Once Upon a Dream Read online

  Table of Contents

  Once Upon a Dream

  Book Details

  True Chivalry

  If the Shoe Fits

  Deeds Great and Small

  Challenge of Quests

  The Shining Knight

  The Prince's Champion

  The King's Challenges

  The Knight of the Rose

  Three Questions

  The Witch in the Woods

  Ivan the Heartless

  Blood in the Water

  The Stable Boy

  Three Goats

  The Gardener

  The Good Son

  Play Me a Song

  100 Words

  About the Author

  Once Upon a Dream

  MEGAN DERR

  A compilation of many of the fairytales I've written over the years, gathered tidily in one place. This volume is compiled from free works on my website, stories written for various challenges and prompts, and other straggling tales.

  Some of these are my spins on familiar tales, like Cinderella and Ivan and the Wolf, others are simply based on well-known types of fairytales.

  Stories included in this volume:

  True Chivalry

  If the Shoe Fits

  Deeds Great & Small

  Challenge of Quests

  The Shining Knight

  The Prince's Champion

  The King's Challenges

  Knight of the Rose

  Three Questions

  The Witch in the Woods

  Ivan the Heartless

  Blood in the Water

  The Stable Boy

  Three Goats

  The Gardner

  The Good Son

  Play Me a Song

  100 Words

  Once Upon a Dream

  By Megan Derr

  Published by Less Than Three Press LLC

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission of the publisher, except for the purpose of reviews.

  Cover designed by Megan Derr

  This book is a work of fiction and as such all characters and situations are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual people, places, or events is coincidental.

  First Edition

  Copyright © 2016 by Megan Derr

  Printed in the United States of America

  True Chivalry

  Bayard held the teacup gingerly, afraid he would break the damn thing it was so delicate. The tea set, painted with bright flowers and trimmed in gold, was a shock of bright in the middle of a dull, muddy army camp. He looked again at the little girl sitting across from him at a table as incongruous as the tea set. The table was small, round, covered in expensive linen and decorated with a vase full of colorful roses. Where in the world had anyone found roses all the way out here?

  Princess Anna pouted at him. "You're not drinking."

  Ever obedient to the whims of royalty, ignoring the snickers of the other men clustered near the royal tent, Bayard sipped tea that tasted more like tea-flavored sugar water, and tepid at that. "You make an excellent pot of tea, Your Highness."

  She giggled and poured more, and how on earth did she not break it all? Her hands looked so tiny and clumsy holding the tea pot, but she never spilled a drop. After she set the teapot down she picked up a little plate filled with tiny, brightly colored cakes decorated with sugared rose petals.

  Where had she gotten all of it? He marveled that anyone had managed to provide such things when they were so far from anything resembling civilization. They could barely find enough food to feed the camp, let alone serve a miniature princess afternoon tea.

  He knew the answer, however, and it was the same reason he was shirking his duties to have afternoon tea dressed in full armor, enduring the good-natured sniggering of his men and the less pleasant comments of his superiors. He would do anything for Prince Ladislas—go to war for him, give up his personal pursuits, quietly pine, even die, though he really hoped it wouldn't come to that.

  Though he hadn't thought sitting down beneath a blazing sun to enjoy stale cakes and tepid tea would be one of those things, it could be far worse. They should put Princess Anna on the front line; that pout could topple kingdoms. Sipping his tea, he asked any question he could think of that would be appropriate to pose to a little girl. Going to battle was so much easier.

  But every time she smiled he wanted to keep the smile there, make it brighter. Why in the hell was she there, anyway?

  He looked up at the sound of familiar footsteps and jangling spurs, and his heart caught, increased in pace, as he stood to offer Prince Ladislas a hasty bow.

  "Sit," Ladislas said dismissively. "Anna, whatever are you doing kidnapping my knights for tea?"

