promise, he brought Alice’s true suitor to the castle.

The young prince was the only child of the widowed king of the kingdom to the east and the marriage proposal included the annexation of the land, further growing the kingdom.

He arrived with fanfare and a proclamation of the engagement, giving Alice no chance to object, not that she would ever be given a chance to. And so, Alice had to meet her future husband the day of their announced wedding.

He was handsome, a suitor that would make any young woman swoon. Louisa would’ve fallen for him instantly if she were still here.

Alice’s heart broke a little more. She feared one day it would finally shatter into too many pieces to ever be repaired. She had slept very little in the weeks following that fateful night and the madness continued trying to claw its way into her mind day after day. Alice saw the same haunted expression in her sister’s eyes. They too wanted to go back but could not.

And so, the prince met his betrothed. Despite the exhaustion, Alice was beautiful and quick-witted, and the prince approved. Their marriage would broaden the kingdom and they would have a competent king.

When her father announced the wedding would happen the first day of spring, Alice’s heart formed another crack. Winter would end in only mere weeks.

She must return to Wonderland before that day.

The Lie that Grows

Lies are such finicky things. The smallest and most innocent can grow and fester into horrible monsters. We lie to those we fear, we lie to those we love, and worst of all, we lie to ourselves. Those are the most dangerous lies because they can consume our hearts until there is nothing left.

There once lived a young woodcutter named Pinocchio who had a heart for adventure but not the skill, for he learned his trade from his father. All his life, he looked out to the sea with longing and desire to sail its endless expanse, but Pinocchio was quite poor. And so, slowly over time, he collected the leftover bits of wood and tar and created himself a small boat.

It was not a grand boat by any means, but it was his and it was his proudest creation.

He set it out on the water and it only leaked a small bit and Pinocchio saw that it was good enough and pushed it out into the waves. It jostled as he climbed in and he feared that his small boat was not going to hold him. He looked to the shore, the early morning sun waking the town slowly. Soon, he would be seen and he would be scolded until he relented and gave up.

But the young woodcutter’s heart was yearning and he could no longer ignore it.

Using a long, flat piece of wood he’d cut down into an oar, he rowed out into the open sea. Though, he did go in circles for many minutes before finally guiding himself straight.

Pinocchio was quite proud of himself, for he made it beyond the choppy waves and out into the smooth waters. But the woodcutter was not taught in the ways of the sea and his pride was short lived.

What was a small leak quickly filled the boat. He paused to scoop the water with his cap.

The shoreline was still within sight and so he carried on, determined to venture off into the unknown. But the leak continued and he once more had to stop to empty out the water.

The sun was high overhead, sweltering Pinocchio. His cap was soaked through which cooled his sweating brow but dripped stinging saltwater into his eyes. He blinked and blinked but the horizon was just a blur.

Panic was creeping into his mind but he told himself a lie that everything would be fine. He wasn’t that far out.

But the sea is cruel to those not familiar with her ways. Winds howled and waves lifted Pinocchio in his small boat, nearly tipping him into the dark waters below. For he had not understood that the clouds that once looked so very distant were now upon him, ready to release their torrential rains.

Desperately, he looked for shore but the rising and falling waves made it impossible to find. Desperately, he unloaded water before rain filled his boat even more. Desperately, he lied once more to himself that it was but a small storm.

As big of a lie it was, the storm was even greater. The young woodcutter clung to the sides of his boat as he was tossed and thrown about. Many times, he found himself nearly knocked into the waves themselves where he feared he would never rise again.

And then, as suddenly as it had come, the storm was gone, off to terrorize another unsuspecting boat.

Pinocchio rocked in the now gentle waves, drenched through and his shoes sunk in ankle-deep water. No matter which way he looked, how hard he squinted, how much he prayed, he could not see the shoreline in any direction. He was alive but he was hopelessly lost.  

He unrolled his small portion of bread and cheese he’d sneaked away with that morning. It was meant to be a mid-morning snack just before he satisfied his wanderlust heart but now it seemed to be his only way to stave off starvation. He allowed himself a small bite of each then once more emptied the boat of water.

For three days and three nights, Pinocchio drifted. He rowed. He emptied the leak. He took smaller bites of his dwindling food.

At night, he tried to follow the stars, recalling anything he could remember the young sailor once taught him. But those memories were tainted and only made him more resentful of the predicament he’d found himself in.

And still, he lied to himself. For the truth that he may never again see his father or the town he so desperately longed to sail away from was too much to bear.

He was nearly at the point of resigning himself to his fate, sprawled out across the bottom of the boat, water seeping through his clothes stiff from saltwater and heat, when something knocked into his boat. It tipped violently and Pinocchio scrambled to his knees. He peered over the edge but saw nothing in the dark water.

Fearing another storm, he looked to the sky, but dark clouds were not sneaking on him. The wind was calm. The air was hot. It was not a storm.

Another shadow passed beneath, this time nearly tipping the boat completely. Pinocchio grabbed his oar and began to paddle quickly. He didn’t know where to go but he knew that to stay there would be his doom.

Over the horizon came a sight Pinocchio had longed for. White sails rose from the waters and Pinocchio leapt to his feet. Flailing his arms and waving his oar high into the air, he shouted for help. He could only hope that the wind carried his voice and that sharp eyes would spot his tiny boat.

Once more, his boat was knocked and he nearly fell into the water. He dropped his oar, losing it to the dark depths below. Pinocchio jumped higher, screamed louder.

He did not know if his pleas were heard. And even if they were, he did not think they would make it in time. For the creature finally emerged.

A beast as big as one of the king’s magnificent ships rose from the waves. Its dark and evil eye looked at Pinocchio, the lone woodcutter who thought he could be a sailor. There were many cruel things about the sea, from her violent waves to her turbulent winds, but those that lived within her mysterious abyss were far crueler. For the sea could be learned, could be understand, but the monsters within kept their secrets and could not be tamed.

Pinocchio had no oar to save him. He had no weapons to fight.

The beast opened its mouth wide as a cavern and the woodcutter’s boat was sucked forward. The sky went dark as the ship sank into the monster’s mouth and all light went out as it snapped shut. Pinocchio’s boat fell into the beast’s stomach, all in darkness.

***

For the first time, Pinocchio told himself a truth. He was not going to be alright. He was not going to escape this. He was going to die. The truth should’ve felt lighter than the heavy lies he had been telling himself over the days but it only made his fate more assured.

He thought back to his poor father and the last words he’d said to him. That he was going to go out early in the morning to get more wood for them. A lie, but that was nothing new. Pinocchio only knew how to tell lies, ever since the day he fell in love.

It was a love twofold that captured his heart and had since left him in constant longing.

Pinocchio lived right in the seams of two different worlds. At his back were the lush forests, teeming with beautiful, strong trees whose wood he crafted into beautiful things from trinkets to decorative beams to marionette dolls that danced on strings. And to his front, the lovely, sparkling sea that brought lovely ships and men to the town from faraway places, from the kingdom’s capital to the neighboring lands to the mysterious world of the east.

Pinocchio was always destined to be a woodcutter. He apprenticed under his father, who apprenticed under his father and so on and so forth for as long as anyone could remember. And he was quite good at it. One became skilled when taught by the best. But Pinocchio was drawn to the other side of his world. Though, he didn’t fall properly in love with the sea until he met the young apprentice sailor.

But that also became the moment he learned he must live with lies and never the truth.

Pinocchio wallowed like this for a long time but the utter darkness stole any form of timekeeping. It could’ve been minutes or hours or even a day when suddenly, a seam tore overhead, revealing the bright sunlight once more. Pinocchio blinked his watery eyes, staring though he knew it was dangerous to look into the sun, but he did not understand how the light came from overhead.

Then a face appeared, haloed by that glorious sunlight he thought he’d never see again.

“Thought I’d be too late!” the young sailor called down to the woodcutter. He reached into the belly of the monster through the cut and Pinocchio was free from certain death. “Saw that great beast eating you and we hurried to catch it. Lucky we got to it before it dove into the abyss.”

The beast was harpooned to the side of the massive and grand ship Pinocchio had tried calling to. The sailor helped him up the ladder and onto the deck. Lavish riches and heaps of gold were piled high, riches gained in their voyages.

Pinocchio looked at the sailor who saved his life. His skin was a deep tan, his bare arms coated in sweat and the guts of the monster he slayed. A beautiful red scarf was wrapped around his head and he wore strange shoes with upward facing points.

His crew dressed the same as the sailor, many men and women of rich color. Pinocchio had seen only few like them as they passed through his town and every time, he’d stolen away to the taverns where they told their stories to eager listeners. He suddenly wanted to know every story this sailor had to tell.  

“I don’t think your boat can be saved,” the sailor lamented. “But let us take you where you need to go.”

Pinocchio nodded, only telling him that he was trying to return to his town by the sea, afraid to tell these skilled sailors about his foolish endeavor. “You are very kind, sir.”

The sailor smiled a wide smile. A dark beard lined his jaw and framed his lips. Pinocchio felt a flutter in his heart he had felt before but had quelled long ago. It crept on him once more and he had to try to smother the flame before it became an inferno.

“May I have the name of the man that rescued me so that I may repay him? I’m afraid that I’m just a poor woodcutter and so I cannot offer much.”

“Sinbad. But my only repayment will be the beast. It will feed my sailors and light our candles for many voyages.”

“Kind sir, please accept something for my gratitude.”

“Alright, I’ll take your name as payment.”

The young woodcutter felt the blood rush to his cheeks. “My name is Pinocchio.”

The sailor repeated the name, letting it roll of his tongue as he tested it. It made Pinocchio’s heart pick up speed and the embers were igniting.

“And what was a young woodcutter doing out in the sea?”

“I was on an errand for my father,” Pinocchio lied.

“That boat of yours looked quite unfit for the sea. She has no mercy on men.”

“It was all we could afford,” he lied once more.

Sinbad ushered Pinocchio into the shelter of the boat’s cabins. His skin was red from the sun and his tongue parched from the heat. He stared in awe of everything he saw: the strong masts holding the billowing sails, the sacks piled high with jewels, Sinbad’s bare arms gesturing as he spoke.

Pinocchio had only felt this way once before and he too was a sailor. This was when they were both mere apprentices in their crafts, still boys and still unsure of the rules of this world. There were few things they knew for certain but they did know that their hearts were telling them the same thing.

It was under the stars that they kissed. The sailor had taken Pinocchio out on a small boat, showing him how to tie knots, how to read the constellations, how to row parallel to the shore. He taught him how to fit his lips to his, how to feel his pulse against his own chest, how to feel all at once exhilarated and unsure. This, Pinocchio knew, was what love felt like. He wanted nothing more than to row to the edges of the world with the sailor, sharing tender and passionate kisses. Sharing a life together.

But it wasn’t to be, for they learned that what their hearts wanted was not what it could have.

The sailor came to Pinocchio the next day and his heart fluttered when his hands touched his chest like they had the night before. To his dismay, the sailor shoved him to the ground.

“You corrupt me,” he spat. “If you ever tell anyone what we did, I’ll burn every piece of wood in that shop of yours. If you ruin my life, I’ll ruin yours.”

That was the day that Pinocchio realized something about himself; that he must lie and say he was someone he was not.

And now he met Sinbad, another sailor who made his heart want the thing it was not supposed to. He brought Pinocchio into his own private quarters. As captain of the ship, he had the largest of rooms, though still not quite large enough for the two of them to maneuver without constantly brushing some part of themselves against the other.

“A bath is the first thing you need,” Sinbad said, waving his hand over his nose. Pinocchio knew he smelled quite awful and it brought heat to his cheeks to be so near someone so handsome and be so unbecoming. “We’re two days from your home so I will give you clothes. Those you’re wearing belong at the bottom of the ocean.”

Pinocchio pinched at his stiff shirt, stinking of saltwater and fish guts.

A fresh set of clothes were placed into his hands and he was left alone in the room. To say he was tempted to search through the room was an understatement. To say that he didn’t peek was a lie. To say that he was intrigued by what he found was the truth.

Pinocchio found a basin with a contraption that allowed water out a pipe. He scrubbed himself with the richly scented soap that smelled like Sinbad. His burnt skin stung from the water and the soap and it felt tender as he wiped himself dry.

Sinbad returned to find a shirtless Pinocchio struggling with the belt. Pinocchio would’ve flushed if his skin wasn’t already redder than the scarf wrapped around Sinbad’s hair.

“I brought something for the pain,” he explained, showing the bottle. “We sailors become well acquainted with the sun but you appear to have been burnt by him.”

He uncapped the bottle and scooped the cream onto his finger. Gently, he took Pinocchio’s stinging arm and smeared it over the blistering skin. The cooling sensation it bought was masked by Pinocchio’s fluttering pulse. He wanted to tell himself he was foolish, that Sinbad was merely a kind rescuer taking care of someone he’d found in trouble.

But any assurances he tried to tell himself dissipated when Sinbad’s darkly brown eyes flitted up to meet his own. The room was so very small, his skin so very hot, and Sinbad so very near to him. And he still didn’t have his shirt on.

He yanked his arm away, snuffing out the embers in his heart. He was not that person.

Sinbad’s disappointment was impossible to miss. But Pinocchio knew it was for the best. The last time he’d kissed a sailor, he’d almost ruined his life.

“Here,” Sinbad whispered, taking the ends of his belt. He showed him how to properly tie it and how his shirt tucked in. “Now food. You must be starving.”

He was starving. For so much.

The food was fragrant and colorful. Bowls were filled with rice topped with meats cooked in spices that had never met Pinocchio’s tongue before. Sinbad himself prepared a bowl for him, placing a piece of flat bread on top of it.

They sat side by side and Pinocchio’s wonder of the food was replaced by wonder of the sailor next to him.

Sinbad told him about his voyages thus far. About the horrible birds that ate men in a land of diamonds. How he’d found a whale with an entire forest on its back. And most recently, about the giant with sharp teeth that roasted men on a skewer. He told the tale of how he blinded the monster and escaped with even more riches than before.

Pinocchio was enamored by the tale, struck by Sinbad’s bravery. After the man-eating birds, Pinocchio would’ve never set foot on a boat again. Even after today’s endeavor, he wasn’t sure if he could ever be a sailor. But if Sinbad had given up after the first voyage, he never would have found the beautiful forest on a whale’s back.

That was how it always went. Sailors told their stories, transfixing the land-bound men like Pinocchio who wished they could be as daring. But he was a poor woodcutter, not a sailor, and he would have to be satisfied with that.

He tried – he tried ever so hard – not to let himself fall in love with Sinbad but no matter how much he lied to himself, he could not stop looking at Sinbad. And Sinbad noticed.

***

Two days he remained with Sinbad and his crew. The closer they drew to the shore, the more Pinocchio wished he could stay.

He spent every moment learning from the sailors. The knots he relearned how to tie, the stars he reacquainted himself with, the way to catch the wind in the sails. His deft fingers used to carving images and faces into wood now guided the boat through the ocean that had mercy for these men and women.

It was easy to imagine him staying forever. It was even easy to imagine being with Sinbad. Until they docked and Pinocchio saw his father frantically searching for him.

He ducked out of sight, ashamed that he had caused so much worry over something so foolish.

Sinbad chuckled and clapped him on the shoulder. “Am I right in assuming that’s your father?” He nodded. “Well, I’m sure he’d love to hear your great adventure! His son surviving being eaten by a sea monster. He’d be rightly proud.”

Pinocchio could’ve told the truth but then the sailor would know that he was just a foolish dreamer, not fit for sea. Not fit for him.

“He’ll be mad about our boat,” he lied instead.

“Ah, yes. It wasn’t a great boat but it is a loss.” He rubbed at his beard, thinking. Then he reached into one of the many sacks of jewels and gave Pinocchio a diamond larger than his fist. “This is enough for a much grander boat than the one you lost.”

Pinocchio’s eyes went nearly as big as the diamond. It was more riches than he’d ever seen in his life or ever hoped to see. “Sir, you are far too kind. I am the one indebted to you.”

Sinbad took Pinocchio’s hands and placed them around the diamond. “Please take it. The sea is unkind, yes, but she is also a damning temptress. Even I can’t resist her call.”

Pinocchio breathed a shallow breath as Sinbad didn’t draw his hands away. Sailors moved about, not paying them any mind. Sinbad pressed his forehead to Pinocchio’s.

“Or,” he whispered, “You can join my crew. One as brave as you would fit right in.”

But Pinocchio was far from brave. He couldn’t even bring himself to admit the truth. Not even as Sinbad’s lips nearly brushed along his.

“Pinocchio!” his father shouted from the docks.

Pinocchio jerked away from Sinbad, stuffing the diamond into his pocket.

“Don’t worry, sir, he’s safe and sound!” Sinbad greeted, waving at the frenzied man. “Found the lad in a spot of trouble and thought we’d help him along his way.”

Pinocchio hung his head as he hurried to his father. Everyone knew the young woodcutter and his silly fantasies of being a sailor and they snickered at his humiliation.

The old woodcutter looked over his son, as angry as he was relieved. “You foolish boy,” he scolded. “Sir, what can we do to repay you?” he asked Sinbad.

Pinocchio hadn’t realized he’d followed him and he bit down on his knuckle.

Sinbad smiled that wonderful smile of his and Pinocchio stamped down even harder on those damned embers in his heart. They would not catch fire. He would not let his heart be foolish.

“Perhaps a piece of woodcraft? Something for my ship. Yes, a figurehead.” He beckoned to the bare bow of the ship.

“Yes, of course,” the old woodcutter agreed. “We will make anything you like.”

“I’d like it if Pinocchio decided. He has an eye for the sea and I trust he’ll make something wonderful.”

Pinocchio flushed as he stared at Sinbad. He truly wanted nothing more than to join him on his magnificent ship, facing monsters and beasts. He wanted to return Sinbad’s embraces. He wanted to kiss again, to feel like he did before he knew what he wanted was so very wrong.

“I’ll return in a month’s time,” Sinbad promised, stealing one final lingering touch to Pinocchio’s hands.

***

Pinocchio watched the beautiful ship sail away that night. He stared until its last light vanished in the horizon. One month and Sinbad would return for his new figurehead. Pinocchio had no idea what to make for him and anytime he tried to think about it, his thoughts just drifted back to Sinbad.

No. That is not who you are. Not sailor, nor…

He returned home, diamond heavy in his pocket and heart aching with desire.

His father scolded him over dinner, calling him the things he already knew about himself. Foolish, reckless. It was time he stopped dreaming and accepted who he was. And so, Pinocchio went to bed with the diamond hidden away.

***

The next morning was a strange one, for Pinocchio found that his fingers had turned into wood. They flexed and bent like normal fingers but they were very much made of wood. Panic swelled in him and he thought to run to his father but after the events of yesterday, he worried to do so.

“Strange magic, that is,” came a tiny voice, startling Pinocchio.

He was alone in the room.

Or so he thought.

“Down here!” the voice chirped.

Pinocchio spotted a large cricket on his bedside table. He leaned down, bringing his eye to the tiny bug. “Did you just speak?”

“No, silly. I did.” A tiny fairy sat on the back of the cricket, a small saddle strapped around its torso. She was no bigger than a thumb and her fluttering wings coated the table in sparkling blue dust.

“What are you?” Pinocchio asked.

“I’m a fairy, silly. Haven’t you ever seen a fairy before?”

He shook his head. “No one has seen a fairy in many years.”

She smiled and jumped from the cricket’s back. “Then you are lucky indeed! A little bit of magic and you’ll be feeling right better.”

Pinocchio looked at his wooden fingers. “Isn’t magic what put me in this predicament?”

“Well yes, but it’s a nasty magic. I have good magic.”

There was one other absolute truth that Pinocchio knew: Magic was a dangerous thing. It was so easily misused and as much good it brought, it brought despair tenfold. Pinocchio had determined last night that he wanted nothing to do with Sinbad and had determined long ago that he wanted nothing to do with magic.

“Well fix me then,” he urged, thrusting his fingers at the fairy.

“Downright rude, you are,” she quipped, fluttering away from him.

“Isn’t that why you’re here?”

“So what if it is? You can still ask nicely.”

Pinocchio groaned. He only had a month to make Sinbad’s figurehead and wooden fingers would slow him down. “Please, fairy?”

She smiled and landed on his hand. It felt strange, as if his fingers were numb. Pinocchio felt the fairy on his hands but as if he were remembering the feeling. She sprinkled more dust as she fluttered around, touching his fingers one by one.

“Strange indeed,” she said with a firm nod. “A liar you must be.”

“I am not,” Pinocchio snapped. As he did. His palms suddenly turned to wood. His face paled and stomach twisted itself into a knot.

“Yes, quite the liar. Although it takes a big lie to bring such magic as this. But! This means that all it takes is the truth to reverse the magic. Simple as that.”

“Simple?” Pinocchio cried.

“Yes, because you don’t need me to reverse the magic. So, tell me. What is the truth?”

Pinocchio averted his eyes. There was no lie. The truth was that he didn’t want to be a sailor and he didn’t want to run away with Sinbad.

His eyes widened and he looked down at his wriggling wooden toes.

The little fairy sighed. “You’re scared to go to the sailor. You know, sailors aren’t all that bad. In fact, I know a pirate captain who’s got quite the meanest face one ever did see but truth be told, he loved his mother far more than treasure and the sea itself. Saved us fairies from a horrible boy, he did.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Pinocchio asked.

“Because I thought maybe telling you a truth would help you tell one.”

“That wasn’t your truth.”

The fairy tapped her chin. “Quite right you are. Let’s see, a truth about me.” She fluttered into the air and buzzed around, thinking. “My truth is, I miss our little island. It was dangerous, yes, but it was small. There are too many people here and it’s so very loud. You know us fairies can hear wishes? Yes, we hear all wishes and that’s why I’ve come to you. Your heart is so very sad because it longs for both the sea and the sailor.”

“My heart is not sad.”

He winced. His feet were now blocks of wood that clopped against the floor.

The fairy landed on his shoulder and tugged at the collar of his shirt. “You must stop lying!” she urged. “If you don’t, your entire body will become wood, even your heart. And when your heart is wood, you’ll no longer be you. You’ll be nothing more than a puppet, shaped like a man.”

Pinocchio looked at his hands. It was jarring to see where flesh suddenly stopped at the joint and wood connected to it. Perhaps it would be best if his heart turned to wood. For it was an absolute truth. He was a woodcutter’s son and sons did not kiss other sons.

“My truth is not one that this world accepts,” he admitted to the little fairy. “I must lie so that I may be accepted.”

The fairy knelt on his palm and traced the lines that were once the creases of his skin. “That is not a truth of this world.”

“Even so, it is the truth that the world has chosen.”

