A Bear's Bride

by Shari L. Tapscott

  “I know you’re acquainted with a thousand girls, so you certainly have plenty to compare me to.” I smile to ease my words and lean forward. “I’m leaving tonight, but I couldn’t go without saying goodbye.”

  Peter exhales slowly. “You’re mad at me.”

  “I’m not.” I’m not sure I should tell him I expected no less. “But I’m not going to marry you.”

  After letting the words soak in, he groans.

  “I don’t blame you.” Then he flashes me a grin. “I wouldn’t marry me either.”

  I begin to stand, but he grabs my arm. “What do you mean you’re leaving?”

  “Father wants me to marry Milton.”

  “The farmer who lives by the river?” he exclaims.

  “That’s the one.”

  Likely tired of kneeling at my feet, Peter pulls me up as he stands. “But he’s a bore. I had a conversation with him once. He didn’t even notice when I dozed off.”

  “Father wants to announce our engagement in the morning, and I can’t do it.”

  Peter looks at me earnestly, concern written all over his face. “Let me come with you—you can’t go alone. It’s not safe.”

  “No, you stay here.” I raise an eyebrow. “Thelma needs you.”

  He nods sagely. “And Liza and Mary and—”

  I shove his chest, and then I pull him into a hug. He wraps his arms around me. It’s a warm and friendly embrace—infinitely better than the kiss we shared earlier.

  I’m halfway out the door when he sets his hand on my shoulder. “Find adventure, you hear?”

  I smile. “I will.”

  His expression softens, shadows with a hint of worry. “Promise me you’ll take care of yourself.”

  “I promise, Peter.”

  And then I’m out the door, climbing down the tree, and scurrying into the night.

  ***

  I’ve been walking for two hours, twenty-seven minutes, and fourteen seconds. It’s almost three in the morning. I’m cold, my feet ache, and I have no idea where I’m going.

  It becomes clear I should have thought this through a little better.

  At precisely four-o-one, I give in. I find a nearby log, plop my sorry self onto it, and loudly say, “Oh, great fairy godfather Mortimer. I, a stupid human, humbly need your magnificent and wonderful magic.”

  Five minutes and twenty-two seconds later, the root of all my family’s blessings and curses appears before me with a bang.

  “Hello, Morty.” I stick my legs out in front of me, stretching as I look at the cantankerous man. He’s of medium-height and build, perhaps a bit on the slender side. His brown hair, peppered with gray, has a light wave to it, and it’s receding ever-so-slightly at the temples. All in all, he’s a rather average man.

  Oh, and he also has wings.

  “How are you this evening?” I ask him.

  The fairy sputters, looking very much like a perturbed goose. He points at me, his eyes narrowed and oh-so-livid. “You.”

  I raise my hands and motion to the farmland around me. The mountains are still far, far away. “I’ve found myself in a bit of a predicament.”

  “If I remember correctly, little wicked one, you weren’t supposed to call on me after I helped Eva.”

  I shoot him an incredulous look. We both knew that wasn’t going to happen, whether Mortimer will admit it or not.

  Wise enough to know it’s a dead-end conversation, he changes tactics. “Do you realize it’s four in the morning?”

  “Of course I do,” I say sweetly to my family’s very own fairy godfather. “Thanks to you, I know exactly what time it is, every moment of the day.”

  That’s my blessing. Horrid, isn’t it? Elisette gets all the luck. Mortimer made her devastatingly beautiful, and what does she do with it? She bemoans her fortune and hides all day with her books.

  Mortimer stares at me with such loathing, I briefly wonder if he’s going to turn me into a rock. The only thing that protects me is his fairy council. I believe they’d get fussy if the reluctant godfather maimed the humans he’s been charged to bestow gifts upon.

  “What do you want?” he asks, fighting for patience.

  It’s strange how I seem to have that effect on the men in my life.

  “Since it took you two minutes longer to show up than usual—”

  “You woke me in the middle of the night, you wretched beast of a gir—”

  “I had time to think.” I lean forward. “How about you give me magic, and then I won’t have a reason to pester you anymore.”

