The Proud Princess and the Mage with a Smile like a Poisonous Bloom

Continuing the fairy tale which I wrote in Czech and am translating into English for fun. What’s happened so far is SO CLICHE! All the cliches, y’all. A dastardly masked stranger ruins a spoiled, proud princess’s ball with a magic ring and a contract that claims her father gave her to him in marriage to save his kingdom. Oh, dear, what will she do with such a cliched problem?

If you want to start from the beginning, all the previous parts are here: The Proud Princess and the Masked Mage. Otherwise lol–>

IN THE PREVIOUS INSTALLMENT:

Princess Damarishka blinked. He had spied on her while disguised as someone else?

For a dozen panicked moments, her mind leaped from kitchen wench to maid to noblewoman to suitors—everyone she had come into contact with on a daily basis and who could have secretly been him.

His eyelids idly lowered. “Are you now rethinking the words you speak daily? Would things you have said harden a heart, soften a heart, win a heart—or perhaps incite someone to marry you just to teach you a lesson?”

The continuation:

Damarishka shot him an aggravated glower. “That would be an idiotish reason to marry someone—to teach them a lesson.”

“Would it? If one were to wreak a certain pleasure from the marriage…” The look he slewed over her made no secret of what kind of pleasure he referred to.

Boor! Churl!

Exasperated, she refused to play his guessing game. It didn’t matter which guise he’d inserted himself into in her life. She was proud and empty, not cruel. She may have exposed her maids to excessive views of her nostrils while sticking her nose into the air, but she had never, not once, slapped a maid or even shrieked at one, and the gifts she had given had been intended to help, not harm.

But the boorish mage could think what he wished.

And he was apparently thinking plenty, because he certainly wasn’t speaking, simply watching her.

How could he be so unnerving at that?

Fidgeting on the impossibly soft upholstery, she at last gave up and broke the silence again with a lovely and defiant (and potentially lame): “I suppose you should tell me your name.”

“Ah. Finally, my bride admits curiosity about me.”

“I admit nothing!”

“I’m afraid your eyes betray more than your lips. Although…” His smile unfurled like a poisonous bloom while he unfurled his penetrating gaze down to her mouth. “I’m willing to wager that your lips will betray you, too, soon enough.”

LOL, y’all, I am literally cackling aloud at this story. For the next part, click here.

And pics! In case you missed the earlier post, I bought a hat lol because the Anxiety hath spoken and I now fear the sun but go out anyway in defiance. (Yeah, I am totally mocking myself)

Thrice the Shadow. [nope, no idea what that means still]

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