Captivated By The Fae: A Cinderella Retelling (Once Upon a Fairy Tale Romance Book 2)
Captivated By The Fae: Chapter 4

When I gave her my name, I declined to tell her that I am the crown prince of Anara. I want to know how she will react to me without knowledge of my title.

I have never seen a human up close before. My gaze travels over the delicate, curved shells of her ears. Sky-blue eyes stare up into mine. I could so easily lose myself in their depths. My nostrils flare as I drink in her scent. She smells of strawberries and sunshine. Her hair spills over her shoulders in long, chocolate waves. Flexing my fingers into my palm, I fight the urge to run them through the silken strands as I imagine tipping her face up to mine and tasting of her full, pink lips.

With a slight clench of my jaw, I force myself to focus. I cannot be attracted to a human. Surely, she must have cast some sort of enchantment to enthrall me. I am angered this witch would seek to manipulate me in this way.

“You thought what?” I snap. “Out with it.”

“Well, you gave me your name, and… aren’t names supposed to have power?”

I cock my head to the side, narrowing my eyes as I consider her question. She cannot be a witch. No one who practices magic would ever believe such a ridiculous myth. I cross my arms over my chest.

“It’s obvious to me now that you are no witch.”

Her eyes widen. “Did you just read my mind?”

“Of course not,” I scoff. “That is against the law. No, I knew because of the ridiculous fairy tale that you believe.”

“Fairy… tale?”

“About names having power. No proper witch would ever believe such a thing.”

She looks hopeful. “So… now that you’ve confirmed I’m not a witch, am I still in trouble?”

My gaze drops to the bloodied knife and the spelled parchment. I arch a brow. “That depends.”

“On what?”

“How did you come by this spell?”

“I—” She cuts off, studying me warily.

It’s easy to see she does not trust me. But I must know why she broke the barrier, especially since she’s obviously not a practitioner of magic. So, I decide to use the only leverage I have. “You shattered part of the veil. That is a crime in my kingdom. Punishable by death. I suggest you explain yourself quickly.”

She gasps, and I hate the fear that fills her eyes at my lie. She is not the first to bring down the veil during the silver moon cycle when it is thin, and the punishment certainly isn’t as severe as death. It is usually a hefty fine, or a few days spent in the castle prison. However, she does not know this, and I want an answer to my question.

“Well? What do you have to say for yourself?”

“I… stole it.” She reluctantly admits. “From a real witch.”

My mouth falls open. “You stole from a witch? Are you mad?”

She swallows hard and glances down at her hands. “I had no choice.”

“That is ridiculous,” I counter. “Everyone has a choice. Does the witch know that you stole from her?”

My gaze sweeps across the forest over her shoulder. If the witch is aware of this, death will surely be coming for her. And swiftly.

The raw energy of my dark magic crackles like lightning across the tips of my fingers as if readying to defend her, although I do not know why I feel so fiercely protective of this human.

She shakes her head. “Not yet. But she’ll know soon enough, I suspect. I slipped some vyltarian in her tea this evening. She should not wake until noon tomorrow.”

I cannot believe this human. She is either mad or very brave; I’m uncertain which. Witches are very powerful beings; it is never wise to cross one. “You do know that stealing from a witch is dangerous, do you not?”

“Of course, I do. At first, I searched for a spell to turn her into a frog or a cat—anything that would render her harmless. But the transformation enchantments are too complicated and require many ingredients I do not have. When I found this one, I thought I could use it to get away from her.”

Ah. All the pieces fall into place now. “You were hoping to escape into my kingdom.”

“Yes.”

I frown. “Humans are not allowed in Anara.”

Her head jerks back. “Why not?”

“We do not trust outsiders. Certainly not humans, at least.”

She looks down at her hands. “Then, I have no hope.”

My nostrils flare as I scent the tears she struggles to hold back. Despite wanting to appear authoritative as befits my status, I am not a heartless monster. I step closer to her, and she lifts her gaze. Her luminous blue eyes search mine.

“Why did you steal from the witch?”

“She plans to sell me to a man. At the end of the month, I’m to become his wife as payment for her debts to him.” She lowers her gaze, blinking back tears. “He is cruel and I cannot marry him. Please,” she begs. “Is there no way I may seek asylum in your lands?”

Her plea tears at my heart. Anyone brave enough to steal from a witch must be desperate to escape indeed. I tip my head to the side, considering. “Perhaps we may help each other.”

“What do you mean?”

“I would like to propose a deal. My father wants me to take a wife, but—”

She steps back quickly and tugs her cloak close to her chest as if trying to shield herself from my gaze. “I’d sooner die than give myself to you.”

