The Princess & the Ogre

By Jeanette Lynn

The maestro of matchmaking mayhem has finally met her... match.

She loves him, but love him she cannot. And yet, she can't seem to help herself.
That beady-eyed, stubborn male has wormed his way into Morgan's heart, she can't even try to deny it. She stopped trying to tell herself she must be wrong, this odd, fated destiny sort of feeling overwhelming her when it came to that blasted Ogre. Deny them the chance at something wonderful, all the same, she does.
Why? Because destiny is a big ol' jerkface and what has it ever done for her family but torn them apart, literally and figuratively.
No. It just- It could never be. Things had to be this way. It was all for the best. Theseus would see things in time. Ah... she hoped.

Theseus was used to the fates being as unkind to him as beings were about his looks. He was not gifted with great beauty. To put it bluntly, his life has been rather ugly.
And Theseus was accustomed to living as he had and knowing nothing else, even as he yearned for more. Just one pretty thing, he kept telling himself. Just one beautiful thing to come along in this cursed existence. One small, slip of a thing gifted his way. That was all he was asking, something to hold onto to get him through this lingering thing considered living.

While he hadn't meant that quite so literally as the universe had seen fit to grant him, there would be no complaints from this Ogre. His Faeii-rie one was more than anything he could have wished for. Strong, cunning, smart, his Dragon princess would be the only one for him. There was just one teeny tiny problem. He had to convince his matchmaking mate of the truth of this.

If there was ever an Ogre handbook and a chapter on things they'd decided were theirs, it would probably go something like this:
MINE

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jeanette Lynn
• Release date: Apr 1, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005808310

Jeanette Lynn

Jeanette Lynn lives with her Neanderthal, beyond awesome kiddlens, mini-dino water-ninja (turtle), slightly eccentric terrier mix, and hobbit pup. She enjoys creating quirky, offbeat characters in out of this world stories. And, of course, a good happy ending.Quirky, offbeat characters in out of this world stories. Finding love in unexpected places.Paranormal, contemporary, fantasy, sci fi, shifters, aliens, magic and matchmaking mayhem, there's a little bit of everything.

Book preview

This is a book best read within its series order, and for best enjoyment, in companion reading order with its adjoining series, Brides of Mordenne.

You’ll find the Best Read Reading Order in the back of the book. This is Tales of Mordenne 3. You will be lost if you haven’t read the series all the way through.

I don’t write perfect characters that always do just the right thing. This is not a total fluff fest. There may be some fluff, and I love the funnies, but not a cotton candy, teeth ache, perfect sweetness mush fest. I’m not knocking it, but that’s not what this is about.

However, no matter how dark, twisty things may get, there is always a Happily Ever After.

This is, admittedly, a lighter book than the first two.

This is Monster Lurv. Monster Romance. Monster finds Mate.

This series can border on horror in certain parts, in certain books and instances, as it was intended to. There may be scenes of dubious consent, and cursing. This is an adult read.

Dedication

To the crazy Neanderthal I married, the Ogre in my heart-circle who’d walk 500 miles for me.

Then walk 500 more.

The Princess & the Ogre

The maestro of matchmaking mayhem has finally met her... match.

She loves him, but love him she cannot. And yet, she can't seem to help herself.

That beady-eyed, stubborn male has wormed his way into Morgan's heart, she can't even try to deny it. She stopped trying to tell herself she must be wrong, this odd, fated destiny sort of feeling overwhelming her when it came to that blasted Ogre. Deny them the chance at something wonderful, all the same, she does.

Why? Because destiny is a big ol' jerkface and what has it ever done for her family but torn them apart, literally and figuratively.

No. It just- It could never be. Things had to be this way. It was all for the best. Theseus would see things in time. Ah... she hoped.

Theseus was used to the fates being as unkind to him as beings were about his looks. He was not gifted with great beauty. To put it bluntly, his life has been rather ugly.

And Theseus was accustomed to living as he had and knowing nothing else, even as he yearned for more. Just one pretty thing, he kept telling himself. Just one beautiful thing to come along in this cursed existence. One small, slip of a thing gifted his way. That was all he was asking, something to hold onto to get him through this lingering thing considered living.

