The Reluctant Godfather Read online

  The Reluctant Godfather

  Copyright © 2017 Allison Tebo

  Paperback edition

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise—without prior written permission of the copyright author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, incidents, and dialogues bearing any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Front cover decorations courtesy of Freepik

  Cover and interior formatting by Victoria Lynn Designs

  Copy Editor: Andrea Cox

  For my family and for my Heavenly Father. Thank you for loving me unconditionally.

  1

  H e saw her coming, but it was too late to hide; she had already spotted him. Like him, she was disguised as a peasant hired to help the regular kitchen staff of Ambia’s royal palace prepare for some kind of celebration—except his was a much better disguise.

  He kept his gaze focused on the icing he was expertly mixing.

  As she sidled up to him, making a show of drying a teapot, she dove straight to the heart of the issue without delay or ceremony. “You’re a disgrace to the fairy order, Burndee,” Fey of Thornwild whispered severely.

  Burndee spun the platter in front of him in a slow circle, observing his creation critically before he began frosting his triple chocolate cake. “I know I am,” he said complacently.

  Fey—the leader of all the fairies—took a long, calming breath that didn’t seem to calm her at all as she turned a peculiar shade of red. “You shall resume your duties immediately. And I’m warning you, this will be the last time we shall put up with your gross dereliction of responsibility.”

  Burndee looked up from piping a rosette onto his cake and asked hopefully, “You mean you’ll banish me from the fairy order?”

  Fey’s eyes narrowed, and her tone was icy. “My first choice would be to give you more godchildren, but that would be far too cruel a thing to do—to them. Really, Burndee. You’re twenty-five years old. Most fairies your age have at least fifty godchildren; you have only been entrusted with two. Don’t you realize what a disgrace that is?”

  “Oh, yes, I’m disgraced.” Burndee squinted at his cake and wondered whether he should add mint leaves.

  “You have been neglecting your godchildren. It’s been months since you last checked in on them, and you must see to them.”

  Burndee finally pushed the cake stand away in frustration. “I’ve told you before: I’m not cut out for this making-humans-happy business. I can’t abide the creatures, and the two I’ve been bequeathed are a pair of wishy-washy whiners who would be better off if they did something for themselves for a change.”

  Fey raised her eyes to the ceiling and then closed them. “It’s fairies like you that shortened our lives. In the old days, we’d both have hundreds of years to live yet. But then some selfish, good-for-nothing fairy rebelled against the natural order of things, and our longevity was taken away from us. I shudder to think what your misdemeanors will cost the fairy race.”

  “That old fairy actually did our kind a favor. We only have to put up with humans for eighty or ninety years instead of hundreds.” Burndee shuddered at the very thought and licked his finger free of frosting as he gave his cake a loving glance. “Isn’t it neat?” Neat—without even very or really attached to it—was the highest superlative possible from Burndee, and it was not a word he often used . . . unless he was describing something he had done. He had been informed that this was not at all a good attribute for fairy godparents to have. Wards often required constant encouragement, something they weren’t likely to get from someone who thought that humans were about as neat as warts.

  Fey took a long breath. “You’ve already treated your charges shamefully by neglecting your duties to decorate cakes.” Her nose wrinkled with disapproval. “Let’s not even discuss how you let Prince Colin discover your true identity. That was a mistake a twelve-year-old would know not to make.”

  “That was ages ago,” Burndee said gruffly.

  Fey kept talking as though she hadn’t even heard him. “I had better see some appropriate action from you soon. If I don’t, I can guarantee you that you will not enjoy the consequences. I’ll cast a spell that will force you to shadow . . .” She studied him a moment, as if trying to ascertain which ward he would least enjoy being stuck with. “Ella,” Fey said at last, and paused long enough to note Burndee’s sudden stiffening with a satisfied nod. “If that’s what it takes, I’ll have you following Ella every minute of the day for the rest of her life. I pity having to hurt the poor girl, but I daresay she’s the only one who could put up with you for that long.”

  “Cinder-Ella,” Burndee sneered. “That’s what they call her; did you know that? That poor little dolt lets people that aren’t even her blood relatives order her around like a slave, and she still goes around with that ridiculous smile on her face. Don’t you see that it would be better for a simpleton like her to wake up and make her own destiny rather than have a fairy godparent do everything for her?”

  Fey eyed Burndee with a sharp-edged smirk he didn’t particularly like. “If I didn’t know better, I would almost say you like her.”

  “Like her?” Burndee spluttered. “That little sheep? I’ve seen more character and backbone out of a . . . a . . .”—he looked to his hand for inspiration—“a kitchen spoon than that poor little marshmallow.”

  “That’s the second time you’ve called her “poor.” You must have some sympathy for her situation. Just the tiniest little bit will make this much easier for you, Burndee.”

  “I don’t feel sorry for anybody,” Burndee said evasively.

  “Except yourself,” Fey noted with a cold sniff.

  Burndee glared at her. “If that girl and Prince Colin and humans like them would take some initiative they’d put you and me out of business, and then we could get on to the more important things.” Burndee looked around the kitchen with infinite appreciation. “Like baking.”

