The Happy Ending

By Mandy Zundel

The land of Anvara is a land where fairy tales are real. Because of a powerful spell on the land called the Happy Ending, the same tales are lived over and over again, with a few new additions from time to time. Each of these tales always ends the same way--happily.

Cinderella, Jack and the Beanstalk, and Sleeping Beauty have begun again, along with a new tale for the land: The Twelve Dancing Princesses. Their courses are set with their endings as sure as their beginnings. Until the Happy Ending breaks.

Confused and frightened, the citizens of Anvara must adjust to a new reality, one where things can go horribly wrong, the familiar tales are not following their usual patterns, and there is no certainty of a happy ending for anyone.

But this is not all. The breaking of the Happy Ending has uncovered a secret that has been waiting to be revealed for thousands of years. And all of this time, Darkness has been waiting for its chance to strike.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Covenant Books, Inc.
• Release date: Dec 26, 2023
• ISBN: 9798886448993

Book preview

Table of Contents

Title

Copyright

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Epilogue

About the Author

cover.jpg

The Happy Ending

Mandy Zundel

ISBN 979-8-88644-898-6 (Paperback)

ISBN 979-8-88644-899-3 (Digital)

Copyright © 2023 Mandy Zundel

All rights reserved

First Edition

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods without the prior written permission of the publisher. For permission requests, solicit the publisher via the address below.

Covenant Books

11661 Hwy 707

Murrells Inlet, SC 29576

www.covenantbooks.com

For my daughter, Brooke, who read every word out loud, and for my family for believing in me.

Chapter 1

Every story has a turning point. A place in the tale where an integral decision or player sends the story toward its anticipated conclusion. Change that one point, and an entirely new story emerges. Each of us has grown up listening to the well-known tales of Jack and the Beanstalk, Sleeping Beauty, Cinderella, and The Twelve Dancing Princesses. How different these tales would be without the peddler with the magic beans, the serendipitous arrival of the wicked fairy before the last fairy had bestowed her gift, the fairy godmother, or the old lady in the woods with her cloak of shadows.

Once upon a time, there was a land called Anvara, where fairy tales were real. Dragons, fairies, kings, and peasants all lived together in this land. All played their own roles, and each was important. But the overwhelming power in Anvara was the Happy Ending. If ever a person's own story seemed doomed to failure, this power orchestrated a way to turn the story toward a more beneficial course. Wild coincidences were completely expected and therefore seen as simply the way things are and should be.

Now this doesn't mean that some people couldn't choose a darker way, for villains and obstacles are always needed for a story to truly end happily. What would Snow White be without having to overcome the peril of the wicked queen? In fact, if a story needed a villain or hero and none were to be found, the Happy Ending would supply one by taking control of just the right person to fill the necessary role.

Time and again, in different places and with different names, the stories played out. This became such a consistent pattern that no one thought anything of it, other than to wonder which story they had become a part of. And time and again, the endings were always happy and simple. The needed information was always received in time or just the right help was offered to conquer all quandaries.

Some might have expected life to continue on this way forever. But the only constant in any land is change. Some change comes quickly, some gradually. And sometimes it comes with no warning at all.

It was a beautiful fall day when the change occurred. At first, no one noticed that anything was amiss at all. As usual, in one small hamlet, this time in the kingdom of Glenfin, a boy named Jack and his mother were trying and slowly failing to scrape an existence out of the meager soil on their derelict farm. In Pamek, a king and a queen were getting ready to celebrate the birth of a princess and were busily writing invitations to every fairy in the land for the baby's christening. Of course, they forgot one, as was always the case.

A young woman in the kingdom of Engwithol, an orphan left with her father's second wife and her two daughters, was busily working to clean the once fine home she felt imprisoned in. And last of all, in Aldian, another king was wringing his hands in frustration, wondering where his twelve daughters could possibly be going to dance their slippers to tatters each night. This was a new tale that had not been lived before, but such things did happen from time to time, and eventually, the new stories made their way into the repeating pattern. No one knew for certain exactly how many stories were going on at once, but everyone knew for a fact that they were part of at least one of them. In short, life was going on its own merry way.

Chapter 2

Jack and his mother, of course, had one cow. In this particular hamlet, the rain fell somewhat unpredictably. This season, there had been very little. Their neighbors had managed to grow just enough to live on, but Jack and his mother, Clarice, did not. Their only salvation was their cow. She was gentle, strong, and gave the very best milk. This was how they survived.

Mother churned butter, made cheese, and sent both of them with Jack, along with jugs of creamy milk, to sell at the market. Clarice had never gotten the hang of farming and so devoted herself primarily to her cheesemaking. She was quite good at this, it was true, but she never seemed to find the time to teach the skill to her son.

Jack spent his time, when he was not traveling to market, caring for Bessie, the cow. He also hauled water back and forth from the stream a mile away, for there was no source of water on the farm, and tried to coax some crops to grow. He was not good at farming either, having been too young to learn when his father had been taken by the Happy Ending for use elsewhere, but he tried his best.

Bessie was Jack's only friend, and the only reason that he and his mother ever had enough to eat. Jack was very good to Bessie, and she was good to him in return. So it was with understandable horror that Jack discovered one morning that his cow didn't have any milk. At first, he feared that a thief may have come and stolen the precious liquid. That evening, he went out earlier than normal for the next milking so as not to give a thief any chance to steal Bessie's milk. Alas! She didn't give one drop. So he decided to spend the entire night with her and keep watch. But it was useless. No thief came, and Bessie produced no milk. Their cow, their only saving grace, was dry.

