Once Upon A Curse: 17 Dark Faerie Tales Page 7

  Rennard shrugged. If not he, another would provide the King with what he wanted. “Very well,” he said. “But I do not think it will do any good.”

  The Princess stared out the window towards the land of shadow below. She still didn’t know where she was, but she was starting to entertain the thought of climbing out the window, and trying to scale the castle wall to the ground below. From there, she might be able to make her way out of whatever land this was.

  The cuts on her face had crusted over, and she had bruises where he had gripped her wrist too tightly, but the fear had taken to her bone deep. Every time she closed her eyes she could see Karamak’s ivory skull bearing down on her face, the fire in his eye sockets burning with pale lust. She shuddered, trying to cleanse herself of the feeling that insects were running over her body. As she scratched her arms, she noticed that the dress he had given her was loose and she cinched it up with one of the swags that tied back the curtains. She was losing weight from not eating.

  As the lock sounded, Teal backed away from the window, not wanting to give herself away. She moved to stand by the table, keeping it between her and the door. To her surprise and relief, a young man strode in.

  He was flesh and blood, like her, with long red hair and a full beard. Wearing a faded tunic that had once been royal purple, and trousers, he might have been handsome, but then she noticed the silver crown of Karamak set atop his head and her heart sank.

  “What new horror is this that you visit on me? You wear the crown of Karamak and yet you are mortal?”

  The King quietly crossed the room. He stood at arm’s length and said, “You cannot love me as I am. I thought, if I were to look like you...if I were mortal, you might accept me and accept my love.” He reached out for her and pulled her into his arms.

  Teal struggled against his icy embrace. “Your touch is still the touch of death, and you stink of all that is faded and old and long, long dead. You imprison me against my will and expect me to love you?” Her stomach twisted as his hands slid over her body.

  Karamak felt ashamed, but still he forced his mouth on hers and kissed her deeply, his tongue leathery and dry against her moist own. She beat against his chest and he finally let her go. As he left, he warned her, “You leave me little choice.”

  “Let me go home,” she said.

  “You will not love me, even in this form?”

  “You are repulsive in any form,” she said, throwing the pitcher at him. It crashed against the floor, shattering into a thousand shards as the brackish water spread across the boards. “As long as I live I will hate you!”

  He slammed the door as he left.

  Rennard was waiting for the King. Karamak looked at him and shook his head. “Remove the illusion.”

  “Then you will let her go home?” Rennard asked. “Your Majesty, take pity on the girl.”

  “She has no pity for me.” Karamak settled back into his bones, watching the illusion fade with just a faint hint of regret. It had been so long since he had been mortal that he no longer missed it. “I don’t know what to do.”

  “You must do something, Your Highness. She is wasting away. She refuses the food you give her each morning. She will die of thirst soon because she only sips at the water.”

  Karamak stared at the magician. “She said she will never love me as long as she lives. And, how can she? I am the King of Wraithland and she is mortal. We are worlds apart.”

  “Your Highness, I beg of you to stop this folly. Your obsession clouds your judgment.” But his words were lost on the King. As Karamak waved him away, he added, “I warn you, you will be sorely disappointed.”

  But Karamak wasn’t listening.

  The cold was almost more than Teal could bear. The dampness had gotten into her lungs and she coughed now, a painful shudder that wracked her body. When Karamak entered her room on the fifth morning, she turned quietly. She had almost decided to try her luck at climbing down the castle wall but then she stared into the gray mist and a wave of helplessness engulfed her and she realized at last just how far away her home was. She had climbed onto the ledge, willing herself to jump, but at the last minute couldn’t bring herself to do so, and so she fastened the windowpanes again and settled herself at the writing table.

  The room held nothing to interest her, no books, no games. If there had been any paper in the desk, it had long ago vanished into dust. So Teal sat alone with her thoughts and when Karamak entered, she stared up at him silently, waiting his next torture.

  Karamak gently crossed the room. “You are in Wraithland, you know.”

  Teal stared at him, silently accepting the sentence. She knew then that she was doomed. “The land of the dead,” she whispered. “Am I already dead?”

