Just a Kiss: A Retelling of The Frog Prince: Tangled Tales, #2

By Elizabeth Rose

♥ Can a curse be broken by just the power of a kiss? ♥

 

The Knight:

Sir Arnon de Bar has just been released from a curse by the old witch Hecuba. The problem is, some side effects still linger. He sees a beautiful but mysterious woman at the swamp one night, and he catches her kissing a frog before she vanishes into thin air. The baron of Slapton is holding a competition with the winner being rewarded his daughter's hand in marriage. To his surprise when he approaches the castle, he discovers the baron's daughter is also the girl he saw in the swamp.

 

The Witch:

Freya Fane is more eccentric than most ladies. She is a witch with a pet frog as her Familiar that she kisses in order to teleport from place to place. Her father has devised a competition to marry her off, and she doesn't like it. Especially since she is trying to make a potion to cure her ailing mother. A handsome knight she's seen in the swamp is there to win her as his bride. But something isn't right with him. When frogs start following him through the courtyard and he finds great interest in catching flies, she realizes the man is cursed. She needs to help him break that curse, or poor Arnon will turn into a frog!

Magic made the curse, but can magic also end it? Time is of the essence to stop the inevitable before it is too late!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Oliver-Heber Books
• Release date: Feb 17, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215788158

Book preview

Chapter

One

The frogs in Freya’s swamp were singing, warning her trouble was on its way.

Quickly and carefully, Freya collected the swamp water into a small glass jar. She held it up in the air, letting the rays of the full moon light up the contents within. Taking a deep breath, her fingers caressed the crystal orb hanging around her neck. It was suspended from a cord made of braided horsetail combined with a snippet of her own jet-black hair. Closing her eyes, she silently recited her spell that would let her see the trouble on the horizon before it happened.

Freya usually recited her spells aloud to keep from being distracted by her thoughts. Her forte was transporting – not dabbling in this kind of magic. Marni had told her she needed to be more discreet and learn to do it silently - that her progression with spells would come in time. Marni was the most powerful witch of the swamps, so Freya listened to her advice. Sometimes.

Show me what comes my way, she whispered, trying her best, but still not able to say it all in her head. Didn’t Marni, as well as the rest of the swamp witches, know that she didn’t like the silence? Freya was an only child and liked to talk to people and have others around her. Even at her young age of twenty summers she often felt lonely. Her conversations were usually with herself, the trees, or even the frogs - just to pretend that someone was listening to what she had to say.

She was the youngest witch of the coven. Her mother, Lady Almeta of Slapton in Devon, was also a witch, but very ill and on her deathbed. Freya’s late father, on the other hand, was naught more than a simple knight. Or so she’d been told. Her mother had beckoned to him when the moon was full one night. She’d mated with him to conceive since her own husband was old and unable to father a child. Freya’s real father had died in battle before she was born, so she never even knew him.

Her mother’s husband, the old baron, Lord George Fane, could not father children. He was old when he married Almeta. George had been desperately marrying one lady after another trying to have an heir – but never did. He blamed it on the women, of course. Silent gossip had most people suspecting the fault fell upon him alone, but no one would say it aloud.

Lord George didn’t know that Freya was not of his seed but, then again, he didn’t need to know. Freya’s mother had done the deed with purpose. To give hope to an old, barren man, as well as bring him respect from his people. If he had known what she’d done, Almeta would have been banished from Slapton, and Freya along with her. He could never find out that she and her mother were witches. If so, he would tie them to stakes and burn them by his own hand, since he hated witches.

A loud croaking noise from the ground by her feet gained her attention. Freya looked down to see Beauregard – her Familiar that happened to be a frog. She could understand him for some reason. He was telling her that she needed to go back to the woods and join the rest of her coven.

Hush, Gar, she said, using the shortened version of his name. I need to learn to do this on my own without your help. Instantly, she felt a surge go through her. She almost dropped the jar as she bent over in pain from the feeling of pressure crushing her chest.

Show me the trouble that comes to the swamp, she commanded. In the beams of moonlight, the water in the jar turned blood red. And in that water, she saw flames burning higher and higher.

Warriors, she whispered. This vision must mean a village was about to be pillaged and burned, or perhaps there’d be an attack on the castle. She made a quick sweep with her eyes over the area around her, and strained her ears to listen for movement. Then she heard it. The sound of thundering hoofbeats shook the earth beneath her feet as the enemy approached the swamp. The ironic tang of blood on her tongue told her someone was about to die.