Now, for most of us, this would be the worst thing that could happen. However, Jack and Mother knew that this was precisely the thing that would cause the land's magic to work in their favor. With this in mind, Mother sent Jack to town to sell their beloved cow, along with the very last of the butter and cheese they could spare. They were both completely confident that something would happen to turn fortune in their favor.

*****

King Reginald and Queen Sylvie were welcoming their many adoring guests to the christening of Princess Rosemary. They had checked and rechecked the guest list, and all was going according to plan. The guests were well fed, the music was lively but not too loud (there was no need to upset the baby, after all), and the fairies would arrive any minute. Then, with a flood of various flower blossoms that magically missed every plate and drink, the fairies arrived. The entire floor of the great hall was buried in flower blossoms, and their scent filled the room.

Everyone clapped at this unprecedented display of magical ability. The fairies paused for a moment, overcome by the sheer magnitude of their own magical prowess. Then they proceeded to wade through the knee-deep blanket of flower petals and bowed to the king and queen. Such a lavish display of magic was impressive but not very practical as it covered the floor and got in the way of the gift-giving.

With a hint of irritation, the king ordered that the hall be cleared of the flowers before anyone could proceed to bring their gifts to his young daughter. Servants quickly filed into the room with brooms to clear away most of the blossoms, and the job was done in less time than expected.

Once the way was cleared, it was time for the bestowing of gifts on the baby princess. Of course, it was the custom for each fairy to bestow a single gift on the child, and they saw no reason to delay. One by one, they approached the sleeping baby and bestowed their gifts. The usual expected gifts came first: beauty, charm, grace, and wisdom were considered by most to be the essential qualities that a princess must possess. The remaining fairies were eager to bless the child as well and came forward to do so. Everyone knew that they would be interrupted by an angry fairy who had been left off of the guest list, despite everyone's best intentions. With this in mind, the remaining three fairies dawdled a bit so that the ever-important last gift would be there to save the princess from the terrible curse soon to be bestowed (this exact scenario was repeated often, you see, and the curses had been easy to remedy in the past as was everything in this land).

Well, the next gift given was the gift of diplomacy. Very useful for royalty, all were agreed. The penultimate fairy dithered as long as she dared before she bestowed the gift of patience on the princess. Of course, everyone was tense at this point, waiting for the inevitable. So the last fairy, a very young fairy by the name of Daisy, wasn't quite prepared when her turn came and nothing had happened. Thinking quickly, and somewhat flustered by the lack of interruption, she approached the royal cradle.

Now everyone knows that it is impossible to counter a curse without knowing beforehand what the curse is. She didn't want to waste a gift (as everyone knows fairies are only able to give one gift to a mortal), but the final fairy, who would curse the princess in retaliation for being forgotten, was nowhere to be seen. What to do? In her frustrated and flustered state, she was unable to think of a single gift fit for royalty. Instead, she looked at the sleeping princess and said, I give you the gift of, of— Frantically she tried to think of a worthy gift. But nothing came to mind.

Desperate now, she began to look around the room. Flower blossoms? No. Dust motes? No. Oh where was that angry fairy with a curse for her to counter? You must come now, angry fairy! she muttered. Too late, she realized her mistake. The arrival of the angry fairy was immediate, and that was the gift she had given.

*****

Lady Isabelle frowned at the wretched waif she had been saddled with on the death of her second husband. The young woman had cracked, bleeding hands from scrubbing the fireplace all morning, but that seemed to be her only flaw. Drat the girl. No matter how hard Isabelle tried to squash the girl's spirits, her beauty and kindness could not be ignored. She would have to work the brat harder. Her own two daughters were beautiful as well, but next to this girl, they paled to nothing. It was insufferable. There must be something she could do to promote good marriages for her daughters without the waif (she refused to use her name) getting in the way and ruining it all.

Before she had married Lord Frederick, he had mentioned his daughter, touting her goodness and beauty. She did not think it would matter as she had been sure his reports were simply the biased ravings of a proud father. Unfortunately, they were not. Once she had secured the title of Lady for herself, she had begun to look for a title for each of her daughters. But the girl was in the way. She stood to inherit her father's title. There was no stipulation whatsoever for Isabelle's girls.

Frederick's death had been unexpected, but she had seen it as a stroke of good luck. As the girl was too young to inherit yet, Isabelle had been able to assume the role of Lady of the Manor completely. Then her campaign to wrest it all—the house, the lands, and the title—away from Frederick's child began.

A knock on the door interrupted her reverie. The girl immediately went to answer, drying her hands on her scruffy apron as she went. Isabelle waited in silence. She would know who had called soon enough. After an interminably long wait (the wretched girl must be stalling on purpose just to gall her), the waif returned. She held an envelope with the royal seal on it in her hand. Isabelle took it and dismissed her without a word. Quickly, she checked the envelope's seal to assure herself that it had not been tampered with. Intact. Breathing a sigh of relief, she took the missive to the window to open it. Her breath caught as she read the contents:

By Royal Decree:

His Majesty King Clarence of Engwithol announces a Royal Ball

In celebration of the 25th birthday of the Crown Prince,

Prince Hubert.

Every eligible maiden of the kingdom is commanded to attend,

By order of the King.

The ball will commence at sundown on Friday, the 23rd of September.

Another page was tucked into the envelope along with the invitation, but Isabelle ignored it for the time being, too caught up in the information on the first page to worry about any trifling details that could be added to such momentous news.

