Excerpt: Happily Never After

Chapter 6: The Tea Kettle

Sara cracked her eyes open the next morning to be greeted by a shaft of sunlight on her pillow, let in by a chink in the shutters on the small window in her and Lucite's room. A matching pain lanced through her head, and she groaned, squeezed her eyes shut, and rolled over.

"Lucite, can you stuff something in that hole?"

There was no answer. Sara opened one eye and saw Lucite's empty, neatly made bed. She groaned again and pulled the covers over her head.

The pain in her head subsided to an intense throbbing. She wouldn't be getting back to sleep anytime soon.

Frustrated, Sara threw back the blanket. Oddly, she was fully dressed and lying on top of the bedclothes, with a blanket thrown over her. She frowned, trying to remember how she got into bed the night before, but her memory was rather unhelpful in that department. She remembered eating stew and drinking mead with Lucite, getting a bit dizzy, and Prince Syd yelling at her. But not going to bed -- or what exactly he said, for that matter, just that it made her want to cry.

She wandered out into the common room. Lucite was bustling around the hearth. She turned around with a stack of dirty dishes in her hands.

"You're up early," Sara said.

Lucite laughed. "Early! You've slept half the morning away, Lady Sarabella. The sun is already high in the sky."

"Oh. I have?" Sara responded faintly, looking around. Her eyes were drawn to a large, dark stain on the floorboards in front of the hearth, which stirred a vague memory of overturning her tankard.

"I'm sorry, I guess I left you to clean up my mess for me."

"Don't worry, it looks worse than it really was," Lucite reassured her. "There really wasn't much left in your mug at that point."

Sara cringed. "And you? Do you feel as bad as I do today?"

"Not one bit as bad," Lucite laughed. "I didn't drink nearly as much nor as fast as you did, and furthermore, you did half your drinking on a stomach that had been empty for probably twelve hours. No, you were the drunk one last night -- and therefore you are the hung over one this morning."

Memories of the night before were still trickling in, triggered by Lucite's description of the evening. "Oh," Sara groaned, "Prince Syd was really upset, wasn't he? What did I say that he overheard? And what did he say to me?"

Lucite's smile left her face. "Perhaps it is better if you don't remember that part," she said quietly.

As if summoned by the conversation, Prince Syd walked in the front door, whistling. His clothes were dirty and he smelled strongly of horse. He stopped whistling abruptly when he saw Sara and Lucite standing near the hearth.

Lucite got that scared-rabbit look she got whenever Sara did something to stir up trouble. "I'll just be outside… Have to wash…" She hurried away, cradling her stack of dirty dishes like they were a lifeline.

Prince Syd glared at Sara for a moment before walking over to the table and sitting down. "How are you feeling?" he asked sarcastically.

"Fine." Sara eyed him suspiciously.

Syd snorted. "Well, then, why don't you make yourself useful? I would like some tea."

Sara felt her temper rise. "I don't have to do a thing for you! We aren't married, you know. Just because some witch said some spell doesn't mean anything."

"Our fathers seem to think it does, otherwise they wouldn't have banished us to this little cottage out in the middle of nowhere," Prince Syd remarked.

"I don't give a rat's ass what our fathers think!" Sara yelled. "I am sick and tired of that man who calls himself my father. I've never once seen him treat my mother with the respect and appreciation she deserves for all she does for him. And lately it's like I'm just some extension of her, here to do his bidding!"

"You are here to do his bidding. You are his daughter!" Syd growled.

"Well, that's not the way I see it!" Sara stamped her foot, frustrated with the tears that blinded her.

"And he has given you to me to do my bidding," Prince Syd said, more calmly. "I would like some tea, and you are going to get it for me!"

"Like hell I am!"

Prince Syd stood up so fast the bench slid abruptly back, grinding roughly across the floorboards. "I order you to make me some tea!" he roared.

Sara opened her mouth to tell him what he could do with his orders -- and his damn tea, for that matter -- but the words failed her before they even got to her lips. To her surprise, she found her feet were already in motion, trudging over to the hearth.

She wanted to stop walking. Really, she did. But it was almost as though her feet now belonged to someone else. She had no control over them whatsoever.

Horrified, she looked to Prince Syd for help. At first he still looked angry, but then his jaw went slack and his face became curiously blank.

As if she were a puppet and her limbs were manipulated by unseen strings, Sara walked over to the heart, poured water into the tea kettle, and set it over the fire to boil. Her feet waited patiently by the hearth until the water boiled, despite how hard she willed them to move. Her hands finished making the tea, and her feet took her to the table, where she poured the fragrant drink into a mug for Prince Syd.

He stared at her openmouthed. At last he seemed to find his voice. "Thank you," he said uncertainly.

Sara felt something go out of her body, something that left her limbs curiously limp in its absence. It took a moment for her to realize she had control of them again. When it dawned on her, she let loose a hoarse scream of rage, grabbed the mug, and dumped the hot tea down the front of Prince Syd's clothes. With a yell of pain, he jumped back. The bench struck the back of his legs, and he fell backward over it, writhing in his effort to get his hot, wet clothes off of his skin.

Sara stood there watching him, breathing hard, eyes narrowed. She had no idea what had just happened to her, but she knew he had caused it. Her eyes flew around the room, looking for something with which to test her theory.

Her gaze lighted on the fire. "I made you tea," she said coldly. "Now drink what's left."

Prince Syd got to his feet, panting, holding his shirt away from his body as it cooled. "Go to hell!" he swore.