I blink several times in shock. She stares up at me as if I were some sort of hideous troll, demanding payment in flesh to cross a bridge.

I’m not sure whether to be amused or offended. I’ve always considered myself rather handsome. At least, that’s what my grandmother always told me, as did the dozens of women who came to court last season to vie for my hand.

But I suppose they could have been lying. After all, I was my grandmother’s favorite grandson—so I was probably perfect in her eyes for that reason alone. And the other women may simply be after my status and title.

Judging by the expression on this woman’s face, I fear this may be truth. My wounded pride may never recover from this devastating blow.

“You cannot have my firstborn child, either,” she adds.

I stare at her, dumbstruck. What in the name of the gods is she talking about now? “What does your firstborn child have to do with anything?”

She gives me a wary look. “I’ve heard that’s something your kind often ask for when making a deal.”

I roll my eyes. “The rumors your people spread about mine are ridiculous.”

Her brow furrows. “It’s not true, then?”

I shake my head. “Those were the olden days. My people are forbidden from making deals like that now.” I pause. “It has been at least five hundred years since that particular law was passed, by the way.”

Her lips part, but she quickly snaps her jaw shut. Her brows pinch together in contemplation. “What kind of deal are you suggesting, then?”

I gesture to a felled trunk nearby for her to sit. She does, and I take a seat beside her. “As I mentioned, my father wants me to take a wife.”

It does not escape my notice that she scoots further away at my statement, wounding my pride even more. Am I really that unattractive? I’d always heard that her kind found mine very handsome and beautiful. Perhaps this is simply rumor.

She winces and my gaze drops to her hand. I note the cut on her palm is still seeping blood. “May I?” I gesture to her injury.

Cautiously, she extends her hand out to me and I assess her wound.

My brother, Eryl, is very skilled in healing magic. He can repair even the most devastating of injuries. I worry this may be beyond my abilities, but as I study the cut, I realize it is not very deep. I should be able to mend it. I lift my eyes to hers. “I can heal this if you’d like.”

She hesitates a moment, and then nods.

Carefully, I hover my open palm above her injured one. Closing my eyes, I focus on conjuring the magic within me that should come easily but it does not. I could sooner destroy than heal, but I do not tell her this. That is simply the way of the dark magic that dominates my nature.

Something that would be simple for a Light Fae to conjure—such as a healing spell—is difficult for me. Whereas the dark magic they dare not even attempt, is as easy for me as breathing.

I focus all my energy upon her wound and when she gasps, my eyes snap open to replace her staring down at her palm in wonder. My heart stutters and stops as her lips curve into a stunning smile.

“That’s amazing. Thank you so much, Ryvan.” The tense set of her shoulders relaxes and I am glad to note she appears more at ease now that I’ve healed her. “You were saying?” she prompts.

Drawing in a deep breath, I continue. “The Silver Moon Ball is coming soon. Every eligible woman in the kingdom will attend. And I”—I gesture to my chest—“am supposed to choose a wife from among them.”

Her brow furrows. “So why do you need me?”

“I do not want a wife, and I am sure to be swarmed by dozens of interested women at the ball.”

She snorts out a laugh but quickly covers her mouth to stifle it, and my pride takes another heavy blow. Her eyes dance with barely restrained amusement. “Well, someone certainly thinks an awful lot of himself.”

I purse my lips, choosing to ignore her jab. “If my father believes someone has caught my eye, and I play the part of the besotted and lovesick fool… When that someone decides to reject me, my father might leave me alone for a while to wallow in my sorrows.” I pause. “That person could be you.”

She frowns. “I’m human. You said that my kind are not allowed in your kingdom.”

“This is truth, but I could conjure a spell—an enchantment to change your appearance and hide what you are from my people so you could cross the veil undetected and attend the ball.”

“Then what?” she asks, and it’s easy to see she is weighing whether to trust me.

“I’ll sneak you through our kingdom and secure passage for you on one of the ships from the port of Luryndale. The ice should be completely melted in a few weeks—just in time for the ball—and the seas will be safe enough for ships to travel again. You can move to the lands in the far north and seek out a quiet life among the people in the kingdom of Arnafell.”

Hope once again enters her eyes. “Can you change my appearance now? Allow me to hide in Anara until after the ball?”

“Unfortunately, no,” I reply, hating the despair that steals over her features at my words. “The spell will not hold for very long, and I’ve no way of making it permanent. However, I can cast an enchantment on this part of the woods, shielding you from the witch until then.”

