Page 5 of Once Upon an Enchanted Kiss

“Your majesty, my deepest apologies,” King Stephan said as he stepped around Queen Elara. He grappled with an excuse—any excuse—that would appease the dark queen. “Your kingdom is remote and—”

“Remote?” She laughed but it was without humor. “Perhaps you feel that way because it’s on the other side of the kingdom from…” she paused, gave a look of disdain and waved her hand at the other royals, “…them.”

“We want no trouble here, Rowena,” Draco said, stepping forward. He paused next to Stephan.

She flashed him a look so deadly, he pressed his lips together into a straight line. Queen Eleanor stepped forward then, placing herself between Rowena and the baby. Stephan reached for her but she waved him off.

“We meant no disrespect, your majesty,” she said, her voice even and clear. “We would be pleased if you joined us.”

“Would you?” One dark brow lifted in question.

“Of course.” Eleanor gave her a smile. Then she did the unthinkable. She held her hand out to the dark queen. “Come and meet our new princess.”

Rowena’s gaze landed on the crib. She walked forward, ignoring Eleanor’s outstretched hand. The queen dropped her hand as Rowena peered down at the tiny baby with the waving fists in the cradle. The little princess’s skin shimmered with faery dust from the other three royals bestowing their gift upon her.

“What a lovely child,” she said. “I see the others have imparted faery gifts. Allow me to bestowmygift upon the princess.”

Eleanor, still smiling, said, “We would love that.”

Rowena bent over the crib and drew her finger down the baby’s cheek. Her skin still glittered with faery dust.

“Little princess, I see you have been given gifts of beauty, strength, and charm.” She straightened, then held one of her hands down, cupped. A swirling shimmery cloud of purple magic was contained in her palm as she lifted it up. Her gaze met the king’s. “But none of those will be enough to save her, for before the sun sets on her eighteenth birthday she will prick her finger on the thorn of a rose…and die.”

As she spoke the last two words, she blew the shimmery purple faery dust. It trickled down and landed on the baby, who immediately cried out. Eleanor gasped as she reached for the baby, but it was too late. Atlas and Draco both pulled their weapons, their swords pointed at the Queen of the Eternal Court. Even Titania looked distraught at the curse that was placed upon the young princess.

“Arrest her!” Stephan ordered his guards.

But as they charged forward, Queen Rowena disappeared in puff of purple haze. Eleanor, tears in her eyes, held the wailing baby.

King Stephan turned to the assembled Fae royals. “The curse. Can it be reversed?”

Titania shook her head. “I’m afraid not. Rowena’s dark magic is powerful. But fear not, King Stephan, Queen Elara has yet to give her gift to the baby.”

Queen Elara shot Titania a surprised glance before understanding dawned. Nodding, she moved to stand next to Eleanor, placing her hand on the crown of the baby’s head. Her crying stopped.

“Dear princess,” Elara said, her voice soft and soothing. “Indeed, you will grow into a beauty with charm and grace. You will be strong and brave. Should you prick your finger on the thorn of a rose before the sun sets on your eighteenth birthday you willnotdie. Nay, you will fall into a deep slumber.”

Elara leaned down and whispered something, then placed a kiss on the baby’s forehead. A shimmering white light surrounded both of them. When she stood straight, she granted Queen Eleanor a reassuring smile.

With that, the four Fae royals bid King Stephan and his court farewell.

In an effort to keep his daughter safe, King Stephan ordered the removal and destruction of every rosebush in and around the castle. He hoped it would be enough.

Chapter 2

Eighteen years later

PrincessRosamundsatinthe sewing circle, holding the embroidery hoop while staring out the window. It was a perfect spring day with a bright blue sky and a few wispy clouds. The twitter of birdsong filtered in through the open casement and somewhere below in the castle gardens, a squirrel emitted an angry chatter. It was followed immediately by the caw of a mockingbird that wanted nothing to do with the squirrel.

Or so she imagined.

It was a picture-perfect day for riding or running through the gardens barefoot with the wind in her hair.

“Rosamund, your sewing,” her mother chastised.

Her mother nudged her with her elbow. With a sigh, she went back to the linen pulled taut in the hoop and stabbed it with the needle, tugging through pale pink thread and pretending she was interested in embroidery. She wasn’t.

All she wanted to do was run through the iron gate in the castle gardens and into the meadow just beyond the walls to freedom. To smell the fragrant blooming flowers and lay under the willow tree in the cool grass. To dance pebbles over the stream and watch them skip.

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