Once Upon A Kiss: Seventeen Romantic Faerie Tales Read online

  “You would have made a better queen,” said Zona.

  Sabine shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. I’m sure you make a fantastic queen.”

  “Actually, it does matter,” said Eldon. “Now that you’re back, you’re a threat to the crown and the safety of this kingdom.”

  Sabine narrowed her eyes at him. “Surely you don’t believe—”

  “I don’t,” Zona said judiciously. “Truly, I don’t. You are my sister and I love you with all my heart.”

  “But this is not about love,” Sabine guessed. “This is about duty.”

  “You are the true heir to this throne,” Eldon pointed out. “We don’t believe that you would personally do anything to hurt Upper Reaches, but there are others who might.”

  Sabine silently berated herself for not considering the political consequences of her return to the kingdom. It had never occurred to her that she might no longer be welcome in her home. She and Rinkrank should have stayed in the mountain, or run far away the very moment they’d been set free. As firstborn, Sabine’s presence in Upper Reaches would only lead to chaos. Only one course of action could remedy this situation.

  “Am I to be executed now?” Sabine asked calmly.

  “We could never hurt you,” said Eldon.

  “Guards.” Tears streamed down the queen’s cheeks as she addressed Sir Ronald. “Please escort my sister to the dungeon.”

  Stupefied, Sabine let Sir Ronald and his men lead her down and down and down into the castle’s deepest dungeon, where they shut her up in a cell. “If it’s any comfort to you,” Sir Ronald said through the bars as he turned the key, “the king always believed you would return. He left standing orders for us to patrol the mountain every day, orders that continued on long after his passing. That is how we found you this day. Your father loved you right up until the end. I believe his spirit was watching out for you in that mountain, and I believe he watches over you still.”

  Sir Ronald left her then, broken-hearted and broken-souled and all alone. In the dark.

  Again.

  Sabine wept and screamed and slept and sang and told herself stories, all to keep the madness at bay. She ran her fingers over every inch of the cell, trying to find a way out. There was no cliff face to climb here, no glowing gems, no brazier, no bed, no drawers and cupboards to provide diversions or sustenance. This cell did not care for her as the mountain had. The empty walls had no soul.

  If her father truly was watching over Sabine, how sad he would be to see her now. She looked forward to explaining everything when she joined him in death.

  Eventually, she began to hallucinate, and she welcomed the dreams that blurred into her reality. She saw lights that danced like fairies. She saw movement in the shadows. She even saw Rinkrank. His hair was mussed, and his beard looked to be coming back in. Good. She liked his beard. Maybe even fuller than this, but not as bushy as it had been.

  It was a beautiful vision.

  He walked up to the cell and opened the door with a key. Behind him, two of Sir Ronald’s guards held candles to light his way. She would have risen to meet him, but she lacked the will to live, never mind the will to stand. He bent down over her. Concern furrowed his brow, but she could not lift her hand to wipe the lines away.

  “You reek,” said the vision.

  “There is a chamberpot here,” she announced without preamble. “I do not miss chamberpots. But I miss our mountain. I miss the drawers and the cupboards and the cabinet. I miss the looking glass and the strange books and the unicorns’ tea. I miss my father. And I miss you.” She could barely get the last two items out for the tremendous pain in her chest.

  “Come on, Mandrake,” said the vision. “Let’s go home.” He gathered her into his arms and carried her up and up and up the stairs, down another dark tunnel, and out another door she’d never seen before. Sir Ronald held the door open for them. As they passed, he gave them his most honored salute.

  Rinkrank carried her all the way to the base of the mountain. As they reached it, a cave opened up in the sheer rock face, welcoming them in.

  The room was still a shambles, but the white marble of the water closet still glowed with its magical light. Rinkrank sat her down on the edge of the tub. He gave her a goblet of water to drink, then wet a cloth and began to wash her face. Sabine instantly began to feel more alert, but she was still fairly sure she was hallucinating. For one thing, the mirror no longer held their reflection. An older man stood there instead, looking down on them beatifically.