Isabelle considered the announcement in her hand. So it was true. The king really was growing impatient with the prince's failure to marry and produce an heir. No other explanation made sense. Of course, commanding every eligible maiden to attend was nonsense. The prince couldn't possibly be interested in common girls nor would he notice if any of them did not attend. No, he would choose a bride from among the royalty and gentry. That meant her daughters had a chance. She read the decree again. September 23 was only a week away. There was much to do. First, of course, she must tell her daughters. It was nearly noon. They should be awake. If not, there was no time like the present to awaken them.

Isabelle stalked down the hallway to their room (the indignity that they had to share!) and threw open the door. The room was still cloaked in darkness, thick drapes covering the windows. Isabelle pulled one open, and a bright shaft of sunlight pierced the room. It landed on the sleeping form of Catherine, her eldest daughter.

Catherine groaned and turned away from the light, only to be caught by a second shaft as Isabelle opened the other curtain. Her daughter moaned sleepily and tried to bury her head under the blanket, but Isabelle was determined. She snatched the entire blanket and yanked it off of the bed.

Knowing this would be sufficient to wake Catherine, Isabelle turned her attention to her second daughter, Alexandra. This daughter was much more difficult to rouse. She slept blissfully on as her sister grumbled and crashed her way around the room. Isabelle tried pulling off the blanket, tickling her feet and nose, even clapping her hands by Alexandra's face and shouting. Finally, with a huff of frustration, she grabbed the vase from a nearby end table and dumped its contents, flowers and all, over her daughter's face. Alexandra merely opened her eyes sleepily and asked what was for lunch.

Get up, you two! Isabelle hissed. We have received an invitation from the king himself!

This got their attention. With nearly identical squeals, the two girls grabbed for the invitation, each more eager than the other to read its contents for herself. Catherine won the tug-of-war and read the invitation aloud. A gasp from the doorway caused all three to turn. The girl was standing at the open threshold of the room with a lunch tray in her hands.

With a voice full of hope, she exclaimed, Then I can go too!

*****

Earlier that year, in the heat of summer, King Bronson of Aldian had looked wearily around the room at his advisers. Do you really mean to tell me that all of your combined wisdom, cunning, and spying has come up with nothing? he boomed.

The advisers, to their credit, all looked sheepish. None would meet his eye. He had used every resource to try to determine what was happening to his daughters. Twelve princesses. Whoever heard of a queen giving birth to twelve daughters? With no son in sight? When Gertrude had first informed him that he was to be a father, his heart had leaped with joy. He had been certain his son and heir was coming. Nothing could have prepared him for what he got instead. With each month, he had watched helplessly as the queen grew larger and larger. He had never witnessed pregnancy before, being an only child. Why did having children have to be so cumbersome? He could think of no other word to describe her condition.

Then the day of his son's birth had finally arrived. Or so he had thought. He would never forget the look on the servant's face as she came to tell him that he was the proud father of…a little girl. As he was still trying to contain his disappointment, the midwife herself appeared and informed him that the queen had given birth to twins. Both of them were daughters.

King Bronson was a caring sort, and despite his initial disappointment, it did not take him long to grow to adore these beautiful little girls. Gertrude had named them Adalia and Alexia, and he had had no objection to allowing her complete power over naming their daughters. However, he still needed a male heir. His queen was certain that the next child would be a son. So they tried again. And again. Five more years and five more births. Each time, Queen Gertrude gave birth to twin daughters, and each time, she was certain that the next time, it would be a boy. But instead, they had twelve daughters. Twelve princesses.

Following Adalia and Alexia had come Beatrice and Brianna, then Constance and Charlotte, followed by Dianna and Daphne. By the time Elizabeth and Eloise were born, both he and Gertrude were growing quite desperate. His hopes for a son died when, during her last delivery, the queen died in childbirth.

Bronson was left to name the final two girls on his own. Gertrude had loved the idea of continuing on down the alphabet one letter at a time, but he had not been quite able to bring himself to continue the tradition. He compromised by giving his youngest daughters names that began with the same letter as each other but chose to use the letter I. Thus Ivy and Iris were named by their father while the rest of his girls had been named by their mother. He was heartbroken at the loss of his queen, however, and vowed to never marry again. His daughters continued to be his joy, and as he was a practical sort, he looked forward to the day when they would marry, thus providing a king to sit on the throne after him.

Now, nearly thirteen years after Gertrude's death, his eldest daughters were of marrying age and had been for over half a year. This should have been a joyous time of banquets, contests, and suitors coming to ask him for permission to court his daughters. Instead, he had twelve daughters who spent most of every day too exhausted to interact with anyone, least of all the potential suitors. They slept most days away, only emerging near dinnertime to say hello to their bewildered and very worried father.

To make matters worse, their dancing slippers were worn to shreds every single morning. He had doubled and tripled the guards in the palace to prevent the princesses from leaving. All in vain. In desperation, he had arranged for all twelve daughters to sleep in one long chamber together to make it easier to watch their comings and goings. But every morning, their slippers continued to be worn to shreds. The royal cobbler and all of his assistants were exhausted from having to make twelve pairs of dancing slippers each day. This meeting with his advisers was Bronson's last hope. Surely, he reasoned, when he called the meeting, they would be able to find a way to ferret out the nocturnal doings of the princesses. But, alas, they all were just as stumped as he was.

"Is there anyone who can find out where my daughters go?" Bronson huffed.

He looked around the room again. Most of the advisers simply shook their heads, their eyes wide with trepidation. Only one did not.

Sire, he said timidly, perhaps it is time to throw ourselves on the mercy of the Happy Ending. It appears that we have reached the limit of what we are able to do ourselves. If we make a proclamation offering some great reward to whoever is able to discover the comings and goings of the princesses, then surely the magic of the land will intervene to provide the man who can find the answer.

King Bronson pondered this suggestion.

