FAIRYTALE Read online

  REBECCAH RODRIGUEZ

  Copyright © Rebeccah Rodriguez 2018

  The right of Rebeccah Rodriguez to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in a retrieval system, in any form or by any means, without permission in writing from the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real people, alive or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Cover design by Natasha Snow

  Interior book design by Eight Little Pages

  FOR THE DREAMERS

  CONTENTS

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  25

  26

  27

  28

  29

  30

  31

  32

  GINGERBREAD PREVIEW

  1

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  1916

  O

  nce upon a time a prince named Killian looked up at the heavens and sprinkled shards of diamond in his hair. He peered out the window, trying to see the stars in the inky sky, but the warlocks had already covered everything in a shimmering silver barrier. He suppressed a sigh, leaning his forehead against the cool glass. The snow-topped redwoods soon blocked out the last of the remaining moonlight, shrouding everything in black.

  The automobile climbed higher onto the mountain, and the last of the city down below faded away. The trees parted. Tiny lights sparked up ahead, growing brighter as they neared. Soon, a line of vehicles and carriages dotted the road in front of them, all approaching the same destination—a jagged castle jutting out from the side of the mountain face.

  The castle of Thale was covered in crystals and gemstones, its windows and doors glinting and flickering in what was left of the moonlight. Iron statues lined the narrow driveway, their necks draped in angelic and rue.

  Killian’s driver brought the vehicle right up to the entrance, and his stomach sank in dread. A moment later his door opened and he stepped out.

  “Thank you.”

  The servant nodded, but didn’t move. Killian glanced back at the empty seat and forced a smile he hoped didn’t look too lonely. “It’s just me.”

  The servant nodded again, and without a word he shut the door, moving on to the next waiting vehicle in line. Killian waved his driver off, whispering farewell to the familiar pink and purple flag of his homeland fluttering from the hood. Goodbye Astrocia. Goodbye freedom.

  The scent of coal and fresh snow filled Killian’s nose. He tilted his head back, thankful that not everything had been blocked out by the warlocks’ magic, and he watched the small flakes drift down, melting on his hot skin. Within seconds his fingers were completely numb. He curled them in and looked back to the open doors. This was it. There was no turning back now. Squaring back his shoulders, he walked in.

  A warm blast of air instantly enveloped him, and the subtle scent of smoked reindeer tickled his nose. In the corner, a string band played upon a raised platform, dressed completely in white, tapping their toes along with the people already dancing. At least some people seemed to be having fun.

  A small table offered seven types of masks, and he quickly snatched up the nearest one—a bronze crow—as he walked further inside.

  Tall, bejeweled windows lined the ballroom, all of them already frosted over. Killian kept to the walls, away from the dancers, over to the ornate railing that lined the staircase. A few people stood among the steps, golden wineglasses in hand, already laughing. Killian plastered on a polite smile, certain it looked just as fake as it felt.

  The violinists struck a new tune. He looked down at the dance floor spread out below him, watching the flurry of deep, gem-colored ballgowns begin to pick up speed once more. Dark robes and suits, the sparkle and glimmer of precious metals twinkled across the room and bounced off the light from a diamond chandelier. What was once mystifying now seemed little more than an empty display of wealth and glamour. He wondered if that magic would ever return to him or if it disappeared forever once everything in life changed.

  “You should go dance with them.”

  He smirked at the familiar voice. Perhaps something would always stay the same. He looked over at the thin, pale woman leaning on the rails just a few feet away from him. Her white blonde locks were pulled into a loose, intricate braid cascading across her shoulder, gleaming with crystals that matched her glittering, silver gown. A golden mask of an elegant peacock perched on her nose.

  “Only if you go with me.”

  “Right,” she scoffed as she straightened up, “because I’ve always had the grace and poise of a ballerina. You know me so well.”

  She walked over to him, resting her elbows on the banister. With her heels, she was even taller than he was.

  “About time you showed up. I’ve been bored out of my skull waiting for you,” she said as she reached for his hand, lacing her long fingers over his. “Have you felt any earthquakes yet?”

  “I just arrived,” Killian said, and tried not to grimace. “But I’m not exactly looking forward to it.”

  “I am.” Annette grinned slyly. “I’ve heard they’re such a thrill, you never know when they’re going to sneak up on you. Do you see that statue?” She closed one eye, aiming a finger down at a crystal statue of a woman with large, feathery wings placed in front of one of the windows on the dance floor. “They told me it was over five hundred years old, a national heirloom. Do you believe that?”

  Killian shrugged. “We have flowers older than that in Astrocia.”

  “Oh yes, flowers. How fascinating.” She nudged him with her elbow. “You really have a knack for engaging conversation, you know that?”

  He nudged her arm, and the sound of her giggles helped soothe his nerves. Even when they were kids she always did have that effect on him. He ran his hand along the railing, his fingernails digging into the intricate carvings. The wood gleamed like it had just been polished. “It looks like they put a lot of work into this year’s celebration.”