The fairy sighed and shook her wings fiercely. “I’m sorry, Pinocchio, but only by being true can you reverse the magic.”

Pinocchio gave her a smile that wouldn’t convince her, even if she couldn’t see the sadness in his heart. “I can wear gloves and thick socks. No one will ever know our little secret.”

But it was summer and the old woodcutter looked at his son with raised brows when he ate breakfast with his gloves on. Pinocchio was quite relieved when his father didn’t ask him about it. The next lie would probably turn his entire arms wooden. Instead, the old woodcutter just shrugged at his son’s continued odd behavior and sent him off to get the wood for Sinbad’s figurehead.

“Why do you want to be a sailor?” the little fairy asked as Pinocchio chopped the large tree. “I saw the things you made. You’re quite good at it.”

Pinocchio wiped the sweat from his brow. “Because I don’t love it. Not like my father loves it.”

“And you love sailing?”

He stopped mid-swing. Those two days with Sinbad’s crew had been the best days of his life. Despite the pain from his blistered skin, the heavy labor that ached his muscles, the inescapable odor of fish, he loved it like he never loved woodcutting. He loved the men and women, fearless and kind, even to a woodcutter who knew nothing of the sea.  And he loved Sin̶

He buried the ax in the tree, had to wriggle it to get it free, and swung once more.

The little fairy fluttered up to a thin branch and walked its length with her arms out to either side to keep balance. “What if you give all of this up and you find that you hate sailing? What then?”

Pinocchio swung the ax into the tree. “Aren’t you supposed to be guiding me to my heart’s desire? Not discouraging me?”

She dropped down and hooked her knees over the branch so that she swung down. “I thought you couldn’t have what your heart desired?”

He hit the tree with more oomph, nearly knocking her down. She yelped and grabbed the branch.

“That wasn’t the part I was talking about.”

“Ah, it’s the sailor.”

His cheeks turned red but he kept swinging. He said neither yes or no, aloud or in his heart.

“Does he love you back?”

“I only met him three days ago,” Pinocchio answered. A roundabout answer to avoid a lie.

“So? Haven’t you ever heard of love at first sight? It ensnares plenty of young men.”

Of course Pinocchio had heard of it but it was the thing of stories. Of princes and princesses not the sons of woodcutters. He wasn’t meant for such a story.

Before he could continue, someone called out his name. Old schoolmates, young men he hadn’t seen since they each began their apprenticeships, strolled up to him.

“Quite the show you put on yesterday, woodcutter,” the leader taunted. “It seems you’ve found a new sailor to kiss.”

This caused Pinocchio to freeze for he had kept his promise and never told another soul about his first kiss. The only ones to know were him and the sailor.

“I’ve never kissed a sailor,” he lied and his arms turned to wood beneath his sleeves. The little fairy gave a tiny gasp that was mistaken for the rustling of leaves.

The old schoolmates shared a laugh with one another, a laugh that one shares with friends when they know something the outsider does not.

“He told us. That old sailor friend of yours, he told us all about how the woodcutter liked to kiss boys and how he tricked him into getting him alone in a boat to kiss him. Pretend you’re interested in sailing then you get what you’re really after? Is that how you do it?”

“That’s not what happened,” Pinocchio said, his grip tight on the ax in his hand. Hot tears made his eyes blurry and his heart raced in painful constrictions. He had kept their secret. He had promised not to ruin the sailor’s life. He had done all he could to tame his wild heart.

“Pinocchio the liar,” the young man taunted. “Lying to dear old dad, lying to sailors to get them to kiss you. All you do is lie.” With each accusation, he stepped closer and closer until Pinocchio was pressed against the half-cut tree. He pressed his fingers into Pinocchio’s chest. “Tell me, liar, do you want to kiss me?”

No, Pinocchio never wanted to kiss him. He never even wanted to see him again after this moment. But he was a liar and he had no answer that would satisfy.

The young man laughed, this time a laugh one does boastfully, proudly after he’s beaten down the person they’re laughing at. A laugh that rubbed in the humiliation just a little bit more.

Then that laugh turned into the bray of a donkey. He clapped his palm over his mouth. Or he would have if he still had a hand, for now he had the hoof of a donkey, brown fur sprouting down the length of an arm that was now a leg.

“What have you d-“

His words cut short into another bray, this one of panic and fear.

Helplessly, Pinocchio and the other young men watched as the transformation continued. He screamed fewer and fewer words and brayed more and more until he no longer had a mouth to speak with.

Before their eyes, the son of the blacksmith became a donkey. The only evidence that the beast had once been a young man were the clothes stretched and torn across his body and his eyes that held a human fear, pure and terrified.

The donkey let out a wild cry and took off for the town. His friends remained behind, looking at the woodcutter in shock, for only an enchanter could perform such magic and the town was not known to have an enchanter.

“Imp!” they cried out.

“Monster!” they screamed.

“Devil!” they accused.

The ax was yanked from his hands and a glove came off with it. Wooden fingers hid his face.

The one now wielding the ax looked at the weapon, looked at Pinocchio’s wooden appendages, then back at the ax. A rather fitting and convenient way to dispose of a dangerous enchanter, he surmised, and hefted the ax above his head.

But hooves cannot wield an ax and it fell to the ground. Pinocchio once more watched as two young men went from the son of a baker and the son of a butcher into donkeys. Terror gleamed in their eyes as they bolted for the town.

Pinocchio looked at his wooden fingers. He did not feel any magic within them. He had not wished the boys into donkeys. It had simply happened, just as he was turning into wood.

The little fairy fluttered down from the tree that had hid her from the awful young men.

“Did you do that to them?” he asked her.

She shook her head, her blue dust making a sparkling mound on the forest floor. “An ass becomes an ass. Just as one who tries to subdue his heart becomes wood.”

She pressed her tiny hands to Pinocchio’s racing heart, feeling his pulse.

“You have a strong heart, Pinocchio. Please don’t let it go still.”

Pinocchio cupped his hands, allowing the fairy to rest in his palms. “You’ve seen that it cannot be,” he lamented. His words were heavier than the tree he must finish cutting down. “This is a not a world for one like me.”

“And what of your sailor? What if his heart longs for you? Must he also lie to himself?”

“Let me tell you a story,” Pinocchio said. He set the little fairy on his shoulder and hefted the ax. As he swung steady, powerful swings into the tree, he spoke the tale.

“There were once two boys, young and innocent to this world. They both loved the sea and – they quickly learned – each other. One boy knew the sea better than the other and he taught the boy how to understand it. But the boy, as much as he loved the sea, loved the other boy even more. One night, he had both; the boy and the sea. They sailed out into the night and they shared their first – and only – kiss. The boy thought he would never be happier. But then the other boy learned what happened to sailors who kissed boys.

“Their secret rendezvous in the night did not remain secret and the boy had to deny the boy he’d taken out to the sea if he wanted to be a sailor. For a sailor spends his life with other men and a sailor who kisses men is not the type that sailors want to be around. He had to choose between the boy and the sea and so he put the blame on the boy he had kissed.”

The final blow came and the tree creaked and groaned as it fell to the ground.

“Do you think he’s turning to wood as well?” Pinocchio asked.

The fairy tugged a lock of Pinocchio’s brown hair as she stood. “I do not know his heart, only yours. Is it the same with your new sailor? Is that why you can’t be with him?”

Pinocchio thought of Sinbad, the beloved captain of the ship. His crew looked at him like a dear friend, someone they would follow to the ends of the earth. Would they change their love for him if they knew he had let Pinocchio lay in his bed, a bed too small for them to keep their distance from one another? Would they think differently of their captain whose beard had scratched Pinocchio’s neck as his lips fought their urge to kiss him?

“Just tell me no,” he breathed as Pinocchio lay next to him, his eyes studying every inch of Sinbad’s handsome face. “Tell me no, Pinocchio.”

Pinocchio did not say no. He did not say yes. He said nothing and so Sinbad did not kiss him. Instead, he just stared back at Pinocchio, running his eyes over the freckles dotting his cheeks and nose.

“I see the constellations on you. It puts the night sky to shame.”

Perhaps they already knew this was who their captain was. Perhaps they came from a land that let one have their heart’s desire. Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps…

One as brave as you would fit right in.

But Pinocchio was not brave. He was nothing but a liar.

***

Pinocchio returned that day with his wood to create Sinbad’s figurehead. Three new donkeys leered at him and three fathers searched for their sons long into the night. Pinocchio did not tell the truth, for he feared being thought an enchanter, and when one of the fathers asked if he knew what happened to his son, his legs turned to wood.

Having wooden fingers did indeed make carving difficult for Pinocchio. Often, he found his hands slipping and making the wrong cut, forcing him to change the image or adjust the shape of it. Though, his true hindrance was not knowing what he wanted to make for Sinbad.

The little fairy remained at his side, trying with all her might to inspire him to create the perfect thing for Sinbad. She told him about a princess who left the land to marry a mermaid and thought he should make the figure in her image. But no, Pinocchio did not want to, for it felt as if revealing his heart.

She thought he should make the image of the great beast that had brought them together but Pinocchio was still quite distraught from the whole ordeal and did not think he could stomach the task.

In the end, he consented to make a simple maiden, a woman with all the beauty a son should look for in a wife. The fairy did not like this but Pinocchio was satisfied.

The time came when Sinbad was to return for the figurehead, but Pinocchio did not see those magnificent sails on the horizon. He waited all day and long into the night, but he did not come. Pinocchio returned home, reassuring himself that the sea truly was cruel and would often delay a ship for many days.

The next day, he told himself that Sinbad was off gathering more riches.

The following day, he told himself Sinbad was facing a monster.

The day after, he told himself that Sinbad never planned to return for him.

He told himself he was glad he didn’t come back. His torso became wood.

The little fairy fretted, feeling for his heart. It was still there, beating and breaking. But it was weak.

He was nearly ready to give up his sailor and his dreams.

That night, a horrible storm blew in, bringing with it a ship of the king’s command. A ship that had taken away the first and only sailor Pinocchio had ever kissed. And with them, they brought a tale.

Pinocchio, still with a beating heart that loved the sea, listened to their tale.

The storm was ravaging the sea. Turbulent winds blew ships off course, waves swallowed ships whole, and clouds obscured the guiding stars. And in the center of this storm, there was a ship.

It fought to stay afloat, the men and women battling the sea with fierce desperation. A captain in a brilliant red scarf was seen leading the fight.

Pinocchio’s heart came alive.

“Has anyone gone to help them?” he asked. It was the first time he ever spoke up among the sailors, for he preferred to lurk in the dark corners of the tavern, a listener, never a speaker.

Now, every eye was on him, including the sailor he had once kissed.

“No one is foolish enough to fight that storm,” came an answer. “No, you won’t find a single boat on the sea tonight, save for those poor souls.”

Agreement ran through the tavern. A prayer was all the aid that would go to Sinbad and his crew.

Pinocchio could not remain to listen to their laments over the souls that would be lost that night.

He still had the diamond Sinbad had given him. It was to buy a boat to replace the one lost to the beast’s belly but he did not plan to ever sail again. He was afraid that he was not cut out to be a sailor. But an even greater fear had gripped his heart. One he could not bear.

The little fairy fluttered from her tiny bed Pinocchio had crafted for her as he retrieved the diamond from its place hidden away. “Pinocchio, you can’t go out there. You’re not fit to face a monster such as this.”

“No one else is going to help,” he said, gathering what he thought he’d need. He did not have time to pack properly, nor did he have a clear head with which to think. So he flung all he could into a satchel and bid a silent farewell to his sleeping father.

The sailor he once loved waited for him at the docks. “You always had an eye for sailors.”

Pinocchio held the diamond close to his racing heart. He did not have time to tell all the truths he needed to tell the sailor. Not that he thought it would matter.

“He’s in trouble.”

“You’ll die out there.”

“Don’t pretend to care. I kept my promise, I never said a word to anyone. I would never ruin you, yet you tried to ruin me.”

The sailor’s eyes fell. Rain splattered against his face, drenching his hair that normally curled around his head. “Sailing is all I know. If that was taken from me, what would I become?”

“I became a liar for you. I’ve become this because of you.” He revealed the wooden arm of his, the rain staining it as it fell.

The sailor looked at his arm and understood the magic that had taken hold of Pinocchio. Sadness welled in him and he closed the space between them. His hands cupped Pinocchio’s still fleshy cheeks and drew him close.

“I’ve lied as well,” he admitted. “But I don’t want to, not anymore.”

But Pinocchio did not want to kiss this sailor. He wanted to save the sailor who wore a red scarf and saw the constellations in his face. He stepped from his touch.

“Then tell the truth. But not to me.”

“You can’t save him. The sea is going to take him.”

“I can’t let him die.”

And so, he exchanged the beautiful diamond for the best ship he could get that night. The little fairy huddled within his coat, clinging to his clothing so she wouldn’t get blown away. He begged her to stay behind but she refused to leave him. Instead, he made her promise something.

“If I sink, go to my father. Tell him I’m sorry for everything.”

“You will tell him yourself. We’re going to save Sinbad and bring him to your father.”

Pinocchio forced a smile. “Yes, little fairy. We’re going to come home,” he lied, turning his face into wood. His heart grew a little weaker. It would not last another lie.

***

The sea had no mercy that night. The winds were more brutal than ever before. The waves higher than mountains. But he did not give up. He fought hard though the rain weakened his wooden body. He would not last long.

A brilliant white caught his eyes, bobbing up and down in the treacherous sea. A spot of red moved about. Pinocchio’s heart picked up speed.

But between Pinocchio and Sinbad was a monster so unlike anything Pinocchio had ever seen before. Its face was in the dark clouds. Its arms were the spray of crashing waves. Its cries were the thunderous roars all around them.

Sinbad’s crew were flung into the sea. Their heads bobbed in the dark waters, reaching desperately for the safety of their ship.

Pinocchio angled his sails for more speed.

“Fairy, what can I do?” he yelled.

The little fairy shivered against his wooden neck that no longer offered the warmth of flesh. “The monster was drawn to you,” she shouted back. “It is trying to stop Sinbad from taking you to the sea. The magic turning you into wood is trying to destroy him.”

Pinocchio felt his ever-weakening heart give a shudder. He had thought that only he would be affected by his lies. He never thought how Sinbad would be hurt by it.

“No, this isn’t what I want,” he said, his voice lost to the wind. For the briefest of seconds, it seemed as if the monster had heard him and quieted. But then its fury carried on and more men tumbled over Sinbad’s ship.

“Do you hear me!” Pinocchio screamed. “This is not what I want. I don’t want you to take him!”

This was the moment the sea fought back. For it also loved Sinbad, the sailor who was forever drawn to her no matter what she threw at him. The waves that pummeled the ship now raised the fallen sailors to its solid ground. The wind that fought to keep Pinocchio at bay now carried him with speed to Sinbad.

“I do not want to be a woodcutter. I want to be a sailor. I want to see the world with him. Please, don’t take him from me.”

A truth, finally spoken on his lips, brought an end to the monster. It slunk away, leaving the sea calm once more.

Sinbad waved at the ship that had come to save him and his crew. He knew not yet who his savior to be and was ready to repay them with jewels upon jewels before hurrying to Pinocchio. For him, this month had been long, dreaming of the young woodcutter with the constellations on his cheeks and the stars in his eyes. He had hoped every day of his arduous voyages that Pinocchio would say yes this time.

It was a great surprise for him to see that it was Pinocchio upon the ship that came to his rescue. But then again, he had known a brave heart beat in the woodcutter’s chest.

It was also a great surprise to see the woodcutter made of wood.

But he could not wait another moment. Assured that his crew was safely accounted for, he leapt across the gap between their ships and clambered up the ladder. Pinocchio waited for his embrace.

His body was soddened from the rain, the wood crumbling under the strength of Sinbad’s arms.

“I feared I was too late,” Pinocchio whispered.

“Am I too late?” Sinbad asked, touching a wooden cheek.

Pinocchio looked at the fairy. She squirmed around, shaking the water from her as she did. Her body pressed against Pinocchio’s chest, listening, feeling.

“Your heart still beats, Pinocchio. You know what you must do now.”

Pinocchio gazed upon the sailor that had saved his life and whose life he had saved. The man that showed his heart how to love again. The one who could be his future.

“Yes,” he whispered. “Sinbad, yes. To everything. To sailing away with you. To spending a lifetime with you. To you.”

And he kissed Sinbad the sailor with lips that were no longer made of wood but made of flesh that had longed for this from the moment Sinbad had freed him from the belly of the beast.

For the first time, his heart’s desire was granted and he was free to allow it.

And Sinbad, a sailor who spent his life searching the world for the greatest treasure had finally found it. More than the sacks of gold or the piles of diamonds that amounted to the wealth of a king, he’d never been richer than this very moment as he held the young woodcutter who longed to be a sailor in his arms.

From that day, Pinocchio never told another lie. He told his father he would write every month – at least – and he did. He told the mourning fathers where to find the asses that were their sons. He told the storyteller his story, though he had to admit he preferred Sinbad’s tales to his own, even as they became tales they shared.

The figurehead was mounted to Sinbad’s ship, after a few changes of course. Instead of a serene maiden, the ship boasted the image of a fairy to guide them through the sea as Pinocchio’s little fairy had guided his heart to its desire. Like Pinocchio, she became quite a skilled sailor, though she had to strap herself down in heavy winds.

And so, Pinocchio was no longer a woodcutter. He was a sailor and soon after, a husband, and forever at Sinbad’s side, for every journey and every monster they faced. For he had faced the greatest monster of all and had conquered it.

Golden Beauty Part 2

Caerwyn waited for Belle the next day in the garden they had planted together. The roses were blooming with large petals in white, red, orange, and pink. They were his favorite flowers in the garden because despite their loveliness, they could still cut someone who wasn’t careful. It reminded him of Belle, always carrying her weapon at her hip. And of himself, how even when he was as careful as could be with Belle, he was still dangerous.
The day came and went and she never arrived. Caerwyn tried reassuring himself that Belle wasn’t able to come every day. Perhaps word of Prince Maxen’s presence the day before made her father overprotective and she just couldn’t make it. But then another day passed, and then another. The longer he waited, the less vibrant his flowers were in his eyes. The world itself had lost color without Belle.
His father found him sulking in the garden. He laid a hand on his shoulder and joined him on the ground. Caerwyn’s tail wrapped around his waist and he leaned away from his father’s touch.
“One day, Caerwyn, you’ll understand that people like me – people like you – are not meant for this world. As much as everyone wants a wish granted or a spell bought, they fear what we can do so much more. And so, we must choose our battles wisely. It took me decades to obtain my own security in this world. A security I can only give you at a great and terrible price.” He touched a tusk on Caerwyn’s cheek.
Footsteps interrupted Caerwyn’s response and they turned to the visitors. An old man twisted his cap in his hands, his eyes looking between the two of them with a great uncertainty. He had never seen a creature like Caerwyn and between the father and son, he wasn’t sure who to address. And so, with his head lowered, he fell to his knees and pleaded with the both of them.
“Please, I will offer anything if you save my daughter.”
Behind him were his elder daughters, the same despair in their own eyes. None could believe that Belle was gone, stepping in their place without a moment of hesitation. They were supposed to protect her and they had failed.
Caerwyn recognized them from the image the looking glass had shown him of Belle’s garden. He leapt to his feet, startling them.
“What’s happened to Belle?” he asked, his voice cracking.
It took only one look for realization to dawn on them. For the inventor, it was the sharp claws, for the sisters, it was that worry in his blue eyes.
“You’re the man?” the eldest sister breathed. “The one that Belle’s been meeting all this time?”
The enchanter stepped between them, his face set. “I’m sorry, but I cannot help you.”
“Please,” the inventor begged once more.
“Father,” Caerwyn pressed. “Where is Belle?” he asked the sisters.
“Prince Maxen has taken her to be his bride.”
His heart felt as if it had stopped. As if a hand had reached into his chest and grabbed it, squeezing it until it could no longer beat. Belle would be wedded to the prince. Worse, she would fall in love with the prince. With an enchantment that used his own love for her. She would look at Maxen the way he looked at her and it was too much to bear.
He grabbed his father’s arms. “You have to stop him.”
The enchanter knew what all of this meant to Caerwyn. How deeply ironic and deeply tragic it was for him to have given a fragment of his son’s heart to the man going to marry his son’s love. But the terms of the deal were set and Maxen had made his choice and it would assure the safety of countless others.
The enchanter shook his head slowly. “I’m sorry, my boy. I cannot save her. The bargain was made.”
“Then make a new bargain! Or break this one,” Caerwyn continued, desperation bleeding through his words.
His father looked wounded by them. For Caerwyn did not know that the enchanter’s greatest fear was that the king and queen would go back on their own bargain and steal back the son he loved so very dearly.
“A deal with an enchanter may not be broken easily. Should either party go back, the consequences are dire,” he explained. “But, a bargain may be altered. Something exchanged for something else. And it’s never an easy thing to give up.”
“I have gold and inventions,” the inventor offered. “My own life.”
“I will broker a new deal with the king and queen, should you answer one question.” His eyes fell on Caerwyn, so many unsaid words in his expression. “Who are Caerwyn’s real mother and father?”
The sisters exchanged frowns and the inventor looked over the beastly man before him. “Is that all we must do?”
The enchanter nodded. “You have three guesses and three days. By the third day, Belle will drink the enchantment and fall irreversibly in love with the prince. Then, no one will ever be able to save her.”
“We don’t have time for games!” Caerwyn shouted.
“Those are my conditions,” his father said firmly and went into the house, slamming the door behind him.
And so, Caerwyn told the clever inventor and his clever daughters everything about himself and how he came to be the enchanter’s adopted son. They went home that night to come up with a guess for the following day.
Caerwyn went to his room, stomping his feet loud on the stairs and kicking the door shut. Each step was heavy as he paced, letting the entire house know just how upset he was. He didn’t speak a word to his enchanted things or eat the dinner brought to him.
Eventually, he curled into bed, holding his looking glass close. “Show me Belle.”

---

Belle was given a lavish room and lavish clothes and lavish jewels. Everything to make her into the princess she would become. She had arrived on horseback, seated in front of Maxen who kept his arms tight around her. When they stepped into the castle, she was shoved into the arms of a chambermaid.
“Scrub the filth from her. She’s been galivanting with something quite foul.” He rubbed his thumb across her lips that he so badly wanted to kiss, but the image of them touching the beast made him sick. “Make sure she’s cleaned thoroughly.”
Her skin was scrubbed raw, her simple gown exchanged for something of unnecessary luxury, and she was brought before the king. He looked over his son’s new bride approvingly, though he had that lecherous look she knew so well from the soldiers roaming the streets. Men were all around her, not even the queen present to meet her son’s betrothed. Never before had she felt so scared and only then did she truly appreciate everything her father had done to protect her, even if it was all now in vain.
Despite the new life that awaited her of luxury, one in which she would never be in want for anything ever again, never fearing she would be dragged from her home by a soldier like her mother was, she found herself crying herself to sleep every night.
This was how Caerwyn looked upon her from the looking glass. Her beautiful golden hair splayed across the fine silk bedding, a lovely nightgown covering her even lovelier body. Her face was buried in her arms as she sobbed where no one could hear her and no one would console her. His heart ached miles away, unable to do a single thing to reassure her that he would come for her. No matter the cost, he would give anything for the new bargain.