While he hadn't meant that quite so literally as the universe had seen fit to grant him, there would be no complaints from this Ogre. His Faeii-rie one was more than anything he could have wished for. Strong, cunning, smart, his Dragon princess would be the only one for him. There was just one teeny tiny problem. He had to convince his matchmaking mate of the truth of this.

If there was ever an Ogre handbook and a chapter on things they'd decided were theirs, it would probably go something like this:

MINE

CHAPTER 1

Lady Amele’s Guide to Dragonian Etiquette

Lesson One:

Decorum. Grace. Poise.

One must never forget who they are or where they’re from, and never allow anyone else to either.

Editorial review, provided by Ben the Cyclops upon perusal of said tome: I’ve wiped my butt with better.

Ben’s take: Chin up. Tits out. Disintegrate the haters. Or, you know, just wait ‘til they fall asleep at work and then draw d*cks on their faces... Heh.

Morgan

My eyes flashed. With the bat of an eye—or if I wished, the snap of my fingers—I had the small battery operated radio in the kitchen popping on. The smug green Ogres on my slippers scuffed the linoleum quietly as I boogied my way towards the coffeemaker. Gimme-gimme.

Pecan dark roast blend or caramel medium? Hmm… Caramel, I decided finally. It was a black coffee kind of morning. I wasn’t in the mood for anything sweet. Some days sucked. Sometimes you just needed some good tunes and piping hot flavored tar to get you motivated.

My arm shot up, finger pointing over my shoulder as my other hand put a fresh filter in the filter basket, and the station changed. A small smile tipped my lips as the Proclaimers I’m Gonna Be filtered through my kitchen. The song immediately made me think of a certain irritating but lovable male who I’d bet a few gobs of Dragon coveted gold would be at my office before I even got there. My steps slowed a little as my smile fell, even as my heart sped up, but I shook my head and forced the hangdog look off my face.

It was better this way. If I told him, made him understand, he’d see. My brow furrowed. Or, he wouldn’t, and I’d have tipped my hand. He’d be even more determined than before.

But I wasn’t to tell him, didn’t dare try, because if I was wrong, I- Because… Because I loved that ridiculous male, and a very large part of me was scared of just how far he’d run if he was aware of the bad luck that’s plagued my family for years. We were cursed, literally. There was a stupid prophecy foretold and all of that ridiculousness. I’d always wondered if that was why my grandmother’s line had started their quest to join Humans and Paras, and so thoroughly blend our line, in the hopes of weakening the curse through the generations, or as if to leave a legacy other than great pain and loss—not so much penance but hope. Not even adding Fae, Fairy, Pixie, blasted Tooth Fairies and their wild antics to the mix, or even the odd Satyr or wily Nymph, had broken the rebound beset on us.

One jilted Dragon sorceress hexing her ex-lover, and we were all bound in her misery. If I could summon the dead, I’d bring her idiotic behind back just to flame her into dust and kick it back into the grave. Argh. My hands clenched and the radio started going haywire.

With a start, I realized steam was pouring from my nostrils, the cabinet I stood in front of a lovely charred color now. I was losing hold of that iron control. Argh. I’m a mess—have been since a certain someone came storming into my life, lobster bib and all. I supposed it was a good thing I kept so much extra paint on hand. I’d have to sand the cupboard door down and go dig out the can from the garage and fix yet another boo boo I’d made.

My thoughts kept circling back to deep set dark blue eyes with just enough silver in them they shimmered. Green, thick skin... I loved Green. It was such a soothing color. My toes wriggled as I pressed them into the tiled floor in their comfy, soft, green stuffed cocoons.

No. Stop it, Morgan. It’s useless. An Ogre the answer to La Faeii-Lorlen shame? My ancestors would either laugh themselves sick—Nan, who found the humor in anything easily, in particular—or roll over in said dirt plot or cubby hole in the family cemetery.

He just liked the way I looked at him.

He knew he was my first.

He was my first, and maybe that was his hangup. Yes, that was it.

He couldn’t love me. Ogres weren’t so easily swayed...

It was infatuation, plain and simple.

