Miranda and the Prince

By Wendy Stone

Miranda and Braden seemed fated to be kept apart until one day when Braden found a ring, giving it to Miranda.

Little did either know that their destinies changed from that day forward. The ring, a beautiful amber stone set in gold, was the home of a genie. Her name was Kendra and she was beautiful with white blonde hair and violet eyes.

But with the dangers that Miranda lived through every day, could even Kendra's magic be strong enough to keep her safe until Braden could claim her as his own?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Totally Bound Publishing
• Release date: Jun 23, 2008
• ISBN: 9781906590581

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A Total-e-bound Publication

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Miranda and the Prince

ISBN # 978-1-906590-58-1

©Copyright Wendy Stone 2008

Cover Art by Lyn Taylor ©Copyright June 2008

Edited by Michele Paulin

Total-e-bound books

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.

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The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork.

Published in 2008 by Total-e-bound eBooks 1 The Corner, Faldingworth Road, Spridlington, Market Rasen, Lincolnshire, LN8 2DE, UK.

Warning: This book contains sexually explicit content which is only suitable for mature readers. This story has been rated Total-e-burning.

MIRANDA AND THE PRINCE

Wendy Stone

Dedication

To Kendra and Stephanie: Let all your wishes come true.

Chapter One

Miranda ducked her head, barely avoiding the bucket of slops that was hurled out the window into the street just a few feet away. It splattered, foul liquid spraying up, and she jumped out of the way, anxious to keep her dress clean. If she spoiled it, she wouldn’t have a chance to wash it for days.

It wasn’t as if she didn’t want to be clean, she thought, checking the hem of her hand-me-down gown. It was just that she didn’t have time to take care of anything but what her father, his new wife and her children needed done. The few things Miranda could do to make life more palatable for herself always waited until last.

If things went awry, it fell to her slim but sturdy shoulders to deal with them, including making sure that the booth where sold the few vegetables they gathered was set up in the marketplace every morning. It also fell to her to work that booth, for her father trusted no one else to handle his money. He demanded an in-depth record of all that was sold and the coin that was earned.

And if the tally was not met, she paid the price. Even now her back ached from the stripes he’d placed there, using the heavy cane she used on the oxen when it came time to plough. Miranda sighed. There wasn’t time for her to rest and heal, even though she ached, for there was work to be done-always.

It wouldn’t have been so bad if her father and stepmother helped or even if one of her three step siblings lent a hand. But her father said this wasn’t the life they were used to, but it was one she was built for. He called her slight build sturdy and slapped her on her back almost hard enough to make her lose her balance.

Miranda was tall, just a few inches shorter than her father-a fact he bemoaned. She had the looks of her mother, fine-boned but lush with curves that were the envy of her stepsister. She also had her mother’s black curls and her bright blue eyes fringed with heavy dark lashes. Pale skin, like that of a porcelain doll, was smooth and perfect without the blotches that plagued her stepsister.

Her lips were full, curving seductively, cherry bright. Her nose was thin, tipped at the end to give her a touch of precociousness. Her heart-shaped face held a determined chin that could be stubborn when necessary. She was a comely lass, and the bane of her stepfamily’s existence.

Miranda reached the stall in the marketplace, unloading the heavy basket she’d carried. One of the other servants, a stout woman in her late thirties, was already there and smiled as she walked up.

’Tis about time you arrived, Miss Miranda. I was worried something might have happened to you.

No, Kate, I’m fine, just a little slow on my feet this morning. She didn’t mention the reason for her slowness nor did Kate ask, for all the servants knew of the punishments her father administered and how often Miranda paid for crimes not of her doing.

I could have carried that for you, girl. There was no reason for you to do that, Kate scolded her.

It’s fine, I’m fine, she said, stressing the words but softening them with her smile.

They got to work and finished unloading the handcart Kate had brought. Soon they were selling their wares. Miranda was happy. With today’s crowd they would make enough to please her father and perhaps keep her stepmother content.

A loud blaring of horns could be heard through the market, and Miranda looked up from where she measured a cup of wheat flour to see what the fuss was about. It wasn’t hard to tell. Above the crowds of people were men on horses dressed in the livery of the palace. Their horns blared once more before they parted, turning in perfect step to allow for the arrival of others.

Miranda watched, her eyes huge, as two men rode forward, their heads bent towards each other as they conversed. It looked quite heated, as well. The younger of the two, a handsome noble dressed in a fine leather jerkin and breeches, a white shirt and high knee boots, threw up his hands, tossed his reins to a young page standing before him and dismounted.