---

The inventor returned the following day with his daughters with their first guess. They proposed Caerwyn was born to a woman who was rumored to have made a deal with a devil to save her sick child. Caerwyn had told them how often his father mentioned how small he had been when he brought Caerwyn home with him.
He looked to his father for the answer, wondering if he had indeed been born to the poor woman who had succumbed to heartbreak after losing her child.
The enchanter shook his head. “She is not his mother.”
And so, they went home to come up with another guess. Caerwyn reminded them everything he knew then went to his room and looked upon Belle again.
They repeated this the following day, this time guessing that Caerwyn was born to the man who’s second wife had tried to get his children lost in the forest to be eaten by animals. Caerwyn recoiled at the thought that such horrid people could’ve conceived him.
Once again, the enchanter shook his head and said, “He is not Caerwyn’s father.”
And once again, the inventor and his daughters returned home after hearing a third time all that Caerwyn knew about himself. They had a final guess and a final chance to save Belle.
Caerwyn held the looking glass tight in his hands, his tears falling on the image of Belle, still trapped in the castle, a day away from drinking an enchantment that would make her forget her love for Caerwyn.
He cursed himself for never trying to find his parents before this moment. If he had been searching the previous years of his life, he would surely be closer to the answer than he was now. But then, an idea came into his head, but he needed a clever inventor with clever daughters to help him.

---

Caerwyn stood farther away from his home than he ever had before. The looking glass was heavy in his satchel but his heart felt even heavier. For fear of the unknown had kept him always near his home. Fear of a cruel king and queen that his father always warned him about, always afraid they would steal him away. But then something else swelled in his heart, lifting the burden of fear just enough that he was able to take one step after the other and search for the inventor’s home.
It wasn’t too difficult, not with Belle’s map that she had left behind one day and the enchanted mirror to guide his way. Soon enough, he found himself at the gate of Belle’s beautiful garden, and he knocked his beastly knuckles against the wood.
The eldest daughter recoiled at the sight of him for only but a brief moment, then her eyes softened. It wasn’t herself to blame, for Caerwyn was something to recoil from. But Belle’s sister saw the love in his eyes for Belle and did not fear him. She let him into their garden where Belle’s family searched through every story and every bit of knowledge they had in pursuit of the man and woman who had traded Caerwyn for a wish. They had an array of resources, from books to rumors to neighbors but Caerwyn had something far better.
He offered them the looking glass but with the solemn explanation that when he tried to search for his mother and father, the glass had only shown him the enchanter. The inventor took the mirror first.
“Show me Caerwyn’s mother,” he asked.
The mirror’s image turned cloudy then returned to reflect the inventor. Caerwyn chewed his lip, wondering if this meant his mother was no longer alive.
The youngest of the remaining sisters took it next. “Show me who gave Caerwyn to the enchanter.”
Once more, the image did not show them anything.
The next youngest took the looking glass. “Show me the man and woman who traded their son for a wish.”
The glass went cloudy then showed a string of images. Many faces were strangers but a few were recognizable. But they only had one guess left and there were several people shown to them.
The eldest daughter held the looking glass, thinking long over her request.
“A bargain changed for something else,” she muttered. Then, she lifted the glass and asked, “Show me the king and queen.”
The image first showed the king, a man known for his overabundance in lavish things. He enjoyed a banquet before him, cheerfully engaging with those around him. Caerwyn peered at the image, catching a glimpse of Belle at the end of the table, seated next to Maxen. But then the image quickly shifted to the queen.
She sat alone at her spinning wheel. Dark circles hung under her eyes that were glassy and unseeing. For the enchanter had not warned her the greater price for magic. Anyone could learn to spin gold from straw, but only those who were like the enchanter, born with magic in themselves, would never lose themselves to the toll that enchantments bore on a person.
The enchanter said that spinning helped to calm his mind, but it had long ago ensnared the queen’s mind. Her bargain had taken its toll but a new one could be made for the return of Belle.
The inventor and his daughters looked to Caerwyn, for they were clever and had found the answer to the enchanter’s question. But now Caerwyn had a new choice to make. The only bargain that would save Belle would deliver him to the very place his father had always feared him to be. For surely they would demand the return of their firstborn, the child to take the place of his mother who had traded him for a wish. A mother who had never thought to love him.
The inventor let Caerwyn stay with them that night and the sisters gave him Belle’s empty room. Every corner smelled like her and everything in the room was everything he expected to be there. Books were scattered, some left open as she moved on from one story to another, maps tacked onto her walls with arrows pointing to the places she would someday see for herself, inventions taken apart with each piece meticulously labelled. At her bedside, a rose withered in its vase, petals piling atop the book Caerwyn had given her. She had laid in this very bed, reading the stories he treasured. The stories that had saved a woman’s life.

---

In the morning, Caerwyn returned to his home with the inventor and his daughters. The enchanter waited in the doorway, his eyes saddened with the knowledge that they had figured out the answer.
The eldest of the daughters stepped forward to answer for them, since it was she who had deduced it. “Caerwyn is the firstborn son of the king and queen and true heir to the kingdom.”
The enchanter dipped his head. “You’ve answered my question. Now you know the bargain that can be altered. A son,” he gestured to Caerwyn, “For a daughter,” he raised his other hand to the inventor.
The decision weighed heavy on Caerwyn, for he would be sacrificing everything to bring Belle home. He would lose her and his father, and become the beast chained to the spinning wheel, continuously bringing wealth to the kingdom he would never inherit. He thought of Belle’s unspoken wish, the one he believed would be used to lift his curse. Perhaps if he was traded not as a beast, but as a man, he would have a chance at living as a prince. But no. He had learned his father’s enchantments and the kingdom needed gold to more than it needed another prince.
Caerwyn turned to the inventor, towering over him. Even when he didn’t mean to be, he was intimidating and beastly. But his eyes were soft and so very sad. “I only ask one thing for returning Belle,” he said gently. “That she be allowed to see the world.”
The inventor was brought to tears, realizing he would get his daughter back. She had given herself up in her sisters’ place but Caerwyn would now take hers. He nodded fervently.
The enchanter looked upon his son, whom he had long ago promised to do anything for. And his son wanted nothing more than to save the woman he loved from an accursed life married to a man she did not love. And so, he would have to lose the son he had longed for his entire life.

---

An audience with the king was something the enchanter never expected to demand, but it was easily given. For the enchanter had already graced the king with more gold than he could ever spend, try as he might, and he was eager for another exchange.
The inventor brought only his eldest daughter for the exchange and it was only by her insistence that he brought her along.
They, along with Caerwyn, looked in awe at the magnificence of the castle. Gold plated every column, dazzled from every chandelier, and adorned every coat. Once more, the queen was absent from meeting with the audience for she hadn’t left the spinning wheel in over a decade.
Maxen looked upon the inventor whose daughter he had stolen away and his arm tightened its hold on his soon to be bride. In hours, she was to drink the enchantment and they would be wedded in the morning. He was growing very impatient.
Belle looked upon her father first, relief swelling in her heart at the sight of him and her sister. Then her eyes fell on Caerwyn and she longed to run to him. For him to lift her into his strong arms and take her away from this place.
“The devil returns,” the king greeted from his throne.
The enchanter only nodded, for he did not bow to any king as he was not bound to any man of this world. “I have made many deals for you and Prince Maxen. My services have brought wealth to your once dying kingdom. And I have given your son an enchantment to finally have his bride.”
“All given to us by a fair deal,” the king asserted, growing suspicious. “Do you bring this beast as a pet now?”
“I come to amend a deal we made many years ago.” He beckoned Caerwyn forward. “A son for a spinning wheel that makes gold from hay.”
The king sneered at the sight of the monster before him. “That is no son of mine.”
“Do not be fooled by the simple enchantment, for this is surely the very child I was given.” With a tap to Caerwyn’s forehead, the enchantment fell away, revealing the young man Caerwyn truly was.
Hair vanished, revealing a strong jaw. Hands replaced large paws. Only his brilliant blue eyes were unchanged. Though the transformation was but brief, everyone who looked upon Caerwyn saw Maxen’s double. Brothers who had never known one another yet who shared a face beneath the enchanter’s spell.
Maxen’s own blue eyes, which lacked the kindness of Caerwyn’s, burned with anger at the beast. His fingers dug into Belle’s arm, remembering how she had kissed him. Maxen always prided himself to be the most handsome in the land and then he saw Caerwyn’s true face. It was not right.
The king, though, was quite amused. He clapped his hands at the show. “Clever devil, you are! Disguising my son with such a hideous enchantment. But as you see, I have a proper son, I’ve no need for him. I’d rather keep the spinning wheel.”
“That is not my bargain,” the enchanter said. “I’ve come to propose an alteration to our deal. Caerwyn for Belle.”
The room went silent. All that was heard was the gasp that came from Belle. Caerwyn tried to reassure her with a smile but Maxen just held her tighter.
“Caerwyn has learned many things from me, least of all how to spin gold from hay. The queen has been driven mad from the spinning wheel in the tower. She will not last much longer. But Caerwyn can take her place, producing more gold in a month that she would in the short time she has left. In exchange, Belle is released back to her family and Maxen must find a new bride.”
“Absolutely not!” Maxen screamed, jumping to his feet. “Belle is to be my bride and I will make no such deal.”
The enchanter ignored him, staring at the king. “The man whose deal I’ve come to alter must decide.”
The king was already grinning. All it took was the promise of even more gold for him to agree without consulting his son on the matter. With all the gold they were going to have, Maxen could buy as many brides as he wanted.
And so, Caerwyn took the place of Belle as prisoner of the castle. Maxen was enraged by the exchange though his shouts were unheeded by the king. Belle returned to her father and her sister. The clever eldest daughter of the inventor hugged Belle close and whispered in her ear the warnings of the enchanter.
“Whoever goes back on a deal with an enchanter shall suffer dire consequences.”
Belle was as clever as her sister and so she began to scheme. She asked for a final goodbye to Caerwyn. Her arms wrapped around him, burying her face in the crook of his neck, letting her tears fall.
“Do you have your mirror?” she whispered and he nodded. He slipped it to her arms and she held it out for everyone to see, particularly Maxen. “Keep this close to you,” she said for all to hear. “So that you may see me anytime you wish.”
She lifted herself onto her toes and pressed a gentle kiss to his lips.
Caerwyn shared an even briefer goodbye with his father before he was dragged away to his new home where he would spin gold for the rest of his life. The son he had longed for all his life was gone and he was once more alone. He turned away from the inventor, his many thanks falling on deaf ears. A daughter for a son and he was left empty.

---

Caerwyn looked at his mother for the first time. The haggard woman had aged far beyond her years and her blind eyes could not look upon the son she had traded for a wish, subsequently handing her life over to the accursed spinning wheel. The enchanter’s words rang true for she perished that night when she was pulled away from the wheel.
Caerwyn was chained to the room with a metal band on his ankle. He sat upon the stool his mother had spent the last of her life at. The wheel was no different from the one he had at home. Straw littered the floor, nearly knee deep, and he begun to spin. He found the perfect spot to prop his enchanted mirror so that as he spun, he could look upon Belle.
She returned home with her father and sister, crying for her love that she had to leave behind. In all this, he still hadn’t stopped her tears, but at least she could live her life and not lose her heart to the cruel prince.
When evening came, Caerwyn made a bed in the straw and held the mirror close. All was dark but the image of her until the door opened, spilling in a stream of light. Caerwyn looked up to see the prince standing over him. He looked down at the beast with disgust and rage in his eyes, for he had lost his bride. No amount of gold would purchase him a wife as beautiful as Belle. He snatched the mirror from Caerwyn’s hand and locked him in the tower.
Belle, clever as she was, expected it not to take long for that very thing to happen. For her tears were not for Caerwyn to see but for Maxen. The prince would look at his lost bride sobbing over the beast, a man who looked exactly like Maxen beneath the spell, and the man who was firstborn to the king and queen.
Maxen was a jealous thing, above all else. It was why he disposed of women so easily when they did not return his affection. It was why he always sought to keep those around him beneath him. Why his only friend was still nothing more than a peasant in his eyes. Caerwyn had warned that the enchanted mirror could lead a person into madness and it was only a matter of days before it ensnared Maxen’s mind.
Clinging the love enchantment close to his heart, he raced back to Belle’s village to retrieve what was his. When the doors to her home were flung open and soldiers stormed in, destroying anything in their path, the inventor and his daughters could do nothing to stop him from grabbing Belle and returning to the castle with her.
His father, so wrapped in merriment that was supposed to be from Maxen’s wedding, did not see the prince carrying Belle into the castle and up to the tower where Caerwyn was made prisoner. Belle remained as calm as she could manage, hoping that the deal would be broken soon and Caerwyn and she would be free.
Caerwyn was startled from his seat when the prince stormed into the room, dragging Belle behind him. Wild fury raged in his eyes, his hair disheveled and sweat coating his brow.
“You think you can steal what’s mine?” he spat. “A beast as hideous as you will never be a prince. You will never be worthy of her love.”
He pulled the bottle from his coat and bit the cork off. Caerwyn lunged to stop him by the chain caught and he was just out of reach. Maxen grabbed Belle by the hair and forced the liquid into her mouth. She coughed as much as she could, but some escaped down her throat.
Maxen let out a slow laugh, turning to the beast who struggled and snarled at him, fighting for his beloved. “You’ll watch as she falls in love with me.” He retrieved the second vial but as he looked at his hand, his eyes widened.
Hair began to grow in thick patches, his nails turning to claws. He released Belle and tried to pull the hair from him but he yelped in pain. Slowly, more patches erupted along his arms, over his chest, down his legs. He cried out as his legs shifted and shaped into that of a wolf’s. A tail ripped from his back, tusks jutted from his cheeks, his nose elongated.
As Maxen transformed, so did Caerwyn. Just as the prince shifted into beast, the beast shifted into man.
Maxen looked at himself in the enchanted mirror, seeing his horrible face that finally matched those horrible eyes of his. Caerwyn never truly looked a beast but Maxen was nothing less than one. He screamed and wailed at his accursed self, ramming his body into the magic spinning wheel. With his beastly arms, he threw it against the wall, shattering it into splinters.
“What have you done!” he screamed at Caerwyn. “What have you made me?”
“You broke the deal,” Belle answered. “One must never go back on a deal with an enchanter.”
Maxen let out a horrible cry, something that was truly monstrous. He lunged at Caerwyn with a splintered piece of the wheel.
Caerwyn was not a fighter but he was an enchanter. Maxen was thrown against a window that shattered. His body nearly toppled over and Caerwyn reached out to grab him. Maxen looked down at the sharp rocks far below him then at his horrible new hands. With a kick to Caerwyn’s chest, he let himself fall, for if he could not be the most handsome in the land, he could not be.
Belle ran to Caerwyn and he enveloped her in his human arms. Fur did not scratch her and a tail did not brush against her. Fingers slipped though her hair without fear of harming her and cheeks turned scarlet for the first time.
Belle looked up at his familiar yet new face. His blue eyes suited him and a single dimple dotted his left cheek. She touched it, remembering a tusk was once there.
“Caerwyn…you’re the true heir to this kingdom,” she whispered.
Indeed it was so. Caerwyn hadn’t given that a single thought, never thinking that he would inherit this land. Maxen was the rightful prince, not he.
He shook his head. “I don’t want this. I want to see the world with you.”
And so they fled back to the enchanter’s home. When Maxen was found, all thought him to be the beast Caerwyn who flung himself from the tower in madness. The prince was never to be found and with his spinning wheel destroyed, the king could not make any more gold. News of this spread far and wide in no time and allies turned to enemies, for a friendship bought in riches was lost as quickly as it was gained.
The king, who had adorned himself in the most lavish of things, lost his head when he had no more money to pay for his protection. Cruel soldiers became crueler as they sought out gold to compensate for their losses, but a helpful band of merry men had recently ventured into the kingdom and defended the defenseless.
Caerwyn returned to his father. The enchanter embraced his dear son and the enchanted things welcomed him home with Belle. But Caerwyn did not remain long, for he told his father that he and Belle wanted to travel the world and see the beautiful places in the stories they read.
Though it brought great sadness to him, the enchanter agreed. “I have a friend who can bring you along. It’s a dangerous world out there, my son.”
Caerwyn looked at Belle. “Which is why we must be brave.”
“I have a wish,” Belle said. Caerwyn was taken aback, for she had promised to never ask a wish from his father. “If you are to turn Caerwyn back into a beast, then make me one as well.”
The enchanter smiled. “Caerwyn has lived long enough as a beast. I’ve done all I can to protect him but now the time as come that he must be on his own.”
And so, with sad goodbyes but promises to return, Caerwyn and Belle prepared to finally see the world. Caerwyn left his enchanted mirror with his father so that he may see them again. The inventor gave Belle a music box with dancing figurines of him and his daughters so that she may remember them always.
On the morning they were to leave, a thief named Robin and an enchantress named Ciana came to guide them through the land. Ciana thanked the enchanter for his powerful sleeping enchantment that had put the terrible monster to sleep but there were still many evils in the world.
The enchanter gave his son a final embrace. “Should you ever find yourself in trouble, call my name and I will be there for you.”
“You’ve never told me your name.”
He smiled. He was not an imp or a trickster or a devil. He was simply Rumpelstiltskin.

Golden Beauty Part 1

The firstborn son of the king and queen was never meant to inherit their large and newly prosperous kingdom. Long before his birth, he was promised to another, a deal that gave the queen the power to spin gold from straw, bringing more wealth than the kingdom had ever seen before. A firstborn was a small price to pay for endless gold and soon enough, a real heir was born to the king and queen.
He was born into this world too early, a small and fragile thing, as if he knew that he was given parents who did not love him. Nameless, he was given to the enchanter, completing their terms of agreement. The magical spinning wheel was theirs to keep for all time and the enchanter finally had the son he’d always wanted. Some would call him cruel for demanding a baby for a form of payment but the enchanter saw it as a mercy. For whomever would take the bargain surely would never love the child as the child deserved to be loved. He had proposed the exchange many, many times, but the queen had been the first to accept.
None knew the true name of this enchanter and so he was given many names: imp, trickster, devil. But to the young boy, he was simply known as ‘father.’
The enchanter placed a curse on the child, giving him the hideous form of a beast. Horrible fangs grew from his teeth, the snout of a warthog was his nose, with two little tusks jutting out. His hands were as hairy as the rest of his body, with sharp claws in place of nails. His legs were the haunches of a wolf and the tail of a fox would wiggle indignantly anytime the boy was annoyed or curl up when he was embarrassed and wrap around him when he was afraid. But beneath the fur and the fangs and the claws, he kept his blue human eyes. If anyone took a moment to look at him, to really look at him, they would see the eyes of a boy who wanted a friend more than anything in the world.
The enchanter named him Caerwyn. He raised him with all the love he had for the boy, a child he’d been waiting for his whole life. Even the curse upon the boy was out of love, for he knew that should the king and queen ever discover that their unwanted son learned the enchantments and skills of his adoptive father, they would surely find a way to go back on their deal. But who could ever learn to love a beast, besides the man who made him into one?
Caerwyn lived a simple life in a simple manor of enchantments. His candelabra would light the room as he entered. His clock would tell him the time with its grandfatherly voice. His teacup would giggle when his hairy lips brushed over the rim. Everything in the home was alive and they loved Caerwyn nearly as much his father did. This was his only company in the world.
Beyond the little haven the enchanter made for him and his son was the domain of the king and queen, a dangerous place even for one who was not the rightful heir to the throne. The new wealth brought by the spinning wheel had saved the kingdom from certain destruction by their neighboring kingdoms. They had run out of gold to pay their soldiers and create their weapons but now they had an overabundance, and every young man in the kingdom lined up to become a soldier. This meant that even the cruelest and greediest were given a power they were never meant to have and the ordinary folk of the kingdom had a new foe to fear.
The young women of the kingdom were always in danger. When a soldier came by on the street, she would duck her head to avoid catching his lusty gaze, hoping that she wouldn’t have to spend that evening with straw stabbing into her back or a sweaty hand pressed over her mouth with her body against the walls of a barrack. But the soldiers carried horrible weapons that made resistance a deadly thing.
Even a clever inventor who lived in wealth of both gold and family was not spared by the cruelties of the soldiers. When his youngest was but a mere child, his beloved wife was stolen from him and never returned. He did not know if she was still alive, somewhere in the kingdom, and wedded to another, or if she had fought back and was killed the same night she was taken. Deep down in his heart, he knew that she had struggled.
The inventor had four beautiful daughters, but his youngest was the most beautiful of them all. His beloved wife had called her Belle from the moment she laid eyes on her daughter. After his wife was taken, the inventor sheltered his precious daughters, doing everything he could to keep them out of the soldier’s paths. He built a garden for them to enjoy the sun, he brought them books so they could explore new worlds, and he created beautiful things for them so as to not feel so lonely. He invented a box with a dancing ballerina, a puppet who could sing for them, and a little toy soldier that protected the ballerina rather than harmed her.
The sisters were fiercely protective of the youngest daughter, for she truly was the most beautiful of them all and rumors of beauty were just as dangerous as strutting one’s self before a line of lecherous soldiers. For there were things in this world far worse than them. There were tales of a creature roaming the lands, preying on the young and beautiful maidens and stealing their lives for itself. But much nearer and much more threatening was the young prince of the king and queen.
Word had spread that Prince Maxen was in want of a wife but the young women knew the stories of the prince. How he was even crueler than Prince Aven who had thrown his fiancée to the streets mere days before they were to wed and stripped her of everything she had. Prince Maxen not as merciful, disposing of a young woman in more permanent ways.
The sisters knew it was only a matter of time before the prince heard about Belle and they did everything they could to delay it. If a man ever stumbled into their garden, they would drive him out with the weapons their father made for them. They would make Belle keep a hood over her head of fair hair, keeping her lovely face in the shadows. They would even use their makeup to make Belle look less pretty.
But it all was done in vain, for Belle could never be content trapped within their small garden. She wanted nothing more than to venture out into the great wide world. The books were no longer enough and she wanted to see and feel and touch the world for herself.
And so, Belle would slip away from her father and sisters any chance she could and wander out into the forest. She knew the dangers of the town, as well as the forest, and always carried a weapon on her during her ventures.
Belle never imagined she would meet someone and Caerwyn never thought that someone other than his father would ever look upon him without fear.
But that was just what happened one early afternoon when Belle had sneaked away while her sisters were preparing a pot of tea and sandwiches to enjoy the cool spring day. She had explored every bit of the forest to the right of her home, all the way to the main road which she never dared to cross.
So today, she went left. Just as rumors about her and her sisters eked from their garden, so did rumors make their way in, slipping through slats in the wood and skimming through the trees. One such rumor that intrigued her was that of the manor set against the sloping mountainside, tucked just beyond the reaches of the king and queen’s domain. This was said to be the home of the famous enchanter whom none dared to cross. His reputation was the only reason the land wasn’t part of the sprawling kingdom that dragged its claws further and further, bloating itself.
Belle didn’t plan to cross into the enchanter’s territory, she only wanted to see. Of course she would like to knock on his door and ask for a wish but she was much too clever for such a foolish thing. For a wish was never free and would cost her far too much, even if that wish was to bring her mother home.
No, she would simply look then walk away.

