Since then, security had tightened, hence why we waited for the prince, much to the Knights’ annoyance since they took their new mission of protection seriously. I didn’t really worry because I knew the prince was arriving with his own set of bodyguards. As for His Royal Highness, I didn’t know much about him other than his name, not having had time to peruse the file sent to me by my boss, Hilda. The blame for my lack of preparation rested squarely on the three little pigs who’d run me ragged the night before. I’d been tracking them to try to offer protection from the big, bad wolf determined to eat them. Given how they kept slipping away, I had to wonder if perhaps they might be better off taking care of themselves.

The night before my trek to the airport I’d been hot on their curly tails when they entered the downtown Night Market. I lost track of them in the crush of bodies gathered in front of a temporary stage where some woman in a golden cage sang for a rapt audience.

You’d think three pigs would be easy to spot with their pink skin and tubby bodies. Wrong. The slippery jerks went scooting between people’s legs, and let’s just say, when I tried to follow, there was much objection. Still, I tried to find them, and when they eluded me once again, I took my disappointment out on some pulled pork.

Savage? Yup. I was okay with it. My patience only went so far, and in my defense, the pork melted in my mouth and made my tastebuds sing.

Anyhow, after that failure, rather than lose more sleep reading a boring file, I slept in as late as I dared before heading to the airport to greet His Majesty. While the Knights watched the perimeter around the baggage claim area, I yawned. Apparently, the prince, despite having access to a private jet, chose to fly commercial. Lovely. One of those out-of-touch entitled pricks who liked to think he was a man of the people.

According to the arrivals board, the plane had landed without mishap and people were clearing customs. As passengers began to exit the glass doors, stiff-legged and weary-looking from the long flight, I kept an eye out for a dude with an armed escort.

Ping.

My phone chirped, and I glanced to see a message from Hilda.

Prince’s bodyguards being detained by security for bringing weapons through customs. I’m on the phone yelling at them right now.

I’ll bet she was. Hilda didn’t have patience for incompetence and someone too big for their britches deciding to cause a diplomatic incident would be enough to push her over the edge.

As the people emerging tapered and the luggage came down to just a few pieces, which were expensive looking and emblazoned with the Corsican royal emblem, a scruffy dude appeared and sauntered over to the conveyer.

I frowned but didn’t start moving until the guy reached down to grab one of the royal suitcases. Holy brazen, stealing right in front of me.

I didn’t stop to think or even warn. I went into action mode, sprinting the few yards separating us and tackling the guy as he gripped the handle of the luggage.

Thump. We hit the floor hard. Well, he did. I landed on top, snarling, “I don’t think so.”

The pretty man with shaggy blond hair and brilliant eyes blinked at me. “Um, hello.”

“Don’t hello me, thief,” I snarled.

His lips curved. “I assure you, I wasn’t stealing.”

“I highly doubt that suitcase belongs to you,” my riposte as a Knight finally arrived to render me aid.

Hannah, a tall svelte woman with her hair drawn back in a fat braid, hissed, “Belle, what the fuck are you doing tackling the prince?”

The prince?

My turn to blink. “This is Prince Killian?” Excuse my incredulity. The guy I had pinned to the floor wore a very worn pair of jeans with holes and a T-shirt washed so many times the image on the front had faded.

He had the nerve to grin. “That would be me. And you are?”

“Feeling pretty dumb,” I grumbled before adding. “I’m Agent Boucher.”

“A pleasure to meet you, Agent Boucher.”

“I doubt that,” I muttered as I rose from the prince, who kept an amused expression.

Hannah hauled the man to his feet and apologized, of sorts. “Excuse my colleague, Your Highness. She obviously didn’t have enough coffee this morning.”

“No harm done,” the prince magnanimously stated.

“Why are you walking around without your security detail?” I couldn’t help a suspicious note. The prince supposedly needed protection, having left Corsica with two bodyguards and been assigned Knights while he visited, and yet here he was, wandering around all la-de-da.

The prince jerked a thumb at the glass doors. “They’re still working on reclaiming the weapons the customs people confiscated.”

“And you didn’t wait for them?”

He shrugged. “I was hungry.”

My lips pursed. “They’re for your protection.”

“So my mother claims.” He grimaced. “I find them rather intrusive, especially since no one wants to kill me.”

“You’re an unmarried prince. You’re always in danger.” In this world, post-Grimm Effect, eligible royals were few. The fairytale curses being reenacted ensured they either got married, were transformed into a frog, or worse.

“I would give away my rank if I could. Alas, I am my mother’s only heir, and so I must suffer the hordes of women who want to become my wife.”