  "He offered!" Anna protested, bringing out her mighty pout. "He said pretty girls should not drink tea alone, and pretty princesses should have a knight, and I said he should do both and he said he would be honored."

  Ladislas looked at her in surprise. His gaze shifted to Bayard, mouth curving in a soft smile. "Did you say all that, Captain?"

  "Yes," Bayard said, tensed for whatever ribbing he was going to take for his old fashioned notions of 'chivalry and whatnot'.

  Ladislas' smile only widened, and he sat down to join them as a foot soldier came rushing up with a chair. "You are never a disappointment, Captain, but always the best of surprises. Thousands of men in my camp, and only one stopped to comfort a lonely princess."

  Bayard ducked his head, flushing at the praise. "It is an honor to serve, Highness, and no man could be but honored to be invited to tea by such a lovely little princess."

  "Mm," Ladislas replied. "Hopefully she will be safely away tomorrow morning. If the road she was taking had not been overtaken by our enemies, she would be far away and safe elsewhere."

  "I hope she travels safely tomorrow," Bayard replied.

  Ladislas nodded, and thanked Anna as she poured him a cup of tea and held it out to him. He smiled and stroked her hair. "Thank you, little sister."

  Anna flushed and hid behind her hair, but mumbled, "Welcome, brother."

  Looking back at Bayard, Ladislas said, "I am certain you have duties, Captain, after we are finished with tea, but it would please me greatly if you would come by my tent tonight after dark. I think we should speak."

  Something in the way he said it, the look in his eyes, made it very hard for Bayard to breathe. He lifted his teacup and nodded. "It would be my pleasure, Highness."

  "And mine," Ladislas murmured quietly, and his smile then was hot and full of promise and only for Bayard, fading only as he turned back to resume chatting with his sister.

  If the Shoe Fits

  "You're going to what?" Sean demanded, pinching the bridge of his nose, pushing his spectacles up. "What have I told you about having cake for breakfast, Highness?"

  "Shove off," Caspian said cheerfully. "I had a bit of fruit tart. And you heard me—I'm going to try the shoe on every last bloody person in the kingdom if that is it what it takes to find the man I danced with at the ball last night. "You are going help me."

  Sean glared at him. "You're right, I am—by tying you to your bloody bed and leaving you there until you see sense! It was a ball, a silly tryst in a garden, and grossly inappropriate by the way for a prince to behave in such crude fashion!"

  Caspian rolled his eyes. "There is very little point in being a prince if I cannot occasionally get away with being an idiot."

  "Occasionally would be acceptable; every man alive deserves to occasionally be an idiot. But you are one constantly! You are not going foot hunting across the kingdom, I forbid it."

  "You're my advisor, not my damn father," Caspian snapped. "You do what I tell you."

&
nbsp; "I do what your father tells me," Sean replied coldly, "And I quote: 'Use any means necessary to rein in my reckless, impulsive, probably slightly insane son and keep him from driving everyone else crazy and murdering him in the street.' Those are my orders, Highness, and I will follow them."

  Caspian made a crude gesture, then stomped off to where his bath waited. "You needn't sound so happy about."

  "You needn't sound like a petulant child," Sean retorted.

  "Shove off," Caspian said again, and discarded his robe, then clambered into the bath, splashing soapy water all about.

  Sean sighed and went to go pour a cup of tea at the breakfast table and look over Caspian's schedule for the day. "You are far too busy today—and every day for the next three months—to go on a foot hunt."

  "Then cancel every last damn bit of it," Caspian replied, head bowed as he scrubbed soap vigorously into his mop of strawberry curls. "I do not give a damn about teas and luncheons and musicals or whatever else my father has me doing in his futile attempts to make me the spitting image of my saintly brothers. Wonder what he would say if he knew Angelic Andrew likes—"

  "Enough," Sean interrupted, really not needing the image of the crown prince that Caspian was about to put into his head. "You're not going on a foot hunt."