  “Hello,” Sabine addressed the man. “Are you the wizard who built this mountain?”

  “I am,” said the man. “You may call me Earl.”

  “Why?” asked Rinkrank. “Why did you make the mountain, and why did it trap us here for so much time?”

  “Long ago,” said the man, “during the Wizard War, magic ravaged the countryside with such force that it tore a hole in between worlds.”

  “So you created this mountain,” said Sabine.

  “I, and a lot of other powerful wizards who did not live to see this time. Unfortunately, the price of creating the mountain was destroying the great city around the tear: the high seat of the Lords of Dragonsward.”

  She felt Rinkrank stiffen at her side.

  “The Dragonswards and their people…did they all die?” she asked the wizard.

  “Most of them,” he admitted. “Including the young woman who was meant to make a marriage alliance with the neighboring kingdom to the north. According to prophecies, that alliance meant a great deal to the future of this world, but we were too busy dealing with the immediate threat to debate the consequences of our actions.” The wizard stood straighter. “So I added a stipulation, that this mountain would somehow attract two descendants of these great families and bring about the alliance that always should have been. And that is how you, Lord Alastair Dragonsward, and you, Princess Sabine of Upper Reaches, came to be in this place.”

  Sabine looked at Rinkrank. Alastair. His name was Alastair.

  “Was torturing us part of the bargain?” Alastair asked angrily.

  “There was no way to foresee how long it would take for the mountain to find two worthy candidates, or how long this particular alliance would take to forge,” said the wizard. “And for that I can only apologize.”

  Sabine didn’t need Earl to apologize for bringing the two of them together, but now that they were together, she needed to know that they had a future. “What do we do now? Are we to live down here forever?” She took Alastair’s hand. “I would, you know.”

  “So would I,” he said. “I don’t need sunshine as long as I have you.”

  “Your sister and her husband are smashing this mountain to pieces as we speak,” said the wizard.

  “But the glass will grow back,” said Sabine. “It always grows back.”

  “Now that the stipulation has been met, this mountain will disappear, just like any other mountain demolished to make a road for progress. But,” the wizard added quickly, “on the other side of this mirror is another world, one where you would be welcome to live, and thrive.”

  “This room,” Alastair whispered. “We are standing on the tear between the worlds.”

  “We are,” said the wizard. “But I warn you, once you cross over to this world, there is no turning back. I will give you a moment to think about it. But decide quickly.”

  Alastair stood and ran back into the cavern.

  “Don’t you want to take his offer?” Sabine asked. “It does seem to be our only choice.”

  “I do if you do,” he called back to her. “There’s just something I want to get first.” He yanked the last sheet off the bed and placed it on the floor before the chest of drawers. He pulled out the bottom drawer—the one Sabine never used, because the first three had provided all she needed—and upended it onto the sheet. Hundreds, thousands of glowing, uncut gems spilled out. He gathered up each corner of the sheet into a makeshift sack, which he carried back into the clo
set. “Wherever we end up, this should be enough to get us started.”

  “I’ll say.” Sabine smiled, and then was hit by a wave of remorse.

  “What is it?” asked Alastair.

  “This mountain was so good to us,” said Sabine. “She brought us together. Took care of us. Kept us safe. And now she’s going to be destroyed.”

  “She?”

  Sabine ignored his silly question. She stood and placed a hand on the angel cabinet. “Thank you,” she said aloud. “You were a good mountain.”

  There was a clatter inside the cabinet and Sabine opened the door curiously. A pretty little box waited there for her, covered with paintings of pastel unicorns. Inside the box were two rings, black and smooth as the glass of the mountain herself.

  Alastair took the rings from the box. The smaller one he slid onto on Sabine’s finger, and the larger he put on himself.

  Sabine kissed the angel on the cabinet. “Thank you.”

  Standing beside the looking glass, sack full of gems over one shoulder, Alastair held his hand out to Sabine. The black glass of his ring winked in the magic closet’s light. “Well, Mandrake? What do you say?”

