Free Charming, Volume 2 by Jack Heckel Page B

hideously out-­of-­date outfit. A deep and bottomless despair gripped Charming. He knew it was shallow, but to be robbed of fashion seemed the last insult.
    Laying out the clothes on the bed, Giles clucked his tongue in irritation. “I will warn you only once not to waste my lord’s time. He is too generous and good-­hearted, and a great many try to presume upon his nature. We have a troupe of insufferable dwarves that are constantly . . . well, let’s just say, answer his questions and be on your way.”
    Charming nodded stiffly in response. Once he was dressed and had been approved by Giles, he was led through the stone halls of the castle to a set of gilt doors. Giles rested a bony hand on the handle and smiled thinly at Charming. There was something about his eyes, a mischievous glee, that made Charming uneasy. The butler leaned forward, coming uncomfortably close, and whispered, “I hope you don’t scare easily. My lord can be . . . disconcerting.”
    Before Charming could respond, or even decide how he would respond, Giles pulled open the door and gestured Charming inside. The door closed behind him. The hall itself was dimly lit by a few candles burning in high sconces set into the walls, and appeared to be more of a dining room than a proper audience chamber. High-­backed chairs surrounded a great wooden table that dominated the center of the space. A cloaked figure, which Charming could only assume was Giles’s master, sat at the far end of the table, obscured by shadows.
    â€œCome forward,” resounded that now-­familiar deep voice.
    He moved closer. As he approached, he noted first the man’s breathing. It was deep and powerful, almost like panting. Beyond that there was a general impression of size. Whoever he was, he was massive. In fact, his shoulders resembled Gnarsh the Troll’s more than those of an ordinary man. But even standing next to him, his host’s face was indistinct, a mask of shadows beneath a deeply hooded cloak. Perhaps he should have been scared, but he didn’t have enough energy left for fear.
    Once upon a time, I was Prince Charming.
    He drew a chair to the lord’s right. “May I take this seat?”
    â€œBe my guest,” came the low response.
    Remembering the butler’s request, Charming decided to come right to the point. “Thank you for your kindness, Your Lordship. I am truly in your debt and do not wish to impose on your hospitality, but before I take my leave I would ask . . . no, beg you, please return to me the glass slipper.” Charming stared down at the table as he spoke and felt a burning in his eyes. He blinked away the half-­formed tears.
    â€œI will ask you simply and request only your honesty. Did you steal it?”
    Charming thought hard about the night at the ball, about Elizabeth running up the stairs, about retrieving the slipper from where it lay beneath a curtain at the edge of the ballroom. He raised his eyes and stared into the shadowy void of his questioner’s face. “No. I am not proud of how I came to hold the slipper, but I did not steal it. It was lost. I wish only to return it to its rightful owner.”
    There was a long pause from his faceless host before he replied, “I am satisfied, but let us speak more about this remarkable shoe as we dine. I apologize in advance if my appearance disturbs you.”
    He pulled back the hood of his cloak.
    Charming had not known what he expected to see, perhaps that his host was badly disfigured or scarred, but what sat across from him was more monster than man. Seemingly a cross between a boar and a wolf, this lord, his host, resembled a taxidermist’s nightmare come to life. His face was twisted into an elongated snout with sharp white teeth and short tusks jutting upward from his lower jaw. Thick coarse fur covered his head and poked out from beneath a fashionably high lace collar, and sharp ears