  “They probably didn’t want to wind up like last year’s summit in Freyye.” Annette visibly shuddered. “With all of that smoke and fish? What were they thinking?”

  Killian grinned. “That they like fish.”

  Annette gagged and Killian laughed.

  This was only Annette’s third time attending the summit, but she fit in like a natural. Ever since Melchior and Cosette married, she’d joined in the festivities and seamlessly milled her way around the royals as though she were one of them. For all his smug grins and nonchalance, Killian envied her grace. Even after a lifetime of attending the annual event with his mother, he couldn’t have felt less prepared. By tomorrow morning the dancing would subside, and a solid two weeks of conferences and negotiation would commence.

  When he was younger he’d avoid them at all costs, spending his days with the other princes, earls and dukes, until at night the parties resumed. With the International Peace Summit held at a new location every year, he’d always look
ed forward to it, never once missing an excuse for travel. But then he turned eighteen and everything changed. Suitors came calling. Letters and telegrams poured in. His mother decided he needed to get married and he quickly realized how little say he would have in it all. By his following birthday she’d made her decision, and for the first time in his life, the Peace Summit loomed under a cloud of foreboding.

  Still, it was nice having Annette around to ease his dread.

  “Come on, Annette,” he said with a coaxing grin, refusing to let her change the subject, “are you really not going to dance with me?”

  She sighed and rolled her eyes before linking her arm through his. “Fine, only for you. But you better learn how to be more charming once your fiancé is involved. I don’t want to be known as the best friend of His Royal Madness.”

  Killian’s smile faded instantly, his stomach once again turning in that familiar way as he thought about that word. Fiancé.

  He quickly cleared his throat and forced the grin back to his lips. “Of course, wouldn’t want to inconvenience you.”

  Annette picked up her draping skirt with her free hand as they descended the staircase, and she squeezed his arm tight in reply. She always knew when he was playing a role.

  “So, do you know when the wedding is scheduled? I haven’t received my invitation yet.”

  He sighed as they reached the bottom step. He slipped one hand around her waist, the other pressed into her palm, their fingers intertwined. They fell into a slow waltz. “Not yet. It’s Maman’s ultimate decision in any case, you know that.”

  “Don’t look so glum. Marriage is a beautiful thing!” Annette leaned in close to him, raising an eyebrow coyly. “Or so I’ve been told.”

  “You’re a hoot,” he muttered, glancing away from her.

  “I was only teasing,” she said, laughter playing on her lips. “Besides, you haven’t even met your fiancé yet. You may even end up liking one another. Did his photograph finally arrive?”

  Killian avoided her mildly suggestive eyebrow and shook his head. “No. But I’m not sure what difference it makes. No matter his looks, name or anything else, it’s not like any of that is going to change anything.”

  “Wait.” Annette nearly pulled to a stop. “You don’t even know what his name is?”

  Killian rolled his eyes and kept moving, pulling her after him. “Like I said, it’s not as though any of it will change anything.”

  The music switched its tempo, a quicker pace picking up. The people around them shifted, falling in line to a new dance they already seemed to know, though Killian had never heard it before. He looked back at Annette, laying his palm gently upon her bare, bony shoulder as they fell into step.

  “Perhaps,” he finally muttered with a shrug, “but wouldn’t it be nice if I could know for certain?”

  “You mean marrying someone out of love?” Annette pulled her head back and practically cackled. “Are you really still on that?”

  “She almost agreed,” Killian insisted. “She had begun to listen to me, I really think she was starting to understand what I was saying.”

  Annette sighed and shook her head. “Oh, Killian, you should consider yourself lucky she even took some of your preferences into account. Some of us don’t even get that much.”

  She reached up and gently cupped his cheek. Her fingertips were warm, and Killian fell silent. Her words rested heavily between them. Without thinking, his eyes were drawn to the golden ring on Annette’s right hand she’d worn for over three years, and he couldn’t help but wonder exactly how many other women had worn it. Her husband, an elderly baron almost forty years her senior, wasn’t exactly known for his lengthy marriages.

  “Besides,” she pulled her hand from his cheek, “you know things could always be worse.”

  He snapped his gaze back up at her and tightened his grip around her waist. Her hand squeezed his and she nodded. The music was picking up even more, the crowd around them falling into step with an excited vigor.

  He didn’t know the steps very well, but he moved his feet faster anyway, twirling her along with him. He spun her away then back again, clutching her tight in his arms. “Not quite ballet, but not bad either if I might be so humble.”

  Annette laughed again, falling into step alongside him. “You’re such a man of talent.”

  The music grew louder, a flurry in his ears. They were lost amidst a sea of spinning gowns and glittering jewels, the laughter and cheers rising with the sound of the cello. He didn’t recognize any of these people; a sea of smiling faces, each more well-bred and perfect than the last, stunningly coiffed hair and manicured nails. Annette fit in so well here.