"But we can't only offer a reward. The Happy Ending demands that a price be attached for failure. We all know this. What would be the deterrent? Or the offered reward? If we were to offer a hundred pieces of gold, for instance, we would only attract peasants. I, for one, would not like the reward to be limited like this. Then there is still the problem of the suitors! What is the answer to that issue?"

Oscar, the adviser who had spoken up previously, cleared his throat.

Your Majesty, it seems to me that the best approach would be to address both problems at once. Offer the hand of either Princess Adalia or Princess Alexia in marriage as the reward. This would also make the victor your heir to the throne. As far as the price goes, tell your subjects that any man who tries and fails will be, say, put to death.

What? King Bronson bellowed. "You expect me to agree to killing people simply because they are just as unsuccessful as we have been? Are you mad?"

Oscar simply waved his hands in dismissal. "All right, then the deterrent could be loss of any further opportunity to court any of your daughters as well as having their failure published throughout the kingdom. Does that sound more reasonable to you, Your Highness?"

King Bronson nodded reluctantly, but he kept looking at Oscar warily. What kind of man was this? Oscar, in the meantime, continued to speak. In addition, it seems to me that we need to set a rather short time limit on the efforts of any applicants. If not, your castle would be overrun with men who are doing little to nothing to actually discover what the princesses are doing. Perhaps three days each?

Bronson considered this proposal carefully. He was loath to force his daughters to marry anyone, but this reward was sure to bring young men from all walks of life to apply. Desperation drove him to agree that this was a good plan, now that the price of failure had been lowered to something more reasonable. Now he would have to break the news to his daughters. If either one of them would be conscious enough to even notice him. Adalia might, he mused. She was the only one of his daughters who seemed even vaguely aware of her surroundings. All of the others simply floated about in a fog.

"I would need there to be some involvement of Adalia and Alexia in this plan. As a father as well as a king, I want what is best for my family as well as the kingdom. I propose an addition. When a potential candidate comes to the palace, we will hold a meeting with them to let them know how they are to proceed with the challenge we have issued. The two princesses must be allowed to attend this meeting as well as question these men as they see fit. Of course, this means the meeting will have to be held in the evening as this is the only time when the princesses are awake. Then there must be a way for these men to actually discover the secret held by the princesses. How is this to be accomplished? We have been unsuccessful. What are we going to do to make it possible for these young men to succeed where we have failed?"

Well, Roderick, another councilor, stammered, perhaps if they were given access to the chamber where the princesses sleep each night? At the scandalized looks of the other advisers as well as the angry look on King Bronson's face, he continued quickly, It is the only thing that has not been tried yet. We could have a heavy screen constructed for the man to sleep behind. He would be escorted straight back to his sleeping area where he would remain throughout the night. This would preserve the privacy of the princesses but also allow the young man to hear anything they do. He will be able to report anything they say as well as tell you if they leave somehow.

King Bronson nodded his head slowly. Yes, he said with reluctance, this seems to be the best plan we are going to be able to devise. Make certain it is carried out. We are sure to discover the answer this way as the Happy Ending will aid the right young man, and it has never failed before.

Chapter 3

Jack whistled softly as he led Bessie to town. He had begun the journey carrying the knapsack his mother had sent with him slung over his back. Soon, though, he had tired of carrying it and had decided to hang his burden from Bessie's collar. Feeling much better without the added weight of the knapsack, Jack walked along lightheartedly. It was a beautiful, warm day. The sun was shining in the sky, and the occasional puffy white cloud drifted lazily across the blue expanse above Jack's head.

The walk to market was a long one, traveling through the outermost rim of the forest for many miles. Jack knew it would take him most of the day to travel the distance. As he was going along, he kept his eyes out for other travelers along the path. It was always nice to have someone to talk to, and Jack was a friendly lad. He had heard many fine tales from travelers as he had walked to and from the market in the past. Most of them had been about the power of the Happy Ending. Neither he nor his mother had ever experienced this power for themselves directly before, but they knew of its great strength and had no doubt whatsoever of its veracity.

Jack was enamored with all of the tales he had heard over his short life so far. Evil dragons were always defeated by the most unexpected people (he especially loved it when the victor was a young peasant like him), fairies gave magical gifts to those who deserved them and cursed those who did not, and princes and princesses met in various and exciting manners. No matter how bleak the outcome looked at times in these tales, he was comforted to know that things always worked out for the best.

Truthfully, Jack wished for an adventure of his own. He was certain that something would happen on this trip. Maybe, if he was lucky, he would meet a poor, old woman who needed his help with some odd thing. She would, of course, reward him for his aid with something amazing. Perhaps precious gems would fall from his mouth whenever he spoke (he had heard a story where this had happened once, and he had thought long and hard about what he could do with such a gift)! Or maybe she could heal Bessie and enchant her so that she would never go dry, no matter what. This sounded like a wonderful solution to Jack. He kept dreaming up wilder and wilder possibilities as he walked along the path to market, certain that something amazing would surely happen before he reached town.

With a start, Jack looked up and realized that he had reached the edge of the forest. He must have been more lost in thought than he had realized. It occurred to him that nothing unusual at all had happened on his journey. No matter, thought Jack, he would tend to his errand. Surely something to change their fortune for the better would come up. If nothing extraordinary happened at the market, then surely his journey home would provide the answer. Everything always worked out for the best, this he knew for certain.

Jack took Bessie into town, where the market stalls were set up. His first stop, as usual, was with the cheese seller. Benjamin knew Jack well and was very fond of Clarice's cheese. He always gave Jack a fair price and a bed for the night before his return journey. Today, Jack was eager to sell his items and be on his way. He needed to find a buyer for Bessie.