---

Caerwyn was used to trespassers. They came almost every day and they always recoiled at the sight of him. Those that had simply gotten lost and didn’t mean to find the manor promptly fled but those who had sought out Caerwyn’s father managed to keep their fear in check and ask the beastly young man where they could find the enchanter. It was always the same. None ever came to see him and every one of them was eager to leave his presence. Even if they knew that he could give them the enchantments they sought out, they would rather see the imp or the trickster or the devil. At least the enchanter had a human face, even if it had an unsettling look to it.
When Caerwyn heard the familiar clopping of hooves, he tucked his looking glass away. After one of his enchanted toys was stolen by a visitor when he was a child, he no longer trusted them to see the amazing things his simple belongings could perform.
Baethan, one of the palace guards who frequented the manor, sneered down at him. Caerwyn hated him for the simple fact that he was Prince Maxen’s best friend and therefore thought himself superior to everyone around him. But being the prince’s closest confidant left him with the task of errands such as pestering the enchanter for potions and enchantments. Caerwyn’s father seldom agreed to the requests and his fees were always exorbitant. But these were small prices to pay for a prince of a king and queen who could spin gold from hay.
Caerwyn sneered in return, but only when Baethan’s back was turned. Somewhere beneath all his fur was a scar from when Baethan caught him rolling his eyes. Sometimes, it still itched.
Not in the mood to listen to Baethan’s pathetic negotiations for yet another enchantment the prince fancied at the moment, Caerwyn jumped over the stone wall separating their land from the kingdom and wandered into the thick forest. His father always warned him to be careful, for the king and queen hated trespassers on their land just as much as the enchanter hated trespassers on his own. But the only people who ever ventured here were either intent on seeing the enchanter or merely lost.
Never had someone come to simply look at the manor without want for something else. And so, when Caerwyn saw the beautiful young woman staring at him, he thought her to be a lost traveler. Usually, he couldn’t care less for them, but she was a young woman, alone in a dangerous land.
She took a step back, snapping a twig beneath her foot. Caerwyn’s chest swelled, waiting for the fear in her eyes as she fled from him, screaming about a monster in the forest. But no, she lifted the skirt of her dress and bowed to him. She bowed to him, the beastly creature that everyone else detested.
“Forgive me…Lord,” she tested, “If I have trespassed on your land. I did not mean to do so.”
Caerwyn felt as if his heart were beating faster than a hummingbird’s wings. Other than the brief demands to see his father, no one spoke to him. And he only ever held conversations with his father and his furniture. If his cheeks were smooth, they would surely be red as apples as he thought about how ridiculous it sounded that he spoke with his furniture.
“Actually, my land starts on the other side of that wall,” Caerwyn said, pointing over his shoulder. “And I’m not a Lord. At least, I don’t think so, since we’re not really part of the kingdom.”
“Enchanter, then?” she asked.
Ah, so she thought he was his father. Of course, she came to see him. Caerwyn lowered his eyes. “The enchanter is with another client at the moment, but I can take you to him as soon as he’s free.”
She shook her head fervently. “No, that’s not necessary. I…I don’t have anything to trade for a wish. I only came to see if it was true that he lived here.”
Caerwyn frowned, an expression that made his beastly face more animalistic, even if he tried not to let it. But his snout would turn up, showing off his fangs. “Why see if he’s here if you’re not going to ask for a wish?”
Her cheeks turned rosy. Everything about her was delicate and human. Everything he wasn’t. Her blonde hair was pleated over her shoulder, her hazel eyes bright as a citrine jewel. She had a small nose, curved red lips, and a smooth jaw. She was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.
She reached into her satchel at her side and unfolded a map. She turned it to him, showing the nearby town which he’d never seen for himself. Colorings and markings were made all over the map, including a large black X just outside the town. The mountainside where Caerwyn lived was unmarked. Her finger tapped that barren place.
“I haven’t explored this area yet,” she explained. “I wanted to see it for myself.”
He stepped closer without thinking and paused, afraid he’d scare her away. But she didn’t back away from him. For the first time, someone who wasn’t his father didn’t recoil from him, so he continued getting closer. He did notice the weapon strapped to her hip so he made sure to keep his movements slow and gentle. His claw scratched against the unmarked area on the opposite side, just beyond where her markings were abruptly cut short.
“What about here?” he asked.
Her body tensed and she quickly folded the map. “I can’t go beyond the road,” she muttered.
He cocked his head. He wasn’t allowed to go places, but why should she not? No one would see her and think ‘monster.’
Without the map between them, he realized just how close he’d gotten to her. His snout twitched at the smell of her. It was like she was made of flowers but there was also the scent of grease and metal and smoke.
“Is the enchanter like you?” she asked, peering around him to look upon the manor.
Caerwyn swallowed. It always came back to his father. “No, he looks nothing like me.”
She returned her gaze to him, her bright eyes travelling across his face. He felt ashamed of his snout and the tusks jutting out in a lopsided way. He’d noticed it one day when staring at his own face and his looking glass tried to console him, saying that many people had lopsided ears or only had a dimple on one cheek and not the other. He’d scoffed, wishing he had one dimple. At least he took care to keep his fangs cleaned every day and always scraped the dirt from his claws every night. If he wasn’t going to look human, he was certainly going to act like one. A clean one at that. His tail wrapped around his waist as she scrutinized him.
“If the enchanter doesn’t look like you, is this a curse?”
He scratched at the raised scar on his arm, the end of his tail flicking apprehensively. “My father did it so that the king and queen would never steal me away.”
Her eyes went wide for a second. “Why would they steal you away?”
He motioned her to follow him. He climbed over the wall with ease then turned to help her. His pulse quickened when her small hand touched his and he kept his grip gentle, afraid of hurting her.
“Are you sure the enchanter won’t be angry?” she whispered as she brought one leg over, then the other. She had a dark green cloak over her blue dress, the skirt of which she had to lift to her knees to make the climb.
Caerwyn averted his eyes, not sure why just looking at her legs sent a trill through him. “We get visitors all the time. The rumors about him being a devil are just to weed them out. Imagine if he was known as a kind enchanter?” he chuckled to himself at the thought of the entire kingdom lining at his doorstep. They would never get a moment of peace.
She didn’t draw her hand from his and he led her to the back of the manor. Though it was true there were a lot of visitors, he never actually got any. He wasn’t sure what his father would do or say about him bringing a young woman into the manor for anything other than a service.
Best to air on the side of caution, he concluded, and brought her in through the kitchen. He completely forgot that practically everything was alive and his teacup bounced when he walked in.
“Who’s that?” it asked in its small voice.
Caerwyn scooped the cup and held it to his chest, muffling its voice. But she peered around him.
“Did that cup just speak?”
As Caerwyn flustered with an answer, the cup squirmed until it could manage an, “I sure did!”
Her brows raised, her eyes alight in wonder. She offered her hands and Caerwyn set the cup in them. She brought it so close that its handle nearly touched her nose.
“Brilliant!” she said in a whisper. “My father could never do something like this.”
The cup wriggled in her hand. “Is your father an enchanter too?”
She shook her head, touching her finger to the chip on its rim. “He’s an inventor. He makes incredible things but nothing quite like you.”
The cup spun around to Caerwyn. “I like her.”
Once again, Caerwyn blushed beneath his fur. He moved the cup back onto the counter. “I’m going to show her the spinning wheel. But if my father comes.” He pressed his finger to his lips. The cup bounced in response and he led her further into the home, taking her upstairs.
Everything wanted to stop and talk with her, excited to see the visitor. He had to constantly shush them until they reached the attic at the very top.
Straw covered the floor in heaps, a spinning wheel set next to the single window. A golden thread glinted in the sunlight, coiling into a basket. Though they were never wanting for money, his father often came to spin. He said it helped clear his mind. He also taught the magic to Caerwyn, saying that it was a simple form of magic and the more he practiced, the more enchantments he would learn.
Caerwyn sat at the seat and continued the unfinished thread. As straw was spun in, gold emerged. Belle knelt and lifted a twine of it, feeling it between her fingers.
“My father fears that the king and queen would steal me away for my enchantments. I’m not nearly as good as he is, but I’m also not as scary as he is. At least, not on the inside.” He gestured at himself. “Outside, I’m hideous enough to scare them away.”
He averted his eyes from her as he spoke. He had come to accept that he must look this way for his own good. It didn’t make it any easier to say out loud. Especially to the first person to ever let him hold her hand.
“I don’t think you’re hideous,” she said gently.
His tail flicked, heart racing. But it had to be a joke. A cruel, cruel joke.
“What’s your name?” she asked, still kneeling on the other side of the wheel. He glanced over, his toes curling in his shoes.
“Caerwyn,” he answered.
She smiled, letting the name sink in. “I think that name is perfect for you.”
“And yours?”
“Belle.”
Belle. It suited her far better than his own name suited him. His father and the furnishings were the only ones who ever used it. Everyone else just muttered things like animal, monster. Beast. Caerwyn was a name meant for a person, not the accursed thing he was.
Belle glanced out the window and leapt to her feet. The sun had sunk low, the day growing very late before she’d even realized.
“I’m sorry, but I have to go.”
Caerwyn’s heart sank. He foolishly wished she could stay forever but of course she would have to leave. She had found the enchanter’s home and there were many more places to explore.
He guided her back down the stairs, everything calling to her once more. She seemed sorry to have to go and not speak to them. When they reached the wall, he stepped over first and helped her once again. He swallowed, wondering if this would be the last time he would ever hold her hand.
He walked as far as he dared but hesitated to leave her alone. As if reading his mind, she tapped the weapon at her hip and winked.
“I’ll be fine.” She turned, then paused and glanced over her shoulder. “Would it be possible to come back? To see you again?”
Caerwyn’s snout flared, his eyes wide. He couldn’t speak so he just nodded.
She returned a smile. “I don’t know exactly when, but I will as soon as I can.”
He waved as he watched her go, staying until she vanished in the forest. When she was out of sight and – hopefully – out of earshot, he threw a fist in the air, leaping as high as he could with a shout.
This gesture made the palace guard watching from the distance sneer and he raced back to the palace to tell the prince at least one bit of good news.

---

Belle’s sisters were upset – as they always were – when she returned. They promised to keep a closer eye on her next time but she knew she would find a way to sneak away once more. Only the next time, she would try even harder to slip away and see Caerwyn again. She wanted so much to meet all the things in his home and to spend a day just talking with him.
Other than his eyes, his voice was the most human thing about him. When she first saw him, she thought it would be guttural and rough, but it was gentle and soft, with a few hiccups as he was coming into manhood, but it was pleasant nonetheless.
Her sisters watched her humming to herself as she readied for bed that evening and they were quick to figure out her secret.
The eldest stood before her, arms crossed, while her other two sisters sat at either side of her. “You’ve met a man, haven’t you?” she asked.
Belle flushed, giving herself away in an instant.
“She has!” the second eldest exclaimed.
“He’s not a soldier, is he?” the third whispered.
“Of course not,” Belle replied.
“But a man likes to gloat to other men,” the eldest said seriously.
“He’s not like that.”
“How long have you known him?” her sister asked, grabbing her arm.
“You haven’t told him where you live, have you?” the other asked, grabbing her other arm.
Belle felt as if she would be torn between the two of them. Her oldest sister knelt, cupping Belle’s cheeks in her hands. “Belle, we’re only trying to protect you. So that what happened to mother won’t happen to you.”
She pulled her arms free and pushed her sister back. “So what, I become an old maid wandering the garden until I wither and die?”
Her sisters all sighed. The eldest took Belle’s hands. “Maybe if you brought him to meet father?”
Belle lowered her eyes. She hadn’t been frightened by Caerwyn because she expected something magical like him. And when she learned he wasn’t the enchanter, she wasn’t frightened because he had those lovely blue eyes that saw the world with a veil of sadness over them.
But her father and sisters would surely be frightened by him. Even if his form would scare off soldiers and his enchantments could keep her safe, would they ever see beyond the beast?
Her sisters relented, thinking they had talked reason into her when they’d simply given her more reason to keep Caerwyn a secret. Maybe there was one wish she could ask the enchanter. It could even be worth whatever the cost. There were things she could offer, should she ever build up the courage.

---

Caerwyn had expected to wait weeks, even months, to see Belle again, but she returned two days later. His teacup would be quite excited, as it had asked him nearly every second of the day when Belle would return, almost revealing his secret to his father. He had to wriggle his hairy lip against the cup to keep it quiet.
Her satchel bounced heavily at her hip and she paused at the wall. He sprinted over and helped her up. He thought it was out of politeness, waiting to be invited into their land, but he liked to imagine she wanted to touch him as much as he wanted to touch her. Of course, he was only imagining that.
“I didn’t expect you back so soon,” he admitted, leading her to the kitchen.
“Well, when I see an opportunity,” she explained.
The cup bounced with joy when it saw her. “You’re back, you’re back!”
She laughed and scooped it up. “I couldn’t stay away.”
“Would you care for tea?” Caerwyn offered. The cup gasped excitedly, hoping she’d say yes, then nearly leaping from her hand when she did. Caerwyn took it from her before it fell. “I’m sorry, everything around here has only had me and my father to talk to.”
He set the tea kettle over a flame that sparked from his fingertips. It giggled as the water boiled within it.
“It’s been ages since a lovely young lady such has yourself has come into this home,” the kettle said.
“What of your mother?”
Caerwyn paused as he scooped tea leaves into a bag. “My father says that she traded me for a wish,” he said quietly.
Belle stopped admiring a plate that was admiring her back. “Traded?”
“My father asks a great price for his enchantments. I was one of them.”
He gave Belle his teacup, using one of the many others for himself. She pressed her fingers to the warm sides and brought the cup to her lips, blowing the steam slowly. As she did, her eyes roamed over Caerwyn’s face. It was impossible to forget what he looked like, but possible to notice something different about him each time she saw him, like the patch of fur just under his right ear that was a few shades lighter than the rest. She thought back on his words, how the enchanter had cursed his own son, but not his son, to protect him from the king and queen. It almost seemed cruel, but then Belle thought of all the things he had brought to life in the home so that he wouldn’t ever feel lonely.
“It seems as if your father would do anything for you. He must truly love you.”
Caerwyn smiled a little. He knew that to be true. Though his father would never tell him who the man and woman were that gave him up for a wish, he decided long ago that he didn’t care. Even if he had to spend eternity in this form, he never doubted that his home was filled with love. Although, that bargain seemed highly unfair after meeting Belle. He still couldn’t help but think she wanted to see his father more than him.
Speaking of his father, Caerwyn noticed him walking to the stables to gather more hay. Caerwyn grabbed a handful of cheese and bread and fruit. “Let’s go to my room.”
“Your room?” she asked, the red creeping to her cheeks.
“Uh, y-yes,” Caerwyn stammered. “So my father doesn’t disturb us. He’s not too fond of guests unless they come with payment.”
She glanced over her shoulder to where he had been looking and he sucked in a breath. He was relieved when she nodded and let him lead her upstairs to his room.
Whenever Baethan made snide comments to Caerwyn or bragged about his chambers at the castle, Caerwyn would secretly smile, knowing that not even the prince had a room like his. He opened the door for Belle and set his stolen stash of food on the table near the fireplace that never needed a single log of wood to burn.
His room was massive, an entire wall dedicated to all of his favorite books that he had stolen away from his father’s extensive collection. Vials made from brightly colored glass with jeweled stoppers were filled with herbs and potions that he’d practiced making with his father’s help, some potent enough to stop a bear with one drop. His polished wooden desk held parchments and inks and maps and rulers, all from his studies. He didn’t know how old his father was, but he knew that he had lived a very long time and seen a great many things and that knowledge he passed along to his son. Not even the prince would receive half the knowledge he did, even without taking into account the enchantments.
On his bed were sheets made of silk finer and softer than anything the prince could ever have. They were even enchanted not to rip from Caerwyn’s claws or tusks. There were two windows, one looking out to the dense forest and one to the mountainside. Every morning and every evening, he would watch the colors in the sky shifting and illuminating the lands in new ways. It was a view he wouldn’t give up for even the king’s room in the castle.
Belle held the cup close to herself as she ran her eyes along the bookshelves, skimming over every title. She paused and reached out to touch one but stopped herself.
“Please,” Caerwyn said, “Be my guest.”
She tugged it free and joined him at the table. The book was a collection of short stories from a land far in the east that almost no one had heard about. Caerwyn’s father told him that the stories were told by the beautiful young wife of a ruler and that they saved her life, as well as countless others. It always brought wonder to Caerwyn’s eyes to think that a story could save a person’s life.
Belle took another sip of tea and the cup said, “Your lips are much softer than Caerwyn’s.”
For the first time in his life, Caerwyn was happy that he didn’t have the dimpled cheeks he always envied because then Belle would see how much he blushed around her. What he didn’t realize was that she was already onto his tell. Anytime he got nervous or embarrassed, that tail of his curled in on itself.
“I hope that doesn’t trouble you,” she said.
The cup wriggled, nearly spilling tea everywhere. Caerwyn had learned long ago not to keep it near any of his books or papers. “It’s not as ticklish,” it replied.
Caerwyn cleared his throat and scooted closer to Belle. He opened the book to his favorite story in the collection: the one about the sailor who went on seven voyages, despite all the dangers he faced. Caerwyn envied him for the bravery that allowed him to see the world while he himself hardly ventured beyond the walls of father’s land.
“You can borrow the book, if you’d like,” he offered.
She smiled, drawing it close to her. “I would love to.”
Then, she reached into her satchel, retrieving her own books she’d brought with her. Something else remained in the bag, something heavy, but he couldn’t get a good look at it. She spread out the books and flipped open one. It was an atlas, containing many maps from all over the world. The page fell open to their kingdom, though the map was an old one and the kingdom had grown since.
“I’ve always wanted to visit these places,” she admitted, flipping through to another page.
“Why don’t you?” Caerwyn asked. She already proved to be much braver than he was by leaving her home to come all the way here on her own.
She let out a sigh, touching her fingers to a map of islands. In the sea were depictions of creatures known for luring men to their deaths. “My father is much like yours. He loves me and wants to protect me. Which means, I’m not supposed to ever leave my home. But, as you can see, that hasn’t stopped me.”
“What is he protecting you from?”
Belle opened another of the books. It was a collection of short stories that Caerwyn was familiar with but didn’t much care for. Rather than the brave and noble characters of the other book, this one was filled with cruel and nasty villains who preyed on all.
The pages of the books were illustrated but were also marked with notes and comments that Belle and her sisters had made over the years. One particular illustration of a knight stealing a woman away had a black drop of ink covering his face.
“My mother was taken from us by a soldier.” Her fingers traced the image of the woman, her nail running along her trail of tears. “And my father fears the same will happen to me or my sisters one day.”
Caerwyn couldn’t deny the possibility. In fact, it surprised him that she was yet to be spoken for. He touched his hand to hers.
“Were you searching for the enchanter to make a wish?”
Her eyes lowered, hidden by her long lashes. “I’ve had a wish in my heart for as long as I can remember,” she admitted. “But,” her eyes flitted up to him. “I think I have a different wish.”
Caerwyn knew that someone always had a wish. Even if they denied it, he knew they were lying. He himself had wishes, but he knew their cost better than anyone. He didn’t want to ask for her wish because he didn’t want to give her the bad news. But there was something he could give her.
He stood and went to his desk. Another thing the prince would never have was one of his father’s greatest treasures that he’d given his son when he was finally tall enough to peer over the stone wall and gaze at the mysterious world beyond. Caerwyn lifted the looking glass from the drawer and brought it to Belle. He set it into her hands carefully.
“This will show you anything you ever desire,” he explained. “Give it a try.”
She glanced at him with brows raised. Despite all the magic she had seen, she was still skeptical. She cradled the heavy glass, the silver finishing cold beneath her fingers. “Show me my garden.”
The image of her reflection clouded over, then the garden appeared. Her sisters were sprawled about, griping about Belle running off yet again and how they needed to mend that wobbly gate to keep her in place. Caerwyn glanced over her shoulder, in awe of all the brightly colored flowers blooming throughout.
Belle bit down on her lip. She had a mirror that would show her anything she could ever desire. Could it show her anyone?
“Show me my mother,” she whispered, her voice shaking. The image clouded, then returned to her reflection. She shifted it around to make sure it was actually her current reflection. “Show me my mother, please,” she tried again. The same thing happened. The glass clouded, then returned to her reflection. She turned to Caerwyn for an explanation.
He looked away, a frown creasing his thick brows. “If the thing does not exist…or is not alive, the mirror will not show it.”
Belle’s arms sagged. She set the glass on the table and shut the books.
“I’m sorry,” Caerwyn said, feeling foolish for giving her such hope.
She was quiet for a few moments. Her tea had gone cold and the cup silent during the heavy pause. “Have you ever thought of going out into the world? Instead of just looking at it?”
Caerwyn picked up the mirror. He’d used it many times to see as much of the world as he could think of. His father had warned him about using it too often, as it could drive one insane. He told him about a creature so obsessed with searching out the fairest of the land that it lost all humanity. Caerwyn’s stomach knotted as he wondered if Belle’s face had ever appeared in that creature’s looking glass.
“People…creatures like me don’t see the world,” he explained quietly, gazing at his reflection. He wriggled his snout so that his tusks were no longer lopsided.
“People like you and I should see the world,” Belle said, resting her hand on his.
Caerwyn set the mirror aside, tired of looking at himself. “I make everyone flee at the first sight of me.”
She smiled. “Then we’d never have to worry about crowds. Or bandits. I bet even that thief, Robin, wouldn’t dare cross us.”
Caerwyn laughed. He’d met Robin when his wife came to his father for some help with enchantments. They’d done a fine job sorting the riches in Prince Aven’s kingdom and were going to spread their good deeds to other kingdoms.
Belle perked up. “See, there’s nothing to stop us.”
Caerwyn looked at his fur-covered arm and flexed his fingers. His claws were always deadly sharp. At least if he didn’t scare an attacker off, he wouldn’t ever be defenseless.
Belle scooted closer to him, putting her arms through his. “I could make a wish,” she whispered.
The door to the attic slammed shut and Caerwyn jerked away as his father called to him. He scooped up the books and helped Belle return them to her satchel.
“Yes, Father?” he called back.
His footsteps stomped down the stairs. “I’ve had a thought about Prince Maxen’s request,” he said as he approached.
“Uh, what request?” He hurried Belle to his wardrobe and hid her behind his clothes. His father’s footsteps stopped at his door. The handle began turning. “Wait, I’m not decent!” he shouted.
“Not decent?” he asked.
As the door flung open, Caerwyn quickly ripped his shirt off, tossed it into the wardrobe on top of Belle, and shut the wardrobe.
She was thrown into darkness, a shirt atop her head. She shifted it down but held it to her nose for a moment, feeling the tickle of fur but also smelling it. It had the distinct smell of old books and hay as well as a bit of cologne. She wondered if he had put some on when he saw her coming.
“Whatever are you doing?” the enchanter asked his son.
Caerwyn flicked his tail nervously. “Um, well I was changing before you decided to walk in. Ever heard of knocking?”
Belle heard footsteps cross the room then the clink of glass. “Two cups of tea?”
“My first cup went cold. Right, Chip?” he asked.
The cup’s small voice agreed.
The enchanter grunted, seemingly satisfied with the response. “Well, finish changing then join me in the attic. I’ve been considering the prince’s recent request and need someone to agree with me.”
When his footsteps faded, Caerwyn opened the wardrobe. Belle quickly discarded his shirt and her eyes fell on his furred chest. He reached around her for a new shirt which he tugged on while she stepped out of the wardrobe.
“I’m sorry, but you have to go now.”
Belle glanced at the position of the sun. “It’s getting late anyways.”
He led her down to the stone wall, once again helping her over. But this time, he practically lifted her into his arms. He gripped her elbow a second to keep her from leaving.
“Can I make a request?” he asked. “Two, actually.” When she nodded, he asked the easiest one first. “If you come back, will you bring me some seeds? So I can have a garden like yours?”
Her smile filled her face. “When I come back, I’ll bring as many seeds as I can. And your second request?”
He hesitated, keeping his eyes to the ground. He had seen the other thing in her satchel. It looked precious and expensive. A treasure to be traded. “Please, don’t ever ask for a wish from my father.”
Belle shifted on her feet but he still couldn’t meet her eyes. Eventually she said, “Alright.” She lifted up to her toes and pressed her lips to his cheek, right where his tusk was.
He looked up as she walked away.
Caerwyn joined his father in the attic. Threads of gold overflowed several baskets, the store of hay nearly depleted. Soon, they would need more. Caerwyn always found it funny that they would use the gold to buy hay to be turned into gold, but it was the only thing that ever calmed his father’s mind.
He worked at the wheel for several minutes while Caerwyn slowly wound the thread in loops around his arm, cutting in measured lengths. Just like the spinning calmed his father’s mind, measuring and cutting the gold calmed his. Finally, his father let out a sigh and stretched his back.
“Maxen has requested a love enchantment this time.”
Caerwyn frowned, snipping the thread carefully. “You always told me love enchantments were the worst sorts of enchantments.”
“They are,” his father agreed. He sprawled out his long, thin legs. His tall frame was one of the things that intimidated people about him but more so was the dark look on his face. He had seen countless things in his long, long life that brought a shadow to his eyes and kept his jaw set tight.
“Then why even consider it?” Caerwyn pressed.
His father rubbed his eyes. “Because there are worse things than even a dark enchantment such as that.”
“Like what?”
“The bodies of girls piling outside the castle,” he answered in a weary voice. “If I agree to the prince’s demand, my payment could be that he be given the enchantment as well. So that both parties are as inextricably in love as the other is. Sure, a young woman will have to be sacrificed, but so many more would be saved.”
“How would you choose who to sacrifice?” Caerwyn asked, moving onto the next basket of gold.
“I would let Maxen,” he admitted. “It would be the only way.”
“But why does he even need the enchantment?” Caerwyn wondered.
“Baethan says the prince has grown tired of the women denying him. He says they should be happy to have his affection.”
Caerwyn shuddered, his fur standing on end. “But this could save others?” he asked.
His father leaned back with arms crossed. He stared out at the darkening sky. “I can only hope so.”