  "Yes, I am," Caspian said, and Sean bit back a groan of despair at the stubborn tone to his voice. There was no arguing with Caspian once he got that tone, though he would try anyway.

  At least, he consoled himself miserably, there was not a chance in hell Caspian would ever find the correct someone to fit the ornate buckled shoe with which he was obsessed. Caspian would tear the kingdom apart, but he would never find the foot that belonged to the shoe.

  Readjusting his spectacles, Sean set the schedule aside and sipped his tea, picking unenthusiastically at his breakfast as he tried not to watch Caspian bathe. "So when do you want to begin your Great Foot Hunt?" he asked sourly. "I hope you are aware your father will put an end to this foolishness the very moment he catches wind of it."

  "Knowing you, he will catch wind of it the very moment I let you out of this room," Caspian replied, and abruptly stood up, water sluicing from his body—very golden, very broad, very well-formed and entirely too appealing body—and going everywhere as he climbed from the tub and stalked to where his clothes were set out.

  Instead of the clothes, however, he picked up something else—

  The goddamn shoe. Sean was going to beat someone to death with that damn shoe before this was all over—probably himself, since it was entirely his own fault and that's what he got for thinking more like Caspian than like himself. Stifling a sigh, he scowled at Caspian and said, "Put on some clothes."

  Ignoring him, Caspian strode over to the table and held it out. "Let's start now."

  Sheer panic made Sean freeze for a moment. When he finally pulled himself together, he was rather pleased to manage a cold, flat, "No. You want to carry on with this nonsense, you go right ahead. I have little choice but to let you, in the end, no matter what your father bids me do. But I will not indulge your foolish behavior by being party to it. Find some other idiot."

  "Do you really want to drag this out indefinitely, Sean? Because I will," Caspian said quietly.

  The serious tone of voice, the solemn expression on his face, drew Sean up short. His heart started to beat rapidly in his chest, though he was able to keep his voice calm enough as he replied, "What are you going on about now?"

  "I kept waiting for you to say something," Caspian replied. "You didn't. Then you were gone this morning, and only showed up at your usual time like nothing had ever happened. I thought you were just playing a game last night, with the mask and pretending to be a stranger. Did you really think I would not know you?"

  Sean opened his mouth, then closed it again. He had thought Caspian would not recognize him—hard worked hard to ensure it. Annoyance got the better of him, and he asked, "You knew it was me the entire time?"

  "Of course I did," Caspian said. "I'd know you anywhere, Sean."

  "I—what?" Sean asked. "You—you don't even like me."

  Caspian scowled—and really, would it kill him to put on some clothes while they had this discussion? "That's not true. Who else would argue with you constantly? You cannot stand people who mindlessly obey. You have no patience for people who act scared of you. I argue. I defy you. I keep you challenged and interested. You're never bored around me, and I know this is the first time you've stayed so long in a post—and I've never kept an assistant as long as I've kept you. I've driven off every person who has tried to coax you away from me. You're mine!"

  Sean opened and closed his mouth again.

  "I didn't think you actually liked me, though, you know," Caspian continued more somberly. "Not until last night. Then you pretended it hadn't happened, and I couldn't stand that. So tell me now, Sean—did you really mean for it to be just a tryst?"

  He could keep lying, make Caspian so angry he finally gave up. But he didn't like Caspian thinking Sean was that callous, because he wasn't, whatever the rumors said. "I thought that was all it could be, Highness," he admitted.

  "You're a bloody idiot," Caspian said, and threw the shoe at him. "So try it on?"

  Sean rolled his eyes and threw the shoe aside, fighting a smile, unable to believe it. "Do you really want me to put that shoe on, Highness? Or would you prefer I take the other one off?" He smirked as his meaning sank in and Caspian's thoughts on the matter became quite clear, given he could not be bothered to dress.

  "Off," Caspian said. "All of it. Now. I want you in sunlight, not moonlight." Then, in typical Caspian fashion, he bent and yanked Sean to his feet to take care of the matter himself. "I can't believe you were actually going to let me wander around the bloody kingdom making people try on shoes. I'm not that stupid, Sean."