Sara's brain raced. What was it he had said to make it work? Oh, yes. "I order you to drink tea," she said triumphantly.

Syd opened his mouth, no doubt with another refusal, and then she had the vindictive pleasure of seeing a rather familiar rainbow of emotions cross his face: bewilderment, helplessness, panic. He walked over to the table -- stiffly, though whether because he was resisting it, or simply because his limbs were moved by some unseen force of magic -- sat down, and poured more tea into his mug. Then he lifted it to his lips and drank.

And kept drinking.

Still drinking.

Again, Sara searched wildly for the right thing to say. And remembered. "Thank you."

Syd's body abruptly relaxed, as if something that was holding him rigidly straight was suddenly released. He dropped the mug as if it were red hot, and turned to stare at Sara. "What the hell was that?" he whispered, his eyes wide with fear.

But Sara was already figuring it out. "It's what the witch did to us," she said, speaking as quickly as her brain found the answers. "Your father said afterward that we had been joined. That it was magical and unbreakable, and that we'd be staying here together until they decided we could come back.

"This is what they wanted to happen," Sara said wonderingly, as the truth dawned. "They wanted us to be bound to do one another's bidding. They are punishing us!"

The realization was dawning in Prince Syd's face as well.

Sara began to talk with more excitement and animation as she put it all together. "Look, that night when we first were… when the spell was first cast over us, there was something really odd about my hearing. It was like you were standing right beside me, always speaking directly in my ear, and everyone else was a long ways away, calling to me over that entire distance."

"It was the same for me," Prince Syd grudgingly. "Although I didn't go into the same trance-like state you did, your voice seemed much… closer than all of the others."

"It must be part of the magic," Sara said excitedly. "We are so attuned to one another's voices because the magic has given us power over one another. I can command you to do something, and you have to do it! You can't fight the magic, it's too strong."

Prince Syd looked astonished, but as though he knew there was truth in her words. His eyes lighted on the tea kettle. "Go put the tea kettle back over the fire," he said experimentally.

"No," Sara said impatiently, "you have to say, 'I order you to' and then whatever it is you want." Then it occurred to her what was about to happen. "No, wait -- I mean, I o--"

"I order you to put the tea kettle back over the fire," Prince Syd said quickly, cutting her off.

"Arrrghhhhh!" The sound of frustration exploded out of Sara, even as her body took up the call. All without her permission, her hands took hold of the tea kettle, her feet took her back to the hearth, and her hands hung the tea kettle over the fire.

And her body stood there, poised, waiting for further instructions.

"You have to say, 'Thank you'!" Sara yelled.

"Thank you," came the quick, somewhat apologetic response.

The instant she felt that foreign force leave her body, Sara whirled, as if throwing something across the room at Prince Syd. "I order you to not say anything!" she said, quickly and loudly, to prevent him from cutting her off.

Syd's stared at her, astonished. His mouth flapped open and closed like a fish's, but no sound came out.

Sara walked to the end of the table and braced her palms on its surface, facing him across it. "Look, we need to agree to have a truce," she said. "We have an incredible power over one another, one that can be used to a lot of bad purposes. We can't be misusing this."

Prince Syd shut his mouth tight and stared at her meaningfully.

"Oh, all right," she sighed. "Thank you. There. Now do we agree?"

"You want me to agree to a truce with you and that's how you ask me -- you order me to be silent? What makes you think I'm going to want to agree to a truce now?"

"Because it's in your best interests, as well as mine," Sara responded calmly. "Really, think about it. All of the bad things I can do to you, you can to right back to me. We can make one another completely miserable for the rest of our lives, depending on how long our fathers decide to leave us out here. Or we can just agree to a truce, and live in comparative peace with one another. Your choice." She crossed her arms over her chest and waited.

Prince Syd glared at her. Sara just looked back at him. Slowly, the angry look melted off his face, to be placed with a look of defeat.

"Oh, all right. We'll try it your way," he grudgingly agreed.

Sara smiled, bounced forward, and pecked him on the cheek. "Thank you. And now, I'm going to explore our new prison."

Sara skipped a little as she left the house, so pleased was she about the new truce. She got outside the door, and stopped up short.

She recognized nothing about where she was, nothing at all. She had been so sure on the journey here that they had gone in circles and doubled back several times, making their little cottage closer to her father's keep than he and the king wanted them to know. However, nothing about this place was familiar to her.

Three of the guards stood nearby. One leaned up against the tree with a casual smile on his face as he watched her, still apparently listening to his comrades' conversation. She recognized him as Max, the leader of the guards. She drew a deep breath and sauntered up to him, feigning a courage and lightheartedness she did not feel.

"So, Max, if you are not too busy cavorting with your friends here, I would like a tour of my new stomping grounds," she said flirtatiously.

The other two guards stopped talking and looked to Max, their eyebrows raised, waiting to see how he would react. But Max, without looking at either of them, pushed off the tree and walked directly to her. "Of course, my lady," he said offering his arm. Pretending she wasn't dressed in the same wrinkled, mud-splattered dress she'd worn yesterday, that her hair wasn't mussed and that she didn't still have the lingering smell of mead hovering about her like a cloud, Sara smiled and graciously accepted his arm, tucking her slender hand into the crook of his elbow.

She could feel the eyes of the other guards boring holes into the back of her head. Capriciously, she threw a smile over her shoulder at them, and then winked for good measure.

If things went her way, their leader would be coming back alone.