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PROLOGUE
TRISTAN
In the cool spring morning, birdsong flooded the skies, and golden beams of sunlight poured in through the evergreen trees of the Chanted Forest.
As the old carriage rocked back and forth over the uneven terrain, Prince Tristan gazed out the window at the thick overgrowth teaming with wildlife. A squirrel scurried up the trunk of an oak tree, passing a woodpecker too busy hammering for bugs to notice he was not alone.
Tristan had heard about the queen of the Chanted Forest. Her name was Snow White, and for such a new queen, her reputation was impressively marvelous. Rumors had it that she was so attuned to wildlife they were drawn to her like a magnet. Some said she even possessed the ability to understand them.
Looking around at the lush green foliage and all manner of creatures roaming in and out of view, Tristan supposed that some of it had to be true. The forest was thriving, and it was a far cry from the days of her predecessors.
Unlike the Evil Queen, Snow White was known to be kind and generous and adored by her people. Tristan wondered if marrying a huntsman had anything to do with how much the people accepted and respected her.
His father would’ve been proud of her ability to win the hearts of the people. After all, that was the reason he had wanted Tristan to marry Lexa. Tristan understood the advantages their unity would’ve had for both of their kingdoms. But even though she was indeed a beautiful woman, her eyes didn’t sparkle for him. There was no zing between them when they danced, and that was enough for him to know that she wasn’t the one.
He wished his father understood. Perhaps if he had respected Tristan’s decision to let Lexa go, he wouldn’t have gone after her at Neverland. He wouldn’t have become entangled in Neri’s lies. He would’ve still been alive. But the man had the prize in his sights and nothing and no one could change his mind.
His father’s stubbornness was what cost him his life. Or at least that was what Tristan kept repeating in his mind over and over again for months, trying to stave off becoming consumed with guilt.
His jaw tightened as another memory flashed in his mind’s eye. The devastation of the bitter truth hit him in the chest: he killed his own father.
Tristan looked down at his open palms. No matter how often he’d scrubbed them, they still felt dirty. And when he held his father’s crown for the first time, the golden metal instantly became stained with blood. Tristan knew it was all in his mind because none of his father’s advisors could see it, but that was enough for him to have it put away. He hadn’t been able to touch it ever since.
That was months ago.
It was one of the reasons he hadn’t yet arranged for his coronation. Although becoming king was inevitable, he couldn’t fathom the thought of seeing his father’s blood sliding down his crown and onto his royal garment in front of all his subjects, even if it was only inside his own mind.
But he also couldn’t prolong the coronation any longer. King Midas from the Golden Kingdom to the north had taken advantage of the Kingdom of the Shores’ vulnerability and declared war.
Midas wasted no time moving his troops into the Shores’ territory, and the people were already losing their crops as well as their homes. Families had been divided, and lives had been lost. Tristan couldn’t stand to watch his kingdom suffer any longer. But he also couldn’t rise to power with a haunted mind.
The only way he could become the king his people needed him to be was to cleanse his guilty conscience once and for all. But for that to happen, he needed to find the memory of that night. The night his father died.
He remembered his father throwing the pixie dust at him on the lower deck of the ship. His next memory was finding his father’s bleeding body on the upper deck. Between these two moments, there was nothing but a stolen void inside Tristan’s mind.
Ella had mentioned something about having found her own memory of that night. Perhaps she could elaborate on how she went about retrieving it because that was what he needed as well.
When the carriage rocked violently again, Tristan cringed in frustration. But not at the old carriage he’d paid for at the marina. Or at the driver. No, his anger rose because had he taken a royal carriage, his identity as a prince would be revealed. And ever since his deal with Rumpelstiltskin, going outside of the palace walls had become too dangerous.
The deal made with Rumple was a document that stated that in the event Tristan died without an offspring, Rumple was to inherit the throne.
But it was a trick.
Rumple had manipulated matters so that Tristan would be put to death that same night.
What Rumple didn’t account for, however, was for Ella to have been merciful toward Tristan. Despite everything he’d put her through, she pleaded for mercy and kept Killian from piercing his sword through Tristan’s heart. He owed her his life.
But that didn’t mean Rumple gave up on his plan.
Even though the document stipulated that Rumple himself could not kill Tristan, it didn’t say Rumple couldn’t hire low-life men to do his dirty work. And Tristan had experienced manyrandomattacks in the past few months which left him no doubt that Rumple was more eager than ever to do away with him.
So, not only did Tristan have to find a way to get his memory of the night his father died, but he also needed to find a wife, sooner rather than later, and produce an offspring to negate Rumple’s contract.
Tristan rubbed his throbbing temples for the rest of the way until the carriage finally came to a stop. The driver’s voice came from outside. “We have arrived, sir.”
Tristan looked out the window to find a home at the top of a hill. A large green field stretched within a wooden fence. Horses and cows grazed the pasture inside it.
Throwing a hood over his head, Tristan stepped out of the carriage. He sucked in a nervous breath. The people he came to see were no doubt going to be surprised at his visit. And at their last encounter, he had almost died.
