The Tower Princess, page 25
part #1 of Lost Fairy Tales Series
Gressa and Manny stared at each other. They hadn’t known. All the trees had died before they were born. If they’d had known, what would they have done differently? All this time she had a rowan berry in her pomander. If she’d only shown it to Old Anne, she might have learned the truth sooner. She could have made her own rowan balsam and not had to trade with the trickster.
Others followed Old Anne’s lead and helped her scoop water.
The Panther backed away into the shadows, watching the townspeople try in vain to save the tree. It was futile work. The flames roared on, making it too hot to get close to the tree. Several buckets had been brought from town and so those who had been cupping water in their hands to douse the flames stepped back to make room. The buckets did little to help, either. Soon, all the townspeople gave up and watched their hope burn.
Manny pulled on Gressa’s elbow, coaxing her to walk away from the sight. Reluctantly, she turned away, mourning the loss of the great tree.
A large figure moved in the shadows. “Papa?”
King Jorvik, propped up by Axell, had just come through the tunnel in the Dividing Wall.
“Is it true?” he asked. “Was that a rowan tree?”
Gressa nodded. “Are you all right?”
“I’ll be fine, daughter. Thanks to your rowan balsam.” He scanned the crowd. “Where is Herrick?”
Manny pointed into the darkness beyond the rowan tree, now burning embers. “Last I saw he was over there watching the tree burn.”
King Jorvik looked over his shoulder at the men pouring out of the Dividing Wall. Knights from South Morlaix.
Gressa squeezed Manny’s arm. “Axell was always on our side. He escorted me out of the great room so I could signal the South Morlaix knights. I bet you didn’t know I could shoot a flaming arrow.”
Manny laughed. “I’m not surprised in the least.”
Sir Fletcher emerged from the tunnel, and then reached back to help someone else through. A gold crown glinted in the torchlight. Gressa caught her breath. King Simon. She looked at Manny, but he was already running to help his king.
“How are you alive?” asked Manny.
King Simon stood shakily to his feet, Sir Fletcher propping one arm and Manny getting under the other.
“It was Abigail. When Nigel left the castle, he went and got her. Somehow, he knew she could help. She had a rowan balsam.”
“Amazing,” whispered Gressa. Once again, she felt remorse for the tree. If she had only known what was plainly in front of her. She could have replenished everyone’s supply.
“Axell,” said King Jorvik. “Take a contingent and arrest Herrick and anyone loyal to him. Confine them to the dungeon where Siguard is waiting for them.” Father turned to Gressa. “He said you told him your suspicions. I wish I had listened sooner.”
“Thank you.” Gressa nodded. She wished she’d been more persistent in her suspicions.
King Simon gestured for Sir Fletcher and his knights to assist.
“Father, come rest over here,” said Manny, leading the king to the flat rock near the brook.
“Father?” asked Gressa. Why was the tailor’s son calling the king of South Morlaix “Father?” She followed them to the brook where the crowd was thinning out. Some of the people had followed Axell and Sir Fletcher to watch them arrest the Panther, while others had gone on home after a long and tiring night.
King Jorvik, with an eye on his sons, joined them at the brook.
Manny settled King Simon, then turned to Gressa. “I was born in the castle to King Simon and Queen Margaret. When my mother died shortly after my birth, my father brought in another babe to take my place while I was sent to grow up with the tailor’s family. He did it to protect me.”
King Simon interjected, “I never should have done it. I feared the Panther would target Manny, and I couldn’t bear losing him, too.”
“Our quarrel didn’t stop with us, eh, Simon?” said Jorvik. “But our kingdoms, the rowan trees, our families. We nearly destroyed everything.”
Gressa didn’t know what to think. She stared open-mouthed at Manny.
He held out a cross necklace he wore around his neck. “My mother gave me this before she died. I’ve had it all my life, but didn’t know its significance until now.”
