Ember

by Bettie Sharpe

  “No, the curse is not gone. It still masks your features. It still—” I paused. I’d been about to say his curse still made the ghost of my lost finger burn, and it still tugged at my will, but it did not.

  Just as the vial of moonlight alone had never fully protected me from the Prince’s curse, so it did not fully negate the curse when it hung from Rian’s neck. It was a half measure, only. But it was enough. Though the curse still hid his true face, it no longer pulled at my will or sought to fill my mind with desire.

  “Is it…?” He put his hands on my shoulders.

  “It is enough. The moonlight has weakened your curse enough for me to resist it, though I fear it will still have a strong hold on anyone who has all of his fingers and toes.”

  Rian whooped with joy. “It is as well part of the curse remains. I will need some measure of unnatural Charm to convince my father and the council to allow me to marry a commoner.”

  My heart seemed to fall into my stomach. “Rian, you shall need an act of the gods to convince them to allow you to marry a witch. I am a lawbreaker; I practice dark magics. I’d have hanged for my crimes, if ever I’d dared cross anyone with the power and wealth to buy protection from my spells.”

  I stopped and sucked in a long breath. I had to force the words from my lips, but because I loved Rian, I could not let them go unsaid. “We cannot marry.”

  His face grew fierce. “We will marry. I won’t give you up.”

  “I did not say you had to give me up.” I kissed his hard, angry lips. “You credit me with stricter honor than I possess. I do not need a wedding to love you, to fuck you, or to sleep beside you at night. Find some vapid virgin girl of noble birth to marry and get heirs from. Let me be your mistress. We shall think of your marriage as an act of sacrifice. Your marriage will keep our love safe from those who would do it harm.”

  He reached down and grabbed my left hand. He kissed the stump of my missing finger. “A sacrifice, like this one? You sacrificed when you made the Witch’s Bargain for protection, but you became a witch in truth. I will make no sacrifices with my freedom, for I want to be no woman’s husband but yours.”

  I was silent for some moments. Everyone who knew of my witchery, save Rian and my sisters, had come to fear me. Rian would be king one day, and taking a witch to wife would earn him only enemies. He needed a wife who was sweet and kind, pretty and biddable. He needed a woman like the Cinder Girl.

  “I know just the girl the Prince should wed.”

  “I told you,” he almost shouted the words. “I will only have you.”

  I held up my hand. “Hear me out.”

  Without ink and ash to anchor my spell, it was an effort to don the image of the Cinder Girl. The illusion itched at my skin and wavered in his sight, but the idea was clear enough. Rian broke into a broad smile.

  “Can you stand to see this pretty face every day of your life?”

  “I will endure that dull façade, so long as I may see your freckles and your dark eyes every night.” He kissed me. “I know you won’t believe me when I tell you this, but you are beautiful.”

  He was right. I did not believe his words, but he believed them and I loved him for it.

  10. The Ever After

  The Prince married his Cinder Girl in a grand ceremony at the royal cathedral. Cheering crowds lined the streets, for all the people of Tierra del Maré loved their Prince. And if they loved him a little less than they once had, they hardly noticed it.

  They scrambled to pick up the coins he threw as he and his bride rode through the streets. They shouted his name. They shouted compliments to his lovely, demure bride. They told each other that their charming Prince was truly a good man to have married a commoner for love rather than a princess or noblewoman for wealth.

  I doubt they’d have been so kind if they’d known their Prince married a witch.

  My sisters were not so easily appeased as the general populace. Their missing toes gave them both a grudge against Rian, and the ability to resist his Charm. He had to grovel to gain their forgiveness. They’d been quite attached to their little toes.

  Though they’ve never come to like Rian, my sisters eventually saw how much he loved me and forgave him. I believe it helped his cause when he convinced his father to create my sisters duchesses. Everyone knows duchesses are far more forgiving than whores.

  Lady Minette and Lady Dulcie stayed at Maison d’Aube. They some of her new fortune on lessons in reading. And once she got the hang of it, she spent more of her fortune on books. She has turned the parlor into a library. Her collection of books rivals the royal library.

  Dulcie became a patron of the arts. She takes all manner of artists under her wing. As a result, some of the finest art in all the land— statues, paintings, ballads and poems—depicts the beauty and generosity of the Lady Dulcibella.

  The statue of the Lady of Sorrows outside the cemetery bears her face, as does Mirelli’s famous fresco of the Lady of the Sea in the grand hall of the Merchants’ Guild. Next time you go to Commerce Square, observe the statue of the Goddess of Spring. If you manage to drag your gaze from her lovely attributes and examine her bare feet, you will note the right one lacks its smallest toe.