  “No,” Karamak answered. “Not yet. I could send you home again. You have the spark within you that still speaks of life. But how bright you are in my kingdom of shadow. How beautiful and radiant, like the sun you bring light into my world.” He ran his finger over the empty fruit plate. “Every day the plate is emptied and yet you grow thin. Why won’t you eat?”

  “The fruit is full of worms and the bread is stale. The water is brackish, full of brine,” she said.

  “Ah, that explains it. We don’t notice things like that here. We have no need for food.”

  “Are you going to let me go home?” Teal asked, one last spark of hope rising up. She wanted to fall on her knees but her body was too weak and tired. Anyway, she was a Princess, born and bred never to beg.

  Karamak leaned across the desk. “I thought I might, but now I see how bright you still are, how beautiful and full of sparkle and I know I cannot. I love you, Princess Teal of the Woodland Kingdom. I love you and I will not let you leave me.”

  “I don’t want you . . . I don’t love you,” she said.

  “Not with the gulf that lies between us. I was a fool to think my illusion could capture your heart. It was still illusion. But there is a way. If we are the same, then you will have no reason to fight me.”

  He reached out and took her chin in his hands. Teal knew then that he was going to kill her. She straightened her shoulders and closed her eyes, trying not to cry out as he snapped her neck. As she slumped back in the chair, Karamak waited, watching the energy of his land work on her body.

  Within minutes, the bones lay clear and gleaming, and a brilliant sea green fire surround the Princess as she stood, shrugging away the draperies that had been her dress.

  Teal looked down at her bare bones and the thin line of sea foam flames that surrounded them. She looked back at Karamak and now he did not look so frightening. She had no more hope, no more reason to run. She stared at him unblinking.

  “You have won the battle, King of the Dead. You own me. Will I be your dark queen, now?” The wind that was her breath and voice whistled like a hot summer breeze blowing through the reeds.

  Karamak stared at her in horror. The brilliant beauty, the pale skin and bright eyes, the spark of life that had promised joy and desire to his soul, it was all gone and in its place, stood simply another wraith of shadow and fire and death.

  “No,” he whispered, stepping back. “No. Where is my sunlight? Where is my radiant Princess? What have I done?” he cried. “Your will and your passion! Where have they gone?”

  Teal laughed then, bitterly, for she saw his repulsion and suddenly understood. He fell to his knees as she turned. With her bones clicking gently, with her fire crackling quietly, she strode past the grieving King, stopping to lift the crown from his skull and set it atop her own. Then, without a single look back, the dark queen entered the shadowed kingdom that was her new home.

  ***

  Find all Yasmine’s books on AMAZON

  New York Times, Publishers Weekly, and USA Today bestselling author Yasmine Galenorn writes paranormal romance and urban fantasy. The author of over forty books, in the past, she has also written paranormal mysteries, and nonfiction metaphysical books. She is the 2011 Career Achievement Award Win
ner in Urban Fantasy, given by RT Magazine. A shamanic witch and priestess who collects daggers, crystals, china, and corsets, she lives in Kirkland WA with her husband Samwise and their cats. Yasmine can be reached via her Website, and sign up for her Newsletter to find out about all her releases.

  Magic After Midnight - C. Gockel

  The Wicked Stepmother is about to meet her match…

  Chapter 1

  “Are you sitting down?” the voice at the other end of the phone asks.

  Feeling herself go cold, Marcia pushes a chair away from the table, and slowly eases into it. Marcia exhales. “I am now,” she whispers. Why, oh, why, had she picked up the phone? Because she’d expected it to be Cindy …

  “It’s inoperable, I’m sorry. If you need— ”

  “Mom!” Joshua calls from the bathroom. “Mom, Alicia is going to do your hair.”

  “I have to go,” Marcia says.

  She takes a deep breath and smells the reek of trash, the trash that Cindy was supposed to take out.

  “Ma’am— ”

  “I’ve worked in an oncology department for the last ten years, I know what this means,” Marcia says quickly. Why did I have to answer the phone?

  “Mom!” Joshua calls again.

