Royal Enchantment

by Sharon Ashwood

  Clary put a hand over hers. “I wouldn’t touch that.”

  “Why not?”

  “Even if you were cursed back in the day, most such spells don’t last more than a hundred years. It would have dissipated centuries ago.”

  She rose, kissed Gwen’s cheek and wandered off to beg Merlin one more time to teach her the proper way to open a portal. Gwen sat very still, the untasted glass of wine just outside her reach. She withdrew her hand, folding her fingers in her lap. The sound of the banquet seemed to meld into a solid roar as she considered what Clary had said, and what she hadn’t.

  A piece of knowledge, one of the million random facts Merlin’s spell had put in her head, said alcohol and babies didn’t mix. Gwen shot another look at the witch, wondering exactly what that intense gaze of hers had meant. Clary looked up and winked.

  It was impossible to block the parade of thoughts that rushed through her mind. How many weeks had she been here? How many times had she been in Arthur’s bed and on Arthur’s couch and in the shower and... They had been well and truly reunited. Still, it was very early.

  But witches were witches, and they saw what was hidden. She’d missed her monthly courses, but after being turned to stone for centuries, wouldn’t her body take time to adjust? And wouldn’t it be normal if unfamiliar food sometimes made her queasy?

  Feeling more than a little shaky, Gwen rose and left the banquet, glad of the fresh autumn air outside the tent. She saw Arthur at once, bidding the reporter farewell. For an instant she saw her husband as a silhouette, the lights strung in the trees rendering him in black and white. But then he turned and saw her, and in an instant his arm was around her waist.

  “How did it go?” she asked.

  “Well enough.” He smiled, but it was rueful. “I think the young lad wanted to know how to sign on as one of the knights.”

  “Perhaps training new knights is not the worst idea,” she mused, but her mind was elsewhere. “I need to speak to you alone.”

  His brow creased, but he led her away to a stand of trees that gave them shelter and privacy. He held her close, his fingers linked behind her back. She wanted nothing more than to lean into his warmth, but held herself back so that she could look into his face.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  “We’ve talked a bit about the future,” she said, “and all the things that must be done. Protecting this world from the fae, finding more of the knights and waking them from the stone sleep and running these shows at Medievaland so that we can pay for food and shelter.”

  “And you have your schooling,” he reminded her. “Don’t forget that.”

  “I won’t,” Gwen said. “I want all of it. I’m happier than I’ve ever been.”

  “As am I.” He kissed her forehead. “Leading you into the banquet tonight, as my wife and queen and partner, was one of my most joyous moments. Everything was right.”

  “I have one more responsibility to add to that future list,” she said softly.

  She took his hand and pressed it to her stomach. “It is very soon. I am going on the word of a witch.”

  She wasn’t sure what his reaction would be. All kings required an heir, but Arthur was a man. Since their last real fight, she’d learned to expect honesty from him. That was healthy, but sometimes uncomfortable.

  A child was a new vulnerability and, as she said, another responsibility. Arthur didn’t need more.

  But she needn’t have worried for one instant. Arthur picked her up, spinning her around with a joyous whoop that made the park workers stop and stare.

  “Hush!” Gwen put a hand over Arthur’s mouth.

  His eyes went wide, as if he would explode with the news. She laughed, contradicting the tears that suddenly blurred her vision. She wanted to laugh and cry and dissolve all at once. The happiness seemed too much, but she would fight like a tigress to keep it all.

  This was her kingdom, and she would make her home and raise her babies in it. She would study and build marvels and take part in the fight to keep it safe. And she would do it in the arms of this man, this king and her husband.

  Some days, it was good to be queen.

  * * * * *

  Keep reading for an excerpt from HER GUARDIAN SHIFTER by Karen Whiddon.

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  Her Guardian Shifter

  by Karen Whiddon

  Chapter 1

  Damned if he did and damned if he didn’t. Truer words had never been uttered. Hightailing it out of California with his infant son made Eric Mikkelson feel like some
sort of criminal, even though he’d never broken a single law in his entire thirty-six years. Basically, he considered himself one of the good guys. Though his kind, the Vedjorn—bear shape-shifters—were by and large ostracized by the wolves, aka The Pack, since no one went around revealing what kind of shifter they were, his life hadn’t been impacted as much as it could have been otherwise.

