Death of the Day

By Imogen Markwell-Tweed

It’s Christmas morning and Prince Henri knows exactly how the day is to go — and he is dreading it. Not just because Christmas in Nemeth is always the same: predictable, dull, and depressing. Not just because the Princess from a neighboring kingdom is there to formalize her betrothal to him, begrudgingly.

It’s not the specific annoyances and nuances of the day that Henri dreads, but the day itself — for our Prince has already lived this day. Literally. Again and again. He is trapped in some sort of time loop and seems to be doomed to repeat this day for all eternity. Is it a curse? Is it a trap? Is it some punishment from the Gods? Is it a life lesson he is yet to learn? His burden is a lonely one, for he is the only person who is aware of this hellish helix of time… or is he?

Tauren is a young warlock with many magical gifts. He has been dreaming of a handsome prince from a faraway kingdom for all his life. Well, not so much “dreaming” as seeing — he has some sort of psychic tether to this prince and when Tauren sleeps, he watches the Prince’s life unfold. He has come to love this man from afar, and when the dreams abruptly stop, Tauren sets out on a journey to find out why.

Will Henri trust this interloper? Will Tauren be able to rescue the man of his dreams?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bryant Street Shorts
• Release date: Jan 27, 2022
• ISBN: 9781094431512

Imogen Markwell-Tweed

Imogen Markwell-Tweed is a queer romance writer and editor based in St. Louis. When she's not writing or hanging out with her dog, IMT can be found putting her media degrees to use by binge-watching trashy television. All of her stories promise queer protagonists, healthy relationships, and happily ever afters. @unrealimogen on Twitter and Instagram.

Book preview

Chapter One

The Crown Prince of Nemeth wakes up on Christmas morning and sighs heavily with irritation.

Henriculus is used to monotony. As the heir apparent of the most powerful kingdom in all the lands, he had grown used to being bored by the time he was ten. He can smile through any diplomatic monologue, laugh at any humorless joke, nod through hours and hours of blathering of economic strategy.

But what Henri cannot stand doing one more day — desperately does not want to do but knows that he must anyway — is wake up on Christmas morning.

He’s lost track, but he thinks this might be his fortieth in a row.

Nemeth is trapped in a time loop and Henri, gods be with him, is the only one who is aware.

Happy—

Christmas, Sire, oh, what a good day.

—day…. His manservant trails off when he realizes that Henri is mimicking him, just a beat too fast. The poor man frowns.

On the fifteenth Christmas morning, Henri had tried confiding in the servant. He’d wept and turned himself in for treason, for some reason. Henri had decided not to include Raul in his plotting after that.

I can attend to myself, Henri says with a sigh, already pulling himself out of bed. He knows for a fact that Raul’s wife is at home all on her own with the children, struggling to keep them from opening presents until their father arrives. There’s no point in forcing Raul to miss that moment just because Henri needs assistance. Forty Christmases ago he might not have been as kind, but now, Henri could go through the motions of this day with his eyes shut and his hands behind his back. He knows what to wear, what to say, where to step.

As the crown prince, Henri was trained from birth to be aware, be alert, be on the defensive. He had the entirety of all the routines in Nemeth’s capital memorized within the first fortnight.

So far, nothing has helped him break this curse.

As he dresses for the day, all but shoving a spluttering and confused Raul from his bedchambers, Henri goes through his new morning routine: reminding himself of what is real and what is magic.

Magic is: dangerous, confusing, and altogether a nuisance upon his life. This curse has proven that, even if the battles lost and the wars decided had not helped him come to that conclusion.

Reality is: his father, the king, who never believes him about the curse no matter what he says or does. Reality is: Princess Amaryllis who is here to request his hand in marriage, because their fathers say so. It’s being ignored no matter how many re-dos Henri has of the conversations, and it’s being as trapped within his life as he is within this day.

Reality is: a complete and utter nightmare.

Happy Christmas, Sire!

Oh, good morning, Sire!

Sire—

Henri, at least, is already quite practiced at nodding politely at the passing attempts to garner his attention. He learned by the time he hit puberty not to look anyone in the eye for fear they might trap him in a conversation. He is just turning the corner when he stops abruptly and holds out his hands.

On cue, a pile of freshly laundered linens falls from the top of the stairs and into his waiting arms. A servant girl, young and new and unfamiliar to Henri when he had his first Christmas in this time loop, almost screams in surprise — like she does every morning he makes it here on time. She races down the stairs so fast he always worries he’ll have to catch her, too.

