A Happily Ever After of Her Own Read online

  She shrugged and hid her smile behind her coffee cup. It was going to be fun at the Tudor House.

  *** *** ***

  Protect him indeed.

  The idea was so preposterous Edward couldn't decide if he should be truly insulted or not. The silly woman was a head shorter than he and weighed nothing. He'd felt the fragile bones of her arms, seen how vulnerable and soft she was. She couldn't protect him against a butterfly, much less a ghost.

  Still, he admired her courage. Not many had withstood his anger or stood up to the judge and the prosecutor. And nobody tried to bargain with Fairy Godmother, unless...well, unless it was one of her offspring. Even then it was not advisable, as she always imposed conditions on her help.

  It wouldn't make for an interesting fairy tale if you didn't face an obstacle. After all, dear, obstacles build character.

  Ugh. Expediency was of value, not some ridiculous life lesson one had to learn from struggling for the amusement of the masses. Fairy tales should have the following three lines only: "Once upon a time there were a girl and a prince. They met, fell in love and lived happily ever after. The end."

  *** *** ***

  Edward called for her to "prepare Arabian horses" for the ride to Tudor Land. Feeling much perkier after her coffee, Melinda patted his forearm and said sweetly, "I'm afraid I don't have any Arabians just now, Edward. But I do have a Charger."

  "A warhorse?" Edward said, blinking. "Excellent!"

  *** *** ***

  The traffic was light so early. Nobody was likely to be at Tudor Land at this hour, but Edward had insisted on going immediately and scouting the area for good escape routes and possible traps.

  "Why do we need escape routes?" Melinda asked him. "All we have to do is get in the same room with Beauty and the Evil Witch. Then I tap my watch, and yay, we're back in the Fairy Tale World."

  "I am the prince here. Leave the battle planning to me."

  And leave the driving to me, she thought, smiling a bit as she recalled the enormous conniption fit Edward had thrown when he had discovered what her "Charger" really was -- and that he couldn't drive it. But it had been her only victory so far. Logic didn't work with him, and he'd never encountered the concept of gender equality. She found herself wishing that Cinderella had come to Bolinsville instead. Prince Charming simply had to be more enlightened.

  *** *** ***

  The original owner of Tudor Land had been an eccentric historian, and he'd converted his one hundred acres of family farm into a theme park. Edward jumped out of the car the moment it stopped and jogged around to open her door for her. He held out a hand.

  "I'm perfectly capable of getting out on my own," she said.

  Sighing, he reached down and lightly took her hand, fingers to fingers. The contact was sweeter than she remembered, and for a moment she inhabited those fingers entirely. He pulled her out, shut the door, and rested his hand on the small of her back while he looked around vigilantly. She shivered.

  "A gentleman never allows a lady to step out of a carriage unaided," he informed her.

  "A lady." She raised an eyebrow. "I thought I was a Trespasser."

  "That was admittedly rude of me. You haven't been convicted."

  Yet lingered in his tone, but she didn't want to argue and ruin the moment, even as she was telling herself she was shivering because of the cool early morning air against her skin, not because Edward's hand felt impossibly good or she was doing her best to not lean against him.

  "Where is the entrance?"

  "There." With almost an inhuman strength of will, she stepped away from him and gestured at the closed gates. "See? What did I tell you?"

  Edward stepped up to the gates and ran a finger over the bolt and padlock. "It seems not to be enchanted."

  "Of course not. But it's locked."

  "What is locked can be scaled." He gripped one of the fence's iron bars experimentally. "It even has handholds."

  "Absolutely not--"

  Too late. He was already over the other side. For a prince, he moved with a lightness and quickness thieves would envy. "Come," he said through the fence.

  She crossed her arms and shook her head.

  "Come!" he said more impatiently.

  "Do you know what's going to happen if we get caught?"

  Edward glanced around. "'Caught'? There are no guards about. And if we must escape we can take their horses."

  "No," she said. "There will be no taking of horses. The ones they have here are for jousting."