---

Belle returned four days later with her satchel full of seeds. With his father gone on business, Caerwyn and she tilled the yard. Belle had chosen a plot of land near the stables but not too close to the mountain’s shadow. She had her skirt tied at her thighs, allowing her to move more freely. Dirt was deep beneath her nails by the time they took a break.
Caerwyn brought food and water out to her and they sat together in the shade of the mountain. Sweat coated her brow, but not Caerwyn’s.
He hadn’t brought up his second request since she agreed to it. There were many reasons why he’d asked it and he’d like to say that most important was because he didn’t want her to incur a debt to his father that she couldn’t pay. But that wasn’t the truth. The truth was that he was scared of what her wish would be. He thought it foolish that she would ever waste something so precious as a wish on him, but he feared she would ask for Caerwyn’s curse to be taken away. He didn’t want to face the fact that even she couldn’t look past his monstrous form.
But she never brought it up as well and when they’d cooled down and refreshed themselves, they went right back to work. Caerwyn would dig up the plot and she would drop in the seeds and pack the dirt right back over it. He wondered how long it would be before his garden looked like hers.
Before she left that day, she kissed him. He’d never felt so relieved that his father’s curse at least allowed him to have normal lips. Forget dimples, lips were all he needed. Their embrace was brief and Belle’s cheeks were scarlet as she turned away to return home.
It was on that evening that a prince watched a beautiful young woman steal back into her garden, biting down on her lips as pretty as a rose and her cheeks as bright as azaleas. For Belle had become careless and left her hood down as she ventured through the forest and the prince looked upon her face, framed by her golden hair.
At Prince Maxen’s side, Baethan leaned over and whispered, “What do you think?”
“She’s just become the luckiest girl in the kingdom,” he answered. All he had to do was wait for the enchanter to finish his spell and he would finally have his wife at long last.

---

Weeks turned into months and Belle sneaked away to the enchanter’s any chance she could. No matter how hard her sisters tried to keep her in one place, she would slip away and go to Caerwyn.
Caerwyn himself was rather lonely when she wasn’t there, for his father had to leave to gather ingredients for Prince Maxen’s enchantment. It took him to distant lands for many days. But this also allowed Caerwyn the liberty to show Belle his home and let her meet all the things he spent his life with.
As spring turned to summer, his garden began sprouting. He did offer it a little help with some enchantments, eager to see their brightly colored petals blooming like he’d seen in Belle’s garden. But for the most part, he was rather patient.
They seldom went to his room since they had the entire home to themselves and Caerwyn always felt too embarrassed to ask her to join him. But when they did, there was a lot of reading and looking over maps and kissing. There was lots of kissing.
Caerwyn thought he would never, ever kiss a girl but Belle was proving a lot of his beliefs wrong. They would sometimes play the dangerous game of kissing on his bed and it was a gamble they often found themselves in and sometimes, Caerwyn even had Belle on her back. But every time, they regained their control and promptly shifted away from that very tempting bed.
Well, every time but one. Belle had managed to stop Caerwyn before he got too carried away, blushing as she asked about the living things in his room watching them in their very compromising position. With a wave of his hand, he brought a sleep to the enchanted things within the room. That should have been that, and they should’ve pulled themselves apart but their lips couldn’t stay away from each other.
Belle took his face in her hands, looking into his lovely blue eyes that had lost that sadness in them. “You are human, right?” she whispered.
Caerwyn chuckled. “As human as anyone. Just a bit more hideous.”
Her hands trailed over the hem of his shirt. “There’s nothing hideous about you.”
Belle’s lips found his again and they could not keep their passion in check.

---

The enchanter returned from his long travels a few days later, having nearly gathered all of his ingredients. As was always the case, Caerwyn was eager to ask him about the things he saw. They sat together in their massive parlor, filled with trinkets from around the world the enchanter had gathered over his long life. Books lined the walls, a globe continuously spun on its hinges, showing things crawling over its surface that Caerwyn did not quite understand and his father never explained.
The enchanter laid out the things he had collected for the enchantment then combined them into a cauldron stained with the years of use. There was only one thing left to complete the enchantment and he needed it from Caerwyn and himself.
As his father unstopped a vial and poured in the shimmering red wisp of light, Caerwyn asked what it was.
It dissolved among the milky liquid as it was mixed in. “A love enchantment requires the essence of love. Usually, one steals the love from another, leaving their heart empty, but one may just as well use the love from many others, taking only a sliver. Robin and Ciana were kind enough to trade only a simple – but very strong – sleeping enchantment for a sliver of their hearts.”
“Who else’s heart did you take?” Caerwyn asked, his eyes roaming over the other vials.
“A young woman pining for her brother’s fiancée,” he explained as he continued mixing them in, turning the enchantment red as blood. “A pirate captain longing to see the mother he hadn’t seen since childhood. And,” he reached the end of the vials then brought his long nail to his chest. He traced a lined down his heart and the red wisp flowed trailed after his hand. He dropped it into the cauldron. “A father who would do anything for the son he always longed for.”
He reached for Caerwyn next. “Finally, a son who has known to love a person not by the blood they share, but for the love given in return.” As his nail touched Caerwyn’s chest, he frowned. Caerwyn’s heart sped up, afraid of his hesitation. “There is a different kind of love in your heart.”
Caerwyn moved back, clearing his throat.
“Who is she?” he asked, the room darkening around them.
“A girl I met in the forest,” he admitted.
The enchanter’s eyes turned black, one of the reasons why people called him the devil, for his fury was darker than that of a demon. “You know that no one is to come here unless they pay a price for their wish.”
“She’s never asked for an enchantment,” Caerwyn protested. “She’s kind and beautiful and lonely. Like me.”
The enchanter’s anger waned, tenderness returning to his eyes. He very seldom got angry with his son. “Caerwyn, my boy,” he said gently. “I have done everything I could to protect you, but I cannot also protect the girl. She belongs to the king and queen’s kingdom and if they ever wanted to use her to get what they wanted from you, I couldn’t stop them.”
Caerwyn narrowed his eyes. “Why must you always blame the king and queen? Why would they ever want anything to do with me?”
“Because they are cruel people who would steal you for your magic. They would have you in chains so that you would spend your days weaving enchantments and riches for them.”
He touched Caerwyn’s chest and drew out a piece of his love. It was pulsating, strong with its newness. It brought a great sadness to the enchanter, for he could feel just how much Caerwyn loved Belle and his heart would suffer the loss of her greatly. He tapped his finger against the cauldron, letting the last ingredient fall in.
“I’m sorry, my dear son. But you must give her up. For her sake as much as yours.”
Caerwyn leapt to his feet and overturned a table in his anger. He stormed from the room, leaving his father to finish his enchantment alone.
The enchanter gazed about the room at all the things that had watched the budding love between Caerwyn and this girl without ever telling him. Yet, he couldn’t blame them for his own love for his son was imbued in the things of the home and to see him happy was reason enough to keep the secret.

---

Prince Maxen was coming that day to collect his enchantment. It was the first time he would visit the enchanter but he was forced to come if he wanted to have the enchantment. He himself had to make the vow to drink the potion along with his new wife.
Caerwyn didn’t want to be there to meet him and he also feared Belle would visit. The prince was going to choose who to use the enchantment on and he knew that should Maxen ever see Belle, he wouldn’t hesitate to make her his wife.
She did come and he met her in the forest. Her smile alighted his sad heart, still hurt over his father’s reaction and refusal to even consider meeting Belle. He embraced her, feeling whole again. She lifted to her toes to kiss him and he longed to carry her into his home and make his father meet her. But the prince was still inside.
He cupped her cheeks. “I’m sorry, but you can’t come today.”
“Your father?”
He nodded. “Prince Maxen is with him now. You should go home.”
Her eyes lowered, her hands pressed against his. “Can I come tomorrow?”
Caerwyn sympathized with his father, he truly did. It was a great feat to have their own land and territory beyond the reach of any king and queen and overstepping that privilege could cost them dearly. Belle was a citizen of the kingdom and if she was ever seen by the prince, he would have every reason to steal her away. But Caerwyn was in love and he would do anything to have her.
“Yes. Tomorrow you can finally meet my father.” He hesitated, looking at his furred hands, the sharp claws pressed to her delicate skin. It was so easy to accidentally hurt her and she even had a scar on her arm from when he got carried away undressing her. “But remember your promise.”
Her face fell. She still had a wish in her heart that she hoped to ask for. “I remember,” she said.
They shared a final embrace, lingering in each other’s arms for too long, neither wanting to break away from the other. But they finally did when Caerwyn’s claw snagged on her bodice and ripped it. She laughed while his tail curled tight but now that their lips had finally parted, so did they part until tomorrow.
Caerwyn watched until she disappeared. Then he sat atop the wall and just stared into the forest.
Prince Maxen curled his lip at the sight of the beast. He had heard about how hideous he was but actually seeing him was something he couldn’t ever prepare for. And never did he imagine a beast embracing a beautiful young woman. He had no right to put those terrible claws on her skin or touch those disgusting lips to hers.
The prince had his enchantment. Now he only had one last thing to gather before returning home.

---

Belle slipped into the garden where her sisters were tending to the flowers, the hot summer day having left them parched. The girls barely paid her any mind, thinking that perhaps ignoring her would finally discourage Belle.
Her father, on the other hand, waited for her with arms crossed. When he saw her, he grabbed her, pulling her into the house. “Belle, how many times do I have to beg that you just stay put? There’s word that the prince has come to the town.”
Belle pulled back her hood. “Don’t worry father, no one saw me.” She hung her cloak on a peg, the tear in her dress evident.
So many thoughts ran through the inventor’s head. He feared she had come across an animal or worse, a soldier. “Belle,” he started but was interrupted by a harsh knock on the door. He ushered her to the kitchen, pushing her somewhere out of sight.
When he answered the door, Prince Maxen stood at his doorstep with a band of soldiers at his back. The inventor paled and stammered a greeting to the prince.
Maxen stepped inside and the inventor stumbled back on his feet.
“What brings you to my humble home?” the inventor asked. “I’d be happy to create anything you desire.”
The prince had his ever-present sneer on his face. His blue eyes ran over the home filled with knickknacks that were either once part of an invention or going to become part of one. The smell of grease was heavy and black fingerprints coated the walls, the chairs, the books. The inventor had a lovely home but a dirty profession. Maxen was interested in neither.
“I hear that you have very beautiful daughters,” he said. “I would like to meet them.”
The inventor twisted his hands. “My daughters are far too simple to grace your presence, Your Majesty.”
Maxen stomped his boot, shaking the floorboards. “I demand to meet them.”
The inventor flinched from his anger but nodded. He hurried through the kitchen, shaking his head at Belle, and retrieved his other daughters. They were trotted in with their heads low and hands clasped together. Maxen frowned.
“Where is the other?” he snapped.
“These are all my daughters,” the inventor explained.
“Do not lie to me!” The inventor and his daughters flinched. “Either bring me your other daughter or give these three to my soldiers.”
The inventor went pale. He loved all of his daughters but Belle was his youngest and he had done all he could to protect her.
Maxen was growing impatient and his soldiers neared the other daughters greedily, until Belle stepped around the doorway.
“Belle,” the inventor breathed, pleading.
“If I go with you, do you promise to leave my sisters be?” she asked.
Maxen was struck once more by her beauty. He had gone through so many young women in his search for a wife but all paled in comparison to her. He walked to her, tucking a finger beneath her chin and moved her face to get a good look at her. His thumb ran over her lips that he’d seen pressed against that beast. They were soft like a flower, far too lovely for something so ugly.
“You have my word. Become my bride and your family will be under the crown’s protection.”
Belle’s sisters began to argue, objecting to the deal, but she raised her hand to quiet them. She’d heard the stories of women trying to resist Maxen. He never took too kindly to rejection.
And so, Belle could not be protected forever. She had caught the attention of the very man her father always feared would take her. She would never get to meet Caerwyn’s father and she would likely never see him again. For she had given herself in place of her sisters.

A Little Dust

The thing Thumbelina loved most of all was skimming her toes over the water as her wings fluttered, leaving behind a trail of fairy dust. It tickled her feet and she would giggle in delight. Most called her reckless. And they were right.

For the fairies were disappearing one by one, snatched up in jars and never seen again. If a fairy flew in the daylight, they were easily spotted skipping about through the fields and lakes. Those pesky mermaids usually shouted their presence if they strayed too far into the lagoon and they even tried to catch them.

And at night, the fairies left behind a glow of glittering dust, always leading their captors right to the flower buds they curled up in, or the hollow of a tree, or the cap of a mushroom. No time was safe for a fairy but Thumbelina would dare her chances and go skimming over the water just as the dawn approached and the flowers opened their petals to the sunlight.

Thumbelina and all the other fairies were no bigger than a man’s thumb, making the island all the more vast and mysterious. She wanted to explore every corner, every crevice, every tree, but even she didn’t dare to go so far from the safety of their field. If Thumbelina was ever spotted out in the island, she would be all alone. After the young son of the king and queen of the fairies was stolen away one evening, they ordered a decree that no fairy was to ever lead a man to their field. Their elder son never quite forgave himself for the loss of his brother.

And so, she remained close by, sometimes treading a tiny bit further.

And one day, she found that she wasn’t always alone on her escapades. The first time she’d caught of glimpse of Prince Rowan following just behind her as she skipped across the pebbles, her wings nearly gave out and she almost plummeted to the water. He’d caught her by the arm to keep her from either drowning or being snatched by a mermaid’s hands.

This brought a sour note to her escapades. The fairies had lost one prince and if they lost another well…

Thumbelina would be torn asunder for she couldn’t help but be in love with him. Even though he had harmlessly teased her since they were children. Even though she knew there were many more fairies lovelier than herself that he could choose. Even though he became distant when his brother was taken.

Even if she hadn’t had a moment with him since that fateful night, her heart still gave a flutter at the touch of his skin on hers. But then he had to ruin it by dragging her back to the flowers.

That didn’t stop her, of course, and she slipped away the following morning. Rowan slipped away as well, keeping his distance but never out of sight. She sometimes wondered if he revealed her daily capering to the king and queen but nothing was ever done to stop her.

“You’re going to end up in a jar one day,” Rowan reminded her, darting in front of her and flying backwards. His hair was the orange of a lily’s stamen and his face freckled like there was pollen forever dotting his cheeks.

“And you’re going to get in trouble with the king and queen for being out of your flower before sunrise,” Thumbelina quipped back, not slowing down. She flew a little higher so that her feet wouldn’t drag in the water and alert the mermaids to their presence.

But it was too late. Just as the prince was about to return some other retort, a pair of hands rose from the waves. Thumbelina barreled into him, knocking him just out of reach. The two fairies nearly careened into the water, but the prince righted himself and rose higher, pulling Thumbelina into his arms. A drop of salt spray threatened to douse them as the mermaid leapt from the water, trying to catch them.

Rowan held Thumbelina tighter, zagging away from the mermaid and back to the shore of the island. His landing in the grass was nothing short of a crash and they toppled to the ground. Thumbelina came to a stop atop the prince.

A tiny petal fluttered from the flower band crowning her head, her thick hair draped over her shoulders. Rowan brushed away a strand of her yellow hair and stared up at her.

“Good thing I came along,” he remarked. “Or you’d be in the hand of a mermaid.”

Thumbelina rolled her eyes and moved off of him. “I saved you.”

“You nearly knocked us both into the water,” the prince said as he sat up. He leaned back on his arms while Thumbelina fixed her dress.

Her next words were lost when a lantern dropped around her. Rowan leapt to his feet and banged his fists on the glass, his screams muted. Distracted by her imprisonment, he didn’t see the hand before it snatched him. He was dropped into another lantern, the lid snapped shut.

Thumbelina’s own prison was lifted and the lid secured as she toppled around. An old man brought the lantern close to his face so that she could see every deep crease and every whiskery hair.

“Gotcha.”

***

The two lanterns were shoved into sacks and Thumbelina jostled around her prison with each thunderous step of her captor. Bruises darkened her knees and elbows, her ankle catching on the metal along the corner.

The swish of grass soon turned to the crunch of sand, which then turned to the creak of wood and the sack was set down. The lantern was lifted out and placed onto a table in a dark lit room. The prince was set next to her and he looked just as disheveled as she was.

Several faces looked at the fairies, paying special attention to Rowan. The tiny gold circlet gave him away in an instant and she wondered if it was pride or ignorance that made him refuse to part with it, even on their dangerous early morning flights.

“Tell the Captain,” the old man ordered. He lingered behind a moment while the rest of the men filed from the room. His eyes looked tired and worn as he stared at the two fairies. A slow exhale escaped his mouth, rustling the whiskers of his beard. “Soon,” he muttered to himself then left the room.

Thumbelina pressed against the glass, looking over the prince. He had a knot on his forehead and tiny cuts along his palms, but otherwise looked no worse than she was.

After confirming that he wasn’t broken, she tore a strip from her dress and tied it around her ankle. Tiny streaks of red lined the bottom of the lantern, smeared around by her dress. The prince took notice and he nearly slammed into the glass.

“You’re hurt,” he had to shout to be heard.

“No more than you,” she shouted back.

She fluttered to the top of the lantern and tried at the lid. It wouldn’t give and she had no way of unlatching it from the inside.

“This is why we don’t go galivanting around the island,” Rowan said as he looked for his own escape.

“You didn’t have to follow me,” Thumbelina shouted through gritted teeth. She squeezed her arms around the screw, trying to twist it loose. “It’s clearly you they want, seeing as how you are the prince of fairies.”

“But they captured both of us, didn’t they?”

Thumbelina’s grip slackened a bit, her heart hammering hard as if to punish her for her foolishness. She should have realized her longing for adventure could never outweigh the safety of the prince. With more resolve, she pressed her feet firmly against the glass, despite the pain.  With slow steps, the screw began to budge. Her wings fluttered, filling the lantern with dust. Finally, the screw clattered to the bottom. She pushed the cap off and began pulling herself out. Until her hips reached the rim and she couldn’t quite fit.