Prince Henriculus—I mean, Sire, I mean, Your Highness—

Prince Henri, he tells her, not bothering to look up at her spluttering expression as he folds the linens. Is far less of a hindrance to your breath.

Matilda’s expression both opens and closes. He tried once to ask her what she was thinking but then rumors spread that he was infatuated with the girl — and she is just that, just a girl, barely old enough to work at all — it was the first time Henri was truly grateful for the time loop’s resetting.

Thank you, she says reverently. He smiles at her clumsy curtsey, welcomes her to the royal staff, and offers her the linens. He knows there will still be gossip, but it will be decidedly less harmful and he’s learned that if he is not there to catch the laundry, no one does, and the poor girl is let go from her position.

He also knows that it does not matter because this loop will never stop resetting and he will never be free.

But surely saving even one girl one day’s worth of pain is the point of being a knight? And Henri is the First Knight of Nemeth. He is honor-bound to care for each citizen, regardless of how fruitless it seems.

And if he knows by now that by saving the girl’s job she sneaks an extra apple tart onto his tray at lunch, then, rewards are good for the soul, too.

He goes to break his fast in their private, royal dining hall, a formality offered only because the Princess Amaryllis is here. He wishes he could dine alone in his chambers, eat all the apple tarts he wants and none of the overcooked stag, but he cannot because Princess Amaryllis brought that stag and because his father wants him to marry the woman.

He does not want to be wed, and neither does she, but that does not seem to matter much to the King of Nemeth.

Henriculus, his father greets with a broad, teeth-exposing smile that he reserves for banquets and, apparently, meals with suitors for his son. Happy Christmas.

And to you, Father, Henri recites and takes his seat. He nods toward the princess. Princess Amaryllis, Happy Christmas.

She smiles demurely as if she doesn’t each day threaten him with a completely devastating reduction to his manhood. He is sure he’s only managing a wince back for her, but she does go quite into detail occasionally, and he’s learned that a healthy dose of fear for the princess is wiser than none.

Henri looks down at his full plate, brimming with delicious foods, trying not to feel devastated that he’s suddenly sick of herb-crusted capon after eating the delicacy every day for the entire loop. He makes the small talk that he now could recite by memory, half-asleep and his eyes closed, and he eats the food that is placed in front of him, thinking, as he does each and every morning, about why he might be trapped here.

A past sin is the easiest thing to name. He has been cursed by magical beings who think him lacking, as their prince or enemy.

He used to blame others. He used to think that the curse could not have been his own fault in any way. He used to be so certain that this was an attack against the kingdom itself.

But then….

Nothing happened. Nothing happens. Just Henri, waking up, day after day and morning after morning. No attack against the kingdom, no surprising or new audience with the king or even himself. No threat has made itself known in the weeks he’s been trapped.

It’s just been Henri, alone.

This is not an attack. This is a punishment.

Henri smiles at Princess Amaryllis, confident in that fact.

He leaves the dining hall as soon as is polite, which he’s learned is precisely seventeen minutes after entering. The knights are already waiting for him at the training grounds, as he knew they would be. He checks, just in case, but there is not a single knight missing. Instead of disappointment, as the other non-changes occasionally bring him, this fills Henri with relief. As desperate as he feels to break the time loop, he is glad each morning to learn that it is none of his own men who have betrayed him.

Happy Christmas, men, he tells them, laying his perfectly practiced smile on a little thick. He has started to feel a bit guilty for the training he had demanded happen this morning, holiday or not, sometime around the second week. So many of these men are sacrificing their own morning, which they all view as fleeting and singular, just because their prince demanded it.

The knights exchange a few looks. He forces himself not to frown at their surprise; it’s not a surprise to him, at least, not anymore.

Defense drills, he orders, trying to remember what he made them do yesterday. If nothing else, this time is giving Henri the perfect excuse to really see where each and every one of his men stand. Still, knowing that no amount of time out here will help any of them improve continues to sour him. Partner up. Let me see.

He watches the drills, noting Sir Lefent’s terrible feinting skills and Sir Olivier’s surprising adaptability with mace work. He weaves through each of the pairs, occasionally diving in when he sees a weak side, and watching the men jolt in surprise when he draws his own sword with a grin.

When he and Sir Hector end up

Reviews for Death of the Day

[Babiche · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

What is the princess’s motivation? Very convoluted, interesting story but not a tidy ending.