“I know that cross.” King Jorvik held out a shaky hand to touch it. “King Rorick gave us each one after the Battle of Five and Two. I also gave mine to one of my children.”
Gressa, eyes lowered, touched the empty place at her neck where the cross used to be. When she looked up again, her father had pulled her necklace out of his robe and held it out to her. “I had word that the trickster was trying to trade a jewel cross necklace of great value. When I didn’t see you wearing it any longer, I secured it once again.”
Thrilled to have her necklace back, Gressa quickly put it on. “I’m sorry, Father. I used it to buy the balsam from the trickster. He called it an antidote.”
“The redeemed necklace was meant to be a wedding present for you.”
In all the excitement Gressa had forgotten about her betrothal. “But Nigel is not the true prince. Does that mean my engagement is off?”
Manny cleared his throat. “Do you wish to end your betrothal to the prince of South Morlaix?” He bowed slightly, watching for her reaction.
She opened her eyes wide as she realized the implication, and what he was asking her. She shook her head. “I always keep my commitments. For the sake of the people in two kingdoms, I shall remain betrothed to the South Morlaixan prince.”
He grinned, and swept her up to spin her around. This time, when he bent his lips to hers, she didn’t push him away, rather, she clung tighter. Closing her eyes, she realized she was finally free. They all were. As she kissed him back, she tried to express how long she’d been wanting to be with him, Manny the tailor’s son or Manny the prince, it didn’t matter. He was her Manny.
EPILOGUE
I n a land not so far away, where the people are friendly and their hope is young, lies the kingdom of Morlaix. It is a famous land where people travel from afar to see the opening in the Dividing Wall and the secret meadow, secret no longer.
For it is in Kingdom Morlaix where a boy and a girl grew up on opposite sides of a Dividing Wall. Did I say grew up? I meant, fell in love. After all, they were both from Kingdom Morlaix.
Here the girl comes now, pushing a wheelbarrow weighed heavy with a rock. She has chosen it from her garden for its size and smooth texture, so the female woodlings tell me. They are besotted with her and rarely leave her alone, although she does not know it.
The rock is one that has been weathered by the sea, tossed and tumbled against other rocks until its sharp edges were worn off. On its surface, she has painted a tree in full spring bloom to mark the place where the last rowan tree grew, and where she and the boy met. A fateful event that changed not only their lives, but the entire kingdom.
The boy and the girl spend much time together. When walking through town, he peers into the alleyways and shadows looking for an old friend. He thought he’d seen him once, a shock of white-blond hair near the docks. He had. But the friend did not want to be found. The blond’s future is uncertain, and we still watch him.
Meanwhile, the tailor, who himself paid a great price for the restoration of the kingdom, has begun work on a wedding dress for the princess. When the timing is right, there will be vows and a new family born.
We expect the celebration will take place in the meadow between the walls. As much as the prince and princess wanted to seal their secret place and keep it just for them, they decided to share it with the kingdom. A wise decision. A test passed.
King Jorvik, his lesson learned, announced wise son Axell to be his successor. He then confined the one named Herrick to the princess’s old tower, complete with locks and two guards stationed at the door. Here, this son paces day and night at a window instead of a wall.
HIS ONLY VIEW IS OF HIS RIVAL KINGDOM:
FREED OF THEIR FEAR, SADNESS, AND PALL.
HIS LESSON IS NOT LEARNED;
THEREFORE, HIS PUNISHMENT TRULY GALLS.
King Simon, his lesson learned, has not recovered from his poisoning and will soon sing his final sing. When he does, the boy, Manny, will step into his destiny. He trains now with the one called Sir Fletcher. A knight of highest honor, whom I could not have chosen better myself.
The meadow remains a mystery—how can it exist, still between the walls? It draws the curious, and with them, increased trade with the countries which previously shunned Morlaix.
The wall was widened into a space large enough for a doorway and a corresponding door was opened on the South Morlaix side. The brook’s waters were found to have healing properties—a happy consequence, folks assumed, from the rowan tree having grown nearby.