Ben greeted Jack with a jovial smile.

Hello! Back with more of Clarice's fine cheese and butter?

As always, Jack responded. Then he sighed. But I'm afraid this is the last of it. Poor Bessie here has gone dry. Do you know of anyone who is looking to buy a cow? Mother and I really need the money.

Ben scratched his head thoughtfully. Hmm. I can't think of anyone who needs a cow who can't provide milk. Maybe try the butcher or the tanner. Since she's dry, they're your best option.

Jack stared back, utter shock written upon his face. What? I couldn't possibly do that! Bessie is the kindest, gentlest cow out there! She went dry temporarily for us, but I'm sure with better food and more water she would go right back to giving the very best milk! She just can't be killed. I couldn't bear it.

Jack had thought he had seen the worst when Bessie had gone dry. But he had not. This was so much worse. How could he sell his beloved cow to be slaughtered? If ever there was a time for a serendipitous coincidence, now was the time. He looked around desperately for anything to change poor Bessie's terrible fate. But there was nothing.

*****

A loud shriek filled the hall as Hepsibah arrived in a cloud of smoke. She glared angrily at the king and queen. Truthfully, she was completely flustered at her sudden arrival on the scene. Where was she? How had she gotten here? She had not been planning on leaving her cottage today at all. One second she had been sitting down to enjoy a cup of tea, and the next she was yanked away somehow. Now she found herself in the middle of…what? There was a king and queen in full royal dress on the dais before her. She peered quickly around, taking in the surroundings. Hundreds of guests milled around tables heaped with food, and a small orchestra in the corner appeared to have just stopped playing suddenly. Several of the musicians still held bows over their instruments, with hands shaking slightly as they stared at her.

A ball? Perhaps. She turned back to the king and queen. Just below the dais was a golden cradle surrounded by an enormous pile of gifts. Ah. A christening. She stepped briskly up to the cradle and looked in. Pink ruffles adorned the sleeping infant. A princess then. Well. She hadn't received any invitation to a christening! Her gaze fell on a young, ashen-faced fairy who was standing near the baby. Daisy, she thought her name was. Realization dawned. She was in the cursed baby princess story. Evidently she was supposed to be the vengeful fairy who cursed the child.

She tsked angrily. How could she curse this child? She was the original fairy who had saved the first princess. She knew, however, that no matter what she did, the Happy Ending would twist it so that one last fairy (who had been interrupted in giving their gift to the princess by Hepsibah's arrival) would need to save the poor infant. It was probably Daisy, which would explain her panicked look.

Hepsibah sighed inwardly. To be cast as the villain of her original story was grating. But there was nothing to be done. She slowly stepped up to the dais and addressed the king and queen (she didn't know their names; humans had such fleeting lives it was useless to try to learn them all).

A great wrong has been done to me. By right, as the oldest living fairy, I should have been the first to bestow a gift on the princess. But to show that I am a forgiving fairy, I shall bestow one now.

A horrified gasp rose from the crowd of onlookers. Why were they always surprised? This particular story had been relived so many times that everyone knew it by heart. The only thing that varied was the curse itself, and the counter-curse. She cleared her throat loudly. As I was saying, I, too, bestow a gift. Princess, she said, turning to the cradle where the tiny infant lay, you shall have a will to match even the most stubborn of your suitors.

Hepsibah felt a tiny bit of magic leave her and settle on the baby princess. She must have gotten better at this than she thought. The last time, it had seemed to take quite a bit more out of her to bestow a gift on a mortal. Oh well. It was done. The Happy Ending be hanged, she was determined to give the child a gift that would serve her. She had seen far too many instances where princesses were completely dominated by their suitors and became mere puppets to these men. It seemed to happen to royalty quite a bit, come to think of it, both princes and princesses. A good many of the villains in the repeating tales were made that way.

Of course, upon hearing her gift, the king moaned in despair, and the queen fainted dead away. Hepsibah turned to leave. Just before her departure, however, her eye fell on Daisy. The young fairy was in tears. She was wringing her hands as if her world was ending. This made no sense. If anything, she should look determined. Or possibly nervous. But not hopeless. This question needed to be answered. Hepsibah played her role through to the end, disappearing in a cloud of smoke, as expected. However, instead of returning home, she went to the fairy glade in the middle of the forest. She was certain that the other fairies would appear soon. Maybe when they did, she would find the answer to Daisy's hopeless expression. In addition, she needed to find out what had brought Hepsibah herself to the palace in the first place.

Normally, the forgotten fairy found out about the princess through some wild coincidence—a random stranger showing up to ask what she would give the young child or some such nonsense. But there had been nothing this time. Nothing at all. And what kind of magic was strong enough to physically yank a fairy into another place entirely? Fairies were the most powerful magical creatures in the land. Their only equals were the mermaids, but they never worried themselves with the comings and goings of land-dwellers. There shouldn't be anything strong enough to manipulate fairies, except for the Happy Ending itself, and it had never pulled anything physically from one place to another. Hepsibah had never heard of this happening before. Something had changed, and that, she knew, was wrong.

*****

Ella hummed softly as she went about her work. Isabelle had been so shocked when Ella proclaimed that she would go to the ball that she had been unable to say a single word. Ella chuckled softly to herself. A ball! A real live ball! It did not matter that it was for the prince. She knew she would never lay eyes on him. Hubert. It wasn't a very romantic name, which was probably why he went by Hugh. But then again, it was the person the name belonged to that mattered. If Prince Hugh was good and kind, as he had been as a child, his name wouldn't change that. Ella sighed. Sometimes it was so difficult to keep her promise she had given to her mother.