  "Jousting!" His eyes gleamed briefly, but then the eyebrows above them came together. "They are truly horses, not flatulent moving metal boxes?"

  "They're really horses. But you can't take them."

  "Oh, very well." He gestured her forward. "Now come. Or if you are too cowardly to face the Evil Witch, I shall go alone."

  There was something endearing about his attempt to manipulate her, but she couldn't let a fairy tale character wander around by himself at the theme park, especially when he thought he could just take whatever he wanted without asking.

  Prince my pert tushy. Grumbling, she pushed herself over the fence. More like dictator.

  Tudor Land was a mishmash of themes and rides: Ferris wheels, merry-go-rounds, archery lanes, jousting fields and more. And of course there was the Tudor House.

  It was the most impressive of all the attractions in the park. It towered over them like a fat haughty king -- Henry VIII, to be precise. The park's builder had apparently idolized Henry to a certain degree.

  Of course, he would. Melinda would've too if she'd been a man. Off with your head, and no alimony or child support to worry about!

  Edward looked up at the imposing mini-castle. "We shall go there first. It is something of a fortress, and I'll wager my aunt has taken it as her own."

  "It's not very pleasant in there. Kind of grotesque." Melinda made a face, remembering the last time she'd been inside. The displays had probably gotten more macabre over the years.

  But Edward was nodding. "Just the sort of place Auntie Beet would find homey."

  IV. In Which Our Hero and Heroine Face an Executioner

  Obviously, Melinda had never entered The Tudor House when the park was closed. Although breaking and entering made her nervous, it had one advantage: none of that creepy moaning or whispering was going on. Probably everything was turned off until Tudor Land opened at 10:00 a.m. Melinda looked at her watch. It said HERE. So Edward had been right about the Witch's taste. Or lack thereof.

  The Tudor House had the charm of an old English manor -- or so the theme park claimed. Melinda didn't know how authentic it was; history had never really interested her. But she knew enough about Henry VIII to find the place eerie. Dark burgundy velvet hangings and thick carpet stifled sound like a pillow over one's face. There was an executioner mannequin with a raised ax in one display. Edward pulled its black hood off and put it over his own head.

  Smart of him. It would cause more problems if Beauty saw his human form. But he should have asked her for something to cover his face with while they'd still been home. She wasn't comfortable filching things from the House displays.

  He ran a thumb over the blade on the ax. "Quite sharp," he said approvingly. "We should take it."

  "Oh, no." Melinda quickly interposed herself between him and the mannequin. "No. It's already bad enough that we're breaking in and you took his hood. We don't need to add stealing weapons to the list."

  Edward looked slightly puzzled. "But surely it's here for our use." He stretched an arm over her head, testing the air around the ax. "I sense no dark magic around it."

  "Don't you remember what happened to Hansel and Gretel when they ate the old woman's house without asking first?" She tried to push him away from the display, both hands on his unusually muscular torso, but he didn't seem to notice.

  "Of course. They burnt her to death."

  Melinda decided to try a different tack. She stood back and put her small fists on her hips. "Don't even
try to get funny with me, buster," she said in her sternest lecture tone. "They got caught and almost eaten. Besides, in my world, if the police catch you stealing stuff, it can get very ugly." She paused for a dramatic second. "They cut off your hands."

  Edward finally stepped back, crossing his arms. "That is a patent falsehood."

  "It is not." Well...maybe not one hundred percent. Melinda had heard that in some countries -- or maybe it was Europe a few centuries ago, she wasn't quite sure which -- thieves lost their hands. Of course that didn't happen in America, but Edward didn't need to know such minor technicalities. "You may consult a lawyer if you wish."

  He hesitated, but finally turned away without the ax. Another small victory. At this rate winning the war would take about two millennia. She hurried along before he could change his mind.

  The main foyer had portraits of Henry's six wives hanging high from dark wooden panels. The queens stared down at Melinda and Edward, their royal countenances as morose and pinched as if they were biting into unripe persimmons. Even Jane Seymour had tight lines around her thin lips. Melinda didn't blame her. She would've had some worry lines too, if she thought she might lose her head for not delivering a healthy baby boy.