The princess draws closer now, and I must speak with her.
She pushes her wheelbarrow over the bumpy ground to the scorched mound where charred pieces remain. She finds a level patch, and, using all her strength, nestles the heavy rock onto it.
“What is this?” she says before I have a chance to speak.
A shoot of green pushes its way out of the blackened earth right in front of her eyes. She watches it grow into a respectable size, unfurling its green leaves. Rowan leaves.
“Oh! Look at you, brave thing,” she says. “May you grow mightier than before.”
She feels my presence and looks up from the sapling and into my eyes. Likely, I’m the strangest creature she’s ever seen. I’m as tall as her waist, bearded, and covered in dirt from head to toe as I’ve just crawled out of the ground. A swarm of woodlings circle me, but she probably doesn’t notice them. Nor does she notice the boy cutting across the meadow to join us.
She bows—impressive—then I nod and speak:
“I HAVE SEVERAL WORDS TO SAY, TOO.
FIRST, HELLO AND GOOD MORN’.
THE WOODLINGS WISH TO THANK YOU,
AS FOR THIS GREAT PURPOSE, YOU WERE BORN.
YOU HAVE DONE WHAT OTHERS COULD NOT.
WHILE THEY SAW A WALL,
IT WAS ANSWERS THAT YOU SOUGHT,
AND BRINGING PEACE WAS YOUR CALL.
OUR PEOPLE WILL RETURN
IF WE ARE WELCOME HERE.
THE LAND IS HEALING FROM THE BURN,
WITH THE PEACE THAT YOU MADE CLEAR.”
At the end of my poem, I lift my hand and one of the tiny woodlings lands on my palm. She had made a special request to reveal her presence.
As the princess watches, the speck grows and grows until the woodling is the size of an exceptionally large dragonfly, only, resembling a pixie.
The princess gasps and bends down for a closer look. My little woodling waves at her.
“Aren’t you sweet,” the princess says. “Such tiny feet. Oh! Are you the artist who drew on my tablet?”
My woodling jumps with glee.
“A YOUNG WOODLING YOU DO SEE,
WE’LL MAKE OUR HOME IN THIS NEW TREE.”
My gaze moves up over the princess’s shoulder. She turns to see her prince, sweaty from morning exercises, standing behind her with a stunned expression on his face.
“I’m glad you came,” she says. But when she turns around, we are gone from her view. Back to our silent, watching place.
“That explains a lot,” the prince says. “I thought our kingdom was overrun by gnats, but they are tiny woodlings.”
“They wanted us to find the meadow. To find each other.” She smiles. “And this whole time, my brother thought he was the one in charge.”
“Is that a rowan sapling?” the prince asks. He moves closer to her. “After that fire, I thought I’d never see another again.” His arm circles her waist and he kisses her hair, above the ear. “Next to you, that’s the best thing I’ve ever seen in Morlaix. North or South.”
“It’s our future,” she says.
The tower princess is correct. This time, instead of leaving a hole, I left hope.
DEAR READER,
There is something magical about fairy tales, isn’t there? If you’re in the mood to read another, take a look at my Fairy-tale Inheritance Series. In those books, the magical items from fairy tales are passed down through the generations like family heirlooms.
The first book is Cinderella’s Dress and is set during the 1940s. The main character, Kate, learns her family has been hiding this magical dress for centuries and now it’s her turn.
You can click to check it out now or read a preview at the end of this book….
Click here for Cinderella’s Dress
AUTHOR’S NOTE
The Tower Princess is the first in a new series I’m calling The Lost Fairy Tales. These tales are original stories, not retellings. Though, like all good fairy tales, they will draw from familiar tropes that make fairy tales fun to read.