  I might have called him a time or two, just for the fun of it. It gets rather dull being the third-born, especially when there are four younger children—all of them between me and what could have been a delightful baby-of-the-family status.

  “Even if I could give you magic, I shudder to think what kind of havoc you would cause with it.”

  “Ah, Morty. I love you too.”

  He’s like our very own crotchety uncle, the bumbling kind whose gifts are often more like hurricanes than blessings. Deep down, however, I think he cares for us. For some of us, he might have to dig a little more. From the look he’s giving me, I have a feeling I’m at the bottom of the trench.

  “Again, I repeat, what do you need?” he snarls.

  What do I need? What don’t I need? Everything is a right fine mess. If I don’t want to end up as a farmer’s wife, I can’t go home.

  “A knight in shining armor,” I mutter to myself, and then I say to Mortimer, “I need—”

  “A knight, you say?” he cuts me off, his eyes strangely focused.

  “I meant it in the most figurative way.”

  “For once, bothersome, Wicked One—”

  Wicked One—that’s his nickname for me. It’s sweet, don’t you think?

  “—You might be the answer to my trouble.”

  No words uttered prior to this moment have struck more fear in my heart. I know that look in his eyes—it doesn’t end well. Bad, bad blessings are gifted when Mortimer wears that expression.

  I stand abruptly. “Mortimer, no. Listen to me—listen.” I draw the word out and make him meet my eyes, talking to him almost as if he were a naughty, distracted dog. “I need a cloak, new sturdy boots, and a hefty bag of gold. Nothing else.”

  I would have liked him to whisk me to the closest inn, but I don’t dare ask for that now.

  “You’ll like Henri,” he muses as he studies me with narrowed eyes. “But I’m not sure Henri will like you…”

  “I will not like Henri!” I protest.

  Of course, I have no idea who Henri is.

  Then I pause. “Why wouldn’t he like me exactly?”

  Mortimer nods, mostly to himself. “Two birds with one stone. Come along.”

  And before I can do a thing to stop it, my world goes bright white. I’ve never been transported with fairy magic before, though I hear it’s excruciating—possibly the worst thing you could live through.

  People who say that have not listened to Elisette drone on about the life cycle of a silk caterpillar.

  I gasp for breath when the harsh, unnatural light subsides. After a moment, I peer around me. It’s still dark, but it takes me no time to realize we’re not in Astoria anymore.

  The air smells rich, like dense forest and hundreds of years’ worth of fallen evergreen needles. Firs tower around the meadow Mortimer has plunked us down in; they’re menacing shadows in the dead of night.

  “Where are we?” I ask, surprised to find my words come out as a croak.

  “Briadell.” Mortimer adjusts his long robes and starts forward, stalking toward the trees.

  I hurry to keep up with him. The last thing I want to do is get lost in the northernmost mountain kingdom. Well, technically it’s not the most northern. That honor belongs to Elsland, the troll kingdom at the very top of our map.

  “Briadell?” I demand, shivering in my lightweight gown. “Why in the world would you bring me here?”

  Th
e fairy doesn’t bother to answer me.

  “Mortimer!” I glance around, uneasy. “Briadell is wild! There could be animals out here.”

  He chuckles, but it’s not an assuring sound. “Oh, there are. Wolves, mountain cats…bears.”

  I stumble over an exposed root. “Where are we going?”

  But he needn’t answer. The trees open, revealing a lake and a tall, statuesque palace that sits on a peninsula in the middle of the water.

  I stop dead in my tracks, refusing to go any farther. I’ll take my chances with the wildlife.

  Mortimer shoots me a hassled look over his shoulder. “Are you coming or not?”

  Folding my arms over my chest, I look him right in the eyes. “Not.”

  Briadell’s true royal line is cursed; everyone knows it. Few have seen their current prince, and they likely never will. He is a recluse, a hermit. His features are twisted, and his eyes are said to be black, depthless pits. The mountain kingdom’s prince is as ugly as the land is beautiful.

