The Lady and the Wish Read online

  © 2019 by J.M. Stengl

  Published by Rooglewood Press

  www.RooglewoodPress.com

  www.JMStengl.com

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—for example, electronic, photocopy, recording—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

  This volume contains works of fiction. Names, characters, incidents, and dialogues are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Cover and book design by Bulbous Squirrel

  To my sweet sister Cheri, who laughs in all the right places and loves me no matter what.

  OTHER BOOKS IN THE

  FARAWAY CASTLE

  SERIES

  Novellas

  Cinder Ellie

  The Little Siren

  Novels

  Ellie and the Prince

  The Siren and the Scholar

  The Rose and the Briar

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Coming Soon!

  About the Author

  Don’t miss your chance to read

  THE LITTLE SIREN

  When independent-minded Kamoana encounters a human boy in danger, she knows she should have nothing to do with him. As a siren, she is forbidden even to speak to humans, let alone rescue one. But how can Kamoana simply watch the boy die and do nothing to save him?

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  He was on the hunt, lying in wait. For me.

  Holding the hall door open less than an inch, I peered into the lobby of Faraway Castle to observe Prince Maximilian of Petrovce. Just the sight of him made my heart beat fast, and not in a good way.

  Not that he was a monster . . . I mean, not in looks. About six foot, with a body and face like a marble statue of “The Ideal Man,” he looked like a future king. Which he was. Sometime since last summer, when I told him I could never look twice at a man with a bushy beard, Max had shaved off the mess to reveal that perfect strong jaw. But the beard wasn’t the real problem.

  Three pretty girls were talking to him. He smiled occasionally as if on cue, but all the while, his ice-blue eyes scanned the busy lobby. One long-fingered hand reached up to smooth the glossy black hair arching back in a wave from his high forehead. That keen stare shifted my way, and I ducked out of sight, careful to keep the door from moving. My pulse rushed in my ears.

  Was he too intense? Too old? I mean, he was closer to thirty than twenty, which seemed ancient to me. Too focused? Too gorgeous? I couldn’t have told you exactly why, but he scared the living daylights out of me.

  I dared another look through the crack just as Max’s gaze shifted toward one of the girls hovering near him. He smiled, and I couldn’t help shuddering just like I did whenever he smiled at me. While he was distracted, I eased the hall door shut, turned . . . and let out a startled squeak.

  A vast black beard hovered before my eyes, almost as if Prince Max from last year had reappeared. But the eyes above the beard were brown. I relaxed, quickly looking away. “Oh, it’s you.”

  “Is anything wrong, Lady Gillian?” he asked.

  “Not at all! You’re just the man I need right now.” I grabbed his forearm.

  “I am?” He sounded pleased as well as startled.

  This man was the son of a visconte and first cousin to my dearest love, Prince Fidelio of Vetricia. He’d been following our group around for the past few weeks like a chaperoning uncle. I couldn’t remember his name, but his beard looked like something a raven might use for a nest, so I thought of him as Bird-nest Beard. I’d considered him a nuisance, always hanging around when I wanted to be alone with Fidelio, but this appearance seemed providential. He was nicely dressed in a beige-linen summer suit, and he would serve my purpose.

  “Certainly. Would you escort me down to the playing field? The riders will be mounting up soon, and I want to watch.” I gave him a gooey smile for good measure. “This’ll be my very first time to see the Faraway Castle Cup.”

  It worked like a charm. “I’d be happy to escort you, Lady Gillian.”

  “Let’s go out the back door and take the garden steps,” I suggested with another smile, tugging at his sleeve. I’ve used my dimples and big blue eyes to captivate the opposite sex since I was three. This man was no challenge at all. I could have led him around by the nose like a sheep—he was woolly enough.

  We hurried out a back door of the castle and into the shrubbery. Prince Max would never expect me to take the garden route, so this was perfect. We paused on the upper terrace long enough to take in the view, which consisted of garden terraces all the way down to the level fields normally used for rugby and other such sports. Mountains ringed the extensive forested valley beyond, their peaks white in all seasons against a blue sky.

  Today, crowds roved across the football pitch and baseball fields amid colorful pavilions. Families from all parts of the world looked forward to this weekend every summer, the time when flying horses and their retinues descended upon and briefly reigned over Faraway Castle, the magical resort for royal, noble, and wealthy guests.

  My lip curled. The scene before me resembled, to a disturbing degree, a common village fête. At times the amusements here escaped the bounds of good taste. But then, Faraway Castle entertained many of the bourgeois rich and was staffed entirely by commoners with magical abilities. This sort of event made it harder to avoid rubbing elbows with the lower classes.

  “Should be an excellent day for flying-horse races,” Bird-nest Beard said. “Just enough cloud cover to cut down the glare but no real chance of rain. The early races have already begun. It’s maybe an hour before the Cup starts.”

  “Let’s hurry and find your cousin.” I tried to sound casual. “Maybe we can wish him luck before the race.” I tugged him toward the first set of stairs.