  "You poor, poor woman," she muttered.

  "What's that?" Edward said.

  "Nothing." She shook her head. "I just don't like the portraits."

  "These are queens, are they not?"

  "Yes."

  He glanced around. "For queens, they look singularly joyless."

  "It was the king that they were married to."

  "Being married to a king is an odd reason to be unhappy."

  "Even if they thought they could lose their heads at any time?"

  "Why would they think that?"

  "Well… For example, look at Anne Boleyn." Melinda gestured at the second portrait, one featuring a dark-haired woman holding a rose. "Her husband the king officially accused her of high treason and witchcraft."

  Edward looked impressed. "An expedient way to deal with a witch. Would that we did the same in our world."

  "Yes, but she wasn't a witch."

  "Ah, I understand. Did the king not have a competent judge and prosecutor?"

  "The real reason Henry -- that was the king's name -- executed her was for not having a baby boy." Melinda made a face. "He was obsessed about having a son, and went through six wives trying."

  Now he was less impressed. "Bluebeard, but worse."

  That surprised her. She'd never likened Henry to the fairy tale serial wife killer, but the comparison seemed apt now that Edward mentioned it. "Something like that, yes."

  "What an unpleasant monarch. Why would anyone marry him?"

  "Henry had affairs with many of them before marriage. I think they all believed he was in love with them."

  He stared at her incredulously. "And this belief was supposed to keep them safe?"

  "I don't know." Melinda pursed her lips. "It just seems unfair to die for something they couldn't control. None of them had a real chance for a happily ever after. He wasn't going to make it easy for them."

  "You people." Edward snorted. "Happily ever after isn't supposed to be easy."

  Melinda frowned. "What do you mean?"

  "I read your fairy tale collection. What a bunch of rubbish."

  "Hey! You're a fairy tale character yourself. Don't tell me they're rubbish."

  "My dear Miss Unenlightenedfoot," he said. "The falling in love part is easy. The other person is new to you, some dastardly curse has usually just been broken, and obviously you consider each other wonderful. So it is simplicity itself to develop feelings for each other and get together. Do you not agree with that?"

  She nodded.

  "But the real stories do not end there, only the stories in your fairy tale books. And they lived happily ever after. What do you suppose that means?"

  "That they lived happily ever after, of course," she said. "What more can there be?"

  "And what is this happily ever after? What is a happily ever after truly like?"

  Melinda frowned, feeling confused. She'd never really thought about what happened to her favorite fairy tale characters after their stories ended. "Maybe...they're always happy no matter what? They stay upbeat? They lead charmed lives?"

  "You mean they never have to worry or be sad."

  "I guess." She shrugged. "I don't know. Why don't you ask them yourself? Aren't they your friends?"

  "They are my friends and thus I know. Happily ever after does not mean they don't experience exasperation with each other, or are somehow exempt from life's hardships and misery. Living happily ever after is hard work, but you do it because you want to stay in love with the other person. Because your life without this one other, very special person would be something not full, but only half-alive."

  Melinda felt like she'd been hypnotized as she gazed into Edward's eyes. What he'd just said was the most romantic thing she'd ever heard. To work to stay in love forever... She sighed. Edward was right. She'd always wanted a happy ending, but she had never really sat down and figured out what it meant to her. She didn't even know what kind of man her Prince Charming was. It was as if she'd lived her life in some vague expectation, waiting for something good -- never mind what that something good was -- to happen to her. Why was it that Edward was fated to be with Beauty and not her? And his twin was already with Cinderella. There had to be some gross cosmic conspiracy against her or something.

  Something moved in her peripheral vision, and her heart skipped a beat. A security guard? She turned her head, then jumped, shrieking.

  The executioner mannequin, hoodless and predatory, stepped forward, ax firmly in its hands. A wide nose sat flat above a lantern jaw, and the pale light from the room's dusty windows gave its face a waxy complexion like a bad makeup job in a low-budget horror movie. It glared at Melinda and Edward with a pair of bloodshot eyes. "You stole my 'ood."

