Happily Ever Awkward (The H.E.A. Files, #1)(5)
Unfortunately for all concerned, the king blurted out the first thing that popped into his head. “By the gods, what a hideous clutch of hags!”
And thus, King Hofnar reduced a week’s worth of intensive self-help counseling to naught. Of course, Azraethel the Motivational Witch had no choice; etiquette demanded she hex him.
Pointing a crooked finger straight at the king’s face, she said, “Well, my pretty, we have ways of dealing with your negative feedback. Sisters, remember Step Ten?”
The assembled witches chanted back in unison, “Step Ten! Retaliate!”
“But remember, sisters, think ‘peasant-friendly’.” To illustrate her point, Azraethel thought it best to turn King Hofnar into an object lesson rather than turning him into a toad. “From this day forth, pig-king, may your offspring be cursed with that most crippling of all social diseases — insecurity!”
King Hofnar snorted. “Insecurity? Thou callest that a curse—”
She jabbed her wand at him and the proud king crumpled when the magic spell struck his royal, barbaric jewels.
Now that, King Hofnar had to admit, felt like a curse.
In the fullness of time, and with the help of certain herbs, King Hofnar managed to sire an heir, much to the queen’s displeasure. Following even greater displeasure, she bore him a son. The queen vowed never again and the king sadly returned to his deforestation therapy.
They named their newborn son Paul.
But the witch’s curse continued to weigh heavily upon their minds. The king and queen did whatever they could to circumvent its effects, even going so far as to hire a freelance Flitterling.
In other places and other times, a Flitterling might be referred to as a fairy, but allow me to assure you, fairies are not real. Flitterlings, on the other hand, are three feet tall, packed with magic, and very much real. Fairies are cheap dolls children buy from trinket booths at wandering fairs — hence the name “fairies”. Flitterlings, on the other hand, are playful creatures of purest magic that bestow the best blessings at christening parties, provided you pay enough. Unlike fairy dolls, Flitterlings do not come cheap.
Unfortunately, the only Flitterling the king and queen could afford was not very passionate about her work. When she arrived at the ceremony, face splashed with garish makeup and hefty beyond the dainty lift of her wings, she cast a single, disinterested glance over the cradle of the infant Prince Paul, tapped some ash from her cigar as if she were sprinkling magic dust from a wand, and said, “May the prince… uh… grow up to be a very nice boy.”
King Hofnar’s head very nearly exploded. “Nice? Nice?! What manner of blessing be nice!”
“Whaddaya want from me?” the Flitterling said. “Ya hire a discount Flitterling, ya get discount magic. Which way’s the buffet?”
True to the witch’s words, the curse of insecurity paralyzed young Prince Paul with fear. As the years passed, he fled every confrontation, certain he would fail whatever he set his hand to do, certain no princess would ever love him.
And so, King Hofnar watched his son grow up and trained him as best he could, unaware that the prince’s blossoming inferiority complex would kill the boy eighteen years later.
18 Years Later
3
BEYOND THE TROLL BOOTH
The island of Lilypine bristled with thick stands of tall, slender evergreen trees. Although their wood was worthless for anything other than smashing, the Lilypine trees were nonetheless quite breathtaking.
A crescent of beach hugged the trees, smooth white sand sloping down to a gentle sea where waves lapped at the base of a crumbling stone bridge. Strange symbols and pictures had been carved into the bridge, but they were so old and worn that no one could read them anymore. It was just as well, since most people don’t enjoy reading horrible prophecies about how their world would be ending in the not-so-distant future.
But again, that has nothing to do with this story, so try not to worry about it.
Because of Lilypine’s remote location and because so few people ever traveled there, the Empire did little to maintain the ancient bridge. As a result, several sections had begun to collapse. If one sat on the beach for any length of time, one would certainly hear a KA-PLASH as yet another piece of the bridge gave up hope and jumped from itself into the sea. For now, though, most of the bridge remained both hopeful and intact enough to allow relatively safe travel.
The term “relatively safe”, however, did not extend to the fight about to break out.
Three individuals faced off on the bridge near a small shack that operated a wooden gate. The gate was currently lowered and prevented further passage along the bridge. A sign above the structure read “TROLL BOOTH”. Below the sign, a toothy, warty Troll filled the tiny booth to capacity, wearing it like a shirt a few sizes too small. The Troll’s massive arms stuck out from the booth’s side windows, and the great lump of its head projected through the window in front.
“One hundred gold gildings,” the Troll growled.
Trolls have always had what experts call “a thing” for bridges.
They tended to lurk beneath them, leaping out to devour, rob, or taunt whoever happened to be passing overhead. The abundance of bridges that comprised the Empire of Bridges made it the perfect breeding ground for these brutish pests.