  At the gnarled prince’s demands, a duke rules in his stead, overseeing the kingdom from the small city of Dathpore, near the Farthendale border. Without the help of its prince, Briadell makes a living exporting timber and gold from their plentiful mines, and few people bother to give him as much as a thought.

  He is but a tale, one older children tell young ones to frighten them.

  I was never scared of him, not ever. But now? Cowering in front of his palace in the dead of night? I’m properly spooked.

  Mortimer looks as if he’s about to physically haul me to the castle when something behind us catches his eye. He looks beyond me, and I whirl around, not about to let something sneak up on me in the dark.

  A shadow approaches, someone human. I edge behind Mortimer, hoping his magic will save us. If it doesn’t, at least I’m confident I can outrun the old man.

  “Mortimer,” a deep voice says. “Why have you returned?”

  “I’m here to grant you your blessing.” The fairy grabs my arm and not-so-gently yanks me forward. “I’ve brought you a wife. Please, keep her. I assure you, I do not want her back.”

  “Mortimer!” I exclaim.

  “You must understand, this is out of my hands,” Mortimer explains to me in the most impartial way imaginable. “Henri saved a goat from a ravine—”

  “It was a girl,” the man interrupts. “Not a goat.”

  “And the council assigned him to me as punishment for—” Mortimer stops abruptly. “That doesn’t matter. All you need to know is that Henri is a knight looking for a bride, and you are a girl looking for a knight. Congratulations. Do not expect a wedding present—I won’t be sending one.”

  And just like that, the fairy disappears.

  CHAPTER THREE

  “Mortimer?” I say. When he doesn’t answer, I call his name again. Well…I less “call” and more “yell.”

  The fairy does not return.

  A breeze blows through the trees, and I hug myself, trying to stay warm. It’s even colder in the mountains than it was in Astoria. I eye the shadowed man and tell myself there’s no reason to fear him. It doesn’t matter that he’s a complete stranger, or that we’re alone in the dark, next to a castle that makes regular appearances in children’s nightmares.

  He’s probably very nice.

  True, it’s disconcerting that I can make out very little of his appearance in the dark, but there are a few details I file away. Henri is tall, and he has a nice enough voice. Judging from it alone, I assume he’s probably twenty-one, maybe as old as twenty-five.

  “He gave me a ridiculous summoning poem,” Henri says after several long, tense moments. “But I don’t remember it.”

  “Oh, great fairy godfather Mortimer. I, a stupid human, humbly need your magnificent and wonderful magic,” I recite. I’ve said it a hundred times; I know it by heart.

  “That’s it.”

  “I’ve already used it today. He never answers me twice in a twenty-four-hour period. Once, he ignored me an entire week.”

  Henri lets out a single, throaty laugh, and I shiver, again remembering how alone we are. If I could only see him better…

  “You’re cold,” he says.

  “I’m fine.”

  “There’s no reason to stand outside.” He starts toward the castle. “We’ll find a solution to this in the morning. I apologize for Mortimer all but kidnapping you on my behalf.”

  I watch him, aghast. His apology barely registers. “You live there. With him?”

  The man stops, and his shoulders go rigid. “I live alone.”

  It takes several moments for his words to sink in. Once they do, I let out a tiny peep and stumble back.

  “I see you’ve heard of me,” he says, disdain—and something else—heavy in his voice. He bows, but it’s a mocking gesture.

  “You’re Prince Henri?”

  There’s a long pause before he finally answers. “I am.”

  How can that be? The prince should be over forty years of age. The man before me is nowhere close to that.

  “Mortimer said you were a knight,” I accuse, still walking backward in the dark.

  “I was a knight—saved damsels in distress, slew dragons, all those sorts of things. But that was before my family…passed.”

  My anxiety kicks up a notch. “That was twenty years ago.”

  With a low growl, Henri continues toward the castle. “Time moves quickly when you’re cursed.”

  I look over my shoulder, ready to run, but something stops me. Mortimer wouldn’t have brought me here if it were dangerous—would he? As much as he’d like to be rid of me, he surely wouldn’t risk the wrath of the council. And Henri, supposedly the cursed prince of legend, saved that little girl. Why would a monster do that?