When her mother had died, Ella had snuck into the room for her final moments. Her heart ached at the memory. Mother had looked so wan and thin, though her stomach was still enlarged as it had been for the previous several months. But she still had a smile for Ella.

My sweet, innocent girl, she had rasped with difficulty. I am so sorry, but I have to leave you. Remember what I have taught you. Be kind, be cheerful, and most importantly, never let your heart grow cold. Anger and bitterness would destroy you, my child. Be quick to love, and promise me you will never let resentment take hold in your heart. I love you, always.

Ella tried. Every moment of every day she tried. She worked from dawn to dark (and beyond) every day with a smile on her face for Mother. Ella refused to let her mother down. Now, at last, she had something to look forward to! Isabelle was giving her more work than normal, of course, but at the end of it, she would go to the ball. One bright, shining moment of happiness to cheer her in her dark drudgery-filled life.

Ella knew, of course, that Isabelle would never purchase a gown for her to wear to the ball. Nor would she allow Ella to wear one of Catherine or Alexandra's old cast-off gowns (of which there were fewer than one might expect with the front her stepmother insisted on keeping up, of the family being enormously wealthy and important). It did not matter. Ella's own mother had left behind a gown or two. Unbeknownst to Isabelle, the gowns were still in storage in the attic. They were old-fashioned now, but Ella was very quick and talented with a needle. She snorted to herself. Thanks to her stepmother's tyranny, she was very well-practiced at altering garments.

Though she never received a thank you or even a smile from Isabelle, Ella knew that her skill with a needle was counted on in the household. She frequently altered gowns for Catherine and Alexandra as her stepmother insisted that it would never do to be seen in the same gown more than once. Today, Ella was grateful for all of the practice she had been given. She would have to work on her gown at night, when the rest of the household was sleeping. It would be good enough for her. No one would suspect it was over twenty years old. Humming as she scrubbed the hallway floor, Ella planned her gown and dreamed of a night of dancing in the moonlight. Perhaps the Happy Ending would even orchestrate a way for her to escape this terrible life. She had often wondered which of the repeating tales she was in, and perhaps this ball would give her an opportunity to find out.

Father had refused to tell her details of the repeating tales, saying that it was better to simply try to live your life to the best of your ability and not try to help the Happy Ending out. But he could not possibly object now, for she was an adult. Surely it would not hurt for her to find out about the tales now. Filled with hope, she bent once again to her task.

*****

Adalia hid behind a pillar in her father's council chamber. She had been both afraid and hopeful at the thought of one of the councilors coming up with a plan to end the midnight jaunts. Her mind was a confusing jumble of opposite desires lately. She could not remember all of the details about how their nightly excursions had begun. Nor could she remember quite when…a while ago, she and her twin Alexia had been giggling together in their room about the announcement their father would be making. Was it to be the next day? Week? Month? Augh. Soon. Yes, soon. He was to announce that his two eldest daughters were of marrying age and would be entertaining possible suitors.

Adalia was giddy with excitement. Alexia was a bit more subdued, though she always was. However, Adalia could see the excitement dancing in her sister's eyes. Even now, the memory brought a smile to her face. She remembered them staying up late, whispering together in their shared chamber long into the night. It was at this point that her memory became fuzzy. Something had happened to…the floor? Adalia was not sure whether she was remembering accurately, but it almost seemed as if…a door had opened. Just for a split second.

She frowned. Whenever she tried to remember it, her mind went fuzzy and her head ached. But suddenly there was an old woman standing there. She was not wearing the palace livery. Adalia and Alexia had started with surprise, but the old woman acted as if nothing was amiss. As if she had always been standing there, simply waiting to be noticed. The two princesses both stared at her for a moment before remembering their manners.

Pleasant evening, good mother, Adalia said respectfully. It was always essential to show respect to the aged. Aside from being proper etiquette, one never knew when a thoughtless gesture could reap terrible rewards.

The woman had smiled impishly and regarded the princesses. What pretty things you two are! Did I hear you two chittering about meeting suitors? My, what an exciting time for two wise and beautiful young women. The light in the grandmother's eyes had been fiery and fierce.

Adalia shuddered slightly. Surely she was imagining things. Surely her eyes had been…her mind was going fuzzy again. The old woman had chuckled softly. Suitors mean marriage, she said dreamily. Marriage for love or marriage for power? I wonder which you will have. Her voice had trailed off to a whisper at this.

In the silence that followed, Adalia and Alexia exchanged puzzled glances. Power? Why would they need power? They were certain their kingdom was strong. All of their history lessons had told them so. Furthermore, the Happy Ending assured it. Then why? Why did the grandmother's words fill them with such urgency and dread?

I beg your pardon, Grandmother, but what do you mean? Alexia asked earnestly. Our father has told us we will get to choose the suitors we like best. There will not be any arranged or political marriages for us. We do not need them.

The old woman smiled coldly. Oh, he did, did he? Bronson was always too blind to the strength of neighboring kingdoms. Aldian is completely surrounded by those who wish to take this land for their own. Soon the power of your surrounding neighbors will be great enough to crush this kingdom to dust. Will the final blow be struck by Lupreng, do you think? Worfern and Ermengol are threats as well. Only marriages to powerful allies will save Aldian, if it is not too late already.

Adalia thought of all the lessons they had been taught about neighboring kingdoms, including their military might, economies, and customs. Surely they would have mentioned any possible threat. The fog in her mind coalesced once more. When it cleared, she could vividly recall the warning words of many tutors. How odd that she had never felt the urgency behind their words until now. In fact, it almost felt like she was hearing these words in her head for the first time just now. No. Maybe? She was so confused. Every tutor she had ever had praised her quick wit. So why was this so difficult to grasp? It felt slippery, wrong somehow. But the more she tried to wrap her mind around this new information, the less she understood. It was crippling.