  No, this journey had nothing to do with him, and everything to do with protecting his son. He wasn’t sure why he felt as if he’d gone on the lam. After all, he’d been granted full legal custody of three-month-old Garth in a court of law. Without restrictions. So if he wanted to drive across the country to New York in the middle of winter, infant son in tow, there was absolutely no reason why he shouldn’t or couldn’t.

  He had his reasons, of course. Even before Garth had been born, he’d asked for and received permission to take a sabbatical from his job as a college professor. As soon as his then-wife, Yolanda, had begun showing, so had her disdain for the thing she carried inside her.

  The more she’d ranted and raved, the more worried he’d grown. She, too, was bear, and their kind were dwindling. A pregnancy would normally be a time for celebration. Not with her. Instead, she appeared to be coming unhinged.

  In her third trimester, she’d finally come to him and asked for her freedom. She hadn’t meant she only wanted out of the marriage. She wanted out of motherhood, as well. He’d negotiated with her carefully. Since he’d offered her a hefty settlement, she’d carried their son full term. Once Garth had been born, she’d refused even to look at the tiny, red-faced infant. She’d handed over the baby to Eric, checked herself out of the hospital and took off to have fun without being tied to anyone or anything.

  The divorce had gone through without a hitch. Eric settled into his new life as a single father with bemused dedication and love. He’d been shocked to learn how much he loved his newborn son, and vowed to be the best parent he could.

  He’d researched everything about babies. Heavily. Some things, such as the ingrained habits borne of years spent educating others, wouldn’t be changed. He’d felt competent and prepared, until the first time Garth came down with a high fever that wouldn’t break.

  But he’d managed, and now, three months in, he would lay down his life for his son. Which was why, when his unstable ex-wife started showing up on his doorstep unannounced, insisting something was wrong with the baby and she needed to take him somewhere to have him fixed, he’d realized he needed to leave California for a while.

  While he made his preparations, he’d received phone calls from colleagues and friends, informing him that Yolanda had been declaring to anyone who would listen that Eric had stolen her son from her and cheated her out of motherhood.

  After he’d placated numerous people, the news got worse. Now it seemed that Yolanda not only wanted her son back, but she also wanted Eric dead. She’d gone twice to the Wolf Pack authorities, the Pack Protectors, and tried to convince them that Eric was a Berserker, a form of insanity unique to the Vedjorn. When a Berserker shifted from human to bear, he or she became a crazed killing machine. If Eric had truly been one, he’d be a danger to not only her son, but others. She also had hinted a few times that Garth might be a Berserker, as well. It was this last claim that worried Eric. He could defend himself against her attacks. His son could not.

  The infrequent gene mutation among the bear shifters was the reason the others—especially wolves—avoided them. Since they were the largest group, the Wolf Pack had an entire division, called the Pack Protectors, devoted to ensuring humankind didn’t learn about their existence. True Berserkers with their indiscriminate killing would endanger not only the bears, but all the others, as well. This could not be allowed. Anyone even seriously suspected of being a Berserker was brought in and contained, until the accusations could either be verified or denied. True Berserkers, though few and far between, were exterminated.

  And Yolanda had named Eric a Berserker. Since this accusation was serious, one might have expected her to have some proof. Something to back her up, incidents of killing and maiming. Since she didn’t, no one took her seriously. Including Eric.

  Then, without warning, Yolanda had shown up on Eric’s doorstep demanding to see her baby. She hadn’t been even close to sober. He’d turned her away. She’d finally left, shouting about how their son needed healing. And how she was the only one who could provide it.

  After that, she’d had an attorney friend contact him. Even though she’d willingly signed away all parenting rights, she’d now decided she’d changed her mind. Except she hadn’t really. He knew all this was somehow related to her intense need to heal her son. From what, he wasn’t sure. Maybe she truly did believe little Garth would grow up to be Berserker. But everyone understood those signs wouldn’t start to exhibit themselves until Garth was able to shape-shift, which would be in his early teens. And if he truly ended up being Berserker, there was no cure.

  With a bone-deep certainty, Eric knew his son wasn’t Berserker. Unfortunately, Yolanda appeared equally convinced he was, despite having no evidence to support her.