“How horrifying,” I drawled.

“It is,” he agreed. “Do you know how hard it is to weed those with genuine interest from those magically convinced they love me?”

“Poor prince,” I taunted. It appeared I couldn’t stop myself from being sassy. What could I say? Something about him set me off. It might have been his good looks, his cool, slightly amused composure, or the fact I’d fucked up by laying hands on the person I was supposed to watch out for. Hilda would be pissed, meaning I’d most likely be assigned something worse than chasing pigs.

“Your Highness, we have a vehicle waiting to take you to your hotel,” Hannah stated. “And I was told to inform you that the preparations for the ball are well in hand.”

“Ball?” I snickered. “Going to find yourself a Cinderella?” My mouth ran faster than my brain.

The remark pursed his lips. “I should hope not. I have no interest in marrying someone who thinks losing a shoe makes her the perfect wife. The ball was my mother’s idea, seeing as how I’ll be celebrating my fortieth birthday while conducting business.”

Forty and single? Impressive. Most princes barely made it out of their teens before they were locked down.

“Here come your guards,” Hannah announced as two scowling and burly fellows exited, with the bearded one barking. “Your Highness. You were told to wait with us.”

“I’m fine.” The prince waved a hand. “My backup security detail has already tackled the job.”

Was that a dig?

“Shall we go?” Hannah led the way to the vehicles parked outside, but I didn’t ride with the prince. I had my own car here, and as I followed, my phone rang.

Uh-oh, Hilda.

I answered with a cheery, “Hey, boss.”

“Don’t you hey me. Did you seriously rough up the prince?”

“Hardly roughed up.”

“You had him pinned to the floor,” her dry reply.

“In my defense, he looked like a vagrant.”

“How could you not recognize him? His picture was in the file,” she screeched.

“I didn’t have time to read it over.”

The growling went on for a few seconds before Hilda snapped, “I didn’t need this today. I’m already short-staffed as it is, and now, I need to assign someone else to the prince.”

“Why? Did he complain?” Pussy, couldn’t handle a strong woman and a few bruises.

“No, he didn’t, but for the sake of diplomatic relations, I think it’s best someone else act as liaison.”

“If you insist.” I didn’t really care. Babysitting a grown-ass man sounded boring. “What do you want me doing instead?”

“You can find those darned pigs,” she commanded before hanging up.

Oh, I’d find them all right, and if they caused any trouble, they’d be bacon.

Chapter 2

After much chasing, and a slog through some mud, I did in fact catch the pigs the day after the incident with the prince.

Despite their squealing, oinking, and farting—oh my god, the farting—I got them to understand I was trying to protect them. Once I promised the pigs all the scraps they could eat, they accompanied me to the Fairytale Bureau where someone would place them in protective custody. As for the wolf… we currently had a Knight hunting him down.

Since I wore a layer of mud head to toe, I chose to head out, but I hadn’t quite escaped the building when the prince entered with his entourage.

He looked the same as before, albeit wearing a different shirt. Still very handsome while I looked like I’d crawled from the sewer. I tried to avoid his eye and keep my head turned as I passed, but he recognized me.

“Agent Boucher. How nice to see you again.” Damn him for sounding so cheerful.

I slewed a dark gaze his way and couldn’t help saying, “I take it your tushy wasn’t bruised from our meeting yesterday.”

He smiled wide enough to show perfect pearly whites. “Not one bit. Would you like to take a peek to be sure?”

“I’ll take your word for it,” I muttered.

“Guess that means no kisses for my boo-boo.”

I arched a brow. “I wouldn’t advise it, as I’ve been known to bite.”

A deep belly laugh emerged from him, kind of contagious. Had to admire a man who could dish it and take it. “I was dismayed to hear you wouldn’t be acting as my liaison,” he stated. “And here I thought we’d gotten off to a smashing start.”

“Why, Your Highness, your file didn’t mention your penchant for masochism.”

Once more he chuckled. “Then they must have omitted quite a bit, seeing as how I am always getting into scrapes, much to my mother’s chagrin.”

“How cute you admit to being a mama’s boy. Most men have cut the apron strings by your age.”

Rather than take offense, he quipped, “What can I say? A bond between mother and son is precious.”

Did nothing get under this man’s skin? And why was I so determined to rattle him?

“Well, I shouldn’t keep you. I’m sure you have important princely things to do.”

“If by important you mean avoiding the Cinderellas clustering outside my hotel.” He finally showed a hint of a frown.

“Poor little prince has a fan club,” I cooed. “Count yourself lucky. My suitors usually have fangs.” With that remark, I left. Let him wonder what I meant. I wasn’t about to explain that it happened quite literally and I couldn’t date because of it.

