by Aron Lewes
When Prince Sharman checked his hair in the looking glass for a fifth time that evening, Donnabella rolled her eyes and groaned. “You know, I've never met a man who was so in love with his hair,” she teased him.
Sharman's eyebrows snapped together as he turned away from the looking glass. “What?”
“Your hair. You're sooo in love with your hair!” she repeated. “I have no idea how you managed to fall in love with Cinderella when your heart clearly belongs to your voluminous chocolate tresses.” The witch's eyes rolled again as her head collapsed on her pillow. “Now... will you stop looking at your hair and get in bed, please? As long as you're wandering around the room, I can't sleep.”
As he circled the bed, Sharman rubbed his chin. If the sneer on his nose was any indication, crawling into bed with Donnabella was just as pleasant as slipping into a pit of vipers. “Are you sure it's alright to share a bed?”
“I have no problem with it. I could tell you to sleep on the floor, but that would be childish.”
Sharman slowly peeled back the blankets on his side of the bed. “Are you serious?” he squawked. “I could tell you to sleep on the floor! I'm a prince, remember? Princes don't sleep on floors!”
“And princes can't be gentlemen?” Donnabella asked. When Sharman finally joined her in bed, she scooted away. “By the way, the idea of sharing a bed with you is equally unpleasant to me, Your Highness.”
“Lies...” Sharman muttered. “There are hundreds...nay, thousands of women who would love to be in your place, Donnabella!”
“You're very confident.” The witch's eyes narrowed as she watched a spider creep up the adjacent wall. For a few seconds, she thought about sending the spider into Sharman's mouth. It was a tantalizing thought, but she decided against it.
“Why should I not be confident?” the prince continued. “Do you have any idea how many women were clamoring for an invite to the Summer Palace when I announced that I was looking for a wife?”
Donnabella's answer was preceded by a bored yawn. “I suppose I don't blame them for being attracted to your status, Prince Sharman. And before we sleep, I should probably warn you... I'll be awake in two hours.”
“Why?” Sharman slammed a pillow between them, creating a barrier between Donnabella's body and his.
“Because I'm cursed, Prince. I can never sleep more than two hours at once.” Donnabella pouted at the ceiling. “I'll be awake for an hour or so, and with any luck, I'll fall asleep for another two hours after that.”
“That sounds... unpleasant,” Sharman weakly sympathized. “Can you not remove the curse?”
Donnabella shook her head. “No. I've tried many times, but I seem to be stuck with it.”
“The most powerful witch in the world can't remove her own curse? You know, I'm really starting to doubt these extraordinary skills of yours.” Sharman rolled on his side, facing Donnabella's direction. He didn't want her to miss the cheeky grin on his lips. “Oh, and how do you expect to slay a dragon when your magic is basically useless right now?”
Donnabella raised a black eyebrow. “Useless, is it?” When she waved her hand, the candle on the nightstand flickered. “How useless do you think I am now, Prince Sharman?”
“What did you do? You made the candlelight dance?” He leaned back on his elbows and chuckled. “Am I supposed to be impressed by that?”
“No. Guess again.” Donnabella's teeth were revealed by a devious grin. “Check the looking glass, Your Highness.”
Fearing she had done something to alter his appearance, Sharman leapt from bed and ran to the looking glass. As soon as he saw his bald head, the prince screeched as sharply and shrilly as a newborn baby dragon. “What did you do to my hair?”
Yawning again, the witch apathetically replied, “I removed it. Obviously.”
“Bring it back!” Sharman stomped to bed and whined, “Please, please, pleeease bring it back!”
“Honestly, I've never met a man with such an attachment to his hair. If I was capable of giggling, I would be tittering into the palm of my hand right now.” Sharman looked so distressed by the loss of his hair, he made her feel guilty. With a wave of her hand, she undid her spell. “There. Your precious hair has returned. You can stop panicking.”
Sharman raced back to the looking glass and dragged a hand through his reappearing hair. “Thank God!” he exclaimed.
“Do you think it might be time to admit you're a bit vain, Your Highness?”
To her surprise, he agreed. “I am vain. And more than a bit, probably. Should I be ashamed?”