His hair was dark brown with glints of red peeking where the sun’s rays teased them out. His green eyes were the colour of the peridot that her mother used to wear round her throat on special occasions-an unusual colour for an eye, but one that drew the gaze as it drew hers.

His face was rugged, a small scar in the corner of his mouth adding to his appeal and giving him a hint of a devilish mien only enhanced by the scowl he wore at this moment. He was amazingly tall, his shoulders broad and his chest wide and powerful. The muscles of his thighs strained the breeches that covered them, flexing as he walked away from the older man and his horse.

She gasped as his gaze met her own, and she covered her mouth, lowering her eyes. It would prove disastrous if such a man, not just a royal but Prince Braden, the only son of the King and Queen, was to show any interest in her. Her father would beat her, perhaps this time cutting off her hair, which he had decided was the source of her sinful pride.

She finished measuring the flour, refusing to look in his direction again, even though she felt his strangely beautiful eyes upon her. Collecting the monies owed, she turned to the back of the stall, secreting away the money in a small purse that was in a hidden pocket in her skirt.

Excuse me?

She heard the deep, masculine voice and knew a moment of panic. Turning, she looked up into his face, feeling those green eyes as they wandered over her as if assessing her value. Yes, Your Highness? she asked breathlessly.

Prince Braden, son of King Magnus and Queen Wilhelmina was talking to her, Miranda, the nobody who was good only for work.

I believe you dropped this, he said, holding out a ring that was covered with hay from the floor of the stall.

Miranda was so flustered she held out her hand, feeling the ring dropped into it. T…Thank you, Your Highness, she managed to say, dropping a quick curtsey and looking down at the floor.

You should be more careful. It looks like a family piece, he said, raising her chin with his hand. You are quite beautiful. Who do you belong to?

Belong to? Your Highness? she stuttered.

Your master, girl, he said gently. Never mind, I shall find out for myself. I wish I had more time to get to know you now, but no matter. He stroked his finger down her pale cheek. We shall meet again, lovely one.

Miranda felt a thrill that seemed to expand from his finger and fly through her system, wrapping her in a warmth that was exhilarating and exciting. She heard him chuckle as she blushed then watched as he walked away, seeing him turn his head once to smile back at her.

Miss Miranda!

Kate’s cry brought Miranda to her senses, and she quickly dumped the ring into the pocket of her skirt, almost shaking as she came out of whatever spell he’d woven around her. Oh my, she breathed, allowing herself one last glance at his retreating form before going back to work beside Kate who sent her a disapproving look but said nothing more.

Those few stolen moments popped into her thoughts constantly as the day waned. As she and Kate packed up the little they hadn’t sold, she couldn’t help but wonder if she would see Prince Braden again and dreamed of such a meeting. What if she’d been wearing satin and lace? Could he have walked away as easily then? But it was only a dream. She could no more wear satin than she could fly to the moon.

A heavy sigh came from between her lips, making Kate glance up at the forlorn sound. Miranda tried to smile, but thoughts of the work still ahead and the duties her father and his new family would put upon her kept her morose. It wasn’t as if she minded the work. She didn’t. It was a pleasure to try to keep her family home tidy and neat.

It was just that all her work usually was in vain. Her stepbrothers, Patrick and Aidan, were an unruly lot, fighting and breaking things with no regard to value or family heirlooms. Her stepsister, Angelique, was worse, breaking and mussing to give Miranda more to do and gloating while she did it.

She hated Miranda, had hated her on first sight though she’d been given little cause. They were of an age, the two, but the fates had been more than kind to Miranda, giving her beauty and goodness, kindness and compassion. Angelique, despite her name, had the dirty brown hair of her father, limp and lank. She had dull brown eyes with no lashes to speak of and was on the plump side, most of it settling into her breasts and buttocks.

She’d been on the marriage market for the past two seasons and not a single proposal was forthcoming. Her mother bemoaned her fate of being a spinster, growing old and bitter without the benefit of a husband’s calming and controlling hand. Miranda couldn’t see how that would differ except for the aging part.

They returned to the family manor, a huge old place with plenty of rooms. It was draughty and cold, with more hallways and stairwells than necessary. But it was her home, and she loved it the way it was.

Miranda helped with dinner, one of the two big meals of the day. The first was supper, taken just as the sun reached its highest point. Dinner was served as the sun was setting, meant to hold everyone over night until the breaking of the fast in the morning.

Cook was a large woman who had a voice as large as her body and a temper to make both look measly. She ran her kitchen the way a captain