When You Wish
By L. R. W. Lee
()
About this ebook
True love’s kiss was supposed to wake the prince.
While training in the woods, Princess Onora stumbles upon a hunting cabin in which she finds a sexy, sleeping man with wings. Desperate to find a way to waken him before he succumbs to starvation, Onora’s ready to try about anything. But when she kisses him, sensations and feelings she’s never felt before ignite.
Acker, an immortal prince from Dream realm, may appear to be slumbering, but he’s far from asleep. So when he hears Onora’s humorous banter and feels her very personal ministrations while attempting to wake him, he falls in love with her.
What will it take to wake the prince and bring these destined lovers together before it’s too late?
When You Wish is a novella of the well-loved Sand Maiden series and does not require you to have read the series before reading this. If you love the fairy tale Sleeping Beauty, you'll love this twisted retelling of a soul-mates romance by USA Today Bestselling author L. R. W. Lee.
Binge read this as well as this completed series today!
L. R. W. Lee
USA Today Bestselling author L. R. W. Lee enjoys writing epic fantasy for both Young Adult as well as New Adult. She loves writing fantasy because her characters are everything she's not in real life. For example, L. R. W. can't handle scary movies, Stephen King novels, or cockroaches. And she knows she wouldn't last long in one of her books. But give her a drink and a Hawaiian sunset and she'll be just fine. She lives in scenic Austin, TX with her husband.Find her at:http://www.LRWLee.comhttps://www.bookbub.com/profile/l-r-w-leehttps://www.instagram.com/lrwlee/https://www.facebook.com/lrwlee/https://twitter.com/LRWLeehttps://www.pinterest.com/AuthorLRWLee/https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7047233.L_R_W_Lee
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When You Wish - L. R. W. Lee
Text Copyright © 2021 L. R. W. Lee
All rights reserved.
Woodgate Publishing
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise—without written permission of the publisher. For information regarding permission, consult the website at www.lrwlee.com.
Chapter One
My muscles tensed in readiness as I pulled the strap through the last loop, and patted it, my leathers secure, then tossed my bronze-brown braid over a shoulder.
I’d charmed Hazlitt, one of the smithies, into giving me oil. He didn’t need to know I used it on the hinges of my armoire. I smiled as I opened the doors to no complaint, then ducked in, burrowing behind my hanging, navy robes, and grabbed the quiver and bow from the back corner along with the length of cloth I’d forgotten
to return after polishing my blades.
As with every healer, I possessed Wood and Terra affinities that allowed me to sense the presence of living things, along with the state of their health.
Ducking back out, I sensed the hall with my magic. Sure enough, Barric, a Fire and Metal affinitied sorcerer, was faithfully executing his duties, like always. His breathing told me he was drowsy, no doubt ready to be done with his night shift.
I wished he wasn’t so dependable; it would have made things easier. That said, it wasn’t his fault he’d been assigned as my personal guard when I started my apprenticeship as an inquisitor—the empire’s investigators of all things covert or public—the sun after I turned sixteen, two annums before.
I’d hoped moving from the royal suites into a small, sparse apprentice’s room would grant me more freedom—that is, no armed shadow, but alas, no. And despite arguing about it until Mother, Father, and I were purple, I’d taken matters of freedom into my own hands.
I’d protect Barric like always, making sure to be back before anyone missed me. Today, being my day off, it would be a while, not that my guard knew about my covert excursions until afterward anyway. No, my exploits only came forth when I gave him my kill for he and his young family to enjoy. He always gave me not a little grief, but never squealed. I called his silence mutually beneficial,
because he didn’t get in trouble and I moved about without protection.
Come on, we hadn’t seen threats of any sort in annums.
I considered my adventures, practice.
The arrows’ fletchings rustled against each other as I placed the quiver on my cot that lined the wall opposite, then laid my bow down on the braided rug that kept the wood floor a few degrees warmer when the snows flew.
I dug in the quiver and pulled out the bowstring, then stuffed the polishing cloth down in so none of the feathers so much as sighed when stealth was most critical. Pocketing the bowstring in my leathers, I slipped on my boots.
Barric believed I was a spider, somehow scaling the castle’s vertical wall to make my escape—for my part, I did what I could to encourage his belief. I grinned as I cracked one of the two windows. Little did he know my methods were far less daring, but it was fun to keep him guessing.