  Marcia hangs up, and walks the short distance through the apartment to the master bath. Alicia and Joshua beam at her as she walks in. Maybe it’s the perfect vanity lighting, making their skin exceptionally golden and their dark eyes sparkle, or maybe it is the soul-crushing news casting the moment in sharp contrast—their health next to her illness—but they look especially beautiful and handsome. Alicia is wearing a green silk sheath dress with an amazing gold and pearl belt. Joshua has dyed his roots purple and the ends pink. He is wearing a gray suit with pink triangle cufflinks, a blue shirt and a lighter gray—what had he called it? A choke tie. Something that is popular in the realm of Vanaheim—or is it Svartálfaheim, land of the dwarves? Her children are so perfect, and Marcia laughs despite everything, or perhaps because of everything. She feels tears come to her eyes and spill over.

  “Mom, what’s wrong?” Alicia asks, a brush in her hand. Her thick dark hair is upswept and held back with pearl pins. Her dark eyes are wide and caring.

  “It’s the suit,” Joshua says, “I shouldn’t have worn dad’s suit, but it’s in style again, Mom, and you said …”

  She shakes her head and hugs him. “No, no, William would have wanted you to wear it.” The suit Joshua had worn just a few months ago no longer fits, as his shoulders seemingly grew three inches broader overnight. When the surprise invitation had come, he’d turned to his father’s—stepfather’s—old clothes in desperation. After some adjustments, the suit fits surprisingly well, and hides the fact that Joshua doesn’t have a lot hanging on those wide shoulders.

  Turning to Alicia, Marcia says, “And you look beautiful.” She feels tears hot on her cheeks again. Her daughter is slouching; she always slouches. Marcia isn’t sure if that is due to the weight of the world on Alicia, her oldest, most responsible child, or if Alicia just feels eclipsed by her siblings. Cindy is more conventionally beautiful, and Joshua is so loud. Maybe it’s both. Marcia swallows. The cut of Alicia’s garment is just right for her broad shoulders and arms toned by swimming. And the green is beautiful against her golden skin. Marcia says to her son, “You did such a wonderful job on the dress.”

  Joshua flushes from his neck to his forehead. “I told you those curtains were worth keeping.”

  “Mom, you’re still crying,” Alicia says.

  “I’m just emotional,” Marcia says, wiping her eyes and silently willing, don’t ask, don’t ask.

  Alicia’s brow pinches, but she gestures to a stool in front of the mirror and says, “Sit down.”

  Marcia takes a seat and Alicia starts brushing her hair back. The dress Marcia wears is something she pulled out of the closet from better times. Joshua had declared that the floor length black gown “doesn’t match Alicia’s green, but at least it is so old it is new again.” Marcia frowns at the lines at the corners of her mouth, around her eyes, and in her forehead. She looks as old as she feels. She glances up at her children. Joshua is just fifteen, Alicia is only seventeen. They’re too young to lose their mother so soon after losing William. She closes her eyes. Oh, but they’d lost more than that. Marcia’s first husband had died when they were five and three. William had been like a real father to them … to lose two fathers, and now a mother.

  “That gray streak through your black hair makes you look like Cruella Deville.” Joshua cackles. “Fits your evil stepmother reputation.”

  Marcia’s eyes spring open.

  “Joshua,” Alicia hisses, tugging Marcia’s curls tight against her head.

  He flicks a wrist. “She knows I’m only joking.”

  Marcia’s phone rings. Joshua looks over at the counter where she’d put it down. He scowls. “Speak of the devil …”

  “Cindy’s not the devil,” Marcia says. “She’s—”

  “Going through a tough time,” say her children in unison.

  “Pick it up,” Marcia says, wiping her eyes.

  Sighing, Joshua picks it up and walks out of the bathroom.

  Arranging Marcia’s hair into a bun at the nape of her neck, Alicia asks, “Is your stomach feeling better, Mom?”

  “Yes,” she lies. She smiles and more tears fall out of her eyes. What is she going to do? Can she make it just three more years, to see all her children come of age? Who will look after them if she doesn’t?