“Well, normal people don't often view vanity as a positive trait,” Donnabella pointed out. “But you're hardly normal, are you?”
“Neither are you.” As Sharman climbed back into bed, his gaze lingered on Donnabella's face. “You know...” he began, “you might actually be pretty if you put some effort into it.”
“I'm touched.” Donnabella's blue eyes rolled at his halfhearted compliment. “Now... go to bed, Sharman. If I'm going to slay a dragon tomorrow, I need sleep. Even if I only get two hours, it's better than nothing.”
* * *
Donnabella sidled away from the camel. The fussy beast wouldn't stop grunting at her. Every time the desert mammal thrashed its head, it flung slobber in her direction. She wiped the sticky spittle from the sleeve of her dress and pouted at Sharman.
“Why is this beast harassing me? Why won't it leave me alone?”
“Perhaps it senses the evil in you, Donnabella,” Sharman suggested. “It can sense the blackness of your heart.”
The witch and prince had been waiting in Obanon for over three hours, but there was no sign of the sand dragon. Donnabella sipped on cold tea as she watched Obanon's cloaked citizens haggle in the bazaar.
A moment later, she asked, “Do you really think I'm evil?”
“Evil?” Sharman's nose puckered as he studied her profile. “Perhaps evil was a bit too strong. You are, however, a thoroughly wicked woman, Donnabella.”
“Am I?” Donnabella mindlessly prodded the sand with her toes. The emperor had provided them with new clothes, but he had yet to find a suitable pair of shoes. Donnabella's long, untrimmable toenails made it difficult to find fitting footwear.
“You cast curses, dear,” Sharman said as he swabbed sweat from his brow. “Need I say more?”
Donnabella snorted at his reply. “I'm not your dear.”
Sharman frowned at the damp handkerchief in his hand. After three hours in the desert sun, the handkerchief was practically soaked in perspiration. The prince and Donnabella tried to stay in the shade as they waited for the dragon, but it barely made a difference. Sharman was so sweaty, his shirt was stuck to his back.
“How do we know this dragon actually exists?” the prince suddenly asked. “Emperor Regus obviously has hallucinations. How do we know he's not... making it up?”
As soon as the question was out of his mouth, the ground rumbled, and the bazaar's shoppers scattered. As the people of Obanon raced back to their caravans, Prince Sharman fussed with his hair.
“Would you stop?” Donnabella smacked his hand away from his hair. “I think the dragon might be here!”
“How do you know?” A few seconds later, when the earth's rumbling intensified, he quietly whispered, “Oh.”
When she saw his hand moving to the hilt of his sword, Donnabella said, “Don't get too close to the dragon unless it's absolutely necessary, Prince. Let me do most of the work.”
“Really? I think I could be helpful, though. I think I could be...”
Sharman's voice trailed off when the dragon's massive head was birthed from the sand. The whiskered green dragon shot straight into the sky as it exploded from the ground.
“Holy... mother of God...” Sharman whispered as he watched the skinny dragon spiral upward. The ground rattled so violently, he was almost knocked from his feet. “It makes the Cedarwood Shrieker look small! How do you intend to slay such a beast?”
“I don'
t know. I haven't decided yet.”
The long-bodied dragon spewed a rivulet of blue fire as it roared back down to earth. Its tiny wings—which were too small to be useful—vigorously flapped as the dragon dove downward. Its fire engulfed a caravan, which crackled and snapped as flames devoured it. A man, wrapped in fire, leapt from the caravan's flaming interior. Donnabella put out the blaze with a wave of her arm, saving his life.
“Please note, Prince Sharman, I did just save someone!” Donnabella exclaimed. “I'm not entirely evil.”
“Did you say something, Donnabella?” Sharman asked with a nervous chuckle. “Honestly, all of my attention is focused on not soiling myself. This is terrifying.” The hairs on his nape prickled as he watched the dragon thrash. It looked like a massive snake, twitching and wriggling through the sand. The oversized sidewinder battered a caravan as it slithered sideways.