DOWNLOAD A FREE FAIRY TALE
Go to ShonnaSlayton.com to sign up for updates and pick up your free story.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I’ve got a lovely team of beta readers who read through advance copies of this novel and gave me some wonderful advice. Thanks to Kristi Doyle, Sarah Chanis, Julie Ropelewski, LynnDell Watson, Shawna Shade, Olivia Farr, and Rebekah Slayton. It’s so fun to work behind the scenes with you. (And also Stacy Abrams and Theresa M. Cole who read an even earlier rendition.) Additional thanks to Brandi Stewart, editor genie and bookseller extraordinaire, for a final pair of eyes on the story.
ALSO BY SHONNA SLAYTON
FAIRY TALES
Cinderella’s Dress
Cinderella’s Shoes
Spindle
Snow White’s Mirror (coming soon)
HISTORICAL
Liz and Nellie
CINDERELLA’S DRESS (PROLOGUE)
Nadzia tucked the cleaning rag into her apron in exchange for her feather duster. She held it out like a dance partner and placed her other hand against her chest in mock modesty. “Mnie? You’d like me to take this dance?” She looked around as if another maid had entered and was waiting to waltz in her place. “Tak, yes, of course,” she said.
Humming the tune from the final song at the anniversary ball, she waltzed on bare toes around the queen’s dayroom with her feather companion. Mere hours ago, the ballroom had been filled with the sounds of stringed instruments and swishing skirts. There had been long tables of puff pastries and rows of men in cravats, and oh, how she had longed to join the dancing. She breathed deeply to catch the scent of the hundreds of roses and gerberas and lilies still standing at attention downstairs.
Nadzia bowed again to her duster and returned to her duties with a contented yawn. She stopped by the door to the queen’s bedchamber and pressed her ear to the ancient oak. Not a sound. Should she wake her? The queen had never slept so late.
Nie. Let her sleep. Soon there would be no sleep in the household for months.
Nadzia moved on to dusting the vases on the mantel. The round-bottomed red one was her favorite and she took it down to gently sweep the feathers into its neck. It would look lovely with a bouquet of white peonies from downstairs.
“Nadzia!” The queen’s voice carried through the walls.
The girl ran to the door and flung it open, the vase still in hand. “Yes, my queen?”
She stood by her enormous fireplace, her bedclothes draped gracefully about her large and growing midsection. Her eyes were rimmed with red. The door connecting her chambers to the king’s shut with a loud crack, and she blinked before taking a step forward. Her hands shook as she pulled back her hair and smiled.
“You are my most trusted servant and friend. I am sorry to have to send you away.”
“Send me away, m’lady?” Nadzia squeaked. Her breath caught in her throat. She had served the queen since the day of the royal wedding. She had never so much as spilled a drop of tea nor scorched a piece of silk. To be sent away was to be shamed. What would her mother think to have her stumbling back up the mountain in disgrace?
The queen, as if sensing Nadzia’s thoughts, shook her head. Her eyes were kind. “It is because you are my most trusted friend that I give you this task,” she said gently. “You will remain in my service, and I will continue to provide for you. You and Esmerelda. You must go to her in the mountains.”
Nadzia’s knees regained some strength. The queen was not dismissing her.
“My stepsisters…” The queen’s voice faltered. “They have married the Burgosov twins.”
Nadzia dropped the vase. Glass shattered at her feet, red shards strewn on the cream tiles like blood.
The queen flinched. “Once they have convinced their husbands to break the peace treaty, they will come for me.” She held up a muslin-wrapped package. “They will come for the dress.”
Nadzia ran forward, cutting her toe on a piece of glass. She wrapped her arms around the queen’s neck. “Come with me. We will all be safe in the mountains.”
The queen pulled Nadzia’s arms away and pressed the maid’s hand to her swollen belly. “My time is too soon. Nie, I cannot make it.”
Nadzia felt the skin under the thin nightdress, taut as a round drum. And underneath, the child poking as if in a morning stretch.