  Joshua tromps back into the bathroom, rolling his eyes. “Cindy’s hair-styling-dress-fitting date with her fairy godmother is running late and she’s going to take her godmommy’s chariot to the ball.”

  “At least we’re still invited,” Alicia says.

  Joshua snickers. “We still get to embarrass our stinking rich snobby relatives!” He fist bumps Alicia. “Ugly step-sister powers activate!”

  Marcia’s eyes go wide, and not at her son’s declaration of himself as a ‘sister.’ “You’re not the ugly step-sisters!”

  Alicia huffs, “Of course not, Mom. Fairy tales aren’t real.”

  “Mom,” Joshua says, “you’re losing weight again.” He picks at the dress as they walk through the grand foyer of Marcia’s in-laws, or former in-laws, or whatever you call the family of a widow when the controlling members of said family never really liked her. “I should have taken it in.”

  “It’s fine,” Marcia says. Normally she would bat his hand away, but she’s too tired. She tells herself not to think of what that exhaustion means as they walk toward the main reception room and the buzz of conversation.

  “I know that we’re probably only here because some event planner made a mistake on an invitation that was probably only supposed to be for Cindy,” Alicia whispers.

  Marcia’s jaw sags. She’d actually thought exactly that … but her children had begged her to accept the invite. She’d thought they’d thought the offer had been genuine.

  “But I’m still so excited!” Alicia gushes. “We’ll probably be hustled off to a corner like the last time we were here, but still—”

  “We’ll be the only people at school who’ve seen Night Elves up close,” says Joshua, his voice bubbling with excitement.

  Marcia rubs her temples, partly at the memory of the last time, partly because she feels like crying again and wants to hide her eyes. She has to give them this. One last night of excitement, hope, and magic. Not everyone gets to meet elves, even since the opening of the realms. They tend to remain in Alfheim. But the Night Elves, a minor kingdom allied with the Light Elves, are interested in trading minerals … for what, she’s not sure. Clutching her side, she rubs her temples. Her wealthy, well-connected in-laws made their fortune in commodities futures; of course they’d have maneuvered to have the Night Elves come to call.

  They step into the reception room, the swirl of voices, and the press of bodies. Her flamboyant son whispers dramatically, “Oh, my Go
d. I think I just got pregnant.”

  Alicia gasps. “They’re … they’re …”

  Marcia drops her hand from her face. She looks around. There are male and female elves intermingled through the crowd. They have pointed ears and too-perfect faces. They’re tall, elegant, dressed in silk brocades that are elegant and alien and …

  “They’re beautiful,” Alicia whispers.

  “Vampires,” Marcia whispers at the same time. She can see fangs peeking between their lips as they speak, plop hors d’oeuvres in their mouths, and take sips of their wine.

  “Beautiful,” Alicia whispers.

  Joshua snorts and whispers, “We know our stepfamily are all bloodsuckers. Don’t worry, Mom, we’ll be careful.”

  Alicia sighs and squeezes Marcia’s arm. “How could Dad have been so nice when his family is so evil?”

  They hadn’t all been evil. William’s parents had been lovely … but since her mother-in-law was put into a nursing home, and her father-in-law’s passing, the fortune had fallen into the care of Cindy’s godmother. Marcia doesn’t remind the children of this. She’s too petrified. Is she hallucinating? She turns slowly in place, dreading what she might find—that she is going mad, or that her hallucinations are real. She finds herself staring at a man standing so close he could reach out and touch her. He’s one of them, tall, with olive skin and dark hair curling in ringlets around his pointed ears. His eyes are light brown flecked with yellow, and his cheekbones are very sharp. His lips are slightly parted, as though in surprise, and his fangs are glinting in the light. He must have heard her. Swallowing, she takes a step back and blinks.

  And the fangs are gone …

  She’s hallucinating. The news of her disease has sent her into shock. She has to hold it together, just tonight. One more night.

  “Yoo-hoo!” an older woman cries from behind Marcia.

  Alicia grumbles, “And here comes Cinderella and her fairy godmommy.”