Excerpt from Once Upon A Curse

Chapter 1

“HIGHNESS—YOU WILL GET CAUGHT.”

Alexander Flynn, crown prince of Caleria, waved off his valet’s concern. “I haven’t before now. Stay here, Reg, if the challenge scares you.”

That brought out the righteous indignation he expected.

Reggie Standish lifted his chin and crossed his arms. “I am not scared. I am merely—concerned.”

Alexander fought to control his smile. “Then leave your concern here, or stay with it.” He stepped to the corner and peered around it. The coast was clear. “I am going.”

He tiptoed into the huge kitchen, careful to avoid the loose stone pavers that would give him away. The tempting scent of lemon tarts wafted through the air, the reason for his stealth now. They were meant for tonight’s celebration supper, but Alexander knew he could not wait until then.

He finally reached the scarred table in the center of the kitchen, where the neat rows of tarts sat, their crusts golden brown, the creamy, tangy filling swirled to a perfect peak.

His mouth watered at the sight of them, already tasting the rich lemon flavor on his tongue—

“You little thief!”

Alexander froze, his fingers curled around a tart. He lifted his head, a ready smile for the cook who stood over him, her arms crossed.

“Saxon. Surely you wouldn’t begrudge a poor, starving boy—”

“Take your pampered hand off my tart and yourself out of my kitchen. Honestly, Alexander, aren’t you too old to stoop to stealing?”

“Sorry—I found I couldn’t wait until supper.” He grabbed the tart, risked taking a second, and danced backward, smiling at the cook’s shriek of outrage. “Deduct two from my plate. Thank you, Saxon.”

He bolted out of the kitchen, nearly running into Reggie when he rounded the corner.

“Go,” he said, pushing at his valet. “Go!”

They fled, not stopping until they reached Alexander’s private garden. Alexander dropped to a stone bench, catching his breath, then handed one of the tarts to Reggie.

“You did not—” Reggie stared down at the tart, and let out a long suffering sigh. “I will be banished from the kitchen for good.”

“Stop fussing.” Alexander dipped one finger into the lemon filling and slowly savored the taste. “Saxon is a miracle worker with these.” He nudged Reggie. “She had no idea you were cowering outside the kitchen. I will take all the blame, if she reports the theft to Father.”

“You better had. Highness.”

Alexander smiled at his disgruntled tone. “Thank you for remembering who I am.”

He ignored Reggie’s sarcastic snort, too busy with his glorious tart. His attention was so focused that he didn’t hear the approaching footsteps, and had no idea that his father had found him until he heard the familiar—and dreaded—throat clearing.

“Alexander.”

“Father.” He scrambled to his feet, dropping what was left of the tart on the stone bench. “What a pleasant surprise.”

“To find you pilfering sweets from the kitchen?” King Leander Flynn stood on the stone path, dressed in his formal blue velvet tunic, the perfect, spine-stiff royal. “You are almost of age, boy. Much too old for the antics of childhood.”

“Yes, Father.” Alexander resigned himself to a lecture about duty. Tonight’s celebration supper was simply another step closer to the end of his freedom; he was going to meet the princess he had been promised to as an infant. “I was just having a bit of fun.”

“And dragging your valet into this fun?”

“He had nothing to do with this—except enjoy the fruit of my spoils.” Alexander stepped in front of Reggie, who was bent over in a low bow. He hardly knew what would set his father off these days, and he refused to allow Reggie to suffer for any flare of temper. “I will take the blame, Father, as well as the punishment.”

“Very well.” Father’s temper faded, replaced by the man Alexander remembered. The man he had been before she came to Caleria. “I will let this pass, if you are not late to supper. Have him dressed in his finest, Reginald.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” Reggie’s voice was muffled, since he spoke to the ground, and sounded a little strained.

“On time, Alexander.” With a final, narrowed glance, he left them alone.

Alexander moved to Reggie’s side and gripped his arm. “You can straighten up now, Reg.”

“With your help, Highness.” He groaned as Alexander pulled him up, one hand pressed against his lower back. “I thought you were planning to miss supper.”

“I was.” Alexander sighed, and lowered himself to the bench. The rest of the tart no longer looked appealing, not with the prospect of an endless meal, sitting next to a girl he wouldn’t have a thing to talk to about, and his father watching every move he made. “But I am destined to suffer those consequences you warned me about, when I decided to raid the kitchen. Do not even think of blaming yourself.”

“I—yes, Highness.” Reggie sat next to him, the half-eaten tart in his hand, mangled beyond recognition. “I believe I’ve lost my appetite for this.”