The queen lovingly stroked the muslin package. “This dress means the kingdom to me, and only you can keep it safe. Find Esmerelda, and leave this land,” she commanded as she shoved the package into Nadzia’s arms. Next, she pulled something from her pocket. “Thank you for lending me your necklace for the ball. It was a perfect match. But you must wear it now and always. It will be our sign.”
Others followed Old Anne’s lead and helped her scoop water.
The Panther backed away into the shadows, watching the townspeople try in vain to save the tree. It was futile work. The flames roared on, making it too hot to get close to the tree. Several buckets had been brought from town and so those who had been cupping water in their hands to douse the flames stepped back to make room. The buckets did little to help, either. Soon, all the townspeople gave up and watched their hope burn.
Manny pulled on Gressa’s elbow, coaxing her to walk away from the sight. Reluctantly, she turned away, mourning the loss of the great tree.
A large figure moved in the shadows. “Papa?”
King Jorvik, propped up by Axell, had just come through the tunnel in the Dividing Wall.
“Is it true?” he asked. “Was that a rowan tree?”
Gressa nodded. “Are you all right?”
“I’ll be fine, daughter. Thanks to your rowan balsam.” He scanned the crowd. “Where is Herrick?”
Manny pointed into the darkness beyond the rowan tree, now burning embers. “Last I saw he was over there watching the tree burn.”
King Jorvik looked over his shoulder at the men pouring out of the Dividing Wall. Knights from South Morlaix.
Gressa squeezed Manny’s arm. “Axell was always on our side. He escorted me out of the great room so I could signal the South Morlaix knights. I bet you didn’t know I could shoot a flaming arrow.”
Manny laughed. “I’m not surprised in the least.”
Sir Fletcher emerged from the tunnel, and then reached back to help someone else through. A gold crown glinted in the torchlight. Gressa caught her breath. King Simon. She looked at Manny, but he was already running to help his king.
“How are you alive?” asked Manny.
King Simon stood shakily to his feet, Sir Fletcher propping one arm and Manny getting under the other.
“It was Abigail. When Nigel left the castle, he went and got her. Somehow, he knew she could help. She had a rowan balsam.”
“Amazing,” whispered Gressa. Once again, she felt remorse for the tree. If she had only known what was plainly in front of her. She could have replenished everyone’s supply.
“Axell,” said King Jorvik. “Take a contingent and arrest Herrick and anyone loyal to him. Confine them to the dungeon where Siguard is waiting for them.” Father turned to Gressa. “He said you told him your suspicions. I wish I had listened sooner.”
“Thank you.” Gressa nodded. She wished she’d been more persistent in her suspicions.
King Simon gestured for Sir Fletcher and his knights to assist.
“Father, come rest over here,” said Manny, leading the king to the flat rock near the brook.
“Father?” asked Gressa. Why was the tailor’s son calling the king of South Morlaix “Father?” She followed them to the brook where the crowd was thinning out. Some of the people had followed Axell and Sir Fletcher to watch them arrest the Panther, while others had gone on home after a long and tiring night.
King Jorvik, with an eye on his sons, joined them at the brook.
Manny settled King Simon, then turned to Gressa. “I was born in the castle to King Simon and Queen Margaret. When my mother died shortly after my birth, my father brought in another babe to take my place while I was sent to grow up with the tailor’s family. He did it to protect me.”
King Simon interjected, “I never should have done it. I feared the Panther would target Manny, and I couldn’t bear losing him, too.”
“Our quarrel didn’t stop with us, eh, Simon?” said Jorvik. “But our kingdoms, the rowan trees, our families. We nearly destroyed everything.”
Gressa didn’t know what to think. She stared open-mouthed at Manny.
He held out a cross necklace he wore around his neck. “My mother gave me this before she died. I’ve had it all my life, but didn’t know its significance until now.”
“I know that cross.” King Jorvik held out a shaky hand to touch it. “King Rorick gave us each one after the Battle of Five and Two. I also gave mine to one of my children.”
