Table of Contents
The Magic King
Author’s Notes
The Magic King
A Letter to Carrots
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Epilogue
List of Books written by Jovee Winters | Kingdom Series
The Blue Moon Bay Series:
Kingdom books written as Marie Hall
About Jovee Winters
The Magic King
Decades have passed since Rumpel last saw his beloved bride Shayera. Single-minded in his determination to bring her back at all costs Rumpel has discovered that in the process of reacquiring her he’s lost all sense of who he even is anymore.
Tired, and world weary he feels the only thing left to do now is to retreat and gather himself. He is not a good man, he knows that. He’s lied, he’s cheated, hell he’s even killed. And he can’t stop thinking that maybe in this new world Shayera deserves to be with someone better than him. Someone kinder. Gentler. Someone the exact opposite of himself. He will never stop loving her, but isn’t that what love means? Sacrificing your own happiness for the sake of theirs? He just wants her happy, that’s all he’s ever wanted, and if that means learning to let her go, then that’s just what he’ll force himself to do.
Shayera has always been aware of ghosts that linger just beyond the fringe of the world she sees. Desperately trying to show her a world she once knew but lost forever. There is a yearning in her, a desire for more. But she never quite understands what that more is until the day she spots the Man in Black. He’s unbelievably handsome, but it’s also clear that he’s a very dangerous man. It’s in the way he moves, how he looks at her, and the words he says. But his husky voice and devastating touch thrills her, makes her come alive. And she knows that she’ll stop at nothing until she makes that darkness. No matter the cost...
WHOEVER FIGHTS MONSTERS should see to it that in the process he does not become a monster. And if you gaze long enough into an abyss, the abyss will gaze back into you.
~ Friedrich Nietzsche
Author’s Notes
All of my Dark Kings books so far are based on retellings I’d written years ago under the penname, Marie Hall. The first three books are free as part of the Kingdom Collection, so if you’re interested in learning the roots of this new world make sure you pick them up. This book in particular is loosely based on Rumpel’s Prize, but you do not need to read that book to understand this one. It only gives you a deeper understanding of the characters if you do.
The Magic King
Copyright 2017 Jovee Winters
Cover Art by Phatpuppy
Formatted by D2D
My super seekrit hangout!
This is a work of fiction. All characters, places, and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons living or dead, events, or places is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning, or otherwise, without the written permission of the publisher, Jovee Winters, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in the context of reviews.
This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only.
Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Jovee Winters.
Unauthorized or restricted use in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution.
The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patent Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork.
Published in 2017 by Jovee Winters, United States of America
A Letter to Carrots
Letter 1
Why do I even bother with paper and pen? Why do I sit alone in my tower, night after night, tormented by nightmares and visions of a happier, better day, when you loved me? When I was everything to you, and you were my only reason for being?
This exercise feels pointless, and yet I am driven by demons and plagued by doubts. The only way to quiet the noise is to sit and dream, to allow my soul free reign, so that it may wander down the eternal corridor of my mind and remember a time when I was blessed, when I was happy.
The only time I find peace is when I am with you. And yet we are worlds apart now. You no longer remember me. And I am no longer the man you once thought me to be, the man that I became because of our great love.
I am cold in this darkness. I fear the beasts that howl at my door. The flame within me, once so great and mighty, is now little more than a flicker of half-remembered thoughts.
A touch. A caress. A breathy sigh. A loving word. All of it is gone.
Why does this pain cut through the heart, soul, and viscera of me? Why does it leave me shaking and despondent? I know who I am. I’m the same as I’ve always been. A monster. An evil that cared naught who it hurt, because I was driven by desperation and madness until I met you, and you breathed something spiritual into me. Your purity and goodness stitched me together, still broken and cracked, but sealed up tight and protected by your heart.
You see, I may be a beast, but only you have ever had the power to break me.
You made me promise once never to go back to those wastelands of doubt and depression, and I vowed that I wouldn’t, but I broke.
I.
Am.
Broken.
I stare at this blank page, wondering if any of this even makes sense. How does one describe this pain? I think it is impossible. And yet I am foolish enough to try.
I wake up and am angry that I still breathe, still live on. Every beat of this shriveled up thing I call a heart is unspeakable agony. There are times when I literally cannot breathe—I cannot take a breath. All I can feel is panic clawing away at me day and night. It is a monster that now feeds on its master.
There must be better in the beyond. A numbness, at least. Even nothing would be better than this suffering. But then I think of you and what you would have thought of me if I gave in, and I am ashamed.
You do not love me. I do not think you ever will again. My sins are plenty and they are great, a giant gulf between us that can never be spanned.
What if I told you that I would kill for you? That I have killed for you? I know what you would say, and it cuts me like a knife.
When I gave you forever, I meant it, Carrots. But I do not think you could ever grasp the depths of my pledge and what it entailed for me. Torment and misery are my constant companions now. I cling to Euralis for any last shred of humanity within me. My boy is happy, but surely he would be better off without me here.