  "Oh, really, because I can recall—" As expected, Caspian cut him off with a kiss, and Sean was more than happy to set aside discussion of Caspian's adventures in poor judgment in favor of keeping him too busy to come up with new schemes.

  It might not be exactly what the king meant, but Sean sensed he would not mind.

  Deeds greats and small

  Judoc walked aimlessly through the castle, not certain who to approach, feeling all over again like the farmer's son who had nothing to his name and had fought every step of the way to prove he could stand with the other knights. All around him, his fellow trainees were gathered around greater knights and aloof lords, accepting their challenges to pass the last of their tests in order to earn their spurs.

  The final test for all knights-hopeful was to approach a lord or knight in need and meet three Challenges of Chivalry—to prove that a knight was not simply his horse and his sword, was not simply a soldier, but a good and honorable man beyond the battlefield. A knight at war was useful; a knight at peace was invaluable.

  He knew from gossip amongst them that the lords and knights always handed out the same challenges, to help the students on their way. The professors had assured him all lords and knights would participate, and play fairly, and be good to all students–

  But Judoc still was reluctant as he looked at each and every one of them. None of them drew him, none appealed. He was not certain why or what he was looking for—or why he was looking for anything other than a quick and easy test to pass like the others. But he would not settle until he found the elusive something he sought.

  Eventually, he grew frustrated and tired of wandering, and settled in a chair by the great fire in the public hall. He scowled at the floor, annoyed it provided him no answers, and raked a hand restlessly through his red-brown hair.

  A sigh that seemed to echo his frustrations made him look up, and for the first time he noticed who else sat before the great fire—Lord Rozzen, a scholar of some sort. Judoc had never crossed paths with him, really; everyone knew Lord Rozzen kept to himself. Judoc had once seen him yelling at the royal consort about something, and had been surprised the royal consor
t only seemed amused about being taken to task by a lord he could have had thrown in jail for such an offense.

  Presently, Lord Rozzen only looked tired, frustrated, and in pain. He had a large book spread across his lap, the words written in old script, faded and smudged. Curious as to why he was so frustrated by a book, Judoc asked, "You seem troubled, my lord. Is there anything I can do to help?"

  Lord Rozzen jumped, clearly startled, head snapping up—and he had the brightest gold eyes Judoc had ever seen, large behind the gold-rimmed spectacles perched precariously on his nose. He was handsome, in a quiet sort of way—like his books. His features were tidy, soft, pretty but not ornate. He also, Judoc noted for no good reason, had a great many freckles and a small scar under one eye. "Oh, that time of year is it? Why the devil are you here? The others manage that nonsense, unless they're so overfull they sent you here."

  "What—oh, no, my lord. I mean, it is that time of year, but—well, I only asked to ask, not because of the challenge. I wondered why a book would make someone heave so great a sigh."

  "Oh," Lord Rozzen said, staring at him, and for a moment he seemed almost disappointed. Before Judoc could say anything, however, Lord Rozzen continued, "This book is causing a lot of sighing because it is hard to read, and my eyes are tired from the strain, but I need to know what it says in order to break the curse I am working on."

  Judoc looked at him in surprise. "You're a curse breaker?"

  Lord Rozzen looked disappointed again, but it was quickly buried. "Yes, I am," he said stiffly, and bent back to the book.

  Reaching out, Judoc took it from him and turned it so he could read it. "This is a grimoire," he said, impressed. "These aren't even legal, without the king's consent." He looked up and smiled. "My grandfather had one; it was a gift from the crown for killing a curse mage during the war. Where did you stop reading?"

  He looked down before Rozzen could reply, and simply started reading from the top of page it was on. Reading went slowly at first, and the firelight did not completely make up for a good lamp, but it was no worse than reading for his grandfather.