While I complained about constantly being watched, being a princess did have a few advantages. In this case, it had landed me in a corner room at the end of the top floor of the Inquisitor’s wing. I had a better view than most, of both the city as well as hill country, and I’d quickly discovered one other advantage.
I put my shoulder to the armoire that stretched floor to ceiling and eased the side nearest the corner, away from the wall, on glides I’d slipped on its feet. Part of the access panel came into view, then more and more until the wardrobe fully cleared the rectangular door in the ceiling.
Using the unfinished holds I’d added to the far side of the closet, I scaled its height. A gentle push was all it took to slide the panel in the ceiling up and back.
I came back down, shouldered the quiver, and grabbed my bow, putting it through the hole first, then pulled myself up into the space between the sloping roof and ceiling.
Through the window down the wall to my right, the sky pinked as I listened. All was quiet, so I turned back to the hole and tugged on the rope that I’d attached to the front corner of the top of the wardrobe and pulled it back in place, then replaced the panel.
I grinned; to Barric I’d vanished without a trace.
Snatching up my bow, I made my way to the right, along board-covered rafters, past the window, to the circular stairwell on the far side, then paused long enough to sense the winding space with my magic.
I detected no one about, so I slid that access panel aside and with the aid of the spiraling, metal handrail mounted halfway down the wall, my feet quickly found solid footing on the top step.
I was down the three flights of stairs in no time, but before me now lay the greater challenge, getting through the gatehouse—which the stables occupied the bottom floor of—and portcullis, without detection.
Practice
indeed.
The smell of leather tack, fresh forage, and clean horses filled my nose even before I peeked around the doorway. Manning, Chilton, and Kipling, young grooms, were joking as they delivered fresh hay and oats as well as water to their charges. It looked like they’d started at the farthest end of the box stalls lining the full length of both sides of the stables, this morning, and were working their way this direction.
I needed to move before they got too close, at all times exercising stealth.
But my nose had other plans threatening to betray me with a building sneeze. It wasn’t a wonder with all the dust the grooms stirred up. I pinched my nose and breathed through my mouth until the feeling eased.
The sun had nearly risen judging by the spray of brilliant pinks and oranges through the windows near the roofline that spanned the length of one side. What wasn’t bathed in morning light was shrouded in darkness and provided just the cover I sought.
But I beat back optimism that it might be easier than anticipated to get clear this morn with all the grooms’ busyness. Overconfidence would get an inquisitor spotted at the least, or killed, at worst. In my case, being spotted meant the possibility of Mother and Father hearing of my presence, either directly or in casual conversation, which couldn’t happen.
My objective, the portcullis, stood to the right through the barbican, halfway down. With the grooms hauling feed, the iron door would be raised.
Clutching the bow in one hand, I crept forward on quiet feet, sticking to the shadows as much as possible. A couple of the horses who had their heads out, over the half door of their stall, spotted me and nickered a greeting as I slipped beneath them. A quick pat on the nose was all I offered for now; I’d bring goodies later.
I’d made it halfway to my objective when Manning whirled around, toward me, and came running.
My heart raced until he stopped abruptly, across from the barbican and bowed.
Good morning, Emperor. Would you like me to saddle Nightstorm for you?
My breathing labored. What was Father doing here?
His back to me, Father halted only briefly to pat the groom on the shoulder. Thank you, Manning, but I’ll do it myself.
Will your guard be joining you?
The groom trailed after as Father strode for his raven palfrey, halfway down the stalls in the opposite direction.
Yes, ready horses for Bryce, Fendrel, and Allard.
Yes, Majesty.
I used the commotion of Chilton and Kipling joining Manning in the task to move as quickly as I dared the rest of the way down the box stalls, sticking to the shadows, until I reached the one across from the barbican.
But footsteps approached, boots scuffing the stone of the courtyard to the left, along with voices I recognized. Allard and the others were nearly upon me.
What’s more, Manning lead a golden stallion from his stall by the reins. The other grooms wouldn’t be far behind.
Casting caution to the wind, I dashed across the aisleway and through the barbican, stopping only once I’d passed under the portcullis and around the corner outside, plastering myself against the castle wall, my breathing laboring.
But I couldn’t stay here. Father and his guard would come this way in heartbeats.
On the wrong side of the castle’s entrance from where I needed to head, I peered