Donnabella raised her arm and brought a bolt down on the dragon's head. Unfortunately, the bolt was too narrow, and the beast was barely affected. With a penetrating howl, it turned its attention to a small boy in tattered breeches. When the dragon lunged at the child, Donnabella sent the boy soaring into the sky. The boy screamed as he flew backward, toward Donnabella and Sharman.
As Donnabella set him safely on the ground, Sharman said, “You're saving all sorts of people today, Donnabella. If you keep this up, your status as a wicked witch might be revoked.”
Donnabella ignored the prince's remark and concentrated on her efforts to slay the dragon. A giant red sword, semi-transparent, appeared in the air. Every time Donnabella's finger moved, the magical sword swung at the dragon. The beast's head ducked out of range, but the blade carved into its body. Bright orange dragon guts spilled across the desert as Donnabella's sword dug deep into its flesh.
The sand dragon retaliated with fire. It turned to Donnabella and spewed flame in her direction. Without thinking, Sharman lifted her off her feet and carried her to safety.
“What are you doing?” she shrieked. “Put me down!”
The dragon's head was turning, watching them, so Sharman didn't heed her command. With Donnabella slung over his shoulder, he took cover behind a statue of Emperor Regus. Flames crackled all around them as the dragon unleashed another stream of fire. For several seconds, the statue was cradled in a blue inferno.
Donnabella, who was still being toted by Sharman, pointed and screamed, “Levia!” By some miracle, her magic was strong enough to lift the dragon off the ground. As the sand dragon thrashed and roared in midair, the witch narrowed her eyes and moved its body. With the power of her mind, she tied the dragon's long body in a knot and sent it crashing to the ground.
The dragon opened his mouth, revealing two sets of jagged, sharp teeth. Before it could gush fire, Sharman dropped Donnabella, ran around the statue, and drove his sword into the dragon's eye. The beast was still shrieking, even when the sword was all the way in, so the prince removed his blade and plunged it downward a second time.
When the dragon stopped moving, the people of Obanon emerged from their caravans and cheered. Sharman was so inspired by their adulation, he ran behind the statue, wrapped his arms around Donnabella, and lifted her off her feet.
“Um... are you actually hugging me?” the witch groaned.
“I think I am.”
“Well then...” Donnabella cleared her throat and eyed the dragon's corpse. “Would you kindly not?”
“Thanks for saving me, Fenix. Honestly, I can't thank you enough!” Cinderella exclaimed. When she tried to reach for her hero's hand, his fingers dipped into his pockets before she could touch him. “Oh. Is it the curse again?”
“Probably so,” Fenix sighed. “Until it's broken, I guess I won't even be able to hold your hand anymore.”
“That's... a shame.”
Fallen foliage, dampened by recent rain, clung to Cinda's slippers as they wound down a well-traveled woodland path. After their escape from the Winter Palace, Fenix rented rooms at The Green Serpent Inn, on the edge of Westerwood Forest. At Cinda's request, they were enjoying an afternoon stroll.
“What am I supposed to do now, Fenix?” Cinda asked. “Do I go back to my stepmother? Do I wait for Sharman's return? Should I try to find employment?” She hitched a shoulder as she considered her options. “I honestly have no clue what I should be doing with my life.”
“I think a lot of people feel that way,” replied a frowning Fenix. “I know I do. Until you figure it out, you're welcome to stay with me.”
“Am I?” Cinderella shook her head. “But you're cursed by Donnabella! You could leave at any moment.”
“That's... true. Unfortunately.” Fenix's shoulders fell at her observation. “I guess I'm kind of useless to you.”
“No! Not at all. You've helped me so much! You--”
All of a sudden, Fenix pulled her behind a girthy oak. “Look!” he whispered, peeking around the tree's edge. “It's Rank.”
Cinderella's eyebrow raised as she watched the reaver mage weave between trees. His hat was crooked, his walking stick was swinging, and his lips were merrily whistling.
“Why are we hiding from Rank?” Cinda whispered. “Are you at odds with him?”
“Maybe. I don't know. He's unpredictable,” Fenix quietly replied. “He swore loyalty to Prince Gideon, so I didn't want him to see you.”
A wrinkle appeared on Cinda's nose. “Is he really loyal to Prince Gideon?”