  None of the guards tried to stop Burndee as he wandered across the grounds of Ambia’s royal castle. Though the guards had no idea who—or what—he really was, they had a standing order to let the tall, blond vagabond have free rein in the castle, day or night, without question. Burndee almost wished the guards would stop him so that he could lose his temper, since he desperately wanted to unleash it on someone. Not that he really needed a reason to lose his temper. Unfortunately, the guards gave him no convenient excuse, and besides that, he knew better than to get angry. The quickest way to make Prince Colin happy and get this whole bothersome thing over with was to remain calm. Whenever Burndee got upset or angry, he lost all control over his magic . . . which meant that most of the time he had very little control.

  Burndee collared one of the annoyingly obliging guards and, after a very short and somewhat tense interview, was informed that Prince Colin was in the stables. Burndee made a beeline across the grounds and charged into the stables without warning.

  Prince Colin, the heir to the throne of Ambia, stopped in mid-motion of hanging up his saddle and viewed Burndee warily. “Oh, it’s you.”

  “That’s right.” Burndee responded with just as little friendliness or ceremony. “I’ve come for tea.” He looked around as if expecting to find such sustenance in the stable. “I suppose you do have some about?”

  “I expect so,” Colin said coolly, depositing his saddle and giving his horse a final pat on the nose before he headed towards the stable door—making an obviously wide berth around Burndee.

  Colin began threading his way through the castle’s ground
s and Burndee slumped after him with his hands in his pockets, feeling—as he always did with humans—like an appendage that the humans didn’t think about until they needed it. He could feel his stomach twisting with annoyance already, but he muscled his way past the sensation.

  “This is the customary time for tea, isn’t it?” Burndee asked in a tone that he imagined might be civil as he lengthened his stride to walk alongside Colin. “My watch has broken.”

  Guards saluted as Colin and Burndee entered the palace and began the long, maze-like trek to the prince’s apartments. Burndee was glad he had put on his heavy walking boots.

  Colin looked at him out of the corner of his eye. “You’re not here to help me, are you?”

  “You can’t ask that kind of question. That’s like asking your father what he got you for your birthday.”

  Colin gave a kind of sick laugh at the mention of King Alfred.

  “Now don’t be tiresome.” Burndee squinted at Colin, unsure of whether or not the prince was laughing at him—he always thought people were laughing at him. “You’ve made this whole blasted business more difficult for both of us by finding out that I am your . . .” He cleared his throat, tripping a little over the hated phrase. “Fairy godfather.”

  Colin shrugged. “I was bored that day—and it wasn’t too difficult to tell, you know.”

  Burndee glared at Colin who stared back at him unrepentantly. Burndee’s left eye twitched, and he put up a hand to try to hold it open. “It was a dirty and underhanded thing to do, startling me that way.”

  Burndee steeled himself for the gigantic belly laugh that always burst out of Colin when the prince remembered how, as a child, he had shocked his mysterious “friend” into turning an enraged kitten into a buttonhook. But for once, the prince was silent.

  In all of their acquaintance, Colin had never failed to laugh at that memory and rub the discovery in Burndee’s face. Today, he wasn’t just silent; he looked like his world was tumbling down around his ears.

  “What’s wrong?” Burndee said a little roughly, since he did not make it a habit to inquire after anyone’s health—physical or emotional—if he could help it. He found it depressing.

  “Nothing,” Colin mumbled.

  “Now let’s not play that game. I’m a very busy fairy. Just spit it out. You know I can help.”

  “Can you?” Colin mused and tossed Burndee an accusing look. “Your help doesn’t work when you’re angry, Burndee.”

  “Don’t tell me my business,” Burndee said sharply.

  “And you’re always angry.”

  Burndee opened his mouth, on the verge of an explosion, but at Colin’s pointed look, he merely gave a thunderous cough and mumbled sulkily, “No, I’m not.”

  Colin quirked an eyebrow, and Burndee took a long, slow breath.

  “Listen, Colin. You look like you’re going to your own hanging, so it must be something desperate—to you, anyway. Can you lose anything by telling me and letting me . . . help you?”

  “I suppose not,” Colin said gloomily, and he shot Burndee a haggard look. “I am in trouble.”

  Burndee bit the inside of his mouth and thought about changing Colin into a toad to end all toads, but despite all of his mental grumblings, he couldn’t bring himself to deliberately harm Colin. He was more of a fairy godparent than he liked to admit. There was still a single, determined spark of duty and loyalty inside of him that refused to be quenched by the rivers of distaste he felt toward humans. If he could manage it without too much trouble, he really would try to make Colin happy.

  They finally reached the door to Colin’s private apartments, and the prince pushed it open. A servant had just finished laying a generous tea table that Burndee looked over appreciatively. Nothing here could compare with his own tea menu, of course—and he could honestly say that, since he never used magic to enhance his cooking—but it looked adequate enough. Burndee threw himself into a comfortable chair and began piling crumpets onto a plate.

  Colin took a seat opposite him but did not sample anything, clenching and unclenching his hands as he prepared his confession. “My father . . .” He hesitated a moment, his jaw working over the words. “My father says it’s high time I . . . produced an heir.”

