Shattered Moonlight: Fairy Tales by Moonlight

By K.L. Bone and Erin McFadden

Every night, the wolf wailed his sorrow to the lonely moon.
Every sunrise, her heart echoed his mournful call.


Celine treads a worn path through the cursed wood to pray beneath the Hawthorn tree for her sister's safe return. The trail is dangerous—her nightly pilgrimage is stalked by monsters who dwell in the murky shadows. One moonlit evening, the beasts come for her, yet instead of meeting death, Celine is saved by a fearsome wolf. 

As Celine and her wolf develop an unlikely companionship, she begins to suspect the complex creature is more than he appears, and perhaps his fate is inexplicably tied to the kingdom's curse.

When a handsome huntsman arrives intent on slaying her protector, Celine must face her fears to save her big bad wolf.

• Language: English
• Publisher: K.L. Bone
• Release date: Feb 1, 2021
• ISBN: 9798223266990

Book preview

Prologue

Ceara Castle

Dragged by two men before his stolen throne, wrists restrained by thick, heavy shackles, the prince’s head hung low. Additional chains encircled his ankles. As he was prodded closer to the ceremonial chair, a rough push between the shoulders sent him tumbling against cut marble stairs. Groaning at the sting of the cold, hard floor against his knees, the prince gathered the last of his courage to glare at the woman perched on the steps. His efforts to rise were thwarted when his captors pressed down on his shoulders with the blunt end of their spears, keeping him in place.

Well, the enchantress began, I must say, I prefer this view over the last time we met, Prince Stephen. Though, I am uncertain if you would agree.

Her feminine chuckle echoed against the stone walls as the prince scowled, tongue pushing at the cloth gag stretched tight between his lips.

Your kingdom has been defeated, as have you, Stephen. Your pointless resistance is over. Though, as you are aware, I am not without mercy. Accept my demands, and you shall be released…once your promise is fulfilled, of course.

Heels clicking with each step, the woman descended, her black velvet gown trailing the steps above. When she reached the floor, she positioned herself in front of the bound man.

Stephen turned his head away, but the woman extended a hand, grasping his chin. Forcing the prince to face her, she ran a pointed nail slowly down his left cheek.

He pulled back at the undesired touch, drawing another chuckle from the woman he despised.

Why the resistance, my prince? This kingdom shall be mine, no matter your choice. Why not accept the easier route?

Slipping a hand behind the prince’s head, the woman untied the knotted gag, loosening the cloth enough to restore the prince’s ability to speak.

Come now, Stephen. Drawing back to frame herself in the prince’s vision, her ruby lips lifted into a twisted leer. I am not taking away your kingdom, after all. Simply offering to assist you in its governance.

Assist? Stephen choked out through a parched throat. Control is more like it.

She feigned a shocked expression with a hand to her heart. I am not going to make you my slave, Stephen.

If not a slave, what description would you use?

A king, she replied, running a hand through the dangling tresses of her auburn hair. With an exquisite queen at your side.

King? he scoffed. A silent consort, at best. Naught but a puppet to legitimize your ill-gotten rule.

The woman shook her head. By my side, in my soft bed, is surely better than the stone slab of a dungeon’s cell? She again reached toward the prince’s cheek to gently nudge the gag down, clearing his mouth completely.

The prince struggled to resist, but this time was held fast by one of his captors, whose fingers dug into the strands of his golden hair. Immobilized for the woman’s examination, Stephen cringed as her cold fingers traced down his flushed cheek and throat, trailing lower until her hand lay upon his chest, the prince’s heartbeat pounding against her palm.

I’ll make it pleasant for you, Stephen, she promised in honeyed tones. If you cannot consent for yourself, consider the good of your kingdom. They have lost their king. Would you have them lose their prince as well?

"I am thinking of my kingdom, Vanessa, the prince hissed. I would never willingly submit my subjects to your vile intentions."

Vanessa’s curved smile remained in place, but the gesture did not reach her cold eyes as she considered Stephen’s defiant gaze.

Hmm… she mused. Stubborn as your father. I see. Yet I believe, in time, you will change your mind, dear prince, if not your foolish heart. The curve of her lips increased, an unnatural flash of gold twinkling in her deep blue eyes. She leaned closer, the breath from her lips warming Stephen’s as she foretold in a flat tone, "I can be patient because you will come to see things my way." Closing the distance between them, she touched her lips to his.