See, as a young girl, my father inadvertently caused me to be cursed. He travelled quite a bit as a renowned antiquarian, which, for the people about to hunt up a dictionary, was a person who studied really old books. He had access to collections few could imagine. One in particular, owned by a reclusive gent, included a first edition of Alice in Wonderland. A favorite story of mine, although it should be noted, as a teenager, I preferred the movie, not the literary version. But my dad, in his excitement, borrowed it to show me. Just one night, but its disappearance was noticed.

The owner of said book had a beastly fit. To prevent being charged with theft, my father agreed to have me live with the gent as a companion.

Not a sex slave for the pervs who assumed wrong. My task was to read to the owner of the library. Julio, a man in his late twenties, had, almost a decade before, refused to offer succor to an old woman for a night. That old woman turned out to be a witch, and she cursed Julio. He became a beast who roared and snapped and growled, unless someone read to him.

Surprisingly enough, living with Julio didn’t prove to be too bad. I lived in a mansion with servants to cater to my needs. I ate very well. Had fine clothes. Even tutors to ensure I graduated high school with honors.

The problem arose when I turned eighteen and Julio asked me to cure his curse. By this point, I’d already become familiar with the Beauty and the Beast storyline, which was one of the few fairytales not from the original Brothers Grimm books. It didn’t start appearing until a decade after the other curses started.

Knowing the story, I had to tell poor Julio, whom I’d grown fond of, that, alas, I didn’t love him. I mean, the guy was more than a decade older than me, and quite honestly, while nice to me, he could be an ass to others.

He didn’t take the rejection well and chose to advise me that his curse didn’t require an emotional connection but a physical one with a virgin. I won’t horrify with details except to say he attempted to take me by force, while in beast form, and failed.

The heavy book I smashed him with left him stunned long enough for me to flee. When he chased me down the street, running on four paws and roaring, a car running a red light took him out. I’d have felt sadder if it hadn’t freed me from the deal he’d made with my father.

Given I’d escaped my curse, albeit under troubling circumstances, the academy that trained the Fairytale Bureau agents recruited me. I’d managed to evade the curse without side effects and was considered one of the lucky ones. Debatable, seeing as how I remained a technical virgin in my thirties because every time I got romantically involved with someone, they turned into a beast.

Every. Single. Time.

It got so that I didn’t even bother going on dates anymore. How could I when I knew what would happen? We’d get to know one another. Things would progress to where he’d lean in for a kiss, and wham. Fur, fangs, and growling.

Since love appeared out of reach, I turned to work and books—to my father’s delight until he passed a few years ago. I lived vicariously through the romances of others. Read of adventures that took heroines to faraway places in search of treasures and cures to curses. Wished I could be like them.

Alas, I didn’t have the resources to go galivanting on quests. Heck, I barely made enough to pay the mortgage and support my book addiction.

As I arrived home, mud flaking from me with every step, I eyed the run-down house I’d purchased for a song. Triple murders had a way of devaluing property. Worked for me. I needed a place with lots of rooms for my books. I entered to their musty scent. Old and new, they lined the walls from the moment you walked in. The bookcases, which I built out of simple pine that I stained, held them neatly lined in rows. Alphabetical by author. Some of them quite rare. All of them read. I didn’t hoard books just to own them. I devoured each and every page.

Tonight, though, rather than bury myself in the pages of the newest murder mystery I’d bought, I headed for the turret chamber, a rounded room on the corner of the house that had the least number of books because the walls that didn’t have windows held maps instead. A chart of the world with pins that I’d been using to mark where the first instance of each Grimm Effect story reenactment began. I’d color-coded them to differentiate the newer cases from the older, green being the oldest confirmed cases. To my surprise, once I started digging, the green pins clustered only in England. Also interesting, that British Isle had the most confirmed cases. It hadn’t started appearing in North America until a decade later. Europe happened sooner, seeing their first cursed story was within three years of the earliest cases documented.

You must be wondering why I researched this particular fact. Simple, really. I wanted to put an end to the curses. I wouldn’t be the first to try, though.

Over the decades since the stories came to life, others had studied the Grimm Effect. Each and every one had been taken out by the curse they sought to eradicate.

Professor Simms wrote papers on the Grimm Effect, hypothesizing that pollution had led to magical side effects. He died when attacked by a flock of swans.

There was an investigative news reporter, Ella something or other. She’d done several pieces outlining the Grimm Effect and how people could protect themselves. She’d been about to depart on a trip to look for the curse origin when got pushed off a rooftop terrace by a murder of crows.