I see the way my staff looks at me now. They’re furtive. Scared. Timid. Afraid. I bellow day and night. I ache so fiercely that I do not remember what it means not to anymore. I don’t want to hurt them, and yet my mere existence does.
I see you and a beast in me stirs. I am angry at you, though it is not your fault. I loathe that you no longer remember the man you made me and the children you bore me. Why did you leave me? And why did you not fight harder to come back?
Chapter 1
Shayera
6-9 years old
“Shayera!” Mama called my name; her voice had gone tight and shrill.
I cringed. I might have been in trouble. And I
didn’t like that. I loved Mama and Papa and didn’t want them worrying. But they kept me trapped inside.
All.
The.
Time.
It was sooo boring. It was sunny, and the birds were singing in the trees. My friend, Mr. Gobletter Squirrel, was hopping from branch to branch in the big apple tree behind my house and waving his fat red tail at me, almost like a greeting.
I liked climbing trees too. And exploring, just like Alice in my favorite book in the world. I wanted to fall down a rabbit hole and find that silly, hairy white rabbit someday.
Mama always told me my book of stories wasn’t real. In fact, Alice—the real one—lived in Wonderland. She was married to the Hatter, who was also real, and they had a baby girl. She had pretty hair that curved into a sharp V on her forehead. But she was nice, and she smiled at me a lot, and even though she was much older than me—she was ten—we were friends, so she was okay, I guess.
She said she liked me because I had a smart brain and she didn’t feel like she was talking to a baby when she was with me. I told her to keep that secret just between us.
The real Alice and Hatter were nice people. But I liked the Alice and Hatter from my book better. I didn’t tell Mama that, though, because she and the real Alice were friends, and I didn’t want to hurt Mama’s heart by being mean. But in my book, Alice was my age... Well, a little bit older, I guess. But she liked to explore. And I did too. It was my all-time favorite thing to do.
Mama, Papa, Uncle Kelly, Briley, Uncle Kelly’s girlfriend, Claudette, and I all lived in a big, two-story house that had fireplaces in every room and roses growing everywhere.
And even though our house was big enough to hold us all comfortably, sometimes it also felt really small, and I had to sneak out by myself for a chance to be alone so that I could think and remember my dreams. There was a cool, big, green lake behind our house. It was about a mile back, but I loved playing there. Mama and Papa didn’t like me going if they weren’t able to come with me, though, unless I was with Briley or Uncle Kelly.
I’d only snuck out there once but got scared when I saw a ripple shiver in the water, and I never went back. Papa had told me there was a water siren that lived in that water and that sirens were mean, tricky, ugly creatures, and to run away if I ever saw one. So I’d run, but I did sometimes get curious if it’d just been a big fish making all that fuss down there and Papa had just told me a fib to keep me safe.
One day, I was twisting around the thick trunk of a whomping apple-willow tree—which was exactly like what it sounded like, but the tree liked me, so it never gave me a whomping. But it hated Uncle Kelly, and when he got too close, it thwacked him hard on his petunia as he walked by. Briley and I thought it was funny, but Uncle Kelly did not.
A strong pair of hands hefted me high into the air, causing me to squeal and scream. Then Papa’s deep rumble called out, “Found her, pigêon!” to Mama, who came clomping down the steps with a stern mouth and twinkling eyes.
She was angry with me.
I sighed, feeling as though I might cry. I’d barely even gotten to play ten minutes. Briley must have tattled on me again. But then Papa was cuddling me close and tickling my ribs until I started giggling.
“My little butterfly, my little papillon,” he whispered in his gravelly voice, “why do you always run so? Don’t you know it’s not safe out here alone?”
I grumped, crossing my arms. I never saw all the other mommies and papas of the village being as grumpy with their kids like Mama and Papa were with me. “But I just want to play.”
Papa’s lips pulled up into a loose smile. Mama was still marching toward us, but she didn’t seem quite so frazzled anymore. Her face was only a little bit red and splotchy. I hated to make them worry. I frowned.
Papa tipped my jaw up. “Why do you always look so sullen, my pretty one? Do you not love us? Is that what it is? You wish to run away and join the circus?”
I giggled. “Oh, Papa.” I slapped at his chest and plopped a loud, smacking kiss to his bristled cheek. “You know I don’t.”
His dark brows lifted. “Then why do you not listen to your maman when she tells you to stay inside, hmm? It breaks her heart, papillon.”
My shoulders slumped. “I don’t want to break Mommy’s heart. I just... I just want to...” Fly.