  Edward drew himself up. "A prince does not 'steal' anything. He appropriates."

  "Which is exactly stealing!"

  "I have need of it," Edward said, almost carelessly, but the fine tension in his shoulders and the wide ready stance betrayed him.

  "You 'ave need of it?" The executioner was working himself into a fine rage. "So you just take it? Young scoundrels! No manners or moral fiber or, or even a shred of decency. None!"

  Edward shrugged, and Melinda's palms grew clammy with sweat. This was no time for fairy-tale heroics; he'd said that ax was sharp. "We didn't mean anything?" she tried. "We're very sorry?"

  The executioner seemed not to hear her. "Why, when I was your age, I prayed every night for my 'ternal soul, so I did. So's I might overcome temptation and remain pure in body and spirit."

  "If you are that concerned with your purity, perhaps a resignation from your post would be in order," Edward said in his haughtiest and most princely voice. "Beheading women for failure to bear a boy for their husbands is beneath a true gentleman's code of honor. You should be ashamed of yourself."

  Melinda inwardly agreed with Edward, but really, must he choose now to talk about it with an angry ax mannequin?

  The executioner let out a scream of frustration. "You're worse than a bleedin' Spaniard!" He raised his weapon. "I'll not stand to be insulted by thieves!"

  The ax cut through the air. Edward jumped on Melinda, knocking her over. The two of them went tumbling across the carpet, and she heard the executioner's blade whispering just before it slammed into the floor an inch from her head. Edward's big body crushed her, and adrenaline and shock made her shake.

  "Do these dolls often come alive?" he said.

  "No!" she wheezed.

  "It must be the Evil Witch."

  "You shouldn't have taken his hood! Then he wouldn't be so mad!" She could hear the executioner grunting as he worked to free his ax from the floor.

  "Foolish woman. You should've let me take his ax when I had the chance."

  The executioner finally wrenched the ax
free. He glanced at Anne Boleyn's portrait. "'Tis time to behead Queen Anne!" he wailed and thumped the wall with a meaty fist. He raised his weapon and pointed at Edward. "Give me my 'ood back, thief! Or so 'elp me I'll cut off your bloody 'ands!"

  Edward had rolled to a ready crouch. "So you actually do cut off people's hands," he said incredulously. "How barbaric. No wonder you didn't understand anything about our court system."

  She was forming a tart reply when suddenly inspiration struck. She'd watched a movie about Anne Boleyn. Hollywood wasn't famous for its historical accuracy, but it was worth a try. "Hey, Mr. Executioner, you aren't supposed to kill her with an ax. Remember?" she called out.

  The mannequin stopped his ranting and turned toward her. His expression changed from angry to somewhat distressed. "Well...it's a special circumstance, y'see. Queen Anne, I mean." His expression started to change back. "But I can't do my job until I have my 'ood back, so it's a moot point until this thief 'ere--"

  "But maybe you should get the sword first, and then the hood," she said. "I mean it's really important that you have everything ready to go, isn't it? Or else His Majesty might be displeased."

  "I s'pose you're right. I was told to sever 'er neck with a clean blow." He gave her a significant look. "Not many executioners can boast such skills, you know. There's a reason 'Is 'Ighness favors me."

  Ugh. She felt her coffee start to come up, but whatever kept him talking.

  "A good broadsword," he mused. "I 'ope they sharpen it up right..."

  "Why don't you check? It'll be such a shame if you can't cut her head off with style."

  The executioner nodded, his eyes flicking toward a glass case on the opposite side of the room.

  Melinda followed the mannequin's gaze, but Edward was already in motion. He jumped over to the display case, shattering the glass with his elbow and pulling the blade from its scabbard. "We are equally matched now."

  "'Ere now! Stealing my sword as well?! Return it forthwith! I'm to execute Queen Anne, else 'Is Majesty can't marry Lady Jane and beget an 'eir to the Crown!"

  Edward grinned ferociously, and for a moment Melinda saw the Beast in him again. "Come and take it from me."