“I am sorry, Reg. I hardly expected Father to step in, not for two tarts.” He stared at his hands, his voice low. “I believe it was her, pushing him at me. Again.”

“Giselle is not the evil witch you claim her to be. She is merely a widow, who has caught the King’s eye.”

Alexander looked at him, his jaw clenched. “Tell me you haven’t noticed the change in my father. Tell me you believe him to be the same kind, even-tempered man he was before she arrived.”

“I—” Reggie hunched his shoulders, finally meeting Alexander’s eyes. “He has changed, but it is close to the anniversary of the Queen’s death. Perhaps he—”

“We always weathered it together. This year, he wants nothing to do with her memory. Instead, he allows her to plan an elaborate meal, and drags me into it by announcing that it is past time for me to marry. That arrangement died with my mother, Reg, and he knows all too well that I would never marry someone because of a verbal promise, made when I was in the cradle.”

“Highness, you can give this princess a chance. She might just be someone you could learn to love.”

Alexander pushed to his feet and started pacing. “I already know enough about her to be absolutely certain that we will never suit. She abhors every single thing I am interested in, from archery to simply walking in the woods.” He waved his hand in front of his face, mimicking a high-pitched voice. “The outdoors will mark my skin, and archery is a dangerous sport, one that could kill you between one breath and the next.” With a frustrated curse, he ran one hand through his hair, pulling half of it out of its neat queue. He cursed again, and yanked the leather tie free, letting his hair fall to his shoulders. “How am I supposed to fall in love with a simpering ninny?”

“I am afraid the type of girl you would fall for does not exist. At least, not among the nobility.”

“Right,” He dropped to the bench beside Reggie. “No girl of noble birth would be caught dead with a bow in her hand, never mind having the spirit to run off for a day, with nothing but a picnic and a sense of adventure.”

Reggie shook his head, sympathy in his dark eyes. “Impossible dreams, Highness.”

“I told you to call me Alexander when we happen to be alone.” He needed as much informality as he could get in his life; soon, with a wife, and a family, any sense of fun would disappear. For good.

Alexander shuddered at the thought. He was far from ready to give up his freedom.

Reggie shook his head. “I fear I may slip up and call you by name in front of someone.”

“Understood.” With a sigh, Alexander stared at the rose bushes on the other side of the crushed stone path.

Mother had planted them herself, much to Father’s horror—and Alexander had been right at her side, digging into the soft, rich soil with his five-year-old hands, probably hindering more than helping.

It had been a glorious day.

“Thinking about your mother?” Reggie’s voice was gentle, his hand on Alexander’s shoulder welcome.

“She would have loved to see how they thrived.”

“I am thinking of taking them out.”

Alexander leapt off the bench at her voice, facing off with the woman determined to be Father’s next wife.

Over his cold, dead body.

“You will not touch them.” He clenched his hands into fists, anger roaring through him. “Do you hear me, Giselle? This is my garden, and you are not welcome.”

“You have made that abundantly clear, Alexander.” She looked grieved—which he knew was an act for Reggie. She gave him nothing but scorn when they were alone. “All I want is for us to get along, or at least tolerate each other.”

“Not likely.”

Rage flashed in her pale grey eyes, and disappeared almost before Alexander saw it. She smoothed her features, flipped her black, waist length braid over her shoulder before she clasped her hands together.

“Forgive me for disturbing you, but your father would like to see us, in his private study.”

“I will be there.” Alexander met her eyes, refusing to back down first. This woman had started to wedge herself between him and Father since the day she arrived in Caleria. “Please get out of my garden.”

Giselle bowed her head, gave Reggie a false smile, and glided out of sight.

“Highness?” Reggie laid his hand on Alexander’s shoulder. “Alexander.”

That snapped him out of his temper. He looked over at his valet, his friend, and saw not the vacant stare of admiration, but disgust.

“You—you saw through her façade?”

“She is beautiful, and charming, and beautiful.” Alexander laughed at the repetition. “But just now, she set my teeth on edge. I felt—as if I were being manipulated, if that makes sense.”

“Absolutely.” Relief lifted some of the weight on his heart. “At first, I thought I was imagining it. Everyone in her vicinity all but fall over themselves to please her. I wanted to stay as far away as possible. And you kept telling me I was overreacting.”

“Until now, Highness.”

“She is—ˮ He ran one hand through his hair, frustrated by his inability to verbalize how she affected him. “Ugly is the only word I can think of. Behind that flawless face, all I see, all I feel, is ugly.”

“She wants to stand at the King’s side.”

“That will not happen.” He gripped Reggie’s hand for a long moment before he strode down stone path, determination pushing aside any lingering fear. “Not as long as I have breath to speak.”