Somehow I knew deep down that I should never tell them, that I should never let them know just how unhappy I was sometimes. So I bit my tongue and said nothing instead. Mama finally reached our side and wrapped me up tightly, giving my forehead a hard kiss before leaning back and wagging her finger beneath my nose. She smelled like roses. She always smelled like roses. “I should spank your little butt for running off again. If it hadn’t been for Briley, I don’t know what I would have—”
I cried. And I wasn’t even sure why. I only knew it hurt. Something deep inside of me hurt sometimes, so, so badly. I wasn’t even really sure why because I loved my family. I had friends. People liked me, and I liked people. But...
“Ah, ma petite,” Papa whispered, hugging me close while Mama put her arms around me from behind. The sun shone down on us, and the wind was full of the scent of flowers. We stood like that for a little while, alone in the middle of a large field full of wildflowers and a lone whomping apple-willow that seemed to understand it wasn’t the time to go a’whompin’. Instead, it did something it had never done before. Large, willowy limbs full of apples and white flowers wrapped around the three of us like a thick band of snakes. The touch was soft and gentle, almost like it was giving us a hug. I trembled.
Papa continued to stroke my back but now that the tears had started they just wouldn’t seem to stop. “Do not cry, my beautiful papillon. This will not always be, my darling. You will see.”
Through my sobs, I heard them start talking in low voices to each other and Mama saying things like, “Maybe we should...”
Then Papa growled and whispered a sharp, “Non!” back.
I made them sad. I didn’t like that. But I didn’t know how to stop it, either. Sometimes when they thought I wasn’t looking, I would see Papa wearing a tight scowl and Mama looking worried, as though she might cry. It always happened after they would look at me.
Usually at that point, Mama would nod and walk away, but not that day. She walked around to the front of me, where I could see her face, and I finally noticed that she was crying.
I never wanted to see Mama cry. I reached out my arms to her, and she pulled me close to her. I buried my face in her shoulder, sniffing her scent of roses and trembling because I loved her so much, and I knew that someday Mama would save me from this hurt.
I didn’t turn my face up when Mama started speaking again. “Gerard, I love you. But we can’t hide her forever. She has to learn independence. She has to grow up sometime, sweetheart.” As she spoke, she rubbed my back, and my heart started to bang hard in my chest. I wondered if it was possible. Could it be true? Would they finally let me play?
I sucked in my breath, afraid to move.
“Betty, you know... you know what might—”
“Yes,” she hissed. “I know very well. But what we’re doing to her is no better than what he’s done to us. The deal was struck, and he’ll have no choice but to stick to his end of the bargain. You know that. She has until she’s twenty-one, but maybe she could meet someone before then. We’ll never know if we don’t let her spread her wings. She’s a child, my love.”
I had no idea what they were talking about. But I dared to chance a peek at Papa’s face through my tear-stained lashes, and I noted the hard clench of his jaw and the way he ran his fingers through his hair so many times that it stood up stiff at his forehead, as if he’d shocked himself.
I licked my lips, my tiny heart banging hard in my chest, because deep down I sensed that maybe something big was about to happen.
Finally, Papa sighed. “But my past, Betty, what if—”
She leaned toward him and moved her mouth to his ear, whisp
ering loudly enough that I could hear her even through the sounds of my crying. “That was a past that does not exist in this time. It can’t happen to her now. You never wronged that siren, you see. How could it possibly be?”
His long lashes fluttered, and I caught him glancing at me with another one of his penetrating, worried frowns. For years, I’d heard them talk of a siren and a curse, but anytime I’d asked, they would just tell me, “Oh, nothing, love. Just grown-up stuff.” I was young, but I wasn’t dumb. There was a reason Mommy and Papa didn’t want me around others. I just wished I knew why.
“It’s the only way to keep her childhood normal, Gerard. You know I’m right,” Mama pressed on.
Papa looked at me with his dark-blue eyes, and suddenly I couldn’t seem to breathe right. My head felt spinny and weird, and my pulse fluttered like a hummingbird’s wings on the back of my tongue. I swallowed hard. My hands were all wet and tingly.
“Papillon.” Papa looked at me, waiting for me to reply.
“Oui, Papa?” I answered him back in his own tongue. I knew Papa was nervous when he started to speak so much French.
“You will be safe, my love? Always, right? You know what not to do. Who not to follow.”
I nodded. “The strange man dressed all in black.”
“Oui.” He nodded back. “If you ever see him, you run away. He is a very bad man, Shayera. A bad man. He would seek to—”
Mama pressed a hand against Papa’s chest once I started trembling. Almost from the moment I knew how to talk, Papa had told me about the man in black, with red eyes and blond hair and a smile like the devil. He was terrible, Papa said—the man had tried to kill him once. The dark man was a trickster and a thief. He would try to hurt me and take me away from my family forever.
The man in black scared me. I would never go with him.
“What Papa is trying to say,” Mama interrupted, “is that you must be careful. Do not speak with men you do not know. Not ever. You are young, honey, but you are bright. Can we trust that if we let you outside to play, you will not wander beyond our bounds?”