  “What about your friend Raquel?” he asked, following along. “I heard she’s riding for her father’s stables. And Princess Eddi is riding Vetricia’s other entrant, since its rider became ill this morning.”

  I barely kept from scowling. Princess Edurne of Bilbao and Prince Fidelio had been friends since childhood, and Eddi was growing into a very beautiful young woman. She and Raquel were my toughest competition. For the past several weeks we three had vied for Fidelio’s attention and affection. I thought he might like me best—he blushed scarlet every time I spoke to him alone.

  But today both Eddi and Raquel would race against my True Love and his mount, who were favored to win. I couldn’t imagine how racing against the prince could be romantic, but I never doubted Eddi and Raquel would find a way to flirt with him while on flying-horseback. I had to get to Fidelio first and make sure he was thinking of me while he raced.

  “Maybe we’ll see the girls too,” I said with a careful smile, then let go of the man’s arm and hurried down the levels of garden, heedless of my dress—a retro white su
ndress with black polka dots and shoulder straps, set off by adorable teensy black heels. I held my white, wide-brimmed straw hat in place with one hand and gripped the handrail to keep from tumbling down the steps. We exited the garden through a side gate onto the service road and stepped into chaos. The reek of human and horse sweat, the bugling calls of winged horses, the buzz of conversation, snatches of band music, and happy anticipation filled the air.

  “Where is Fidelio?” I shouted at my escort, who again offered his arm. I didn’t like to link my hand through the crook of his elbow—it seemed too personal—but in this crowd I might lose him otherwise.

  He powered his way through the wall of people until we approached a red-and-black pavilion flying the Vetrician flag, which featured red stripes and a flying horse. Without Bird-nest Beard’s help, I would never have gotten through that crowd, but he maneuvered us into the ideal viewing position.

  Jostled from behind, clinging for life to Bird-nest Beard’s arm, I swallowed hard as I watched Fidelio mount his huge, stamping black horse. The prince wore a crash helmet, a small parachute, and light body armor, but the horse wore only some straps around its body. No bridle. No reins. No stirrups. I shuddered at the sight.

  I had intended to catch my love before he mounted, but now I had only one option. As soon as an opening appeared, I dragged his cousin forward with me then let go. Bird-nest Beard took the buffeting of the horse’s huge wing while I raised my hands high to Fidelio, offering him an embroidered, scented handkerchief. Fidelio stared at the limp white fabric but finally reached out to take it.

  “For luck!” I shouted just as an announcer said something over the magical sound system, spoiling the moment.

  “Pardon me?” Fidelio regarded the bit of cloth in confusion.

  “Good luck!” I shouted again, this time into a brief silence.

  The horse began to stamp and rear, its wings lifted high. Strong hands locked on my upper arms, nearly lifted me off my feet, and hurried me back to the sidelines. I was too distracted to protest. Craning my neck to keep him in sight, I saw Fidelio stuff the handkerchief into the front of his jersey. Near his heart, I thought with a flush of warmth. He does care!

  My escort’s arm curled around my shoulders, barely touching me. I ignored it, watching as Fidelio rode off to join the other contestants in the parade to the starting field. No matter how I waved and shouted his name, he never looked my way. My voice must have been lost in the clamor.

  “We can’t follow.” Warm breath tickled my ear annoyingly, but if Bird-nest Beard hadn’t spoken directly into it, I never would have heard him. He was right; they were setting up barriers and ordering everyone unconnected with the stables to leave the area. I shuffled away with the crowd, protected by the man’s arm, and wondered about the success of my plan. I would have liked to see more appreciation in Fidelio’s expression, but then, how could the boy express his true feelings before such a crush of onlookers?

  Prince Fidelio was a few months younger than me, only nineteen until the next spring, but he was tall and sweet and kind of adorably awkward, with a huge, bright smile. And he lived in a beautiful, centrally located country filled with art and music and history. He was a younger son, but I didn’t mind that.

  The crowd thinned, and Bird-nest Beard removed his arm from around me. It had been there more to hold off the crowds than anything, so I hardly noticed.

  “Are you hungry?” he inquired, indicating the mobile food court set up near the base of the resort’s garden wall. It looked terribly . . . common.

  “Maybe a little,” I said. My stomach did feel empty. Like my heart.

  “What sounds good?”

  “I don’t know what any of it is,” I admitted. “You choose.”

  What thrill did Raquel, Eddi, and Fidelio find in this event? Nothing about it appealed to me—not the crowds, the smells, the noise, nor the commercial look of the normally pristine fields. Bird-nest Beard found a vacant table, cleaned the bench off for me with a few napkins, then went off to purchase food.

  I stepped over the bench and sat facing the table, dropped my face into my hands, and sighed. Why had I bothered to dress with care? I knew I looked amazing—other people’s stares and comments were reassuring. But Fidelio had scarcely looked at me.

  My head ached. It always ached when I pinned up my hair. I pushed a few stray locks back into place. I didn’t dare take it down. Max would find me for sure if I did—my strawberry-blonde hair was like a beacon when the sun shone on it.