She glanced at Alexia. To her surprise, Alexia looked calm. She neither furrowed her brow nor chewed her lower lip, both signs she was struggling to understand something. Adalia barely stopped herself from gaping at her sister. What was going on?

What can we do to save our father's kingdom? she asked dreamily. Another oddity. Alexia was quiet, shy to the point of pain, and altogether too serious for her own good except around children. Yet Adalia had never once in her life seen her sister act dreamy or distracted.

I know of a kingdom, powerful and strong, that none of your enemies will ever be able to defeat, the old woman whispered. There is great magic there. To save your kingdom from certain destruction, you must unite with the kingdom of Midnight.

Adalia felt the words pierce her heart and soul, wrapping around her tightly and binding her will. While she had never heard of the kingdom of Midnight, it seemed that she knew instinctively of its power. Of course this was the solution! But where was this mighty kingdom? And how were they to find favor within its realm? The old woman smiled knowingly.

In order to unite your two kingdoms and save the throne of your father, she explained, you will have to enlist your sisters. Midnight has twelve princes. Only upon their marriage to twelve princesses will they bring their might to your aid. To accomplish this, all of you will need to travel down to them every night for a year. At the close of the year, your betrothals will be complete and all of you will be wed. Only then will your worry over your father cease.

Adalia felt a shiver of unease. All twelve of them? But while Beatrice and Brianna were almost of marrying age, the rest of her sisters were not. Nor would they be in a year's time. Why, Ivy and Iris were not even thirteen! But as quickly as her unease appeared, it was smothered in a strange calm. It would all be well. This was how it must be. What did age matter when compared to the safety of their kingdom?

The old woman fished in her cloak. She pulled out a small vial of glowing blue liquid.

Take this, she crooned. Put one drop in each of your sisters' goblets in the morning. It will help them understand what must be done. Remember, each night, you must travel to Midnight. The princes will await you there. There will be balls for your courtships. At the end of one year, when your marriages are performed, the aid of that kingdom will be yours. But be warned: no one save you twelve must learn of this arrangement before every requirement is met. If anyone does, then you will lose the aid you desire forever, and your kingdom will fall into ruin. Your father will be dethroned, and it will be your fault.

Alexia nodded calmly. Of course, Grandmother, she mumbled. We will not fail you.

Adalia had nodded her agreement as well, but a shiver ran down her spine as she did so.

Shaking herself out of her reverie, Adalia came back to the present. She was no longer in her chamber with Alexia.

That night, almost ten months ago, had been the beginning of their midnight travels. She and Alexia had followed the old woman's counsel completely. The elixir was given to their sisters at breakfast the very next morning. Every night, a door had opened into the floor of the bedchamber shared by her and Alexia. Down into the darkness they had gone to find their sisters at the top of a long staircase. After the long staircase were orchards that twinkled like stars, and at the end, the black lake. There they had met the twelve princes of the kingdom of Midnight. Adalia could sense their power. Her father's kingdom would be saved.

Chapter 4

Jack's eyes swam with tears. He had tried to sell Bessie to almost every merchant in the marketplace. Once he confessed that her milk had gone dry, every last one of them had declared they had no use for her. They had turned him away. The only places left to try were the butcher and the tanner. If Clarice and Jack were to survive, Bessie could not. Jack's heart protested at the thought. It was not supposed to be like this! Surely on his way to the butcher's, some random farmer would come along who was so desperately in need of a cow that Bessie being currently dry would be no problem at all. In fact, Jack reasoned with himself, the farmer (or whoever it was) would want a dry cow. What luck! they would exclaim. I was hoping to find a kind, gentle cow just like this one! A cow a child could lead without the bother of having to milk her on our long journey home. Once there, she will be fed the best grass a cow could ever want and will soon be milking just as copiously as she ever did before.

Caught in this daydream, Jack passed right by the butcher's shop as well as the tanner's. He came back to himself with a jolt. Here he was in the same predicament he had been in all along. There had been no coincidences, no strangers appearing to save the day. Desperately he checked to see if Bessie had miraculously begun to produce milk again. But she was as dry as ever. Sniffling, Jack wiped his nose on his sleeve. It would do him no good to be seen crying. He knew that merchants were known to pounce on overly emotional sellers like a cat onto a particularly fat mouse. He had never experienced that with William, the butcher, but it was best not to take any chances. Taking a few slow breaths to steady himself, Jack pasted on a smile, tied Bessie to a nearby tree, and went in to see William.

Good day, young Jack! William boomed cheerfully. He was a large man, strongly muscled from years of heaving heavy animal carcasses onto his huge butcher slab. His deep voice had a hint of amusement, and the corners of his eyes crinkled as he smiled at Jack. Are you here to purchase meat for you and your fine mother today?

Jack nodded politely to the greeting William gave him. Then he shook his head. Before he could lose his nerve, he said, I'm looking to sell our cow, B-Bessie. She has gone dry, you see, and my mother says we need the money to buy food or— Jack broke off. He did not need to finish the sentence. He could see in the kindness of the butcher's face that he knew what would surely happen to Jack and his mother.

Let's have a look at her then, shall we? William said gently.

Jack led him out into the street, where he had tied Bessie before entering the butcher shop. She, of course, hadn't moved. She looked up when Jack and William approached, but she neither mooed nor stamped in displeasure. She truly was a gentle cow. Moving toward her slowly, William approached Bessie. Her nostrils twitched as she smelled the blood on his apron, and she started trying to back away. The rope held her fast, however, and her movement was halted. Her eyes widened with fear as William began running his hands carefully over her sides and then down her legs. She tried to wriggle out from his grip, but his strong arms held her tightly. When he had finished his inspection, William turned to Jack with a sigh.