She lowers her eyes. “No. She’s very powerful, and I fear she would see right through it.”

Perhaps she is right. Witches possess varying degrees of power, and I do not know the one who plagues her. She could be able to see through my spell.

I’m worried, however, for this human. If the witch replaces out that she stole, she will punish her—perhaps even kill her. “What will you do about the witch?”

She shrugs. “I do not believe she’d kill me. I’ll just have to go back, bide my time until the ball, and hope she doesn’t realize that I took this.” She gestures to the parchment.

I tilt my head to the side. “You are not a witch, and yet, you were able to use this spell with an offering of your blood.” I gesture to the broken barrier. “That means you may be able to cast another. I will give you the words of enchantment to place the parchment back in her book, mending the torn page as if it were never removed in the first place.”

I dislike the idea of her having to injure herself again to do this, so I pluck a leaf from a nearby tree. Using this, she will not need to offer her blood to conjure the energy needed for the enchantment. Concentrating a moment, I infuse it with a slight bit of my magic and hand it to her. “Here. You may use this to cast the spell. You will need to lay it over the torn seam for it to work.”

She takes the leaf, studying it curiously before lifting her gaze again to mine. “You would help me?”

I’m surprised by the astonishment in her tone. She must have heard many terrible things about my people. “Yes.”

“But… why? That’s not part of our arrangement.”

The truth is, I hate the idea of her returning to the witch. I wish there were some way to help her further. I cannot imagine toiling in the service of such a vile creature. I’ve heard witches treat those they enslave cruelly.

I do not want this woman to believe I am soft, however. We have not sealed our contract yet. So, I lie. “I need to make certain you are in one piece so you may help me. It would not do for the witch to turn you into a frog or some such thing before you are able to attend the ball, now would it?”

She laughs, the sound is light, airy, and quite lovely, if I’m being entirely honest with myself. It also eases my worries somewhat. If she is able to replace my words amusing, it must mean she would never expect the witch to punish her so severely.

Still, I feel compelled to check. “You are certain the witch will not harm you?”

“Not if I return the spell before she realizes it is gone.”

“You are certain you have time to return it before she awakens?”

“Yes. I gave her quite a bit of vyltarian root.”

Relief fills me as I meet her gaze evenly. “All right. Repeat these words after me.”

I give her the words of the spell, and she repeats them without error on her first try.

“Excellent,” I tell her.

“Will you teach me some more?”

“Magic?”

She nods.

I arch a brow. “That is not part of our arrangement.”

“We haven’t made an arrangement yet,” she corrects me. “We are still discussing terms.”

My brows rise in astonishment. She is dictating terms for our agreement? I study her curiously. My nostrils flare, and I detect a hint of her fear on the wind, but she hides it well as her gaze holds mine. How fascinating. I think on her admission of stealing from a witch. Perhaps she is both mad and very brave.

“Well?” she asks.

“Fine. But only basic protection and defense spells. That is all.”

Her lips curve into a stunning smile. She extends her delicate hand toward me, and I take it.

The moment her skin touches mine, I’m standing in a field of lavender. She stands before me dressed in a simple, white-silk gown. Her hair is twisted in a lovely, braided crown atop her head, a few long, spiraling tendrils framing her delicate, heart-shaped face.

Her luminous blue eyes pierce mine as I place a wreath of white flowers atop her head. I bow low, and she responds in kind. I take both her hands in mine and repeat the ancient words of the bonding ceremony aloud. “You are mine, and I am yours.”

I wait with great anticipation as she speaks her vows in return. “I am yours, and you are mine.” She wraps her arms around me, pressing her lips to my own in a tender kiss.

A small gasp escapes me as the vision fades just as quickly as it first appeared.

She leans closer, studying me. “Are you all right?”

I blink several times as I come back to myself. “I—I am well.” I stumble over my words.

“Good.” She gives me a dazzling smile that could rival the brightness of the sun. “So, how shall we begin?”

“Begin?” I ask, unable to concentrate, transfixed by her soft, pink lips, and remembering the kiss in my vision.

“My lessons,” she explains. “Can you meet here again tomorrow?”

“I—” My mind goes blank. After what I’m sure is only a moment but feels like an eternity, I somehow manage to reply, “Yes.”

“All right, Ryvan.” She grins. “I’ll see you here tomorrow.”

“Of course.” It occurs to me that she has still not told me her name. She turns to leave, but I call out, stopping her. “Your name. You have not yet given it to me.”

She glances over her shoulder with a smile.

“It’s Ella.”

My heart stutters and stops.

“Ella,” I murmur. A name that means starlight in the ancient tongue.