  Sabine paused. The last time she had heard those words and taken someone’s hand, she’d embarked on an adventure that had changed her life…and not all for the better. Was she willing to do it again?

  “Absolutely,” she answered.

  And so together—hand in hand—they stepped through the looking glass.

  * * *

  Author’s Note

  Many folks who grew up on fairy tales remember a glass mountain appearing somewhere, but few ever remember “Old Rinkrank,” probably the most famous of the glass mountain stories (and one that actually had a happy ending!). I featured this Grimms’ tale on Episode 30 of Princess Alethea’s Fairy Tale Rants and came away with a lot of questions. Who exactly “made” this glass mountain, and why? Crotchety old Rinkrank was already in residence when the princess fell in—how did he get there? How long had he been there? Why on earth would he have needed a cleaning lady? And if there was a door inside the mountain the whole time (through which Rinkrank returned every evening), why did they depend solely on the magic ladder in Rinkrank’s pocket to escape?

  The original fairy tales often leave me asking questions like this, at which point I feel compelled to insert logic back into the story…logic which, in this instance, tied beautifully into my new series, The Border Court (launching later this year). Those who are familiar with “Old Rinkrank” (hats off to you, my friends!) will note that my ending differs slightly from the source material, but with good reason, and still keeps the integrity and optimism of the Grimms’ tale intact.

  I do believe “Old Rinkrank” is my new favorite fairy tale. I hope it becomes yours as well!

  The Bakers Grimm - Hailey Edwards

  Chapter 1

  For as long as anyone could remember, Lookie’s Cookies, a specialty cookie shop, had shared a wall with Grimm Design, the cutting-edge bakery next door. Mom, Lookie Comeaux, was faithful to her royal icing and shortbread, but Bernadette Grimm held no such loyalties. She served sandwiches to lure in peckish passersby who nested in the patio furniture arranged in front of our window display. Mom had, on more than one occasion, threatened to place thumbtacks on the seats during Grimm’s lunch rush the way one might use bird control spikes to keep unwanted pests from roosting.

  Week after week, month after month, year after year, petty skirmishes broke out between the two rival shop owners. It was to be expected, I suppose, considering Mom and I were elves and Bernadette and her star baker, her son, Daryl, were witches. Fae and earth magics never had learned to play nice together, and neither had our parents. And, if I was being honest, neither had we.

  Still, the cycle might have continued unbroken, until the day all-out war erupted in the otherwise peaceful town of Wink, Texas.

  A lucrative contract for supplying the area’s multitude of Leonard’s chain stores with cookies had landed in Mom’s hands. Well, almost. She did have to beat one final competitor, the shop next door. That small detail failed to prevent Mom from crowing to anyone in hearing distance about her daughter’s—that would be me—dab hand with royal icing and a piping bag. How my skill alone would land her the contract and leave Grimm in her snickerdoodle dust.

  And that’s also how Mr. Martin Dross, the marketing director of Leonard’s, who had stopped in to collect a sample tray, happened to be present for the brag heard ’round the block.

  “Your daughter decorated all these?” Mr. Dross peered into the bakery case I was attempting to hide behind and caught my reflection. “The attention to detail is quite remarkable. These are all handmade?”

  “Yes.” Mom beamed with pride. “We’re the only non-magic cookie bakery in town.”

  Considering we were the only cookie specialists in town, that wasn’t saying much. But there was a cachet to having handmade treats as opposed to those concocted by magic. To me, the difference in flavor alone made the extra cost worthwhile. Magicked cookies tasted…generic. Similar to the end product of the refrigerated rolls of dough you could buy at the grocery store. Ours, however, had been known to cause swooning, drooling and, that one time, a marriage proposal.

  Mr. Dross’s piercing yellow gaze flicked up to mine. “I have a proposition for you.”

  Mom gripped my shoulders and shoved me into clear view. “Oof. I mean, yes?”