“Probably not, but you never know with Rank. He does whatever he wants, whenever he wants.” When Fenix looked down at his arm, it was already glowing. “I'm going to follow him in wolf form. I'm curious. Can you find your way back to The Green Serpent Inn without me?”
“Of course.” As soon as she muttered her answer, Fenix shifted into a shorter, furrier version of himself.
Before he lost sight of Rank, the wolf scampered away.
* * *
“Don't do this! Don't you dare do this!” Gloriosa lectured Rank between licks. As always, he shared a piece of his peppermint stick with her. The little witch was sitting on his shoulder, where she was simultaneously enjoying her sweets and expressing her dissatisfaction with him.
“Why not? I already told you I'd collect the reward and rescue her later,” the reaver mage replied.
“But... Rank!” Gloriosa shrilled his name. “ You can't put the young lady through such an ordeal! If you do this, I'll lose all respect for you!”
“Will you?” Rank asked as he chomped on his peppermint stick.
“Yes! I will! I absolutely will!”
Undeterred by his companion's words, Rank continued down the yellow brick path. Soon enough, he found Scarlet White's red brick cottage—as well as her grandmother. The wrinkly old woman was sitting in a rocking chair on the cottage's latticed wooden porch.
“'Ello,” Rank greeted the old woman as he swaggered up to her. “How are you?”
“I'm quite well, thank you.” A smile stretched across the woman's weathered brown face as she studied him. “Who are you, young man? Are you a friend of my granddaughter?”
“Uh... aye,” Rank lied.
“Are you the young man she's been spending time with lately?”
Rank's teeth clenched as he lied again. “Aye.”
“Oh, that's lovely! It's wonderful to finally meet you!” As she gripped her cane and rose from the rocking chair, the old woman's fingers were tremulous. “I need to lie down now, though, if that's alright with you?”
“Uhh... aye?” Rank answered again.
“Will you help me into bed? It's getting so hard to get around on my own now, dear.”
“Aye.” Rank rushed forward and grabbed her arm. “Getting old must be hell, eh?”
“You can say that again, young man. Will you collect my shawl?” Her free hand pointed at the black woolen cloth that was draped across her rocking chair.
“Aye.” Rank grabbed the shawl and slung it over his shoulder, then he pushed open the cottage's front door and led her inside.
/>
“I'm glad you're handsome. I hoped you'd be handsome.” The old woman suddenly smiled at Gloriosa. “And you have a fairy riding around on your shoulder! That's lovely.”
With a gasp, Gloriosa dove into Rank's front pocket.
“I used to play with fairies when I was a little girl, you know,” the old woman said as she toddled to her bedroom. “My mum thought I was mad, but I know they were real.”
Rank didn't respond. He helped her into bed, pulled up her blankets, and slid backward. “Is your granddaughter here?” he asked.
“No. I believe she went to the market to gather vegetables for a stew.” The old woman sighed happily as her head reunited with her pillow. “I expect her to walk through the door at any moment. If you'd like, you can wait in the kitchen. I baked some fresh biscuits today. You're welcome to have some.”
“I think I'll do that.” Rank tipped his hat to the old woman as he slipped into the kitchen. “Farewell.”
Less than thirty seconds later, the door reopened, and a wolf pattered into the old woman's room. Scarlet's grandmother sat up with a gasp. “Oh! A wolf? Oh my!”
Fenix froze when he saw her.
“You needn't be afraid of me,” the old woman said. “I won't be afraid of you if you won't be afraid of me. Deal?”
All of a sudden, Fenix heard a singsong voice that had him diving under the old woman's bed.
“Grandmama!” Scarlet cried out. “Grandmama, are you in here? Why was the front door open? Are you alright?”
When Scarlet appeared in the doorway, Fenix's bright blue eyes studied her from beneath the bed. She was an extraordinarily handsome girl with high cheekbones, a long neck, and dark skin. Her curly black hair was half-hidden under a crimson cloak.
“Hello, Scarlet!” her grandmother greeted her. “The most extraordinary thing just happened!”
Scarlet raised a dark eyebrow. “Oh?”
“Yes! First, I met the young man who's courting you.”