She's pretty thin. I can get a little bit of meat off of her, but it will not be as much as you or I would like. I'm afraid I can only offer you ten copper pieces.

Jack knew William was being very generous. Ten copper pieces would feed him and his mother for ten weeks. More if they were very careful. Bravely, his eyes swimming with tears, he looked at the butcher and extended his hand. They shook on the deal, and it was done.

Thank you, sir. Jack turned to Bessie sadly and gave her one last hug goodbye. Sensing his unhappiness, she turned her head to nuzzle against his chest. He stifled a sob. Please, he pleaded, when you k-kill her, make it quick and clean. Don't let her suffer.

William smiled kindly. I always do, son. Suffering is something I don't like to see. Or cause. Now I will wait until you have left. You don't want your last memory of her to be her death.

*****

Hepsibah tapped her foot impatiently. She had been waiting at the fairy glade for well over an hour now, and it irked her that not a single fairy had arrived in that time. Where was everyone? In all her long years (she could admit the length of over five thousand years to herself if to no one else), she could not remember a time when at least one of the fairies had failed to gather in the fairy glade, especially after the birth of a princess or prince. The fact that they were invited to the christening…ah. They were most likely still at the palace at the behest of the king and queen. She sighed. That party would most likely last all day. By this point, the young babe would have been sent to her nursery with an entire entourage of nurses waiting to care for her. Everyone would pretend that nothing at all was wrong, so they would send the baby away to be taken care of as all royal babies should be. The king and queen, on the other hand, would continue to bask in the adoration of their subjects, while everyone would be secretly wondering how Hepsibah's gift would ruin the child's life.

Hepsibah concluded that she would meet no fairy today. However, she still needed to have the questions of how she had been transported into the christening, why she had not heard about it before it happened, and of course, why Daisy looked so stricken after Hepsibah had given her gift, answered. What she needed now was a way to watch the christening before her sudden arrival. That would hopefully answer at least two of her questions. Hmm. There were other magical creatures besides fairies who might be able to help her.

Elves, she knew, possessed magic. However, it had more to do with creating amazing weapons, clothing, and other useful items. Dwarves were miners whose principal magic had to do with finding and extracting the gems and valuables that were hidden in the earth as well as shaping them into jewelry, armor, and other decorative things. Gnomes tended growing things. What she needed was someone capable of scrying. Unfortunately, she could think of only two creatures who had that power.

The first was the sea witch, Darya, whose underwater domain and well-known distrust of all land-dwellers made her less than desirable as a source of information. Plus there was no telling what ridiculous price she would insist upon. Why, Hepsibah had seen with her own eyes a young man who had asked for help from the sea witch. As payment, she had taken his ears. She did not cut them off. Instead, they had been removed entirely through magic. He had smooth skin over where they had been. He would never hear again. The worst part of it was that he was illiterate. He had not been able to read the contract he was signing; therefore, he had not known the price she asked. No, the sea witch was not an option. That only left Rupert.

Rupert was an old warlock who knew everything that happened in the entire land. He was exceedingly odd, however. He kept a menagerie of animals that helped him gather information in addition to a traditional scrying bowl. The last time she had visited him, she had accidentally tripped over a skunk. The smell had taken three different spells to disappear completely. The time before that, she had accidentally sat on a porcupine lounging on the chair. She hadn't seen it in the dim light of Rupert's house (he claimed the dim light had a calming effect on the animals), and, well, sitting down had been unpleasant for over a month. It was a pity fairies did not have healing powers. Rupert had offered to apply an ointment to aid healing, but Hepsibah had her pride to consider. Steeling herself for another eventful encounter, Hepsibah vanished from the glade.

She reappeared with a loud pop in a bright meadow full of wildflowers. That was odd. She should not have made a sound at all when she appeared. Oh well, her distraught mind must not have been completely on her task of traveling. That must be it. The flowers around her dotted the landscape with a blanket of various colors. She would say this for Rupert: he had definitely built his home in a beautiful place. She walked briskly and carefully up to Rupert's door and knocked. Immediately, loud chirps, barks, and crashing erupted within. The animals definitely knew she was here.

Hold on! Rupert yelled from within. There were more crashes and a loud yelp. Oh! Sorry, Clemandine! Hepsibah heard. At last, the door jerked open, and a red fox bolted through it, disappearing among the trees surrounding the meadow. Clemandine will be fine, Rupert said in her direction. I tripped and stepped on her tail is all. Come in, Hepsibah. I've been expecting you.

Tentatively, Hepsibah stepped into the gloom of Rupert's home. It was all one room with a large table occupying one side by the hearth and a rickety-looking bed with a multicolored quilt on the opposite wall. Books and charts were scattered across the table. Rupert had two chairs pulled up to the table, and he was occupying the larger one. Two tall candlesticks held fat, drippy candles in the center of the table, and most of the illumination in the room came from these. Rupert had draped thick curtains over the windows, and they were pulled closed. The overall impression the room gave was that of a cave. It would have been comforting and charming if it were not for the animals that were everywhere. Several bats hung from the rafters, thankfully not over the table. Straw was littered over the floor, and Hepsibah could hear scuttling around the room.

That must be mice, she thought. A snake was curled up sleeping in the washbasin. Two hedgehogs slept by the cold hearth, with a badger curled up on the other side. An old crow perched on the back of Rupert's chair, and