Carabosse and the Spindle Spell: A Retelling of Sleeping Beauty (A Villain's Ever After) by Sylvia Mercedes

Author:Sylvia Mercedes [Mercedes, Sylvia]
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3
Publisher: FireWyrm Books
Published: 2021-10-28T16:00:00+00:00

I wake with a start, memories flooding into my head—memories of fear, of terror, of flight and desperation, all confused and jumbled into such a nightmarish cacophony that I choke on a scream. But after the first few gasping moments, my mind settles; my breathing slows. I blink several times, and the world comes back into focus. Panic slowly recedes.

I’m lying on a bed. An enormous bed in an enormous room. Everything is oversized, from the cushions under my body to the huge fur pelt of some vast animal draped over my legs. Beyond the bed, piled every which way on the floor without any apparent order, are jewels—shimmering gems, necklaces, gold. A dragon’s horde. Accumulated over many generations, probably by many dragons.

So, this is what a dragon’s bedroom looks like.

I’m clutching something tight against my chest. When I look down, I see my spindle—still shimmering with all the inaccessible magic it’s accumulated over the years. Something about the sight of it gives me comfort, and my mouth turns up in a small smile.

Then I frown and lift one hand to touch my head. Where is my crown?

I spy it the next moment, down at the end of the huge bed. Even in this setting of elaborate, innumerable treasures, it is still breathtakingly beautiful. The delicate rose petals seem none the worse for wear after the buffeting winds of our flight, and the horns seem somehow suited to this setting. As if they’ve come home.

Gracious heavens, it’s unbearably hot in here! I push the heavy fur coverlet off my legs and sit up. Then, still uncomfortable, I strip off the outer layers of my clothing as well, down to my simpler undergown. Dessielle wouldn’t consider it modest, but it covers my body well enough and is much more comfortable in this atmosphere.

There’s a table set beside my bed—a small table, I note with some surprise, or at least small for this setting. Human-sized. On it I find a silver goblet of clear water, which I down in a few gulps. A gold and bejeweled plate holds a variety of fruits the like of which I’ve never seen before. One is green and white and studded with tiny black seeds, the skin too tough to eat, but the pulp sweet and soft. Another is yellow and a bit bristly with a hard core, but when I nibble the edges, I find it cooling and delicious.

Refreshed, if still a little shaky, my head throbbing dully from all the tears I cried earlier, I slide out of the bed, cross the room, and push the door open. Though it’s at least as tall as three grown men and seems to be carved from a solid block of stone, it’s not heavy and glides soundlessly on its hinges. I peer out into the passage beyond.

All is echoingly still. I feel as though my own breath races ahead, bouncing off the walls and great stone pillars. It takes me a moment to summon up enough courage to step out into that great space.

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