Free The Pitchfork of Destiny by Jack Heckel

follow us. And when she finds us, she’ll be furious. More than that, Will, we are going to face a dragon, and I do not want to leave anything unsaid between us.”
    Will’s expression turned down. Perhaps it was the thought of his angry older sister that made him hesitate, or perhaps it was the memory of all the things he wished that he could have said to Elle before she was taken, but whatever the reason, Will sighed, “Okay, go ahead.”
    Charming quickly scrawled a note to Liz.
    My dearest Liz, your brother, the King, means to face the dragon and has ordered me away with him. I swear to you that I will do everything in my power to return him home to you. I will always love you. Edward.
    He placed it on the mantel behind one of the figurines Liz kept there. Will was in the open door shifting impatiently from foot to foot. “We must go,” he said.
    â€œMy King, where do we start?”
    â€œNorth. The beast is the Great Dragon of the North, so that’s where we are going. North.”
    Charming opened his mouth to ask another question, but Will cut him off with a gesture. He stared at Charming, and said sternly, “On this quest, I must insist that you follow my lead, Charming. We must rescue Elle. I will not argue the point.”
    Charming nodded, but his insides were empty. Charming was not on a quest with Will. Charming was on a quest with King William, who had lost his bride-­to-­be almost on the eve of their wedding. With a heart full of dread, Charming left the cottage with King William. Using a lantern to light their way, the two men slowly rode away to the north, past the newly churned earth of Charming’s field, leaving Elizabeth dreaming on her pillow.
    * Author’s note: If you would like a sampling of that noxious mixture pick up a copy of “A Fairy-Tale Ending” where you can read all about the early adventures of Will Pickett and Prince Charming. Also, Charming wanted us to add that in that story, he wears many thrilling styles and colors of hose, a fact which he assures us will help to boost sales.

 
    CHAPTER 3
    A TEMPEST AND A TEAPOT
    I n fairy stories, most heroines are demure and proper. They sigh when appropriate, swoon when necessary, and never, ever, are given to complaint—­unless, of course, they are forced to sleep on anything but the finest pea-­less eiderdown, then all bets are off.
    When she woke the morning after Will’s arrival, Liz felt nothing like those fairy-­tale ladies. She was angry with Will, furious at Charming, her stomach was tied in knots, and as for being demure, that was right out. For at least an hour after waking, she stomped around the house, retching into a bucket and swearing like a sailor. But it would not be fair to judge Liz too harshly for her unfairy-­tale-­ladylike behavior. She had her fair share of reasons.
    Reason one became apparent to her almost as soon as she opened her eyes. She rolled over to find an empty spot in the bed where Charming usually lay. This was not alarming in itself, but when she turned the other way and found her bedside table also bereft of her customary morning breakfast, she knew that something was wrong. Charming had, from the first morning of their marriage, always made sure that she had a little pot of tea, freshly cut flowers (usually lavender), some bread, and a pot of sweet jam to eat. This morning there was nothing. In an instant, she felt her heart empty with fear and her stomach churn violently. Charming was gone.
    There was a part of her that wanted to go back to sleep, and not just because the room seemed to be spinning in a peculiarly sickening way, but because she simply did not want to face the cold loneliness of her empty house. However, she was Elizabeth Charming, and avoiding difficult, maddening, infuriating truths was simply not what she did. So, she rose and did the only thing that she could do. She made herself a pot of tea.
    It was over