Gressa, eyes lowered, touched the empty place at her neck where the cross used to be. When she looked up again, her father had pulled her necklace out of his robe and held it out to her. “I had word that the trickster was trying to trade a jewel cross necklace of great value. When I didn’t see you wearing it any longer, I secured it once again.”
Thrilled to have her necklace back, Gressa quickly put it on. “I’m sorry, Father. I used it to buy the balsam from the trickster. He called it an antidote.”
“The redeemed necklace was meant to be a wedding present for you.”
In all the excitement Gressa had forgotten about her betrothal. “But Nigel is not the true prince. Does that mean my engagement is off?”
Manny cleared his throat. “Do you wish to end your betrothal to the prince of South Morlaix?” He bowed slightly, watching for her reaction.
She opened her eyes wide as she realized the implication, and what he was asking her. She shook her head. “I always keep my commitments. For the sake of the people in two kingdoms, I shall remain betrothed to the South Morlaixan prince.”
He grinned, and swept her up to spin her around. This time, when he bent his lips to hers, she didn’t push him away, rather, she clung tighter. Closing her eyes, she realized she was finally free. They all were. As she kissed him back, she tried to express how long she’d been wanting to be with him, Manny the tailor’s son or Manny the prince, it didn’t matter. He was her Manny.
EPILOGUE
I n a land not so far away, where the people are friendly and their hope is young, lies the kingdom of Morlaix. It is a famous land where people travel from afar to see the opening in the Dividing Wall and the secret meadow, secret no longer.
For it is in Kingdom Morlaix where a boy and a girl grew up on opposite sides of a Dividing Wall. Did I say grew up? I meant, fell in love. After all, they were both from Kingdom Morlaix.
Here the girl comes now, pushing a wheelbarrow weighed heavy with a rock. She has chosen it from her garden for its size and smooth texture, so the female woodlings tell me. They are besotted with her and rarely leave her alone, although she does not know it.
The rock is one that has been weathered by the sea, tossed and tumbled against other rocks until its sharp edges were worn off. On its surface, she has painted a tree in full spring bloom to mark the place where the last rowan tree grew, and where she and the boy met. A fateful event that changed not only their lives, but the entire kingdom.
The boy and the girl spend much time together. When walking through town, he peers into the alleyways and shadows looking for an old friend. He thought he’d seen him once, a shock of white-blond hair near the docks. He had. But the friend did not want to be found. The blond’s future is uncertain, and we still watch him.
Meanwhile, the tailor, who himself paid a great price for the restoration of the kingdom, has begun work on a wedding dress for the princess. When the timing is right, there will be vows and a new family born.
We expect the celebration will take place in the meadow between the walls. As much as the prince and princess wanted to seal their secret place and keep it just for them, they decided to share it with the kingdom. A wise decision. A test passed.
King Jorvik, his lesson learned, announced wise son Axell to be his successor. He then confined the one named Herrick to the princess’s old tower, complete with locks and two guards stationed at the door. Here, this son paces day and night at a window instead of a wall.
HIS ONLY VIEW IS OF HIS RIVAL KINGDOM:
FREED OF THEIR FEAR, SADNESS, AND PALL.
HIS LESSON IS NOT LEARNED;
THEREFORE, HIS PUNISHMENT TRULY GALLS.
King Simon, his lesson learned, has not recovered from his poisoning and will soon sing his final sing. When he does, the boy, Manny, will step into his destiny. He trains now with the one called Sir Fletcher. A knight of highest honor, whom I could not have chosen better myself.
The meadow remains a mystery—how can it exist, still between the walls? It draws the curious, and with them, increased trade with the countries which previously shunned Morlaix.
The wall was widened into a space large enough for a doorway and a corresponding door was opened on the South Morlaix side. The brook’s waters were found to have healing properties—a happy consequence, folks assumed, from the rowan tree having grown nearby.
The princess draws closer now, and I must speak with her.
She pushes her wheelbarrow over the bumpy ground to the scorched mound where charred pieces remain. She finds a level patch, and, using all her strength, nestles the heavy rock onto it.
