Imelda’s father, delighted that at least one of his daughters would marry a prince (one of Imelda’s sisters was reportedly conversing with that dratted magpie, who may or may not even be a human, for goodness’ sake), agreed to give the young couple a corner of the kingdom known as Love’s Keep. It is an unoriginal yet instructive name because to protect it and for the land to grow and all the denizens within to be hale and happy, the king and queen must always be in love.
Which is perhaps why no one ever agreed to live there.
Far too much pressure.
But Imelda and Ambrose were delighted.
They wed the day after Imelda’s sister’s wedding breakfast (her father balked at the idea of a whole new set of expenses, and the florals were only a tad droopy) and spent a day and a night as husband and wife. But the afternoon of her own wedding brunch, Imelda fell ill after tasting the famous heirloom tomatoes from Ambrose’s kingdom. The dragon had surely done its best to keep all the tainted fruit out of the crop, but tomatoes are sneaky, and this one found its way to Imelda’s salad plate.
The young princess was on the brink of death. Everyone was deeply sad and shocked, especially Imelda’s youngest sister, who thought it was a touch rude that someone’s illness was taking attention away fromherwedding.
But fear not, for there was a witch present. The witch, by the way, really did not look her age and had fabulous taste in handbags. She could work a powerful spell to revive the princess, but it required a price.
“I’ll do anything!” Prince Ambrose declared.
Privately, the witch thought about how tedious altruism is, but publicly, she informed the prince of the cost:
“To revive her, you must give up your love for one another.”
I cannot tell you what the prince’s reaction was to such a decision.
Did he smile? Did he look at his shoes? Did he frown?
Who knows.
All that matters is that he agreed.
***
Once upon a time, there was a king and queen in a land called Love’s Keep who once loved one another, but alas, no more. Without love, they would be ousted from their kingdom at the end of a year and a day.
“What a witch takes, a witch does not give back!” their friends and family warned.
They resigned themselves to this loveless fate, knowing that at the end of it all, King Ambrose would be exiled (because that was the fashionable thing to do for ousted kings) and Queen Imelda would return to her father’s kingdom and watch after her sister’s brood of baby birds. (The magpie had lied after all.)
A year and a day passed.
This is where their story starts.
Chapter 2
IMELDA
“Carefulwith those! If memory serves, that particular pair of shoes once belonged to a cannibal witch. They’ve got a taste for flesh. Trust me. I slipped one of them on, and the thing nearly took off my heel.”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
Imelda waved away the title. “I’m not sure you can even call me that anymore.”
The servant paled. “I, um, my deepest apologies—”
“Don’t worry,” Imelda said gently. “I won’t tell.”
The servant blanched, then held out the box of shoes a little farther away from his person before trotting to the row of three carriages. Two of the carriages were solely for the transportation of Imelda’s shoes. The other carriage was for her. As for her gowns and whatnot, they’d never really felt like they belonged to Imelda.
Each day, the magical armoire in the castle of Love’s Keep grew a ball gown or a day dress, depending on her mood. The last month had been depressingly funereal—black crepe, black satin, black linen. On one occasion, the armoire had even provided a black vulture hat that squawked “ALAS!” if you ruffled its feathers. She knew how the hat felt. Imelda had given up hope almost the day she’d arrived in Love’s Keep, but it was a little rude when even one’s closet recognized that her situation was hopeless.
Another servant appeared at her shoulder and coughed lightly. “Queen Imelda, I—”
