I would sit on the edge of the shore, letting ocean water lick my toes, and I’d imagine a hunch in his shoulders, the way they must shake when he cries. I’d convince myself that he was awake too, staring out at his kingdom, wishing he could undo all his mistakes, knowing that he couldn’t. I want to see the dark circles under his eyes and his slow shuffle as he moves from one room to the next, regretting everything he’s ever done.
I wonder if he’ll find his way onto his knees, to beg me to help his daughters break the spell.
Abbott will like to see that. I will too.
The last mile of my run is the hardest. The kingdom of AndNot, where I was banished to five years ago, is supple. Warm and muggy with oversize flowers growing out of everything. They grew inside the small cottage my mother had brought me to. There were no floors in the spare space, just dirt, with orange and blue flowers sprouting like a blooming carpet beneath my feet.
It’s not like that here. It’s hard to run in Ever. The air is dry and cool, there’s a breeze that stings my arms, and my heart is racing with excitement. My skirts tangle up in my legs, the one heavy layer from the Spell of Without slowing me down the most. When I was a child, I said I’d never cast such a heavy spell. I didn’t want to have to carry it with me. But it was worth it. It will all be worth it.
Five years is a little like forever, but I still know the paths that take me from the place I began to the place I want to be. A patch of shore that is shaded and a little hidden, tucked around a corner, not where all of Ever gathers daily to watch their royals across the water.
By the time I make it there, to the edge of the moat, where I have a perfect view of the king’s tower, I’m breathless from the run and from the thrill and from the anticipation of finally seeing what I’ve been dreaming of: a broken king.
The castle looks the same. The queen in her box does too.
Yes, five years is a little like forever, and it’s a long, long time to be alone with your thoughts. But I worked hard not to think of the queen. Seeing her here, now, stops me and maybe even stops my heart for one half beat before it resumes thumping again.
Another long look and I see two of the princesses next to their mother and an attendant watching them from a different part of the yard. The princesses are in gowns. I try to see their faces, but they are turned away from me, looking only at the queen.
It doesn’t take much waiting for him to appear. He has always loved watching his kingdom, standing in the fresh air and reminding them he is there. His white hands grip the balcony wall, and I start to smile. His head is lowered. There’s the hunch. I think I maybe even see a tremble.
I surge with pride. I did it. I fixed the kingdom of Ever. I punished the king. I will be carrying the weight of my spell forever, a heavy burlap skirt, but it will feel light as air now.
Except.
His shoulders unhunch. His hands ungrip. What I thought was a tremble was a laugh.
The king is smiling. He is waving.
And then he is speaking.
“Good people of Ever! Thank you for gathering to wish our Princess Eden a happy Thirteenth Birthday. Our youngest child, we are so proud to celebrate her today.”
There is a cheer from the subjects of Ever. They aren’t far from the small part of the moat I’ve claimed as my own. They are in their best clothing, which isn’t very nice at all. And they smile at the king.
My heart twists, and I tell it to stop, that it’s fine, that everything’s fine.
“We hope you will celebrate with us, across the moat, and as a special treat I’ve sent champagne for you to toast with. We are in this together. One kingdom. One Ever.”
An attendant appears next to the king with a flute of champagne. I watch her body for signs of fear, and it’s unmistakable. She is the one with the hunch, the tremble, the worry. She bows her head. She doesn’t look up.
I wrap my arms around myself, holding myself together as hard as I can.
A team of horsemen travel the length of the moat, handing out bottles of champagne to whoever reaches up to take one. The sounds of corks popping and fizz pouring fill the air.
The king raises his glass. “A toast!” he says. His smile widens.
“No,” I say to myself. It’s a whisper. I have been whispering words to myself for five years. I have been quiet in my waiting. Patient. There’s no magic in AndNot, no other people around, no visitors. I have only had one companion: my hatred for the king.
“To the Spellbound princesses of Ever!” the king says.
“To the Spellbound!” the crowd bellows back.
“No,” my voice says, louder than a whisper, so loud that people yards away turn and look at me.
I run.
* * *
I studied the royal family for five long years, preparing for the perfect way to have them break the spell. I know what fruits Alice is allergic to and how many freckles Eden has. I know their father is from Farr. And I know, like everyone knows, the story of the taken princess eighty years ago. I tell the story in my head now, to distract myself from the other thoughts trying to push their way in. The princess was stolen, the kingdoms fought over who took her, the witches tried to stop the fighting, and ten of us vanished in the process. No one ever learned who took the princess, but our magic eventually ushered in peace, and we were given the Home on the Hill as thanks for our work. We promised to keep the kingdom at rest; we gave them Enchanted Candles to help the princess find her way home; they promised to leave us to ourselves up on the Hill, to protect us from other kingdoms; and mostly everyone kept their promises.
Until five years ago, when I learned what the king had done.
They had told us the other kingdoms were who we needed to fear.
They hadn’t told us to fear our own kingdom, our own king.
He has to pay, I think for the thousandth or millionth time. I look back again, hoping to see some hidden pain on the king’s face. There’s only a grin. No, I think. This is all wrong.
And: I was all wrong.
Before I cast the Spell of Without, I could run easily, light silks and sheers flapping against my legs. Now the burlap skirt leaves me breathless.
My grandmother is even less able to move. She is so weighed down by her impressive collection of skirts, each layer the result of a spell cast. Velvet, wool, and dozens of layers of cotton and linen encircle her waist and pin her to her chair in the living room.
A kind of throne, if witches were to have thrones.
Sometimes it looks more like a prison.
My skirt today reminds me of her, reminds me of what I’m afraid of becoming. The weight of a spell is only worth it if the spell works. I didn’t even notice the heaviness of the burlap until right now, this very instant, seeing my spell fail.
When I finally reach the door of my home, I stop outside it. They should be expecting me, but there’s no fanfare, no cousins peering out the window looking for me. Even my own mother isn’t at the door, doesn’t feel me nearing her, isn’t eagerly sitting on the lawn, open armed and grinning at being reunited with me after all these years.
Eighty years of the people of Ever waiting by enchanted candlelight for a princess who will never return, and no one has been waiting for me.
It hits me hard, the pain of it, the loneliness. But there’s nothing else to do, so I open the door and let myself in.
“Hello?” I call to the empty foyer, the familiar wooden floors and beams and heavy curtains and strange mix of magical smells. “I’m here.”