  “Oh,” Burndee said blankly, pausing mid-bite. “I’m good, but I’m not that good. Unless we steal a baby—”

  Colin gave him a disgusted look. “He means marriage, you fool.”

  Burndee bristled. It was his job to give disgusted looks and call people fools. Before he could enlighten the prince on this matter, Colin plunged on, working himself into a typical human lather.

  “He’s decreed that I must marry before the end of the month! He says I’ve waited long enough. He’s not only pressured me personally; he’s made it official. He’s notifying every kingdom you could think of that his son is ready to be sold off to the highest bidder. He doesn’t care at all about my happiness!”

  Burndee observed him curiously. “You humans certainly have your hearts set on being happy, don’t you?”

  “Burndee!” Colin said in exasperation. “I have to find a woman to spend the rest of my life with in less than a month!”

  Burndee tried to imagine spending the rest of his life with someone. It did sound frustrating.

  Colin gave him an impatient look. “Well, fairy godfather? What do you have to say about this problem?”

  Burndee stirred his tea thoughtfully. “Your father really makes up his mind in a hurry, doesn’t he?”

  Colin picked up a scone and tossed it up and down as if it were a juggling ball. “What am I going to do?”

  “Don’t look so tragic. It’s not good for my constitution.” Colin’s predicament and anxiety almost made Burndee feel sorry for the prince—and that was just as unthinkable an estate as marriage. “You know what you humans say: like father, like son. King Alfred makes snap decisions. Well . . . so do you. I’m sure you’ll find someone that strikes your fancy. You always work best under pressure; you told me so yourself.”

  Colin shook his fist in Burndee’s face, squashing the scone he had been playing with and spraying crumbs everywhere. “This isn’t an arithmetic test, Burndee. This is marriage!” He looked down at the scone in his fist, as if just realizing it was there, and automatically opened his hand over the table, letting the crumbs plop over the tea service.

  “Now look what you’ve done!” Burndee reproved. “You’ve got bits of your scone in all the jelly jars.”

  Colin rolled his eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

  Burndee poked dispiritedly at a pile of jelly with his spoon and wrinkled his nose in distaste before he turned his attention to the untouched clotted cream. There was so little, and Colin didn’t like cream, so he might as well double dip. “Any more sarcasm out of you, you whippersnapper, and I won’t help you.”

  “Whippersnapper?” Colin scoffed. “You’re not more than five years older than me. And you’re just threatening not to help because you can’t think of anything that will help . . . can you?”

  “Of course I can.”

  Colin looked at him, his lip curling a little. “What are you going to do? Give me a love potion?”

  Burndee selected a crumpet and blew on it to dislodge any of Colin’s crumbs before popping it into his mouth. “Out of date,” he mumbled. “Let me give it some thought. I have another appointment in less than an hour.”

  “Oh?” Colin asked sarcastically. “What other lost soul has the misfortune to have you as their fairy godfather?”

  Burndee managed to avoid answering that statement only by cramming a petit four into his mouth. Chewing on the treat made him calm enough to mumble solicitously, “Shut up and tell me your father’s plans for the next few days.”

  Colin drummed his fingers against the chair. “Well, he’s planned a ball for tonight, but I suppose you knew about that.”

  “No.” Burndee didn’t trouble to keep up with human events. It now made sense why the royal kitchens had been h
iring temporary help.

  “It’s the talk of the countryside. Every mama and her daughter are paralyzed with excitement.” Colin gave Burndee a sick look and said in a small voice, “They’re hunting me, Burndee.”

  Burndee couldn’t help the prick of compassion he felt. “Now, now. I’ll think of something—I always do.”

  “I know,” said Colin, looking even more anxious.

  2

  H e should have gone here first and gotten it over with, but he simply hadn’t had the strength of mind for it. As tiresome as it was to hear the woes of the royal bird in his gilded cage, the agitation Burndee felt at de Ghent Hall was twofold . . . and all of it was embodied by the delicate little woman that was beating carpets in the courtyard.

  “Hello, Burndee!” said Ella, her face lighting up in a way that Burndee hated. Why did she always have to be so glad to see him? She hurried toward him, still holding the carpet beater, and greeted him like a long-lost friend. “How are you?”

  “Not good,” Burndee mumbled. The fact that she, of all people, would look at him so sympathetically made him feel a smidgen of guilt as he wondered uneasily if he had exaggerated his own problems. After all, he was a fairy; he ought to be able to surmount his difficulties. Whereas this poor little wretch had nothing . . . literally.

  “Isn’t business doing well?” Ella looked behind him. “You didn’t bring your cart with you.”

  Ella firmly believed in Burndee’s cover story of being a wandering peddler. Unlike Colin, there was no possible way Ella would ever guess Burndee was a fairy godfather. Even if he told her, she probably wouldn’t understand.

  “I always buy something, you know,” she said.

  Burndee shook his head. “You still have sympathy for hard-luck cases when you’ve got troubles enough of your own.” It wasn’t a question.

  Ella’s brow furrowed in confusion, a typical expression for her. “Well . . . the things you sell are always so useful.”