Holding himself rigid against the persuasion, the prince was unable to draw away from the forced intimacy before Vanessa pulled back.

Gold eclipsed the once blue irises, spilling from their centers. The prince struggled to look away, but became trapped within the enchantment, golden light brightening to fill the room, the prince’s scream blending with Vanessa’s echoing laughter.

Chapter 1

Grove of Danu

On the village outskirts, nestled between thickets of tall grass, stands a clearing on the river’s edge. Once upon a time the forest had been lush and green. Now this area lay barren, save for scattered patches of brittle, brown grass and dying weeds. Above, the trees stand sickly, skeletal branches unable to produce a single leaf, rotting from within. All, that is, except for the Hawthorn tree.

From its thick trunk an array of twisted branches fanned out into a perfect cone, green leaves with scattered white flowers contrasting with the stark surroundings. Thinner branches swayed back and forth, leaves appearing to shiver in the wind’s icy breath. This single tree presented the last vestiges of defiance against the curse plaguing the once fruitful land.

Gazing at the gray sky between woven branches, Celine knelt, carefully arranging her faded blue gown and a full-length crimson cloak. The fine material, even in its somewhat tattered condition, offered the warmth required to stave off the bitter cold as she ventured out each dawn to offer prayers to the hallowed tree.

Stories of sacred Hawthorn trees had been conveyed to her since childhood. The trees were enchanted, the ancient tales claimed. A channel between the faerie realms and the mortal. A magical conduit where, if a person of pure intent prayed hard enough, the gods of old would honor their request.

Celine had not initially put much faith in such fantastical stories, until the night the kingdom fell under a dreadful enchantment that slowly drained the forest of life. In the beginning, when the curse had first been cast, the bravest had ventured out to seek help. None had ever returned with the aid they swore to find.

Tightening her cloak against the relentless wind gusts, Celine shifted to slide the full-length garment beneath her knees, placing an additional layer between herself and the frozen ground. Extending her hand toward a low-hanging branch, she reached for a braided series of colorful threads looped around the limb. Tracing her fingertips along the woven strands, Celine unpinned a pre-threaded needle from inside her cloak and began the tedious task of adding a new layer to the braid, which held a lock of her hair at its core. Celine’s bare hands trembled from the cold as she completed the delicate work of interlacing the fine cords into the tight braid before cinching the latest addition with a jade bead.

Leaning back, Celine lowered her head in a practiced bow, placing both palms onto the hard ground. The cold dirt was another sharp reminder of how once the forest’s floor would have been soft, her fingers cushioned by blades of fresh grass. Bending forward until the tips of her ebony locks grazed the ground, Celine began her invocation.

Danu, hear my prayer, she recited the words she’d said hundreds of times. I implore you to continue your blessings upon my missing sister. Nearly two years she’s been gone, but in my heart, she lives. I beg you to keep her in health and safety so she may return once this curse has been lifted. In your name, Danu, I pray you accept this additional offering as a pledge of my faith and devotion, as you once accepted the offerings of my beloved sister. Appeal completed, Celine rose, re-securing her cloak for the trek back toward the village.

Walking down the worn path, shadows cast images over the forest floor beneath the branches. The sweet scents of wildflowers and fresh grass had vanished long ago, the wind now holding the faint trace of decay and mildew. Patches of mold crept up the trunks of towering trees that rotted from within while their brittle branches gave way to the slightest gust. Celine hurried along the trail, occasionally disrupting the eerie silence as her boots crushed a brittle branch. Her heart longed for the memory of chittering birds and squirrels.

Walking past the homes of multiple neighbors, Celine arrived at the quaint cabin where she had lived all her life. Walking up the porch’s rickety steps, she opened the door, whose hinges creaked in protest.

Grandmother, she called. I’m home!

Seated in an old rocking chair before a crackling fire, the elderly woman greeted Celine with a dull smile.

Celine crossed the rough wooden floor and checked the iron pot over the flames, giving the thin contents a slow stir. The gruel would not be tasty, but was more than many had, and would fill their stomachs for a time.

Are you hungry, Grandmother? she asked, raising her voice so the elderly woman could hear her clearly.

I am, thank you, Shannon. You take such good care of the family, she replied, her withered hand plucking at the fur draped over her knees.