Thinking of all the couples I’ve brought together, it pricked that I’d never get to see that kind of Happily Ever After ending for myself. All these HEAs... and the orchestrator of said dating chaos was left in the lurch. He looked at me like I was his forever. Oh, who the hells was I kidding?!

No.

Maybe.

Gah. No.

Argh. I wanted the And then they lived happily, crazily in love, ever after, no curses to be found, The End. No, I wanted an Amen tacked on right at the very end, like it was a prayer or something and that somehow finalized it.

I want a lot of things I can’t have, I muttered, staring down the bagels on the counter, then the pooch of a tummy I’d been eyeballing of late I kept promising myself I was going to work on. Grabbing a banana and chocolate rice cake, I was kidding myself. I’d shower, get dressed, and come back for that bagel and a thick layer of cream cheese smeared all over the halves to top it all off. I wasn’t fooling anybody.

Messages, I mumbled, turning as I peeled my banana. My laptop sat on my dark granite countertop, right where I’d left it last night. The dark granite went well with the grey cupboards and white tiled backsplash.

I’d come home after stalking—yes, stalking—yet another of Theseus’ dates, and had thought to distract myself with work, but it proved fruitless. I wasn’t in the game lately.

Everything was off. I really needed to stop doing that—that stalking of a certain wickedly grinning, tiny headed, enormous bodied, generously endow- Ahem. Down, girl. I was only hurting myself more in the end, I gently corrected, desperate to keep my mind on the right path.

Opening up my messages, my eyes widened at all… Wow. Huh. A grunt of a noise left me. Had something happened? Hitting play on the first one, I wandered away to the coffee maker as it beeped.

Nothing new. My newest secretary with reminders and notes, etc. The next message was one of my cubby people, the plebians in the cubicles that did my bidding—mwahahaha!—Allen, one of those many various back office people of the cubicles, was explaining the newest secretary, Tracy, had quit. Well, that was quick. Allen was already looking into a replacement. Thank you, Allen, I mentally made note. Allen, you are lovely and should you prove useful, shall be moving up amongst your cubby ranks.

The next few messages were confirmations for meetings I’d set up, contacts. I made a mental note who should get the first call back. After about the first twenty or so, client number 1134679 came on. Solena, a selkie, dugong, with a sweet sounding voice and lovely profile picture in her file, announced herself and started to speak. It was forwarded from the afterhours line I’d put in last year. All complaints of a serious nature were automatically forwarded to me. I took my job and the safety of my clients very seriously.

Who was Solena matched up with… a Brad? Bradley? I believed it was, as it were. He was in construction, I recalled, as my face scrunched up. Human... possible dormant. Or was it some kind of desk job and he was a weak Fae…? They say an elephant never forgets, but Dragons on a good day have memories to outshine a lil ol’ pachyderm. Unless we’re off our freaking game, I thought with a long growl.

My frown grew as I sipped a deliciously hot cup of the good stuff and played the conversation between the woman and afterhours operator.

My frown fell into a scowl as I listened and finished off my banana.

Ugh. Brad, you total cad. Some people sucked. Setting down my cup and tossing my peel in the trash, I logged into my work brain and made a special note under his file that he was marked and all future dates required my explicit approval. Noting he had three previous marks and a notation from my previous, previous secretary, Margaret, that I’d never seen until right this very moment, I made the decision then, based on what I was reading and Brad’s repeated shitty behavior, we would no longer be hosting him as our client.

Shaking my head, I sent off his client disclosure, account termination email, and then sent off another email to the Were I knew at the Human police department. He got file workups on such situations. And then I opened up a note on my computer to call Solena and apologize, as well as encourage her to report his odd behavior if it continued.

The day’s barely begun and already it was pinching my face in.

When was the last time I’d taken a break, I wondered, but then the next message began to play and I lost my train of thought.

Work. Work. Work.

What it must have been like for Nan when she’d started all of this so very long ago. She was going on the steam from her nostrils, a wing, and a prayer. I wasn’t quite sure if that was somehow easier or much harder. Maybe a bit of both.