  “Have you heard from Melchior at all yet?” he asked, raising his voice just a bit higher above the music.

  “Not yet.”

  The violins were picking up. A drum started up somewhere. The crowd gave a cheer all around them.

  “But you know how my brother is,” Annette’s voice rose as well. “He’s never been one for mingling.”

  “True, though I’ve yet to see his wife miss a party.”

  She rolled her eyes and her voice blended in with the dancers surrounding them, “As if Cosette would give up the opportunity for a spotlight.”

  Annette spun out from him, her arm graceful in the air, but before she could spin back in she was suddenly swept away. Killian reached for her only to find arms dragging him back, lost to the beat of the crowds. He almost stumbled, then suddenly found himself holding the hands of a young woman with black braids and sparkling dark eyes. She laughed brilliantly and pulled him along with her.

  The melody wrapped around them, quick and light. He could barely keep up with her jumping, kicking, tapping feet. He laughed along, fumbling to stay on pace. Then she was gone and another dazzling woman took her place.

  Faster and faster they came and went. Queen, duchess, princess, empress... this one with blue eyes, then hazel, then brown. One glittering in gold, the other swathed in emeralds and rubies, they danced and kicked up their heels and laughed.

  Killian struggled to breathe, his face warm, lungs on fire and head filled with endless beauty. He couldn’t keep up. The room began to spin, faster. Tilting, toppling, twirling. All of it too fast.

  The music stopped. Killian stumbled, and then his hands caught another pair. But unlike before, these ones gripped back tight. He inhaled deeply, face flushed and heart pounding as the crowd erupted into a final cheer of applause. The room still spun around him, and when he looked down at his partner, his eyes widened.

  He couldn’t have been much older than a teenager. Dark eyes and dark hair, his cheeks flushed with deep crimson as he panted for air. He wore no jewels or long, silken robes, garbed only in a gray woolen coat, slacks, and fur-lined boots. The buttons were all made of iron, and his hair was long, like a child’s, worn up in a simple ponytail. He wore the mask of an ox, simple yet striking.

  The boy—no, the young man—sucked in a breath and brusquely pulled his hands away from Killian.

  “I wasn’t dancing,” he muttered, sounding flustered. “They pulled me in.”

  He sounded even younger than he looked. A thick accent stunted his words, though he spoke the Common language well.

  Killian couldn’t help but grin. His heart still raced, his fingertips trembling with unexpected adrenaline. He whisked a few stray strands of chestnut hair back from his face. “That’s alright. I’m not exactly sure what just happened either.”

  Blush deepening, the young man straightened his coat. “Excuse me.” His words were clipped, embarrassed, and he flicked his eyes off to the side. He turned on his heel and disappeared back into the crowds as quickly as he had first appeared.

  Killian watched him go, still reeling in place. The music had returned to a casual waltz, the overzealous dancers breaking apart. He sucked in a deep breath, trying to stop his jittering nerves.

  The ladies giggled as they drifted past
him, and one of them whispered, ‘Hello, Prince Valor.’ He tried to ignore them, still hoping to catch a final glimpse of the strange young man. But as he pressed back up to the wall, peering through the weaving bodies, Killian saw no sign of him. Even so, the young man’s wide, dark eyes remained imprinted in Killian’s mind. He looked so different from the smiling, beautiful crowds, his heavy accent difficult to place.

  Killian bit his tongue and grinned to himself, a renewed surge of heat tickling his cheeks. He wished he would reappear again, just for a moment, just for a brief look. He couldn’t remember the last time someone so quickly stole his breath away. How easily he yearned to succumb to the weakening of his knees.

  He sucked in a breath and looked away guiltily. No. That’s not what he was here for. Shaking his head, Killian pushed the young man from his mind, trying desperately to ignore the sinking disappointment in his chest. He should probably find wherever Annette had been pulled off to.

  A spark of gleaming metal flashed in the corner of his eye. He stopped, gaze dropping to the floor. A small, dark silver object lay on the ground, but there was no one around anymore. Killian reached down and picked it up. It was much heavier than it looked.

  It was a ring. It gleamed brilliantly, though the metal was unlike anything he had ever seen before, as though it swallowed all the surrounding light, yet it somehow shimmered like it was covered in stars. He peered at it closer. Hair-thin inscriptions were carved onto its surface, and he turned it up toward the chandelier, trying to make them out.

  They were impossible to read, and he glanced around, clutching the ring tight. It had been on the floor at the exact spot where he’d finished dancing. That familiar tingle of excitement rose back to Killian’s cheeks and he grinned. Maybe he could see that young man one more time after all. He slipped the ring inside his jacket pocket. Annette could wait a little while longer.

  The ballroom suddenly felt so much more crowded than before, the bustling bodies milling around him like waves. He clung to the walls, scanning the masked faces, but none of them came even close to revealing those alluring amber eyes. He sidled along until the frigid air from the open doors pricked his skin.