  “My mother’s birthday is tomorrow.” He tapped the base of his throat, drawing my attention to his sallow skin. “Father bought her a ruby necklace for her birthday the first year they were married. Do you think if I provided photographs that you could copy the necklace? I’m sure I have some on my phone. Say, duplicate the design on five or six dozen cookies? I’d need them in time for her party.”

  My jaw came unhinged. Sixty or seventy-two more super intricate designs on top of all my other work? In under twenty-four hours?

  No thanks.

  “Of course, she can,” Mom butted in with a promise she didn’t have to keep.

  “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather have a cake?” I cringed beneath her glare while cheerfully throwing her nemesis under the bus. Overbooked as usual, thanks to Mom’s inability to say no to a paying customer, I was hanging on to my present deadlines by my fingernails. I had no time for elaborate add-ons. Not this week. Not this month, according to my calendar. The rest of the year wasn’t looking so hot either, honestly. “The reason I ask is they do amazing things with isomalt next door. There’s a good chance that Daryl, Mrs. Grimm’s son, could replicate the stones in sugar and the settings in gum paste. Their creations are also handmade.”

  Part of the lease agreement had included, to my understanding, a ban on spell casting to keep our product untainted, forcing the Grimms to uphold the same non-magic baking standards.

  “Hmm. Mother has a fondness for shortbread, you see.” He gave the case one last glance then sighed. “It’s last minute, I know. I wasn’t sure she would be in town until she emailed her travel agenda this morning. If you can’t handle the order, of course I’ll go next door. I’m sure the Grimms would be happy for the commission.”

  “I bet they would,” Mom muttered under her breath before cranking up her volume. “It’s no worry, really. Millie would be thrilled to help ensure your mother’s birthday is a truly special occasion.” She glared daggers at me when I parted my lips. “Here at Lookie’s Cookies, we’re always willing to accommodate our customers’ needs.” To me, she whispered, “Especially when contracts are on the line.”

  “What about my other orders?” I hissed. “I’m booked solid.”

  “Then you’d better get started.” After patting my cheek, she shuffled Mr. Dross to a corner table to sort out the gory details.

  “How does she think you’re going to produce the grandkids she keeps harping on if she works you to the bone?”

  Smiling, I glanced over my shoulder at Sue, my assistant. “Where there’s a turkey
baster, there’s a way?”

  “Eww and yet… This is your mom we’re talking about.” The other woman anchored her hands on her hips. “She’s probably hoping your talent will breed true, and you’ll turn into a production line for cookies and heirs to her empire.”

  “Be nice.” Laughter bubbled up my throat. “Come on. We better get started clearing the other orders.”

  “Yes, boss.” She saluted me, whirled on her heel and marched into the kitchen.

  I followed with a sigh, fingers aching at the hours of work ahead of them.

  * * *

  Through the miracle of delegation, and the part-time decorator we kept on standby, I cleared enough orders to work guilt-free on the Dross cookies after closing Lookie’s for the day. I lost myself to the mindless repetition, relaxing into the familiar motions, enjoying the small reprieve from Mom, who believed I required utter silence to create my masterpieces, a belief I was quick to encourage at every opportunity. I was using a toothpick to flood the liquid icing up to its piped border when a loud knock on the back entrance made me jump. The toothpick broke the line, and icing dribbled over the side, the cookie ruined.

  “Good thing I baked extras,” I grumbled to the empty room.

  Whatever late-night delivery had just arrived better be worth the interruption. Some of our suppliers were nocturnal fae, and they offered discounts for accommodating nighttime deliveries, but we kept human hours around here. I would have to remind Mom that the next time she wanted to save a few dollars, she needed to make sure someone would be here to receive the goods.

  Crossing the kitchen, I opened the door. “Can I help—? Oh. It’s you.”

  “Did you really encourage Mr. Dross to order a cake from me?” Daryl Grimm, handsome as sin and snarly as a bear, glared down at me from under a fringe of platinum bangs, the rest of his hair feathered and gooped in a messy style that made my fingers itch to tidy his part. “Do you know how many weddings I have booked this week?”