  Bird-nest Beard returned with a breaded sausage on a stick for each of us. I accepted it warily. Someone had squirted something brownish along one side of my sausage. His looked the same, so I took a bite and chewed, gazing out across the crowds, then focused back on my food. “Hmm. This tastes surprisingly good.”

  “Glad you’re enjoying it. I haven’t had a corn dog in at least a dozen years. The mustard is the best part.”

  I gave my companion a subtle once-over as I took a few more dainty bites of corn dog. He was convenient to have around, I had to admit. His broad shoulders and forbidding beard might even be enough to keep away unwanted admirers. It would probably be a good idea to keep him at my side a little longer, just in case . . .

  As if the thought had conjured him, I glimpsed Prince Max’s slick black hair and cold-eyed face through the crowd. I turned away and ducked my head, pulling down my hat’s brim.

  “Is something wrong?” asked Bird-nest Beard.

  Striving to appear calm, I produced a smile. “Would you mind walking in the castle gardens to avoid the noise and crowds?”

  “You don’t want to stay and watch the parade? Any minute now, the contestants should pass us on their way to their starting positions.”

  “I think we could see well enough from the garden.”

  He gathered the wooden skewers and our dirty napkins, dumped them into a nearby bin, then returned to my side and gave me a hand. I took it and rose cautiously, still holding one side of my hat’s brim down. This time I transferred my hand to the crook of his elbow before he offered it.

  He tried to peer under my hat. I saw only masses of beard. “Gillian, are you afraid of something?”

  I laughed. “Whatever makes you think such a thing?”

  Without another word he ushered me toward the nearest garden gate.

  “Gillian!”

  I cringed and stopped in my tracks, holding that brawny arm in a two-handed death grip. How had Max recognized me? With my hair up and the hat hiding my face, he shouldn’t have noticed me in all this crowd. There was no good in running now. He would only follow until he ran me down.

  “Your Royal Highness,” said Bird-nest Beard and bowed politely. “When did you arrive?”

  As far as I could tell, Max ignored him completely, focusing on me. “Gillian, I told you I was arriving today and to meet me at the front desk.”

  I couldn’t look at him. His eyes made me freeze and say things I didn’t mean. “I told you I had other plans,” I managed to squeak, glancing up only as high as his chin.

  “Other plans?” He paused. “Break them.”

  I felt muscles harden under my fingers as if my escort might be angry. Bird-nest Beard said, “I am Lady Gillian’s escort today, Your Highness. You appear to have other ladies in your party, so I’m sure you’ll enjoy your race day. Good afternoon!”

  Pressing his arm and my hand against his side, he urged me onward.

  “Who do you think you are, Trefontane?” Max shouted, but the crowd closed in behind us and we walked with purpose.

  I scarcely noticed we had reached a gate until it closed behind us. Strange, how that gate and the walls cut out most of the noise. I sighed aloud, released my hold on the man’s arm, and shook my aching hands. The day wasn’t particularly warm, but the gardens felt a good ten degrees cooler than that crowded fairground.

  “Better?” Bird-nest Beard asked.

  “Much. I hate crowds,” I admitted, gazing across the green lawn. �
�And overbearing people.” I would have sent the man away right then, but I couldn’t guarantee Max wouldn’t follow and take me by surprise.

  “Is there a particular garden you enjoy?” he asked.

  There wasn’t, but thinking of Fidelio, I said, “The Vetrician garden is lovely. And there’s a waterfall alongside the steps leading up to it.”

  “I’m sure I can find it. Have you ever visited Vetricia?”

  “Once or twice during Begaian Sea cruises we have stopped at ports along the coast.” My mother, my sister and her kids, and I took a cruise together nearly every winter.

  “You should visit during autumn,” he suggested, “during harvest when the land turns to gold. I would love to show you—”

  At this timely moment, a roar rose from the crowd. “Oh, the Cup must be starting!” I said and turned to watch. I saw no point in discussing travel or anything else with Bird-nest Beard. He sometimes tried to talk about grape harvests, art museums, sunsets, and other things a manly-man type like him could never truly appreciate. Men often tried to impress me that way. It never worked.

  A dozen flying horses launched into the sky, silhouetted against filmy clouds, their wings making powerful strokes through the air. Fidelio was on a black horse, but at this distance I could hardly tell one from another. The race course followed the edge of the great valley; soon the figures shrank into tiny dots, then vanished in the distance. I kept staring into the sky anyway.

  “You say you’ve never attended the Faraway Castle races before?” Bird-nest asked.

  “I’ve never seen a flying-horse race at all. I usually come to Faraway Castle earlier in the season,” I answered. “But this year I wished to avoid meeting . . . certain people.” To be exact, a certain cinder-sprite wrangler who’d unexpectedly turned out to be a princess and snatched a handsome prince right out from under my nose last summer. But my companion didn’t need to know that. “So I switched to this month instead. It’s been . . . different.”