  She’d shown up twice more at his front door, cursing, screaming and crying. And threatening. He began to understand his son was in real danger from the woman who’d birthed him. When he caught her breaking the window on the back door in order to gain entry to his home so she could grab the baby, he’d realized it would be better to disappear. In fact, his Pack Protector friend Jason had strongly suggested it.

  So early one morning Eric had quietly packed his SUV, locked his house and taken off cross-country with Garth securely strapped in his infant car seat in back. The rest of his belongings had already been picked up by a moving company and would be delivered a week later, including his painstakingly restored 1969 classic Camaro SS.

  His destination was the tiny town of Forestwood, New York, where he’d rented the bottom floor of a house from a website he’d found on the internet, hoping it would look the same as the pictures that had been posted. He no longer would be teaching college. Instead he would open his own business doing something that until now he’d considered only a hobby. He planned to start an entirely new life, focusing on his son and keeping his head down.

  * * *

  Though her new tenant was supposed to pick up his keys today, Julia Jacobs eyed the blizzard raging outside and figured he’d call her to reschedule. According to the stern yet clearly excited weatherman on TV, officials were advising people to stay off the roads. Whiteout conditions and extreme cold didn’t make for safe travel.

  JJ didn’t mind. She’d been anticipating the snow with the eagerness of a child. She’d dreamed it, after all. And snowfall brought her joy. In all kinds of ways. At the first sight of big, fat snowflakes drifting down from the leaden gray sky, she was filled with the excited anticipation of a kid on Christmas Eve.

  Though she knew she was out of sync with the rest of the world, winter was her favorite season. The crisp bite of the cold air, her breath pluming as she exhaled. She loved the bundling up, the sweater and scarf and coat and hat and gloves and boots. Stepping out into the white wonderland and making the first set of footprints to mar the unblemished perfection. The way the world went absolutely still and quiet the morning after a snowfall, and how wonderful it felt to sit inside her warm house by the fire drinking cocoa and watching the snow fall. Snow always felt like a new beginning, a chance to start over.

  She sighed, glad once again that she was alone, that she’d left Shawn and the hustle and bustle of New York City behind. Even before his true abusive nature came out, her ex-boyfriend had ridiculed her love of all things winter, one of her many character traits that he’d found distasteful and disgusting. Of course, he’d been a summer person, while heat and blazing sunshine had only depressed her. That had just been the beginning and she’d finally broken free. This blizzard, already being ominously forecasted as the s
torm of the century, brought her nothing but joy.

  She felt sorry for her new tenant, though. When he’d rented out the bottom floor of her house, his Norwegian accent had intrigued her. Of course, she’d Googled him after getting his name, noting he’d immigrated to California. She’d been impressed by his academic credentials. A college professor on sabbatical, he’d said. With an infant son.

  The last might have given other landlords pause. After all, babies cried, and even though he’d be on another floor entirely, sound drifted in older houses like hers.

  But JJ had never been a landlord before—heck, she was a brand-new homeowner—and she adored babies, so she’d immediately granted Mr. Eric Mikkelson the lease. He’d paid for two months up front, along with a perfectly reasonable security deposit. He didn’t smoke or have pets, so she privately thought she might have actually managed to find the perfect tenant.

  Even the few fuzzy photos of him she’d seen online jibed with his career. He looked the part, a stereotypical professor, round wire glasses and hair in a ponytail. She hadn’t been able to tell if his hair was blond or gray, but supposed it didn’t matter. He had a baby, which made up for a whole lot of other things, including any lingering intellectual snobbishness. Lord knew she’d had enough of that with Shawn and his Wall Street friends.

  Again, she quickly put the thought from her mind. Enough time had passed that she ought to be able to relax, but she still jumped every time someone moved too fast or she heard a loud, unexpected noise. At least she’d retaught herself not to keep her gaze trained on the ground anymore lest she be accused of flirting.

  And the nightmares featuring Shawn had finally stopped. The horrible, awful dreams had her questioning her own sanity.

  Heaving a sigh, she walked to the window to watch the beautiful snow fall, knowing this would instantly put her in a better frame of mind.

  Meanwhile, meeting her new tenant would have to wait until after the storm. Which meant she was free to putter around the house, put a pot of butternut squash soup to simmer on the stove and go out and play in the snow.