With a huff, she slouched forward, trying to wriggle through. Heat rushed to her cheeks, knowing that the prince watched her.

“I don’t think you’re going to fit,” he remarked.

Thumbelina collapsed against the top of the lantern, her legs dangling and wings fluttering uselessly. “Got any better ideas?”

“This is precisely why everyone calls you reckless,” Rowan said, searching his own lantern. The cap was sealed shut and didn’t budge one bit.

“If you really think so, then why go along with me?” Thumbelina snapped.

“Because I was worried you’d end up in this exact predicament!” he yelled.

Thumbelina stilled and looked at the prince. He avoided her eyes, arms crossed over his chest like he was pouting.

“You were worried?” she asked.

“After my brother was taken, I couldn’t bear the thought of losing you too.” Her cheeks turned a brighter shade of red. “And even though I knew the risk, I wanted to spend those mornings alone with you but . . . you never seemed to want the same.”

“Because you were taking that risk. What does it matter if I’m snatched away? You’re the prince.”

“It matters to me.”

She dropped her eyes. They had once been so close but the loss of the younger prince had wretched them apart. Thumbelina remained daring and careless while Rowan learned fear and caution. Her own trepidation about the prince following her had blinded her to the fact that Rowan was trying to return to the way things were before. What she thought was him spying on her was in fact a desperate endeavor to get her attention.

“And even though you wouldn’t laugh as much when you knew I was around, I still wanted you to know that I was. I hoped that at least once you’d be happy to see me. Or even sing for me like you sang for that frog.”

Thumbelina’s stomach did a leap. She thought she’d been alone when she was singing. It was painfully embarrassing for her to do it in front of anyone, let alone the prince. Especially after another fairy had put her singing to shame with her voice that sounded like the delicate tinkling of bells. And even though that fairy had vanished several weeks ago, Thumbelina still didn’t dare to sing in front of an audience.

“I wasn’t singing for the frog. He caught me singing and decided I’d make for a pretty wife.”

Rowan sucked in his lips, fighting back a laugh.

Thumbelina continued trying to wriggle her way through with more fervency. “I’m going to get us out of here. And if I promise not to go venturing out anymore, will you do the same?”

Rowan lowered his eyes. “Without you there with me, I have no reason to.”

“Rowan,” Thumbelina began but said nothing more, for a hook slammed against the wood and dragged, cutting a line into the table. Thumbelina froze, her heart nearly beating out of her chest.

A tall man glowered down at her. He wore a faded coat with loose seams and missing buttons. The sleeves were too short, showing off how his arm suddenly ended in the metal hooked appendage.

He picked up the lantern cap and inspected the thing that had inadequately confined the fairy. “A little escape artist, aren’t you?” he asked.

A tiny clink drew his attention to the other lantern. Rowan tapped his needle thin sword against the glass.

The man drew a smile across his hairy face. “Don’t worry, I haven’t forgotten about you, little prince. You’re the one we need.”

Thumbelina sneered at being disregarded so quickly. “If he’s the one you need, then there’s no reason to keep me then,” she bargained.

“Oh no, my dear,” he said with the shake of his head. “I need all of you fairies. You see, I need my ship to fly. And that requires a lot more fairy dust that either you or your little prince can provide.” He moved his hook around the back of her neck. “But, I can’t have you escaping.”

Thumbelina screamed as her wings were torn from her back. He handled them delicately, wrapping them into a satin cloth and tucking them into his coat. Frantic clangs came from the other lantern.

“You can have them back when my ship is ready to fly.” He pressed his thumb on the top of her head and pushed her back into the lantern.

Her head slammed against the bottom, her lungs struggling as the wind was knocked from her. Without her wings, there was no need to replace the cap.

“Mr. Smee, I expect routine check-ins on our little guests to make sure the prince doesn’t get the same idea.”

“Ay, Captain,” the old man said.

Once more, the fairies were left alone. Thumbelina lay there for a long time, unable to shout back to Rowan who frantically called out her name. She thought of the younger prince, how the king and queen were distraught by his capture. How the fairies had never been the same since. Losing Rowan was a blow she couldn’t even bring herself to imagine. She had gotten him into this. She had to be the one to get him out of it. Even if it meant her own life in exchange.

She noticed a gentle sway to the floor beneath her and could barely make out the sound of water and a planned formed in her head.

Slowly, she sat up. A ceaseless ringing deafened the sound of Rowan’s voice. Her ankle objected to her movements but she walked to the pane nearest the edge of the table. Peering over, she figured she was close enough to give it a go. Backing away to the other side, she readied herself before charging and slamming her shoulder into the glass. The lantern jerked forward a tiny bit.

“Thumbelina, stop!” Rowan yelled. “The fall will kill you.”

She ignored him, moving her lantern inch by inch. Eventually, it teetered on the edge. Just before the final run, she looked at the prince.

“I’ll come back for you.”

“Don’t!” he tried one last time, but she charged and sent the lantern careening to the floor.

Thumbelina braced herself against the metal rim for the impact. The glass shattered across the floor and blood pooled in her mouth from biting her tongue. She scrambled to her feet and scurried beneath the table as footsteps shook the floorboards. The door flung open and shouts raised across the ship. She wriggled through the first crack she could find and plummeted into the cold water below.

***

Thumbelina shivered as she waited for the dark of night. She found refuge in the petals of a water lily but her soaked dress refused to dry and it clung to her salt covered skin.

Fear gripped her entire body with each bellowing shout and each splash of the water. Sometimes, her lily pad rocked as a body waded too close and she would hold her breath even though it made no difference. Eventually, the search seemed to have abandoned the water and moved to land and Thumbelina emerged.

She could barely see the light from the crow’s nest of the ship through the reeds. A black flag flapped in the wind, the empty eyes of the skull watching over the island. Snapping one of the reeds, Thumbelina rowed her lily pad closer to the shore and climbed onto solid ground.

Lights dotted the forest and she climbed the stalk of a mushroom. Pushing and tearing her way through it’s gills, she pulled herself into the cap. She stripped off her wet dress, bundled it under her head, and closed her eyes.

She had two options. Well, three actually but that third one meant she never got her wings or the prince back and she refused to even consider it. Her other options were to return to the fairies, telling the king and queen that their son had been captured by that horrid captain, but that would just give the man exactly what he wanted. And so, she really only had one option.

Find the boy called Peter.

***

Thumbelina woke early and put her dress back on. Patches were still too wet and where it had dried, it was stiff and itchy. Before sliding from her refuge, she broke off a few pieces from the mushroom, stuffing them into her pockets. She munched on a piece as she ventured through the grass.

Birds fluttered overhead, searching for their own early morning meal. If Thumbelina ever hoped of making it anywhere on the island, she needed wings. Cupping her hands around her mouth, she called to the birds.

A young swallow heard her call and swooped down to her. It cocked its head as it looked over the wingless fairy.

“Where are you wings?” he asked.

“A pirate took them,” Thumbelina explained. “He also took the prince and I need to get help. Do you know where I can find a boy named Peter?”

The swallow shook his head. “No one knows where he lives, but I can take you to a place he usually goes.”

“Please,” Thumbelina exclaimed. “The fairies will be forever in your debt for your help.”

The swallow bowed, allowing Thumbelina to climb onto his back. She held on tight to his feathers and a rush of wind hit her as the swallow flapped his wings and lifted them high in the sky.

She munched on another piece of mushroom as her eyes roved over the island below. Never had she seen so much of it and there were new things in every direction. Ahead of them, the land rose high to meet the clouds. To her left, a rock sat among the waves of the sea, shaped eerily like the skull on the pirates’ flag. There were many strange trees and animals, which she only caught glimpses of before the swallow flew into the canopy of the forest.

Thumbelina suddenly cupped her ears, wincing at the sound of a high-pitched whine. Something slammed into the swallow’s body and Thumbelina heard bones shatter. The bird went slack and plummeted to the ground. She held on tight, trying to keep the body from spiraling and crushing her underneath it.

She squeezed her legs as the impact came.

“Mr. Swallow?” she asked, but the bird was silent and still.

The ground beneath her shook violently and she hid beneath the dead bird. Two boys loomed over, identical in face and matched in the orange furred foxes draped around their shoulders. They looked nothing like the pirates who wore properly stitched, albeit worn out, clothing. These boys wore things handmade by taking what they could from the land. It wasn’t much different from the leaf-sewn and feather-lined clothes of the fairies.

She poked her head from beneath the bird as the boys argued.

“It was my rock,” one yelled, “So it’s my bird.”

“Fine, it’s too small to feed anyone anyway,” the other teased.

This made the first boy go red in the face. “You’re the one that killed such a small thing. I’m going to get something big enough to feed the whole tree!”

“Pardon me,” Thumbelina shouted to get their attention.

The boys looked at the bird who’d supposedly spoken to them. They knelt as Thumbelina climbed atop the bird’s back.

“I’m looking for a boy named Peter. Are either of you him?”

They exchanged a glance. “And what are you?”

“You dummy, she’s a fairy!”

“Dummy, fairies have wings.”

Thumbelina crossed her arms as they argued. “My wings were stolen,” she finally shouted. “Along with the fairy prince. That’s why I’m looking for Peter.”

“Wait,” the first boy said, leaning closer to Thumbelina. Dirt clung to his face, like he hadn’t washed himself in ages. “Who took your wings?”

“A pirate,” she answered.

The other boy leaned even closer and was even filthier than the other. “Did this pirate have a hook for a hand?”

“Yes. I hear that Peter is the only one who can best this pirate.”

The first boy suddenly snatched Thumbelina into his hand and she fell to her knees. The other boy stuffed the dead swallow into his jacket. The boy’s other hand closed over her and she tumbled around as they began running through the forest. Their shouts nearly deafened her.

“Peter! Peter! We found a fairy!” they both rang out, like it was a nursery rhyme. “A fairy without wings looking for Peter!”

“A little gentler, please!” Thumbelina shouted desperately, but they couldn’t hear her over their own voices.

The boy carrying her slammed down and went careening downwards, flinging Thumbelina violently. Finally, he came to a stop and opened his hands.

She rubbed her head as she stood, holding the boy’s finger to steady herself. They were in a dark room lit only by lanterns. It seemed as if the walls were made of wood and a stump of a tree sat in the center. The boy practically dropped her onto the stump.

“Peter, Peter!” the boys continued to shout, now marching around the room, kicking up animal furs and scattered bones.

Thumbelina pressed her hands over her ears. “Not so loud,” she begged, but the boys, if they could even hear her, ignored her. They shouted and paraded until more boys began to slide into the room one by one. They varied in height and appearance, but they were all boys and they were all as dirty as the identical boys. Finally, a boy, just a hair’s breadth taller than the rest slid into the room and the shouting finally quieted.

The boy wore a green cap over his auburn hair and stood with his fists on his hips. “You keep on shouting like that and you’ll lure every pirate to our tree,” he scolded.

The boys, unfazed by the chastisement, both pointed at Thumbelina.

“We found a fairy,” one began.

“Without her wings,” the other finished.

“Captain Hook stole them.”

“And she wants your help to save the prince of fairies.”

The boy, who Thumbelina finally realized to be Peter, raised his brows, piqued by the story. He walked to the tree stump where she stood and knelt down. He looked so very young that Thumbelina questioned if the stories were true. Surely such a boy wasn’t responsible for the hook now resting on that pirate’s arm.

Peter tapped Thumbelina with a finger, nearly pushing her over, as if confirming that she was indeed alive. “The prince of fairies, huh? How did Hook manage to catch such a prize?”

“The pirates are always catching fairies,” Thumbelina said. She didn’t want to admit that it was her recklessness that was the cause of the prince’s capture.

Every boy in the room raised their voice, their words muddled together so Thumbelina couldn’t understand what they said. Peter shushed them.

“Those nasty pirates are always causing trouble on my island. And why did you think to come to me?”

“Everyone on the island knows that the captain of the pirates is afraid of the boy named Peter,” she explained.

Peter’s eyes alighted. “That’s right, he is!” he shouted, drawing his dagger and raising it to the sky. Again, Thumbelina frowned. Such a small weapon for such a large adversary seemed impossible. And then, it all made sense.

In his excitement, Peter rose from the ground and flew about the room, fighting an imaginary pirate with his dagger.

Peter could fly.

***

Three days passed and no one seemed in a hurry to go after the pirates. Thumbelina was given a tiny notch in the tree to sleep in and she filled it with petals and soft leaves to emulate her flower back in the field.

“I found you some wings!” one of the younger boys shouted, throwing down a pair of butterfly wings before Thumbelina. She recoiled from the crumpled wings, torn from the rough handling. The boy waited for her to take them.

With a deep breath, she pushed the wings away. “I need my wings,” she explained. “These won’t work. None will. So please, don’t go stealing anymore wings.”

The boy snatched the wings and put them back into his pocket. He glared at Thumbelina for her ungratefulness and stomped away.

Peter lounged on a pile of furs, playing a tune on his flute.

“How much longer must we wait?” she asked, growing impatient by his lack of urgency. Every day that the prince was missing would bring worry to the fairies and more risk of the pirates finding their field.

Peter ignored her, starting his song over.

“Peter!”

He stopped and frowned at her. “I’m not in the mood to play with the pirates today.”

“I’m not asking you to play with them. I came for help in saving the prince.”

Peter sat up with a great sigh and scratched his stomach. He yawned, he stretched, he did everything but get up.

“If you save the fairy prince, the fairies will be forever in your debt,” she bargained.

“Oh fine,” Peter relented and stood. He suddenly flew from the tree without taking any of the boys with him.

“Wait!” Thumbelina shouted, but he was gone, leaving her among the other boys who were somehow more rampant and wild than him.

When a rare moment of calm settled in the tree, Thumbelina climbed atop the stump in the center where the identical boys leaned on either side of it.

“How does Peter fly?” she asked.

The boys turned to her. Their hands and mouths were sticky with honey coated apples which they smeared across their pants, adding to the stains.

“Fairy dust, of course,” one answered.

“Does that mean Peter captures fairies too?”

They both shook their heads. The other boy licked a finger and said, “Peter is a friend of the fairies. They help him fly.”

Thumbelina chewed her lip. She’d never heard of a fairy helping anyone to fly. It was always said that a fairy was caught and fairy dust shaken out of them.

“Can you fly?”

One nodded, the other shook his head. The one who nodded stuck his pinky his ear and scratched. “When Peter wants to play with the pirates, he lets us fly.”

“And the fairies give you fairy dust as well?”

“Peter shares it.”

The sound of rambunctious play caught their attention and the boys leapt to their feet and darted out of the tree before she could ask any more questions. She’d come to learn that it was difficult to keep any of the boys’ attentions for longer than a few moments.

Hours passed before Peter returned. He slid into the tree, crowing loudly to summon the boys. Thumbelina had to hold her ears but poked her head from her hollow nonetheless. She looked for any sign that he’d freed the prince. But instead of the fairy, Peter brought with him a wide-eyed girl.

***

“We’re going to go play with the mermaids!” Peter exclaimed, causing a ruckus from the boys.

“Mermaids?” the girl named Wendy asked, her eyes alight with wonder. She clasped her hands over her chest, as if in prayer to Peter.

Peter ate it up. He stuck his hand into the pouch at his waist and a glittering dust fell from his fingers. He sprinkled it over her head, as well as on the boys. One by one, they floated into the air.

“What about the pirates?” Thumbelina asked, getting tired of reminding Peter that he was supposed to help her. But once again, her voice couldn’t be heard over the whoops and hollering. And one by one, the boys flew from the tree, following behind Peter who took the hand of Wendy and whisked her away.

Thumbelina sunk down, crossing her arms across her chest. Worry ate away at her. She knew nothing of Rowan and what the pirates were doing to him. She didn’t even know how many more fairies had been captured. If Peter continued to refuse to help her, she would have to try a different option.

***

In the days since Thumbelina had gone, not much changed for the fairy prince. He remained in his lantern cell, fed pieces of food dropped in through the cracked lid by the old man he’d come to know was named Smee, affectionately called Mr. Smee by the Captain. Rowan ate the stale bread, the sour plums, the squishy apples. He quickly learned that this wasn’t prisoner’s food. It was what everyone on the ship ate.

He asked many questions which were unanswered. Had they found Thumbelina? Did they know where the other fairies were? Were they using him as ransom?

Mr. Smee took to eating with the prince, as it seemed that the old man was growing more and more tired. Each time he stood, more bones creaked and it took him a little longer to shuffle to the door.

“Why does the Captain want the ship to fly?” Rowan finally asked.

Mr. Smee looked up from his plate of stew. Only vegetables floated in the bowl and Rowan had never seen meat on any of the plates. For his meal, Mr. Smee had nearly dumped some of the stew into the lantern before coming to his senses and instead slipped in a carrot and a few peas.

Rowan sat with a pea between his arms, chomping through it.

“Because we want to go home,” the old man admitted.

Rowan frowned and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Why do you need to fly to get home? You have a ship.”

A hook rested on Mr. Smee’s shoulder. “Because that is how we came to be on the island.” The Captain looked at Rowan with much of the same expression as the old man: exhaustion. “This island is not our home,” he explained.

“So you used the fairies to get here and now you want to go back? Seems like you deserve to stay.”

“Oh no, it wasn’t the fairies that brought us,” Hook said, taking a seat. He removed his extravagant hat, revealing the balding of his hair. “It was a boy who promised us a dream that never came true.”

Rowan scooted closer to the glass and bit another mouthful of his pea.

“We come from another land, far away from here that can only be reached by flight. Each of us came from different places, different circumstances, yet we were all considered lost boys. My father was taken by an evil creature that lured men into the sea, leaving my mother and I to fend for ourselves in that harsh world. I had to become an apprentice for a bitter old drunk of a shipbuilder. And that’s when I met a boy who could fly.

“He told me wild tales of an island filled with fairies and mermaids and endless games. I would never grow up and I would never have to work again. How could I not follow him? He had a sack of glittering dust which he sprinkled over me and I could fly side by side with him. I lived many days on this island, playing and never having a care in the world. Peter would bring new boys and we would fight the pirates and swim with mermaids and catch the fairies.”

Rowan squeezed the pea, spilling juices over his clothing.

“Peter always kept the fairies to himself. He would only let us fly if it suited his needs. One day, a boy tried to steal the fairy dust. He wanted to go home and see his father and mother again. Peter shot him from the sky with an arrow. That was the day I realized I missed my mother. That was also the day I began to grow up. When my head hit the roof of our little home, Peter cast me out to the pirates, relegating me to the other side of his play matches. I did eventually sneak back. I wanted to get the fairy dust for myself and fly home. I didn’t want to be Peter’s villain. He cut clean through my wrist before I could escape with the satchel.”

He raised the hook to the glow of the candlelight. It gleamed, the only well-kept thing about him. The tip of it was sharpened to a deadly point, ready for its revenge.

“And what happens when you go home?” Rowan asked.

Hook let out a long sigh and pat Mr. Smee on the shoulder with his hand. “I hope to find my mother alive. Mr. Smee will look for his sister. We just want to see our families again.”

“If the fairies help you, what then?”

“Then you are free as well,” Hook said. “No longer will you live in fear of Peter or his lost boys snatching you up in jars, stealing you away for your fairy dust. The other world is big, much bigger than this little island. The fairies can go anywhere and never see another man again.”

Rowan narrowed his eyes. “The pirates are the ones catching the fairies. Peter rescues them.”

Hook shook his head. “I haven’t caught a fairy since I was a lost boy myself. You and the other are the first we’ve caught.”

“But you’re pirates. You are the villains.”

“By who’s word?”

“The birds and the animals and the bugs. They all say to watch out for the pirates.”

“Because Peter is king of the island,” Hook said wearily. “You may be prince of the fairies, but the island is Peter’s and Peter’s alone. Who tries to catch you when you venture into the lagoon? The very same mermaids that swim with Peter.”

Rowan’ fingers sunk through the soft flesh of the pea.

“A king never lets himself be called the villain in his domain,” Hook said.

“If we help you, you vow to set the fairies free?” Rowan asked.

Hook nodded. “I have no more strength to fly like Peter does. I am becoming an old man. My whole crew is. We’re weary of magic and are glad to never see it again once we return home.”

Rowan stood, wiping his hands on his shirt. “If you want help, you’ll need to let me go.”

Hook’s lips lifted in a crooked smile. “Clever little prince, I know your games. I open this lid and you fly back home.”

“You’re right, but I will also return with every fairy on the island. So long as you keep to your vow, we will get you home and we will be free to roam the land as we wish.”

Hook leaned closer, eyeing the fairy for any tricks or lies. “I will not release you, but you may guide my men to the fairies.”

Rowan shook his head. “No, the fairies will come of their own free will.”

“I’m not a fool,” Hook argued.

“You don’t understand,” Rowan began. “Thumbelina escaped. She would go to the only person on the island that you fear. Any moment now, Peter will come for me. Would you rather let me gather the fairies on my own or let Peter come and take me for himself?”

“How can I trust that you will keep your word?”

“You have something I want. In exchange for the fairies, you return Thumbelina’s wings. You can not leave the island until she and I return. My parents won’t allow you to leave me behind.”

Hook looked to Mr. Smee. The old man was fading more and more each day. He didn’t have much time left. With a heavy sigh, Hook unlatched the lantern and Rowan raced away.

***

Thumbelina was once again left alone in the hollow tree, forgotten by the children who had a new plaything. Time was running shorter and shorter and Thumbelina was growing weary of waiting. But there was nothing she could do. There was only one way out of the tree and that was the same way one came in. And Thumbelina couldn’t reach it.

She kicked a broken stick that had been used in one of the many fights the boys had had. Her stomach knitted in worry for Rowan.

During her days of waiting, she had mulled over his words, considering their every meaning, until she could no longer deny that he was as much in love with her as she was with him. In any other circumstance, she would be joyous but it only left her racked with guilt.

She was much too reckless. But she wasn’t giving up yet.

There was a crack in the floor that had caught her eye more than once and with the tree empty, she slipped through and went tumbling down.

She sat up with a groan, rubbing her back. Blinking until her eyes adjusted to the dark, she looked over the room and gasped. She kicked away the body that lay sprawled at her feet and she scrambled against the wall. A scream was trapped in her throat, her breath coming fast and panicked.

Bodies lay scattered all over the small nook, wings crushed and flattened, limbs contorted in grotesque angles, blood staining faces and torsos. Among them, the fairy with the voice like a bell would never utter a sound again.

A squeak startled Thumbelina and she caught the flick of a tail as it disappeared down a tunnel. She made to follow, but the sound of the boys returning made her scramble back through the crack.

