Page 1 of Accidentally Ever After
Prologue
I’ve done some stupid things in my life. There was the time I tried to cut my own hair before a job interview. The regrettable summer I dated a guy in a ska band. The ill-advised tattoo that was supposed to be “carpe diem” but looks more like “carp dim sum.” But nothing—absolutely nothing—tops what happened at the Glimmerglade Estate last Saturday.
It was supposed to be straightforward: cater the fancy fairy wedding, smile politely, collect my check, pay my overdue rent. Simple.
“Blake, table three needs more of those little mushroom puff things,” my assistant Mia called over, balancing a tray of champagne flutes that sparkled almost as much as the guests.
“On it!” I replied, loading up a fresh tray.
I’d been catering events for three years, but this was my first fairy function. When the request came in for “Morgan’s Memorable Meals” to handle a royal wedding, I nearly deleted it as spam. But the deposit cleared—a sum so large I had to count the zeros twice—and here I was, surrounded by the most beautiful and terrifying creatures I’d ever seen.
Fairies, as it turns out, are not the tiny, tinkling beings from children’s books. They’re tall—like, basketball player tall—with pointed ears, otherworldly eyes, and massive, insect-like wings in every color imaginable. And they wear next to nothing. Like, Victoria’s Secret but make it magical.
I weaved through the crowd, trying not to stare at the bride’s gown, which seemed to be made primarily of dewdrops and strategically placed flowers. The wedding itself had been gorgeous in an alien way—vows exchanged while hovering ten feet in the air, the rings carried by actual butterflies, music that seemed to come from inside my own head.
“You there. Human.”
I turned to find myself face-to-chest with what appeared to be a fairy military officer. He wore gleaming silver armor that left his muscular arms bare, and his wings—translucent purple-blue things that reminded me of dragonflies—twitched impatiently.
“Me?” I squeaked.
“Follow. His Highness requires refreshment.”
I followed the guard through the reception, past tables made of what looked like living trees and a dance floor that seemed to be suspended over a pool of liquid starlight. We approached a slightly raised dais where several fairies sat watching the festivities.
And that’s when I saw him.
If the other fairies were beautiful, this one was devastating. Platinum hair braided down his back, cheekbones sharp enough to cut glass, and eyes—holy shit, his eyes. They were the color of twilight, shifting between purple and blue depending on how the light hit them. His wings were larger than the others’, with intricate patterns that seemed to glow from within.
“Your Highness,” the guard bowed. “The caterer.”
The fairy prince turned those impossible eyes on me, and I swear I forgot how to breathe.
“Ah,” he said, voice like honey over gravel. “Excellent timing. I find myself famished after all this… celebration.”
I nearly dropped my tray. “Mushroom puff?” I offered weakly.
A smile played at the corner of his mouth. “How delightful. You bring sustenance and entertainment.”
I wasn’t sure if I should be offended, but before I could decide, he plucked a puff from my tray with long, elegant fingers. As he did, his wing brushed against my arm, and a visible shudder ran through him. The sensation was bizarre—like being touched by warm electricity.
“Sorry,” I mumbled, stepping back.
“No harm done,” he said, though his eyes had darkened to a stormy indigo. “What is your name, caterer?”
“Blake. Blake Morgan.”
“Blake Morgan,” he repeated, as if tasting the syllables. “I am Prince Caelen Luminaris of the Autumn Court, brother to the groom.”
I bowed awkwardly, nearly upending my tray. “Nice to meet you, Your… Highness?”
“Indeed,” he said, that almost-smile returning. “I believe we will be meeting more frequently from now on.”
I had no idea what he meant, but I nodded politely and backed away as soon as he dismissed me with a regal flick of his wrist.
The rest of the reception passed in a blur of champagne flutes, dessert trays, and trying not to stare at the increasingly intimate fairy dancing that seemed to involve a lot of wing-touching and was making me feel like I was intruding on something private.
As the event wound down, I was summoned to the bride’s father’s private study to finalize payment. Lord Something-or-other (fairy names all sounded like someone had dumped out a Scrabble board) handed me a stack of papers covered in shimmering script.