  The salon at Maison d’Aube is now a renowned gathering place for intellectuals, artists and luminaries. They hold forth on all manner of philosophy and create clever stories to amuse each other. One such story was Minette’s satiric Cendrillon.

  To be truthful, I do not know how it got beyond the doors of Maison d’Aube and began to circulate the land. Dulcie and I laughed and giggled at the tale Minette spun from threads of the neighbor’s gossip and speculation. It was a silly tale of a dull-witted but pretty cinder girl and her terrible stepsisters and a Prince who loved the cinder girl for her shy virtue and her dainty feet. It was a jest, you see?

  I’ve ordered the bards to stop telling the tale, but they think I am merely humble and tell it anyway. Next time the moon is full, I will craft a spell to strike any bard who sings the tale mute. You think me cruel, but I do not like to hear my sisters slandered so.

  You seem surprised I still practice my craft. I do not understand why. I have told you time and again that I am a witch. Did you think I would give up witchery when I became a wife? Despite all I’ve told you, you do not know me.

  Less than a year after the wedding, my first and favorite victim, Lord Campos, grew weary of his tribulations and hanged himself. I did not mourn him, but I do miss all the fun I had with the little hex doll I made in his image.

  His lands, which abut the Dark Forest, reverted to the crown. When the old king died and Rian became King, he awarded Lord Campos’s lands to Sylvie and Raoul. My sister and her husband now happily play lady and lord of the manor while they raise a veritable litter of sharp-toothed children.

  I did not fare so well in childbirth as Sylvie. I lost two babes as stillbirths before delivering a sickly girl with a twisted foot. We named her Nieves and we love her completely. Shortly after her birth, some lords and councilors complained of her imperfections—her gender, her pale coloring, her twisted foot, her frail health—and urged me to risk my life and my heart again to give their King a son.

  I cursed them all with impotence. Their complaints ceased, though now they look at me in fear.

  Within five years of her birth, Nieves put all complaints to rest. Her foot remains twisted, but she outgrew her sickliness and grew into her pale skin and over-sized eyes. Her hair, like Rian’s, is black as a raven’s wing. Her skin—like mine, beneath my freckles—is pale as snow. She is beautiful, and the people love her for it.

  The people do not know Nieves is also clever, adept at magic, and just the slightest bit wicked. She has her father’s gentle nature, and my taste for vengeance. She will make a great queen when we are gone, I am sure of it.

  As king, Rian cares little for the business of ruling. He would much rather spend his time with our daughter and me, or with his horses and hounds. I take care of the tasks t
hat go with running the kingdom. As I did at Maison d’Aube, I make the rules, keep the books, and keep the peace. I encourage trade and punish our enemies.

  Running a whorehouse was surprisingly good training for running a government. The land has prospered under my guidance. The merchants are wealthy, the peasants are fat, and the streets are filled with art and commerce.

  I am a good queen but despite all I’ve done, some enemies whisper I am wicked. They whisper I’ve a magic mirror that allows me to spy on any who oppose me. Poor dears, they cover their mirrors when they talk treason, but they never spare a glance askance for their hearth fires or their candle flames.

  I do not deny I’ve a collection of hex dolls, and a collection of pins to go with it. But it does not make me wicked. I see no wickedness in protecting my husband, my family, and my people. After all, minor sins may serve a greater good.

  And there you have the whole of it, the truth behind the tale of the Cinder Girl and the Charming Prince. All ended happily, but you do not seem happy to have heard it.

  Why not?

  Ah, I understand. You wanted to see heroes rewarded and villains punished. You wanted the Prince to be noble and his princess to be kind.

  Poor dear. I warned you this story was no fairytale.

  The End

  Acknowledgments

  Special thanks to Dionne Galace. She runs a damn fine blog and writes a damn fine yarn. And she was nice enough to run my “little” free story for ten weeks straight.

  Dionne has the patience of saints. A trio of angels follows wherever she goes, singing of her good deeds and shining the brilliant light of her virtuous example into the dark and twisted hearts of all who are fortunate enough to cross her path. Sometimes, the angels beat box. Kickin’ it old school. Rumors of her alleged threats against ducklings are the product of communist Anti-Bam propaganda. Don’t believe it.

  Note from the Author Dear Reader,

  I hope you enjoyed reading Ember as much as I enjoyed writing it. I wrote the story specifically to distribute as a free e-book. If you liked it, I hope you’ll buy a copy of my erotic novella Like a Thief in the Night when it’s available at Samhain Publishing as one of the Strangers in the Night stories, along with Bonnie Dee’s The Valentine Effect and Veronica Wilde’s Erotics Anonymous. Release date is, January 15, 2008. For information on future releases and sneak peeks at Works in Progress, check out my website, www.bettiesharpe.com, or email me at bettiesharpe@gmail.com.

  Thanks for reading!