“What is this?” she says before I have a chance to speak.
A shoot of green pushes its way out of the blackened earth right in front of her eyes. She watches it grow into a respectable size, unfurling its green leaves. Rowan leaves.
“Oh! Look at you, brave thing,” she says. “May you grow mightier than before.”
She feels my presence and looks up from the sapling and into my eyes. Likely, I’m the strangest creature she’s ever seen. I’m as tall as her waist, bearded, and covered in dirt from head to toe as I’ve just crawled out of the ground. A swarm of woodlings circle me, but she probably doesn’t notice them. Nor does she notice the boy cutting across the meadow to join us.
She bows—impressive—then I nod and speak:
“I HAVE SEVERAL WORDS TO SAY, TOO.
FIRST, HELLO AND GOOD MORN’.
THE WOODLINGS WISH TO THANK YOU,
AS FOR THIS GREAT PURPOSE, YOU WERE BORN.
YOU HAVE DONE WHAT OTHERS COULD NOT.
WHILE THEY SAW A WALL,
IT WAS ANSWERS THAT YOU SOUGHT,
AND BRINGING PEACE WAS YOUR CALL.
OUR PEOPLE WILL RETURN
IF WE ARE WELCOME HERE.
THE LAND IS HEALING FROM THE BURN,
WITH THE PEACE THAT YOU MADE CLEAR.”
At the end of my poem, I lift my hand and one of the tiny woodlings lands on my palm. She had made a special request to reveal her presence.
As the princess watches, the speck grows and grows until the woodling is the size of an exceptionally large dragonfly, only, resembling a pixie.
The princess gasps and bends down for a closer look. My little woodling waves at her.
“Aren’t you sweet,” the princess says. “Such tiny feet. Oh! Are you the artist who drew on my tablet?”
My woodling jumps with glee.
“A YOUNG WOODLING YOU DO SEE,
WE’LL MAKE OUR HOME IN THIS NEW TREE.”
My gaze moves up over the princess’s shoulder. She turns to see her prince, sweaty from morning exercises, standing behind her with a stunned expression on his face.
“I’m glad you came,” she says. But when she turns around, we are gone from her view. Back to our silent, watching place.
“That explains a lot,” the prince says. “I thought our kingdom was overrun by gnats, but they are tiny woodlings.”
“They wanted us to find the meadow. To find each other.” She smiles. “And this whole time, my brother thought he was the one in charge.”
“Is that a rowan sapling?” the prince asks. He moves closer to her. “After that fire, I thought I’d never see another again.” His arm circles her waist and he kisses her hair, above the ear. “Next to you, that’s the best thing I’ve ever seen in Morlaix. North or South.”
“It’s our future,” she says.
The tower princess is correct. This time, instead of leaving a hole, I left hope.
DEAR READER,
There is something magical about fairy tales, isn’t there? If you’re in the mood to read another, take a look at my Fairy-tale Inheritance Series. In those books, the magical items from fairy tales are passed down through the generations like family heirlooms.
The first book is Cinderella’s Dress and is set during the 1940s. The main character, Kate, learns her family has been hiding this magical dress for centuries and now it’s her turn.
You can click to check it out now or read a preview at the end of this book….
Click here for Cinderella’s Dress
AUTHOR’S NOTE
The Tower Princess is the first in a new series I’m calling The Lost Fairy Tales. These tales are original stories, not retellings. Though, like all good fairy tales, they will draw from familiar tropes that make fairy tales fun to read.
DOWNLOAD A FREE FAIRY TALE
Go to ShonnaSlayton.com to sign up for updates and pick up your free story.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I’ve got a lovely team of beta readers who read through advance copies of this novel and gave me some wonderful advice. Thanks to Kristi Doyle, Sarah Chanis, Julie Ropelewski, LynnDell Watson, Shawna Shade, Olivia Farr, and Rebekah Slayton. It’s so fun to work behind the scenes with you. (And also Stacy Abrams and Theresa M. Cole who read an even earlier rendition.) Additional thanks to Brandi Stewart, editor genie and bookseller extraordinaire, for a final pair of eyes on the story.