There’d been other incidences of people showing too much curiosity. It led to most being leery of investigating the Grimm Effect.

Not me. I had nothing to lose. Since I couldn’t bring myself to have sex with a beast, my lonely existence stretched before me. I had to do something if I didn’t want to be alone forever. Yes, I had friends. Yes, I enjoyed my job and I loved my books, but there were times at night, alone in bed, when I really wished I had someone by my side. Someone to hold me. Someone to hug me. Someone to give me an orgasm that wasn’t finger or battery-induced.

Blame my horny desire for human touch for my driving determination to solve the Grimm Effect mystery.

Soon, I’d be heading over the big pond to visit a small town where the first case was supposedly reported. I’d been saving up, but not easily. Books tempted me around every corner.

I stood in front of the map and tapped my bottom lip. It had been interesting to note that the first curses definitely originated from the Brothers Grimm stories. Then, about a decade later, we’d begun to see new stories, as well as adaptations of the current reenactments. Then things were steady for a while, for lack of a better term, until recently. Of late, we’d been seeing more fairytales and even nursery rhymes coming to life. The Grimm Effect had expanded. But why, and how did it choose its stories?

I found it odd that it stuck to fairytales for the most part. Why not horror novels or even epic fantasy? Not to say I wanted IT by Stephen King to become reality or for the Lord of the Rings to turn part of the planet into Mordor. But it seemed strange to me the choice of stories being reenacted over and over around the world. More worrisome, we’d been seeing the curses get darker. More violent.

For example, recently, my friend Blanche Hood, caught up in the Little Red Cap story, had been targeted by a serial killer who left a trail of bodies before trying to murder her. One of the most horrifying cases I’d seen, and it turned out the huntsman was the culprit and not the wolf. We’d seen the rats eat the pied piper. People hunting and roasting the swan princes. The level of violence related to the stories had been rising. It made me wonder just how bad things would get if something wasn’t done.

Would I find the answers in England? Maybe. Maybe not. But I would try.

I popped out after a shower to grab some food. A guy leered at me on my way into the sandwich shop, and on the way out, the same fellow started sprouting fur and growling, “Pretty lady want to fuck?”

“No thanks.”

When the furry beast ignored my no, he got a taser to the nuts. It dropped him like a rock and left the man, in shreds of his clothes, whimpering on the ground. Maybe that painful jolt would be enough to keep him from transforming again.

I headed home, ate my sandwich, read a book, and, oddly enough, thought about Prince Killian when I went to bed. It might have been fun working with him. But, no, instead, Cinder got roped into acting as liaison, which surprised. As a Cinderella, she was the one person who should have been kept far away.

I spent the next few days dealing with a variety of oddities such as the bridge that suddenly fell down. Talked to witnesses who claimed they’d seen cows jumping over the moon and that their dishes and spoons were missing. The hospital dealt with a rash of burned bottoms as a bunch of boys chose to jump over candlesticks. Then there was the woman’s body found stuffed inside an oversized pumpkin shell. We had a warrant out for her husband Peter’s arrest.

The whole world was going mad, and it never became more evident than at the prince’s ball, which Hilda declared mandatory for all agents.

Or, as she said at the briefing, “It’s going to be a fucking madhouse. We’ve got hundreds of Cinderella potentials, one prince who doesn’t want to get married, and confirmation that rejection sometimes leads to storyline divergence.” Which was when a grimpher—the name for someone caught in a curse—had their story shift from one angle to another.

All agents had to attend wearing appropriate attire for a ball. In my case, a dress. Ugh. I dug one out of my closest after I moved a stack of books. Unlike Cinder, I didn’t have any mice to do my hair or a fairy godmother to glam me up. Good. I wasn’t looking to draw attention. Hopefully, I could tuck myself into a corner and read, a hope dashed as I got a taste of the chaos unfolding outside the hotel.

Hilda hadn’t exaggerated about the crowd. I couldn’t get through at the front of the hotel because of the mob of wannabe princesses wearing massive ballgowns. Cinderella fever had gripped hundreds of women who all clamored to be Prince Killian’s wife. I mean the guy was cute and nice, but still, who wanted to marry a stranger?

Once I got inside the hotel, via a tunnel that went from the hotel’s laundry into the hotel itself, I found said prince looking ill at ease in a uniform. White with gold braid, very formal and royal looking, if you liked that type. He had my good friend Cinder by his side, who appeared nervous and kept glancing at Levi, the head Knight who stood at the back of the dais set up for the occasion. The other Knights glowered around the ballroom, while the agents from the bureau chatted amongst themselves.