Breakfast finished, dressed, freshly showered, several more Bad Brad messages later, I was about ready to go and pay Bradley a visit myself. What a douche canoe, as the Human phrasing went.

-Brad was a stalker and had trouble with the word no.

-Brad had an issue with personal space and grew handsy early on with his dates. I had to adjust my note when Solena came on again with the operator and stated she’d reported him.

-Brad needed a boot up his butt.

After the Bad Brad messages dried up, my mother, citrine gem looking full of fire that she is, took over. The woman had become next to unbearable to speak with, let alone contemplate being around.

My mother was on a whopping thirty messages plus before I just started quickly deleting all the ones with her number. Seventy grand total. Funny. She must be losing it. That was three less than yesterday. I heard the weather was bad out her way. Perhaps she’d lost connection for a bit? Tsk-tsk, Mumsy, you’re losing your touch, I thought. Though I had no idea what she was babbling on about, dates and no calls back and I wasn’t even sure what else as I clicked through and deleted them. I’d told her months ago there would be no dates via her or anybody else. I’d simply stopped responding to letters, emails, phone calls, or her texts, for that matter, aside from the standard NO.

My mother had it in her head if anyone were to break the curse, it would be her beautiful, smart, wonderfully powerful daughter, as she was always playing it up introducing me. Ha-ha. Barf, Momma. Yark. No. Funny how she left out how her mother swore I was the Phoenix-born bandied about in that last prophecy, the one that would either bring about Para ruin or unity.

If I was going to be this supposed magical being of myth, I was Team Unity, thank you very much.

A sense of foreboding filled me whenever I grew a little behind on work. What if it was true and I was slacking? What if I was one match too little too late? There was always work, and I always felt behind with everything, no matter how hard I strived to do more, do better, make more matches, perfect the system I had to match. Rez whined there was something almost militant to my methods, but I saw the flaws in them.

My father had refused to run the trial, and it had convinced my mother it was because he didn’t truly love her. He had, deeply, and it was the start of the end of him. Shunning a mate never ended well. They always said it would end in ruin for a mated pair. She was the spider that shunned the fly.

Most of the prophecy was lost as it came to fruition, dire warning after dire warning, until it was the end of the line with little old me and the silly Phoenix bit.

Dragonian people didn’t always die from mate sickness. Sometimes they went dark and were killed as an indirect result of giving over to the darkness that beckons. It helped them deal with the grief of it all instead of dying from the heartbreak, but it was madness. And evil begetting madness, well, it never ended well for any parties involved. It was a choice one made, turning their heart’s fire over to that side of us all. And one they were guaranteed to die by.

Grandfather had taken the trial by fire and it had almost killed him, leaving him badly burned and devastated. He’d gone mad from the pain of it and the idea of not being his mate’s true mate, to blaming it all on her, like it was all somehow her fault, and then, finally, eventually, he’d tried to take his family along that path he’d fallen down with him to disastrous results.

Like it was my own recollection and not Mother’s as she’d trampled through the carnage, I could picture the smoke plumes, practically smell the stench of burnt, decaying flesh. Wings removed, bodies torn apart, few had been spared.

Mate sickness, Dragon sickness, a whole lot of illness and hexes, cursed magically inclined lizards, going on. We were one messed up lot. Perhaps we’d be better off if the line ended with me?

Mother kept throwing princes and kings and whatever ranking powers that be of Other that she could scrounge up at me. Momma was painfully superficial like that. What that had to do with love and breaking curses, dispelling hexes, was beyond me. Love wasn’t wealth or a title. Had she not learned that with dear old Dad? He’d succumbed to the darkness. He went from an ancient being to an Ancient beast, before he was brought down. But not before he’d left a path of destruction in his wake.

My skin prickled even now and I shuddered.

Mother and I spoke of it as if it was simply a failed marriage, like he was a philandering old goat who’d traded his wife in for a newer model and was simply too busy to recall he had a first family. It made her feel better, to pretend. She hadn’t died from the mate sickness or given in to darkness—that said a lot more than I was willing to voice about my calculating dam. If he hadn’t tried to murder us, I supposed I could have, given his initial circumstances, Mother jilting him when he refused to