Thumbelina climbed back into the main room just as Wendy slid into the room. She was completely drenched and shivering and Thumbelina realized that the dress Wendy wore was not suitable for any of Peter’s adventures. It was thin and certainly no good soaking wet.

Peter appeared after her. “They were only playing,” he said in the boyish voice in which there was only one answer for everything: playing.

“They nearly drowned me!” Wendy shouted. Tears streaked down her cheeks which she wiped away with the heel of her palm.

Peter moved in front of her but she ducked around him. Anger flashed across his face and Thumbelina hid beneath a fur. She was knocked to the ground when Peter stomped his foot.

“Maybe you’ll like playing with the pirates then,” he said.

Thumbelina’s heart leapt. Now Peter was ready to rescue the prince but she now knew that he would end up another body that Peter collected. As whoops and hollers raised in the tree and Peter distributed their wide array of weapons for their raid on the pirates, Thumbelina slipped back through the crack.

She went to the tunnel and poked her head through. “Hello? Please, can you help me get outside?”

A few minutes passed before the mouse returned. She sniffed Thumbelina then nudged her into the tunnel.

“Thank you,” Thumbelina said. “I have to hurry, the fairy prince is in danger.”

The mouse squeaked and said, “Don’t worry about the fairy prince. Mr. Mole will take very good care of you.”

Thumbelina stopped and the mouse nearly pushed her to the ground. “Mr. Mole?”

“Oh yes, dear. I told him I finally found a fairy for him that wasn’t yet dead. And a pretty one at that. He asked me to fetch you. He doesn’t see so well, since he lives deep underground, but he’s always wanted a little fairy for a wife.”

Thumbelina stumbled as the mouse resumed pushing her forward. “Wait, I’m not staying with the mole!” She thought of the irony of it all. First a toad and now a mole. Rowan would surely never stop teasing her for this.

A deep, earthy smell filled the tunnel. The mouse perked her ears. “Over here, Mr. Mole! I found her.”

“I am not a trinket for the mole to keep!” Thumbelina shouted and took off running down the opposite tunnel of the smell. This was certainly the last time she would be asking for help. It seemed to only result in yet another prison. She followed the warmer paths, hoping for a hint of daylight. Behind her, the mole and the mouse pursued, shouting for her.

Finally, a ray of light appeared and she climbed back into the outside world. After days in the tree, she soaked up the sun and fresh air. But only for a moment, for Peter was nearby and raising hell for their raid on the pirates.

***

Coaxing the fairies to help the pirates took longer than Rowan wanted. Every moment spent trying to convince his father and mother to trust him was another moment that Thumbelina was in danger. But eventually, he managed to convince them with the promise of safety and freedom. Once that was dealt with, he flew with speed to find Thumbelina.

He shouted her name over and over again, his eyes scanning every which way, looking for her brilliant yellow hair. Many times, he swooped down to scoop up what he thought to be Thumbelina only to hold a flower or a bumble bee in his arms. He had to fly fast to escape the irritated bee.

He was getting deeper and deeper into the forest and further from the pirates. They would wait for him. They had to, for the king and queen wouldn’t lose another son. But every moment they were delayed, the greater the chance that Peter would learn of their plans and there was no way Peter would let the pirates and the fairies escape.

“Thumbelina!” he screamed.

“Down here!” came a reply.

She stood on the root of a tree, waving her arms. Rowan dove down and knocked into her so hard, they were thrown to the ground. But he didn’t let go as they rolled to a stop in the grass.

“You’re safe,” he said.

“How did you escape?” she asked at the same time.

Rowan shook his head. “There’s a lot to tell you. But the short answer is that the pirates only captured us so that they can leave the island. Hook and Mr. Smee, they just want to escape Peter.”

She paled. “Peter is going to the pirates now. I asked him for help in rescuing you.”

“We can’t trust Peter,” he began.

“I know, I found the missing fairies in his tree. I was trying to get to you first.”

In the distance, Peter crowed. The sky darkened as Peter and the boys took to the sky. Wendy was in the middle.

“Come, we have to go now.”

Rowan lifted Thumbelina into his arms and started racing to the pirates.

Her arms wrapped around him and she allowed herself a moment to smile at the familiar smell of him and the sensation of being in his arms. She tucked her head against his shoulder. “If every fairy leaves the island, then the other children will never escape,” she whispered.

Rowan sunk a little lower but didn’t slow. “But then he won’t bring any more to the island. Besides, they’ve lasted this long haven’t they?” He didn’t want to mention what happed to the boys who grew up on the island.

Thumbelina shook her head. “There’s a girl. Peter only brought her today. Rowan, she won’t survive his games for long. The mermaids nearly drowned her already.”

“Thumbelina, if we don’t escape now, I don’t think we ever will.”

“Please.”

Rowan sighed. “The ship should be ready soon. Maybe we can distract Peter and somehow get the girl to go on ahead.”

A boom sounded in the distance and the ground beneath them suddenly exploded in an eruption of dirt and wood and rocks. Rowan fought against the wind and rose higher. At the edge of the forest, Peter and the boys hovered while the pirates loaded more cannons. Peter taunted them, letting the pirates take aim and dodging at the last second. The boys cheered him on but Wendy hung back.

Rowan dropped on her shoulder, startling her.

“Wendy,” Thumbelina shouted over the whoops and explosions. “Do you want to go home?”

The girl looked around her. Another cannonball hit much closer to her and she covered her ears. The fairies did as well. A piece of wood sliced her leg and tears welled up in her eyes.

“I want my mom and dad,” she whispered.

Rowan leapt up, still carrying Thumbelina. “When Peter isn’t looking, fly straight for the pirate ship.”

“But they’re firing at us!”

“I promise they’ll take you home,” Thumbelina said.

Hands suddenly closed around Rowan and Thumbelina. One of the identical boys had spotted them and he called for Peter. They were dropped into a lantern and Peter brought it close to his eye.

“Ha, hah!” he shouted, flipping in delight. “I’ve got the fairy prince!”

Thumbelina and Rowan tumbled around, elbowing and kneeing each other. Finally, they found some steadiness when Peter hung the lantern to his belt. He flew high and pressed his fists to his hips.

“Look, Captain Hook! I win!”

Another cannon fired and he moved with barely a hair’s breadth to spare him. Thumbelina held onto Rowan to keep from flinging against the glass. Peter continued taunting but it wouldn’t be long before he noticed the fairies moving around the ship, dousing it in dust.

Thumbelina looked up at the screw. “Help me up.”

Rowan lifted her and she wrapped her arms around the screw. He did the same and they slowly unscrewed the cap.

“Once he’s over the water,” she instructed and he nodded. They watched Peter get nearer and nearer to the ship, waiting for the exact moment he’d cross the shore.

“Hey!” Peter yelled, finally seeing the fairies.

“Now!”

Thumbelina and Rowan gave a final twist and the lantern detached from the cap hooked at Peter’s belt. Rowan pulled Thumbelina tight against him as they plummeted to the water.

In that moment, Wendy knocked into Peter, stealing his sack of fairy dust and flying as fast as she could for the pirates. Peter screamed and threatened her but in his excitement of that day, he had forgotten to re-dust himself and he was sinking lower and lower.

The lantern hit the water and sunk as water flooded in. Thumbelina and Rowan wrestled with the lid but as they landed in the sand, the last bit of water filled the lantern.

It was lucky for the two fairies that a certain frog had seen the mass exodus of fairies and had heard Rowan calling out for Thumbelina. They were also lucky that despite the exhaustion after chasing the fairies all around the island, he still had the strength to leap into the water and pull the lantern to the surface and open the lid.

Rowan and Thumbelina climbed out, coughing for air.

“My pretty Thumbelina,” the frog crooned.

She smiled and leaned over to kiss the top of his head. “Thank you, Mr. Frog.”

Rowan bowed then lifted Thumbelina once more and they flew for the pirate ship. Shimmering dust covered the deck and once the prince landed among the fairies, the sails were unfurled and the ship lifted into the sky.

Cheers erupted, pirates and fairies alike waving a final goodbye to the boy in the distance. Peter kicked at the water, hurling stones and globs of sand in their direction but there was not a fairy left to give him the magic of flight ever again.

Wendy poured out the sack of fairy dust and the ship rose higher towards the clouds. Mr. Smee hobbled to the bow and the wind whipped his tears back. Captain Hook took his place at the helm and Rowan carried Thumbelina to the wheel. She stood with arms crossed.

“I believe you have something of mine.”

“Of course, my dear.” He reached into his pocket and unfurled the silk cloth. He offered her the well-kept wings.

With her wings back, Thumbelina could finally allow her weary legs relief. She fluttered to Hook’s shoulder and sat.

“Where do we go now?”

“We follow the stars,” Hook explained. “And sail until morning.”

Rowan joined her, wrapping an arm around her shoulder. “Can we explore this new world together?”

She smiled and entwined her fingers with his. “Without you, I’d have no reason to.”

A song broke out among the pirates and the fairies. Even Hook joined along the instruments with his tuneless voice and Wendy danced among the fairies. As the sun rose along the horizon, a land both new and familiar to those aboard the flying ship came into view.

When Glass Shatters

Ciana held the delicate slipper in her hand, each tiny movement casting light on the twinkling diamonds that shined with a brilliance that could shame the sun. They were the final piece to her extravagant wedding attire and had arrived with hardly a week to spare. Made to fit her feet perfectly, Ciana doubted that they would survive past the big day and the jeweled shoes that cost the kingdom enough to feed each citizen for a week would never be worn again after she married Prince Aven.

With the quirk of her lip, she tucked the shoe back into the satin-lined box. A seamstress stitched the last details to her gown, a serving girl refilled her crystal glass with sparkling champagne, all while Ciana lounged on the settee, thumbing the glittering necklace she wore. She had surely come a long way from the humble Baron’s daughter who captured the prince’s heart on the night of the ball.

Her life had never been difficult and her family never wanting for anything. Even after her mother’s death, it wasn’t long before she had a new mother. Camilla brought with her two daughters that were Ciana’s age and her stepsisters made her once lonely life into one of endless chattering. It was Sofia’s eye that picked out the gown Ciana wore that night and Amelia’s daring nature that introduced her to the prince. If not for them, she may not be sitting in the castle, enjoying this new life.

And yet, it hadn’t escaped her that something was amiss. With the wedding day drawing nearer, Prince Aven had become more distant. Try as she might, she couldn’t capture that same look in his eye he had for her on the night they met. It was as if she had lost his interest.

She recalled the last time they’d been alone together. Aven had whisked her away to the castle shortly after his proposal which came merely days after they’d met. With her so near to him, he didn’t hesitate to summon her to him any hour of the day or night. So when she was requested just as the castle was settling for the evening, she thought nothing of it. She was enamored by him after all and was always eager to be at his side.

But that night had been different. He seemed…content to have her and sent her away before she’d even finished tying her corset back into place. Days had passed since then and he’d hardly looked her way. Ciana thought maybe he wanted to wait for their wedding night to summon her again. She hoped it was as simple as that.

Her musing was cut short when the door flung open, causing the servant to drop the glass which shattered across the marble floor. Ciana rose to her feet to confront the intruder but her eyes brushed past the beautiful woman strutting in and fell on Prince Aven.

He always did that to her, vexing her into a stupor. He had that charming smile, even now as it was more of a smug grin. His dark eyes seemed amused as he leaned against the door frame to watch the scene unfold.

“My dear Pri—ˮ Ciana began but was cut off by the sound of fabric shredding. Spinning on her heel, she watched as a strip of white lace fluttered to the floor.

The woman smirked her too red lips at Ciana. “Lace is so gaudy, wouldn’t you agree, my dear Prince.”

Prince Aven gave a lazy shrug of his shoulder.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Ciana snapped, finally regaining herself.

“I’ve simply come to inspect my wedding gown.”

“Your wedding gown?”

“Yes,” she confirmed, pulling at the skirt then dropping it, her lip curled. “It’s quite tasteless. But I shouldn’t be surprised.” She looked over Ciana as she spoke.

There was something about this woman. Something bewitching. Though she looked beautiful, far more beautiful than anyone Ciana had ever seen, it was impossible to really look at her. Try as she might, Ciana couldn’t quite look into the woman’s eyes. It was as if she saw the suggestion of the woman but not the actual woman herself.

The woman then caught the twinkle of the bejeweled shoes and snatched the box before Ciana could stop her. “What have we here?”

Ciana looked to Aven for help, for him to tell her that this was all a joke. But he continued to watch. She turned back to the woman who had slipped on a shoe. Ciana anticipated a laugh when the woman realized it wouldn’t fit. But to her dismay, it slid on with ease, fitting her foot perfectly.

“Aven,” Ciana pleaded, “You must stop her.”

“Why would I ever do that?” he asked, forcing a look of utter disbelief.

Ciana was pulled forward by the force of the woman grabbing a handful of the skirt of her dress. The fabric ripped and a piece of the finely embroidered material was cast aside.

“Did you really think that a prince would marry a lowly Baron’s daughter?” the woman spat, tearing at her dress again. She backed Ciana against a wall, shredding the beautiful design of her gown until it was left in tatters. Any time she raised her hands to fight back, the woman’s long nails sliced her arms. “You may be lovely to look at but that doesn’t change what you are.”

The woman grabbed Ciana’s necklace and snapped the string. Clutching the broken ends to stop the jewels from tumbling, Ciana looked desperately to Aven for help but when his eyes met hers, her heart sank. He looked bored.

“Are you finished yet?” he asked with a sigh.

The woman looked over her work with a satisfied grin. “I think she finally looks her station.”

He waved his hand and two guards walked into the room. Taking Ciana by each arm, she was dragged from the castle. Servants, maids, Prince Aven’s brothers, all stopped what they were doing to watch her shame as she was discarded like an old book one had grown tired of reading. Aven had his arm draped around the woman’s shoulder as they followed.

Ciana wretched herself free from their grip once they were outside and yelled, “Why are you doing this?”

The woman leaned over Ciana. She had a strange smell to her. Not quite like the muskiness of perfume, but like the overpowering mixture of herbs. Somehow, it smelled familiar and made Ciana sway a little on her feet. “Silly girl,” she whispered, her breath hot on Ciana’s ear. “Can’t you see the truth right in front of you? You’re not his queen anymore.”

With a final shove, Ciana was thrown into the fresh mud, the cold seeping through every tear in the dress. Jewels cascaded down the broken string and sank into the muck, never to be seen again.

Prying herself from the mud, she got to her feet. Prince Aven stood there, looking down at her with a smirk on his lips. He was done with her, she realized. He had found someone more beautiful, someone who didn’t bore him as she had begun to. Now, she was nothing more than another one of his nameless citizens.

Jutting her chin and keeping herself standing tall, Ciana said, “I’ll expect my carriage to take me home.”

Prince Aven waved a hand as he turned his back to her. “I have far greater concerns than summoning a carriage.”

He stepped into the castle with his new bride clinging to his arm. She looked over her shoulder for one final victorious smile before the doors were closed on Ciana.

As if the fates weren’t finished with her, the clouds unleashed their torrential rain. She was instantly soaked through, her exposed slip becoming transparent. Realizing she had no amount of dignity left, she wrapped her arms over her chest and began the shameful walk home.

Eyes couldn’t help but stare. From every window she passed, curious faces watched as the woman they thought would be their princess trudged through the flooding street, leaving behind a muddy trail.

Shivering from the cold, relief washed over her at the sight of her home in the distance.  A plume of smoke rose from the chimney and she picked up her pace, eager for the warmth of a fire and the embrace of her father.

***

“You have shamed us all!” screamed her stepmother.

Ciana clutched a blanket around her shoulders, still shivering despite the change of clothes. Camilla paced the room while her father sat hunched over, rubbing his hand over his beard, his eyes glossed over as he was deep in thought.

Sofia and Amelia sat next to him. Sofia wore a condescending grin, her left hand placed over her crossed knees, wriggling her fingers not so discreetly so that her large jeweled ring caught the light and flashed its brilliance at Ciana. Amelia, instead, looked at her with disappointment. As the only one unspoken for, she had hoped that Ciana’s marriage to the prince would give her the chance of marrying someone high in the court like Sofia. It was even more painful for Ciana to look at Amelia as she realized that she could never repay her.

The firelight casted a golden glow on Camilla’s dark, rich skin. Sofia and Amelia weren’t quite as dark as their mother, but they all shared that umber tone to their skin. Camilla called herself a rarity when in a flattering mood, and an outcast when reminding others how far she had come. Ciana’s marriage to the prince was the highest esteem Camilla had achieved for her daughters but now Sofia’s engagement to the Viscount was their greatest claim.

Ciana stood to leave but Camilla hadn’t finished unleashing her rage on her. Camilla’s sharp nails dug into her arm as she grabbed her. Ciana tried to tug away but her grip only tightened.

“Mom,” she whispered, for Camilla was her mother. She had taken the place of her birth mother when Ciana was still a young child. Ciana knew very little of her birth mother, a woman of mystery who left very little behind in way of both memory and heirlooms. Camilla had been the one who wiped away her tears, who cleaned the bloody scrapes when she tumbled, had taught her how to keep her head held high even when everyone around her didn’t see her worth. But in that moment, even Camilla didn’t see Ciana’s worth. If she could be discarded by the prince a mere week before their wedding, she could certainly discard the girl that was never her own daughter.

Camilla lifted her hand and for a moment Ciana thought she was going to thumb away her fresh tears like she had done so many times before. Instead, she pushed back a lock of Ciana’s blonde hair, still caked in mud. Her lip curled slightly and she released her.

“Beauty isn’t enough for everyone,” she whispered and turned her back to Ciana.

Her father never looked up to meet her eyes. Sofia busied herself with admiring her engagement ring. Amelia’s shoulders racked as she cried silent tears. With her head lowered, Ciana walked out of the room, more shameful than she was when she left the castle grounds in the pouring rain.

***

Ciana would never say that she missed the early crow of the rooster. The damned thing was always an hour ahead of the sun so the day at Ciana’s home started earlier than most. Her mornings of rising when she pleased were over but she felt an odd comfort being back in the familiar. Even if her family remained disappointed in her, they were family and nothing would surely break that bond.

Except for Prince Aven’s cruelty. It hadn’t been enough to throw Ciana into the mud. With the sunrise came a new set of humiliation.

Dressed once more in the modestly lovely dresses she was accustomed to, Ciana padded down the stairs for breakfast only to find the house empty. She wandered the manor until noticing the crowd gathered at the front gate. Every servant employed by her family were lined up and a group of onlookers watched as the messenger read from the parchment in his hands. Grabbing the skirt of her dress, Ciana raced out the door.

“—and so, by decree of his Royal Majesty, Prince Aven, heir to his father’s throne, Baron Bartolomeo is henceforth stripped of his title.”

Ciana nearly tumbled on her own feet. Camilla glanced over her shoulder, her dark eyes narrowed at her.

Murmurs rose from the crowd beyond, their bulging eyes eagerly watching the scene unfold. The servants were each dismissed from Bartolomeo’s service and instantly re-employed by those quick enough to snatch them up. Even if a household didn’t need the extra cook or could barely afford to hire a simple maid, they didn’t hesitate to take something that had once been the Baron’s.

“His final decree,” the messenger continued once the noise died down, “hereby forbids any member of the former Baron’s family from the court, with the exception of Sofia.”

Sofia’s eyes brightened. She had been clinging to Amelia, her lips pursed tightly, no doubt waiting for her marriage to be called off as well.

“With her marriage to Viscount Florian, Prince Aven sends along his blessing.” Concluding, the messenger rolled the parchment and tucked it into his coat. With his departure, most of the crowd dispersed but a few lingered to watch.

Camilla shot them a scowl that sent them scurrying away and she leaned over her husband, whispering in his ear. But Ciana’s father never moved. He stood with shoulders slumped, hands limp at his side.

“Father,” Ciana whispered, reaching out for him.

Camilla slapped her hand away. “Don’t you dare speak to him. This is all your fault.”

Ciana clutched her hand to her breast. She wanted to argue, to claim that she had done nothing wrong, but she couldn’t say such words. Because she had done something. She had bored her prince. She hadn’t been enough for him and she had disgraced her family.

Her father’s eyes were vacant and dull. The wrinkles on his face had deepened overnight, adding at least a decade to him. His chest hardly moved with each breath.

“I’m so sorry,” Ciana muttered. The back of her hand grazed his and he snatched it away. Ciana recoiled at the motion but instantly knew that it wasn’t her touch that sent him lurching away.

His fingers clutched at his shirt, as if trying to take hold of his own heart. He fell to his knees, his jaw hanging open like he wanted to scream but couldn’t.

“Father,” Ciana shouted, dropping to her knees as well.

Camilla shoved her back, screaming, “Don’t touch him!” Her arms embraced him as he fell against her. “Barto,” she pleaded in a whispered. “Barto, speak to me. What’s wrong?”

But Bartolomeo never spoke a word. He grunted and whimpered until his eyes rolled back and his body went cold.

***

Bartolomeo did not get the funeral he deserved. He was mourned only by his family and the few who didn’t equate Ciana’s failure with him. Camilla had to ration out their money, so he was lowered into the ground at the ends of the churchyard in a casket made of thin wood. He had to be buried in his poorest set of clothes, as she had begun to slowly sell anything of value.

The day of her father’s funeral, before Ciana was ready, she heard the lock click on her door. She pulled and twisted on the handle but found that nothing worked. Her screaming went unanswered and she watched from the window of her room as her stepmother and stepsisters climbed into their carriage to see her father one last time. Amelia was the only one to glance up at her and though her eyes betrayed her sympathy for Ciana, she stepped into the carriage and they disappeared down the road.

And so, Ciana mourned alone, locked away in her room with no one to wipe away her tears, no one to hear the wishes she whispered to the silent void.

When the carriage returned, the lock clicked once more on her door. Ciana flung it open to find Camilla standing in her doorway, a bucket in one hand and a rag in the other. She thrust them into Ciana’s hands.

“The girls and I are famished. We expect lunch in an hour.”

“But ̶ˮ Ciana called as Camilla turned away.

“You must be useful somehow,” she replied coldly over her shoulder.

Ciana found no words. Camilla was right, she ought to be useful and this would be the only way how. With no maid to clean, no cook to prepare the meals, no servant to mend the dresses, Ciana had to become all of them.

And so for the rest of the day, she prepared a lunch for her stepmother and stepsisters. She didn’t join them at the table. She didn’t meet any of their eyes. She just scrubbed away the dirt and dust amassing since the dismissal of their maids. She worked late into the night and only then did she return to her room to find all of her lovely dresses and lovely shoes gone. The powders and creams that once made her more beautiful had been cleared away. Every last piece of jewelry was missing from her vanity.