ALSO BY SHONNA SLAYTON
FAIRY TALES
Cinderella’s Dress
Cinderella’s Shoes
Spindle
Snow White’s Mirror (coming soon)
HISTORICAL
Liz and Nellie
CINDERELLA’S DRESS (PROLOGUE)
Nadzia tucked the cleaning rag into her apron in exchange for her feather duster. She held it out like a dance partner and placed her other hand against her chest in mock modesty. “Mnie? You’d like me to take this dance?” She looked around as if another maid had entered and was waiting to waltz in her place. “Tak, yes, of course,” she said.
Humming the tune from the final song at the anniversary ball, she waltzed on bare toes around the queen’s dayroom with her feather companion. Mere hours ago, the ballroom had been filled with the sounds of stringed instruments and swishing skirts. There had been long tables of puff pastries and rows of men in cravats, and oh, how she had longed to join the dancing. She breathed deeply to catch the scent of the hundreds of roses and gerberas and lilies still standing at attention downstairs.
Nadzia bowed again to her duster and returned to her duties with a contented yawn. She stopped by the door to the queen’s bedchamber and pressed her ear to the ancient oak. Not a sound. Should she wake her? The queen had never slept so late.
Nie. Let her sleep. Soon there would be no sleep in the household for months.
Nadzia moved on to dusting the vases on the mantel. The round-bottomed red one was her favorite and she took it down to gently sweep the feathers into its neck. It would look lovely with a bouquet of white peonies from downstairs.
“Nadzia!” The queen’s voice carried through the walls.
The girl ran to the door and flung it open, the vase still in hand. “Yes, my queen?”
She stood by her enormous fireplace, her bedclothes draped gracefully about her large and growing midsection. Her eyes were rimmed with red. The door connecting her chambers to the king’s shut with a loud crack, and she blinked before taking a step forward. Her hands shook as she pulled back her hair and smiled.
“You are my most trusted servant and friend. I am sorry to have to send you away.”
“Send me away, m’lady?” Nadzia squeaked. Her breath caught in her throat. She had served the queen since the day of the royal wedding. She had never so much as spilled a drop of tea nor scorched a piece of silk. To be sent away was to be shamed. What would her mother think to have her stumbling back up the mountain in disgrace?
The queen, as if sensing Nadzia’s thoughts, shook her head. Her eyes were kind. “It is because you are my most trusted friend that I give you this task,” she said gently. “You will remain in my service, and I will continue to provide for you. You and Esmerelda. You must go to her in the mountains.”
Nadzia’s knees regained some strength. The queen was not dismissing her.
“My stepsisters…” The queen’s voice faltered. “They have married the Burgosov twins.”
Nadzia dropped the vase. Glass shattered at her feet, red shards strewn on the cream tiles like blood.
The queen flinched. “Once they have convinced their husbands to break the peace treaty, they will come for me.” She held up a muslin-wrapped package. “They will come for the dress.”
Nadzia ran forward, cutting her toe on a piece of glass. She wrapped her arms around the queen’s neck. “Come with me. We will all be safe in the mountains.”
The queen pulled Nadzia’s arms away and pressed the maid’s hand to her swollen belly. “My time is too soon. Nie, I cannot make it.”
Nadzia felt the skin under the thin nightdress, taut as a round drum. And underneath, the child poking as if in a morning stretch.
The queen lovingly stroked the muslin package. “This dress means the kingdom to me, and only you can keep it safe. Find Esmerelda, and leave this land,” she commanded as she shoved the package into Nadzia’s arms. Next, she pulled something from her pocket. “Thank you for lending me your necklace for the ball. It was a perfect match. But you must wear it now and always. It will be our sign.”