  “Wait,” I call. On impulse, hoping my intuition isn’t leading me to a terrible death, I run to catch up with him.

  He glances down at me. “Did you decide the forest was a bigger threat than I am?”

  “I’m not fond of animals.” Somewhere distant, a wolf cries, and I cringe. “Especially ones with large teeth.”

  Henri stops dead in his tracks and stares at me. “What’s your name?”

  Something in his tone makes me gulp. “Sophia.”

  The prince bends close, but I still can’t make out his features in the dark. “Well, Sophia, you should have stayed home.”

  His words are colder than the night air. They strike my core and make me wonder if it wouldn’t be safer to take my chances in the forest.

  Then another wolf howls.

  Henri continues toward the palace, leaving me to chase after him like a puppy.

  “How can you be the prince?” I demand, careful to keep my eyes averted. My mind is playing horrible tricks on me, and I’m terrified what I’ll find if I look at him too closely in the dark. “His father died over two decades ago.”

  “I’m aware of that.”

  Henri’s voice no longer carries the gentle tone it did earlier, and I sorely miss it.

  “How old were you when he passed?”

  The prince stops again. “Do you always ask this many questions when you first make a person’s acquaintance?”

  “Usually,” I admit.

  We cross an arched, stone bridge and walk under the portcullis. I look up, half-expecting the iron spikes to come crashing down.

  “If you won’t answer my first question, answer me my second,” I say, needing to fill the silence. “How old are you now?”

  “It’s irrelevant. I stopped aging the day the curse was cast.”

  His somber mention of the curse sets me on edge. “Who cursed you?”

  There has been much speculation on the subject, but the general consensus is that the royal family doomed themselves—took into their possession an enchanted item that brought them far more harm than good. But I’ve always wondered if it wasn’t a troll. The monsters’ kingdom is so close to Briadell, and they are sneaky creatures.

  Jealous of o
ur way of life, they spell themselves to look human and occasionally travel into the lower kingdoms, causing turmoil. They always have a tell, however—a massive wart on their forehead or eyes that are too close together. Those sorts of things.

  “It doesn’t matter,” the prince says, finished with the subject.

  I follow him into the palace, grateful for the respite from the frigid night. Then I come to an abrupt stop.

  “It’s colder in here than outside,” I murmur under my breath.

  And darker.

  I look around, searching for Henri in the pitch-black room. The door closes behind me, and I whirl around, looking for its outline. Nothing.

  What have I done?

  The darkness closes in on me, squeezing my lungs, forcing me to accept that I’ve walked into a nightmare of my own making. I knew the stories, and yet I followed the cursed prince into his palace like a lamb ready for slaughter.

  Just as I’m ready to scream at Mortimer, demand he come back at once, a tiny flame flickers in the dark. I watch it, half-mesmerized as the fire grows. Light blooms in the room, spreading through the stone entry, illuminating the modest space.

  “There are fireplaces in nearly every room,” Henri says from in front of the fire, kneeling at the hearth with his back facing me. “Our summers are cool, and our winters are brutal.”

  I study him in the low light, aghast. Under the heavy cloak he wears, he appears to have a handsome build. His hair is so blond, it looks white in the firelight. He begins to turn, and I immediately avert my gaze.

  His footsteps echo in the formal entry, growing louder as he walks my way. I don’t dare look at him, so I keep my eyes on my feet. I hug myself, trembling as much from fear as the chill.

  Henri steps around my back, and I clench my clasped hands. Something heavy and warm settles around my shoulders, taking me by surprise. His cloak smells just like the forest, and it’s much too long. It pools around my feet, making me wonder just how tall the cursed prince is.

  “I won’t hurt you.” Henri stops just in front of me. “If that’s why you’re suddenly as silent as a mouse.”

  I study his boots, which are now in my line of sight. They’re scuffed from wear, and a dried layer of mud cakes the edges. They look nothing like the boots a prince would wear.