All were sold and yet, while Ciana begun to wear ragged old dresses, dull in their color and shape, her sisters continued wearing their beautiful gowns. Their cheeks were colored pink, lips painted red. As Sofia’s wedding day drew closer, her dresses became lovelier and her disdain for Ciana uglier.

***

The first time Ciana went into town after her father’s death, she hung her head in shame. Whispers followed her around every corner and she knew she was being overcharged at the market but paid the price anyway.

But after weeks passed and the stares hadn’t stopped, she began walking with her head high. Camilla had taught her one thing well and even if her stepmother no longer spared her a glance, she was grateful for those things she learned.

No longer did she allow any of the sellers to overcharge her either. When a woman demanded twice the usual amount for a sack of hazelnuts, Ciana set the right amount on the table and waited until the woman gave in and accepted the payment. After that, there were only a few more attempts at swindling away more money but Ciana never relented. If a merchant wouldn’t budge, then she walked away, planning an improvisation to the recipe or deciding to hold off on that particular chore until she had what she needed.

Ciana knew she would never regain the respect of the people again, but at least she wouldn’t be bullied by them. Her resolve didn’t mean that they never tried.

On a particularly expensive trip, Ciana suddenly felt her pocket grow much lighter. Her stomach sank as she realized too late and just caught the glimpse of the thief as he vanished in the crowd but not before he glanced back at her with a smirk.

Once upon a time, Ciana would’ve shrugged off the incident as the fates taking another swing at her. She would’ve accepted her losses and returned home to face Camilla’s wrath. But after her last piece of jewelry sold for barely a pittance, she couldn’t afford to lose any more money.

Snagging a handful of her skirt, she chased after the man. Shoving people out of the way, she eventually caught sight of him again and followed as he turned down a street. As she rounded the corner, she realized that he had vanished. She stood there a moment, catching her breath and wondering if the fates had indeed won.

Just before she turned back, the man reappeared at her side, nearly startling her off her feet. As she opened her mouth to shout, he held up her purse. Taken aback, Ciana knitted her brows and snatched it back. She checked that every penny was still there.

“It’s very rude to steal someone’s purse,” she muttered.

The man looked at her with a smile, a charm to him that reminded her of Prince Aven. It caught her by surprise, her heart fluttering in a way that it hadn’t since she danced with Aven at the ball. But there was something this man had that Aven never did. His eyes had a brilliance to them, a spark of excitement mixed with a deep kindness.  He wore a dark green cloak, the color of dense foliage, his hood drawn up so that it hid his hair.

“I had to do something to catch your attention,” he admitted.

Ciana narrowed her eyes. “By stealing my purse?”

He spread open his palms. “It’s not stealing if I returned it. Besides, I only steal from those who deserve it.”

“And what gives you the right to decide who deserves it?”

He flashed his teeth and shrugged his shoulder. It was then that Ciana noticed the bow slung across his body. “Sometimes fate needs a little help.”

Ciana huffed at that. “And if I hadn’t chased you down? Would you have kept my purse?”

He looked at her with quirked brows. “I never doubted that you’d run after me.”

“You don’t even know me.”

“Which is why I had to get your attention.”

Ciana began to roll her eyes but a shout erupted from the end of the street. The man spun on his heel and Ciana stood on her toes to see another man dressed very much like him fleeing from an angry crowd. His arms cradled something heavy and a few coins jingled to the ground behind him.

“It seems my man is having a bit of an ordeal. I must be going,” he admitted. “Such a shame I didn’t even get your name.” He said it more like a question and he didn’t seem to be in a rush to leave.

“Ciana,” she said.

Taking her hand in his, he grazed his lips over her knuckles. “May fate let our paths cross once more.”

She nearly chastened him for his over exaggerated flattery but he was already racing down the street. “What’s your name?” she shouted after him. He simply looked over his shoulder, flashed that charming smile, and kept running.

***

Ciana eventually gave up trying to hide her smile before she returned home. She decided that no one paid her any mind anyways so what did it matter if she returned from the market with her cheeks flushed in a rosy hue? Except someone had taken notice.

She was distracted by the thoughts of the dashing man who had stolen her purse just to talk to her when Amelia startled her. She leaned over the counter, giving Ciana that conspiratorial smirk that they exchanged with one another when they plotted ways to make a gentleman stutter his words or to convince their father to let them take the horses out for a ride.

“You’re blushing,” Amelia said.

“You’re speaking to me,” Ciana quipped back.

Amelia lowered her head, her fingers fidgeting. “I’ve missed you.”

Ciana clenched her jaw tight. She wanted to admit the same but she had spent weeks alone when all Amelia needed to do was knock on her door.

“Sofia will be leaving soon. Once she’s married, we probably won’t see her again.”

“And when she’s gone, then you and I can be sisters again?” Ciana asked with a sharp bite to her words.

Sofia had always been the bossiest of the three. When she wanted to do something, that was what they did. If she wanted a particular gown or necklace, Ciana and Amelia would give it to her. Although Sofia had smiled when Aven proposed to Ciana, she caught a hint of jealousy in her eyes. Sofia had helped her find the perfect gown but secretly, she had hoped that her own beauty would capture Aven’s heart.

When Ciana’s fall from grace had threatened her own marriage, Sofia had turned against her, dragging Amelia onto her side. And what choice did Amelia have? Sofia was the only one who hadn’t fallen out of Aven’s favor and if Amelia ever hoped to marry, she needed Sofia.

“Mother cries herself to sleep every night,” Amelia admitted. “She misses dad.”

“So do I,” Ciana finally snapped, slamming her hand on the counter. She hunched forward, shaking her throbbing hand. The silence dragged out for too long and Ciana resumed rolling out the dough for the pie crust.

Finally, Amelia said, “I’m sorry.” Ciana blinked away tears, keeping quiet. “Mother did love you. I think she still does.” Another pause filled the air. “I still love you.”

“I can’t give you anything anymore.”

“You can give me forgiveness,” she offered. “I don’t want anything more than to be your sister again.”

Ciana had been desperate to hear those words. Despite everything that had happened, she wanted nothing more than to have her family back. Amelia was the one offering to grant that wish and she couldn’t bring herself to refuse. She handed Amelia the pie dish and retrieved the pot of cherries from the stove.

“So who is he?” Amelia asked as she pressed the pie crust into the pan. “This man who has you so bewitched?”

The heat rose to her cheeks once more and Ciana distracted herself with the sugary cherries. She plucked one from the bowl, staining her fingertips red.

“No one,” she replied.

“Someone makes a girl blush like that.” Ciana poured the filling into the pan and Amelia spooned out the sticky remnants clinging to the bottom. “Alright, don’t tell me,” she conceded. “I’m just happy that you’re enamored with someone after what Prince Aven did to you.”

Ciana bit down on her lip. She hadn’t spoken with anyone about what happened with Aven and she wasn’t sure she was ready to even now.

She thought about the thief, a man who made it his life to steal things. Perhaps that was all that she deserved. At the very least, his was the only affection she was capable of procuring. Who else would want Prince Aven’s scraps?

“I still can’t believe he did that to you,” Amelia went on. “He seemed so in love with you.”

And that’s when it hit her. She hadn’t lost Prince Aven’s favor, it had been stolen from her. Whoever that woman was, she had done something to Aven, had bewitched him somehow. If Ciana could break the spell, she could have her fiancé and her life back.

“I need a favor.”

***

Many years ago, deep in the woods, Ciana and Amelia stumbled upon the home of a witch. Though she much preferred to be called an enchantress. She had invited the girls in for tea and sent them home with bundles of herbs for many different things, some useful but most vain. They had wasted them all on the vain.

When Ciana knocked on the door of the enchantress, the woman looked none too surprised to see her and invited her in. She was immediately taken back many years to her first visit as she inhaled the mixture of herbs. Somehow, it even made her think of her mother, though not one of the few memories she had of her involved such a powerful smell.

It then dawned on her why Aven’s new bride had smelled so familiar.

With a steaming cup of tea set before her, the enchantress sat across the table and stared at Ciana. Not a word had been spoken between them until Ciana muttered, “I think Prince Aven has been placed under a spell. I believe his new bride is an enchantress.”

“Of course she is,” the woman confirmed, as if she were assuring Ciana that the sky was blue.

“How did you know?”

“An enchantress always recognizes another enchantress.”  She gazed at Ciana for a long moment, as if waiting for her to understand something. When she didn’t respond, the enchantress gently plucked a cube of sugar and dropped it into her tea. Her spoon clinked against the glass as she swirled it round and round. “It’s also rude to keep an enchantress waiting. You’re a week late.”

Ciana frowned at that. “I wasn’t aware that I had an appointment.”

“Perhaps fate told me the wrong day,” she mused.

Fate. It couldn’t be a coincidence that both the thief and the enchantress threw around that word so casually. “Why were you waiting for me?” Ciana asked.

“There are rumors that another enchantress did live in this town and that she died sixteen years ago. I’ve been waiting for her daughter.”

“I’ve been here once before,” Ciana reminded her.

“Yes, but with another. This daughter was supposed to come alone, bearing the rags of a maid.”

Heat rose in Ciana’s cheeks. She hated to be reminded how far she’d fallen. “You’re mistaken. I’m nothing but an ordinary woman coming to you for help.”

“Tell me, what colored eyes does Prince Aven’s new bride have?”

Ciana recalled the woman. She could never forget the moment that everything was stripped away from her, as easily as the lace that had been stripped from her gown. She thought about her eyes, how they danced with delight. But Ciana couldn’t recall a color. Every time she tried to remember, the harder it was to say just what exactly her eye color had been.

“An ordinary person would see the color they wanted to see,” the enchantress concluded. “To an ordinary person, she looks beautiful and captivates the eye. Only an enchantress could see beyond another’s spells.”

Ciana shook her head. “I didn’t come to you for wild guesses about my mother.” She lifted her cup and sipped at her tea. “I want to know how to fix things.”

“You mean to have him fall back in love with you?”

“What else would I mean?”

“Tell me what he loved about you.”

Ciana frowned, setting her cup back onto its saucer. “Well…well we danced all night at the ball and he couldn’t take his eyes off me. And he said I was the most beautiful woman he’d ever met…” Her voice trailed off.

“And why do you love him?”

Ciana’s lip twitched, as if she wanted to smile but then forgot to do so. “He could always make me smile.”

“And does he still?”

She didn’t answer. The tea grew colder in her hand.

“But there is another,” the enchantress went one. “Someone who has made you smile.”

Her lips moved of their own accord. Her heart betrayed her with a flutter. She didn’t even know the man’s name and yet, he invoked such a reaction from her. But she did know that he was a thief. What sort of life could he offer her?

“If I were to break the spell on Prince Aven, would he take me back?”

The enchantress steepled her fingers, leaning over the table. Her deep-set eyes bore into Ciana with their all-knowingness. “It is possible but cannot be guaranteed. He may never want you back.”

“You gave Amelia and I potions that enchanted men’s hearts once before. Can’t you give me another?”

The enchantress’s eyes darkened. “I gave you herbs that could be used for many different things. You were the one that chose to use it to make a boy fall in love with you.” Ciana leaned back in her chair, trying to withdraw from her penetrating gaze. “But it never worked, did it?”

“We thought we’d done something wrong,” Ciana admitted. “That we hadn’t used the herbs properly.

“You hadn’t,” she confirmed. “Because it takes far more magic than a little potion to bewitch a person. At least for longer than a few hours.”

“Can’t you give me that magic?” Ciana begged.

The enchantress scoffed, pressing her palms flat on the table. “You think magic comes for free? That I’m nothing more than a…a magical godmother who will give you anything you desire?”

“I must do something.”

“Perhaps you can,” the enchantress whispered, tucking a finger under Ciana’s chin.

***

The sharp edges of the book dug into Ciana’s ribs as she concealed it beneath her coat. She sneaked in through the kitchen where Amelia covered for her. With Camilla fussing over Sofia in preparation for her wedding, Ciana wasn’t even missed.

Amelia scrubbed at the dishes used to prepare lunch but stopped when Ciana set the heavy book on the counter with a thud.

“What’s that?”

“The answer to fixing everything.”

Amelia ran her eyes over the strange looking text, slowly frowning as she realized just what kind of book it was.

“You can’t do magic,” she hissed.

“And why not? Magic is what took Prince Aven from me. I should be able to use it to get him back.”

Amelia shook her soapy hands, then dried them with a towel. “You remember the last time we tried to make a potion. It didn’t work.”

“We didn’t know what we were doing. And we didn’t know –“

“Didn’t know what?”

“The enchantress thinks my mother may have been one as well. She says the only way to know for certain is to learn and practice.”

“Ciana,” Amelia whispered. “Magic can be dangerous. You could be killed for it. Especially if someone found out you were planning to enchant the prince.”

“Not enchant. Free. I promise, I won’t do anything to sway the prince. I just want to break the spell on him and see if he takes me back.”

“And if he doesn’t?”

Ciana chewed her lip. “You were always the brave one,” she reminded her.

Amelia sighed. “Don’t try to guilt me into helping you.”

“I’m not. I’m only asking that you keep my secret. Once I marry the prince, then you can marry any man you want.” Ciana took Amelia’s pruny hands in hers. “Please. Let me try to make it up to you.”

***

And so, Ciana spent her nights poring through the book the enchantress had given her. Amelia kept her word and her studies remained a secret. She also began doing half the chores for Ciana who would often be too sleepy for the early morning tasks.

Slowly, the enchantress was proven to be right in her guess. The more Ciana practiced, the more adept at spells she became. It didn’t escape her to wonder if her father ever knew about her mother, or to even speculate if her own father had been bewitched. Sometimes, these thoughts would distract her from practice for hours until she one day decided that it hadn’t mattered if she was the result of a love spell. What mattered is how her father had looked at Camilla, from the moment he saw her until his death. He had loved, and that was most important.

Whenever Ciana thought about breaking Prince Aven free of the spell and him falling in love with her again, her mind would often replace Aven with the nameless thief. Most of the time, she would catch it and force herself to stop thinking about him. But there were times when she wouldn’t realize that for several minutes, possibly even hours, she smiled to herself like a lovestruck child at the memory of the thief and his charming smile.

She went into town more and more often, doing whatever she could to spare a coin for herbs and ingredients for spells. She always hoped that she would see the thief one more time and whenever she went into town, she did see him, but not in the way she wanted.

 It wasn’t soon after their first encounter that the man’s face began appearing on every wanted poster lining the streets. One day, Ciana lingered a little too long gazing at the image of him and didn’t notice the shadow overtake her.

“Such a shame that they can’t quite capture my charm in these things.”

Ciana spun so suddenly that her head banged against his. The thief rubbed at the knot that would no doubt form on his forehead with the back of his hand. That hand held a sack full of coins. Ciana instantly checked for her own purse but it was untouched.

“I told you, I only steal from those who deserve it. If they bothered to mention that on these posters, perhaps I’d have far less enemies.” He did that same shrug, the one where his head dipped so that his cheek nearly touched his shoulder. Ciana couldn’t explain how that gesture made her fluster the way she did.

“Or they’d wonder what would make them deserve it next,” she retorted.

He looked genuinely pained by that accusation. Ciana realized that he wore much of the same clothing he did when they first met. They were certainly not the clothes that a thief with hoards of gold should wear. In fact, the only extravagant thing on his person was the bow and quiver of arrows.

“You must be a terrible thief,” she commented.

He looked at himself and tugged at the fraying edge of his tunic. “I don’t keep the money,” he explained as if it were obvious.

“What do you do with it then?”

“Hey!” a shout interrupted. Two guards had finally taken notice of them.

“As I said before,” the thief said, shoving the sack into his satchel, “Just giving fate a hand.” He winked before turning on his heel and fleeing the pursuing guards.

Ciana smiled as she watched him go. Until a guard went out of his way to knock over a stack of pumpkins at her feet. Though she was covered in splattered bits of pulp, she’d managed to leave the stand without sparing a single coin in reparations for the damage. Her shoes squelched all the way home but she didn’t let it bother her. She knew that it wouldn’t be long until she was ready to break the enchantress’s spell.

As she continued practicing, the thief’s words often repeated themselves in her head and she began to believe they were true. Fate did seem to need her help. It wasn’t fair that Prince Aven would marry a woman that he didn’t love and who had stolen any chance he had at love. And maybe some people did deserve to be robbed of their riches. No one had certainly given her father the curtesy of his own dignity. They had swooped in and taken all of his servants without hesitation, more interested in seeing him crumble than giving him a crutch. And so, Ciana would interfere with fate and save the prince’s heart and would leave the thief to his own meddling with fate.

***

The evening before Prince Aven’s wedding to his new bride, Ciana and Amelia waited for Camilla and Sofia to leave in the carriage for the ball at the castle. The festivity was planned to last late into the night, with the wedding to take place in the morning. It was Ciana’s last chance to reclaim her place at Aven’s side.

When the carriage was out of sight, Ciana and Amelia stepped out of their home, each dressed in the loveliest gowns in the house. Ciana did have a hand in make them more beautiful, ensuring that all eyes would be drawn to the two of them that night.

When two field mice scurried by, Ciana enchanted them into horses. The magic wouldn’t hold forever but it would at least get them to the castle.

As Ciana mounted her horse, Amelia pressed a hand to hers. “Are you sure?”

“It’s the only way,” she reminded her.

“There are many ways. Sometimes the bravest thing isn’t the most obvious one.”

Ciana hesitated only a moment before her resolve returned. “Come on.”

With the setting sun to their backs, they rode for the castle. Ciana’s heart hammered in her chest. So many things could go wrong that night, and what happened next was the last thing she expected to happen.

Blocking the road to the town were five men on horseback. And in the center was the thief, bow slung over his back and that charming smile on his lips.

“Ciana!” he called to her.

She had stopped several feet away and the heat rushed to her cheeks. Her mouth had suddenly become dry.

Amelia wasn’t fooled for a second. It merely took a glance between the two of them for her to realize. “It’s him,” she whispered.

Ciana shushed her sharply. She couldn’t risk everything falling apart because tonight had to be the night she saw him again. Why couldn’t fate just let her intervene the way she wanted to?

“My apologies,” the thief said, gesturing at the men around him. “But we were planning to take the road and relieve some courtesans of their shiny trinkets.”

“And will you let us pass?” Ciana asked, aware that she and Amelia looked every bit like a rich courtesan. “Our purses are empty.”

She suddenly felt a wave of fury at the sight of his smirk, but whether it was born of the fact that she wanted to embrace him or hit him, she couldn’t quite tell. She wanted to believe the latter because he stood in her way, but deep down, she knew it was the former. Or it was neither and she was merely furious at herself because she was choosing not to embrace him.

He drew his horse to the side of the road and gestured for them to pass.

Ciana kept a wary eye on him as they approached. Her fingers tightened on the reigns the nearer she came to him. But he and his men did nothing to stop them from going by.

“If I may,” he called out to her. She stopped her horse and turned back. “Fate seems to have a sense of humor, doesn’t it?”

Her brow perked. “Why do you say that?”

“I had a feeling that tonight would be the last chance I got to see you again. For some reason or another.”

“And why does it matter if you never see me again? The only thing you know about me is my name.”

He shrugged, the same gesture from the first time they’d met. “A name is all I needed. Your name told me that you are the lovely Ciana, Baron Bartolomeo’s daughter who was once engaged to Prince Aven when he suddenly cast you out.”

Ciana’s chest tightened and she blinked quickly to stop the tears. She didn’t want to hear the thief paint her pathetic life out for her. She didn’t want his pity. She wouldn’t be able to bear it.

“You asked me what gives me the right to decide who deserves to be robbed,” he continued. “Well, don’t you think that people like Prince Aven deserve it? That perhaps fate needs a little help in making things right for people who don’t have the power to do it themselves?”

Ciana let out a slow breath, her hands shaking. “Prince Aven needs my help. I’m sorry, but you be on your merry way and I won’t tell anyone I saw you.”

The disappointment in his eyes was almost as crushing as the empty look her father gave her just before he died. But this time, she wasn’t going to be useless. She had a purpose and the clock was ticking against her. With a swift kick, she sent her horse racing into town, Amelia at her heels.

Houses blurred as they flew by. People jumped away before being trampled by the horses. Ciana could barely see through her teary eyes but she didn’t let her horse slow.

“Ciana. CIANA!” Amelia shouted.

She yanked back the reigns, pulling her horse into a sudden stop at the gate. Amelia came between her and the castle, breathless from shouting Ciana’s name.

“He never loved me,” Ciana whispered. She had realized this, had come to accept it, but now that she stood on the brink, having the power to make him love her, she couldn’t bring herself to take another step forward. It was only in this moment did she accept that she had allowed a man who saw nothing but her beauty to take everything from her.

Maybe if she had spoken up and fought back against the assumption that she hadn’t been good enough for him then perhaps her father would not have died in shame. If she had held her head as high as Camilla, called herself a rarity rather than a outcast, then Camilla would’ve never forsaken her. Sofia had always been waiting for her to fall but maybe Ciana had also secretly hoped that she would always beat Sofia.

“Tell me,” she said quietly. “Is it cowardly to stay or to run?”

Amelia thumbed away a tear from Ciana’s cheek. “You are the strongest person I know. I don’t doubt that you could walk into that ballroom and make every person fall in love with you. That is easy.” She looked over her shoulder, back towards the road where thieves waited in trees to rob passersby. “To run now would mean going into the unknown and finding a path not yet paved. It would mean finding love rather than taking it.”

“And what would you do? If I decided to go?”

Amelia gave her a knowing smirk. The same one she gave Ciana just before strutting up to Prince Aven. “I’m rather bored of these courtly men. They seem to lack the same sense of adventure as say…a band of merry men who dare to rob from the rich.”

Ciana exhaled in relief. “What about your mother?”

“Our mother will do fine. She’s come this far. Besides, Sofia will take care of her.”

They only had moments before the enchantment on the field mice broke. With a sharp kick, Ciana and Amelia raced back to the road. Once again, people flung themselves out of the horses’ path, shouting curses at the two of them as they flew by.

Ciana’s heart pound against her ribs, desperately hoping the thief would still be there. Fate had given her the chance and she only wished that she hadn’t lost it. As the magic faded, the horses slowed until they were once again field mice scurrying away into the grass.

“I never expected an enchantress to join us.”

The thief and his men appeared from the trees, as if they were shadows coming to life. His smile was brighter than ever before, eyes alight at the sight of her. She returned the smile, her heart finally feeling at peace with her decision.

“I think you’ve kept me waiting long enough,” she said, stepping close to him. She felt his breath on her lips as she whispered, “What’s your name?”

“Robin,” he answered, drawing back the hood of his cloak.