Freya could barely concentrate on her spell because the frogs kept croaking louder and louder. She hunkered down by the shore trying to collect enough swamp water in a second jar to be able to add it to her potion she’d been concocting back at the castle. It was a potion that would, hopefully, be able to break the barrier around the castle that kept any magic from working within the high stone walls.

This was the third time this week she’d been to the swamp. She’d been trying everything from spells to potions to figure out what it would take to break the curse that made her magic useless within the stones of the fortress. Her mother was very ill, and the baron refused to let the woman leave the castle. There was no way that Freya, or the other witches of the coven, could help her now. This was all the fault of an old witch named Hecuba that her mother had a confrontation with years ago. Hecuba had put a spell on the castle, making magic nonexistent within it.

Freya looked over her shoulder as she collected the rest of the ingredients she needed. The swamp weeds were just about in bloom and at the perfect time for harvest. She had to work fast since she was alone in the swamp and the sound of hoofbeats was getting louder. The rest of the coven was having a meeting in the woods inside the ring of standing stones in the clearing. No one would be able to help her should she run in to trouble now.

She pushed the jars into her travel bag and closed it up quickly. The warning of Beauregard and the other frogs was loud in her head, drowning out any other sounds around her. Ready to make her way back to Castle Fane, she stopped in her tracks as she saw men on horseback riding right toward her. They were being followed by an enormous black wolf!

Egads, Arnon, slow down and tell us where you’re going. We should stick to the path this late at night, came Sir Stefan de Bar’s cautious complaint as always.

Arnon de Bar urged his horse forward, ignoring the warning of his eldest brother. Stefan was a good knight and unbeatable in battle. But he worried like a wench at times, so his brothers learned to just ignore him when this happened.

Arnon’s twin brother, Hugh, was in wolf form at the moment and followed at his side. While Arnon had been lucky enough to be released from the old witch Hecuba’s curse and no longer resided in the body of a wolf, his brother hadn’t been so lucky. Hugh, known as Wolf, still shifted into the form of a wolf every night. Thank God, his new wife, Red, didn’t seem to mind.

Behind Arnon and Stefan rode their father, Lucio de Bar, who was a warlock. Because of things that had happened lately, he had to stay in his shapeshifting disguise as the Earl of Tavistock instead. But when the family was alone, he, thankfully, was able to shift back to his normal form.

I have the urge to go to the swamp, mumbled Arnon, riding even faster toward the water. He heard frogs calling in the night. The sound drew him to the water like a siren of the sea luring poor doomed sailors to their deaths. A sense of urgency engulfed him, and nothing else mattered but getting to the swamp quickly.

Arnon, you are reckless and addled, scolded Stefan. Let’s get back on the road and ride to Castle Fane as we’ve planned. The wolf let out a low growl of agreement.

Aye, said his father. We need to find out how well the castle is protected and if we’ll be able to lay siege anytime soon. I want all my sons to have their own lands and castles, and this one is ripe for the picking. It would be a good fiefdom for you, Arnon, or possibly for Stefan.

I don’t want a castle I have to take by force, protested Stefan. Let Arnon have it. I’ll find an old deserted castle somewhere and make that my domain.

Arnon knew the plan. Castle Fane was ruled by the old baron who would be dead soon anyway. He had no male heir, only a daughter. The castle was large but didn’t seem well protected. Wolf had a full army at the ready in Babeny, and his father – in his disguise as the Earl of Tavistock – had another army at his beck and call as well. Tavistock and Babeny had been enemies until recently. With the death of the real earl and Lucio taking his place, they’d been able to secure an alliance between them.

Arnon broke through the woods first, stopping at the edge of the water and jumping off his horse. He ambled along the shoreline of the swamp, feeling the excitement as well as the danger here. He didn’t understand it but felt as if he had to be a part of it.

Well, we’re at the swamp, now what? Stefan leaned over from atop his horse and shook his head.

I’m not sure. All I know is that I need to be here. With every step Arnon took along the edge of the water, frogs hopped out of the marsh and landed with a splash in the swamp just ahead of him. It made Arnon feel powerful for some reason. It was as if these were his soldiers at his command. He heard the loud croaking of one frog in particular. If he listened carefully, he swore the damned thing was talking