Me, I went looking for a quiet corner to read before the madness started. I’d no sooner cracked my book than the air went electric and, poof, a woman stood before me, looking every inch the Good Witch Glinda. Wait, wrong story. This had to be the fairy godmother.

“Wrong woman,” I stated, only briefly sparing her a glance. “The Cinderellas you’re looking for are outside.”

“I’m aware. I’m here for you.”

That caught my attention. “Why?”

“Because you are not dressed for the occasion. We can’t have that,” the fairy godmother sang.

“I’m fine.” My simple cocktail dress had served me well for a decade now. No point in wasting money on a new one when I hated formal events.

“An important day like today one needs to look her best,” she declared.

“First off, not my important day. Secondly, no thanks. I think I already look pretty good.”

“Not for what’s going to happen.”

I closed my book and stood to say, “What exactly is going to happen?”

“A wedding,” she exclaimed.

“So the prince chooses a bride. Whoopee.” What did I care? And why did I clutch my book so hard my nails dug into the cover?

“Oh, he’s not going to choose so much as need an escape. When the time comes, you’ll have to give him a sign.”

I frowned. “What are you yapping about? What sign?”

“You’ll know what to do,” she sang. “Together you’ll make things right. At least for tonight. And then, you have to come find me.”

“Find you where?”

“You already know, and we are running out of time. The ball is about to begin!” She flourished her wand and kazaam! To my disgust, I went from wearing a classic little black dress to a gown of shimmering gold. Tight in the waist, too low cut for my taste, with a skirt that swirled around my ankles. And hold a second… A hand to my upswept hair indicated I had roses for a crown.

Ugh. So girly, but I couldn’t do a thing about it. The fairy godmother poofed out of sight as quickly as she’d arrived, leaving me uncomfortable and wondering what the heck she meant with her strange comments.

Given her claim of the ball starting soon, I headed back to the main room, where everyone remained on high alert. The prince appeared as if he wanted to flee. Not far from the prince, Cinder glowed, pretty as a princess. She also kept eyeing Levi, making me wonder if the rumors of them being a couple were true.

A rumor confirmed a short time later when the Cinderellas mobbed the ballroom and my friend, rather than marry the prince to stop the madness, proposed to Levi and married him on the spot. Good for her. Or so I thought until the bachelorettes in attendance began clamoring for the prince to choose a bride. Poor sap.

For some reason, I inched closer to the horrified prince and whispered, “You look like you want to run away.”

He muttered, “I’d love to, but I don’t think I’m going to be allowed to escape without saying I do to a stranger.”

“There’s always divorce,” I replied.

“Indeed,” his lackluster reply.

In that moment, a light bulb went off and I remembered Godmother’s cryptic message. Surely, she’d not meant for me to marry the prince?

As the Knights ringed us and pushed us back, I lost my grip on my book. It fell, and before I could retrieve it, the prince went on bended knee to reach for it.

I looked at it and then the prince, who had the oddest expression on his face. Wait, was the curse making me into his Cinderella? It would solve his current problem. As for me, this might be my only chance to ever have a fiancé.

“Pick it up,” I whispered.

“But—”

“Do you want to marry one of those women?”

He shook his head.

“Then pick it up and pretend so we can get out of here.”

The prince offered me a smile of relief and handed over my book saying, “I think this is yours.”

“Thank you, dear prince.” I pasted the fakest smile on my lips as I replied.

“It is I who must thank you.” Killian rose, and I noticed how much taller than me he loomed. He grabbed my hands in his and, in a loud voice that carried, stated, “It would appear I was mistaken in my affection, confused because of how often you were in close proximity, but you, and only you, dear and fair Belle, are my one true love.”

“Oh, Killian.” To my credit, I didn’t laugh as I simpered and batted my lashes.

There was some screaming by disappointed wannabes and then dead silence. Had it worked? Would they believe I was his true love and leave the prince alone?

“If she’s really your Cinderella, then marry her, now!”

My eyes widened at the shout, and Killian stiffened.

To his credit, he tried to divert the shrill demand. “We can’t have two marriages in one day.”

The crowd didn’t agree.

“Marry him. Marry him.” A chant that grew in volume as the women who’d been jilted insisted on him going through with the farce.

The poor guy looked torn. He’d looked especially torn if the mob turned violent.

What could it hurt? People divorced all the time.

I lifted my chin. “Very well. You want to see me marry the prince, then so be it. If the lady who married Cinder and her Knight would do us the honor?”

The ceremony didn’t take long, and I couldn’t have said what happened given my state of shock.

In no time at all, I was married to the prince. But the most surprising thing of all?

The jolt of electricity when we kissed.