Celine flinched and turned away, fetching bowls from the cabinet, and bustling to provide her grandmother with a meager meal as she sought patience. I’m Celine, Grandmother, she reminded gently. Shannon left to find help for our village. I’m sure she will return any day.

Her grandmother’s eyes clouded with confusion; her brow clenched tight. Did your father go with her? It isn’t like him to sleep through breakfast.

Celine held her tongue, instead helping the frail woman to her feet, assisting her with the few steps from her chair beside the fire to their worn table. Her heart broke each time she had to remind her grandmother of his death. Most days, silence proved the easier path.

You should eat, Grandmother. I have work to do, and I must travel to the market to see if there are any supplies to be had. She placed the spoon in her grandmother’s hand before settling across the table from her with her own meager portion, and a mug of tea.

As she ate, she watched her grandmother slip back into the silent blankness where she spent most of her waking hours. With lucidity coming less and less often, Celine feared she would one day stop speaking altogether.

Clearing away the dishes, she slowly steered the old woman back to her chair and settled her, making sure the elderly woman was clear of anything harmful. Bending, she pulled the fur back over her grandmother’s lap and pressed a kiss to her soft, wrinkled cheek. I’ll be out in the garden, should you require anything, she spoke softly. Brushing her skirt, she wondered again if the woman heard her, or if she was too lost within her own mind.

Celine shrugged and sighed, preparing herself to return to the damp chill. The rest of the morning was spent scratching about in the soil where she’d once produced a bounty of herbs and vegetables, but now barely yielded enough for the two women to subsist on. For generations, their family had been blessed with good fortune and bountiful harvests, a benefit they ascribed to their devoted attention to the Hawthorn tree and the old gods it shrouded. That bounty had withered along with everything else under the curse’s power.

Staring at the basket in front of her, Celine brushed the hair from her eyes with the back of her muddy hand. This is more than most have, she chided herself for being ungrateful when hours of work had brought forth so little. Inside the barn, she gathered the thin branches she’d hung to dry, more out of habit than necessity. No one could afford the baskets she wove, nor had anything to fill them with, but the familiar task kept her hands in motion and allowed her to pass the time.

Soon enough, she could tell by the sun’s position the time had come to head for the market. She washed her hands and face, tidied her appearance, and put on her sister’s old straw bonnet.

With soft, familiar snores, her grandmother slept peacefully.

Smiling, Celine left quietly, not wishing to disturb her.

Chapter 2

Adaire Village

The walk into the village was longer than the trail leading to the sacred tree, but less dangerous. Attacks along the well-worn path were rare, and no one had gone missing from it in over a year. The forest and clearing around the Hawthorn were a different matter, and Celine courted death each time she undertook the journey.

Clenching the basket of items she had available to barter, the wind battered her cloak as she hurried along the worn trail, occasionally shifting to avoid a felled branch across the path. Once this furrowed route would have been filled with locals and lively chatter. Now the road was desolate, people increasingly fearful of venturing far from their secluded homes. Hurrying to reach the market and return before nightfall, Celine stumbled in spite of her caution. Bending to retrieve the candle, which had fallen from her basket, Celine lightly dusted dirt from the hardened wax, grateful the increasingly rare commodity had not been broken in her clumsiness. Returning the candle to the basket, she brushed additional dirt from her hands, before straightening to find her gaze aligned with the golden yellow eyes of an immense wolf.

White fur contrasting with the bleak surroundings, the wolf’s direct stare caused Celine’s pulse to race. The massive animal appeared unaffected by the food scarcity in the dying forest, lacking the scraggly appearance of other woodland creatures.

Celine froze, not even daring to breathe, torn between running and remaining motionless.

Cocking its head, the wolf studied her curiously. Her fear increased as the creature took a deliberate step toward her, wide paws crunching dead leaves.

No. Go away, Celine whispered softly enough she doubted the creature could hear her words.

A gust of cold wind pushed the hood of Celine’s worn cape over her face, obscuring her vision. Panicked, she raised a hand to shove the hood back.

The wolf was gone.

Jarred by the encounter, Celine bolted from the spot where she’d been frozen, rushing down the path to reach the village. Logically, she knew running from a predator was foolhardy, but her pounding heart and racing thoughts drove her forward. Glancing over her shoulder, she couldn’t see