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Jack bowed his head and clasped his hands together as he tried to block out the mass of mourners surrounding him. He was not bothered by the winter chill in the air. Nor did he notice the solemn drone from the pastor who stood at the head of the open grave. Numb. He was numb. Void of emotion and entirely accepting that now his grandfather was gone, he was all alone.

Jack Smith was an only child, orphaned before he could walk and raised by his grandfather, Arthur Smith, who was a scholar and philosopher. Arthur was renowned by the whole of England for having published countless books and left behind a stately home which had an extensive library. Jack had been homeschooled and hidden in the shadow of his grandfather’s achievements all of his life.

For seventeen years he had lived on the earth and never achieved anything remarkable on his own. And until now, he was just fine with that.

Jack knew it was time to move forward and figure out who he was, and what type of man he wanted to become. But none of that mattered right now. In that moment, all Jack thought about was getting through the next couple of hours.

He threw a red rose into the grave; it hit the walnut coffin with a thud, and his eyes prickled.

“Goodbye, Grandfather,” he whispered.

The people jostled beside him and took their turn to pay their respects. Jack shuffled back a little, stumbling on the uneven grass, and his ice-blue eyes shot up.

Standing in the distance, looking at another grave, stood a young woman no older than Jack. Her narrow shoulders trembled, and she wore a long ivory gown. Embroidered lace covered her arms, and she had a snowy white veil covering her blonde hair. She stuck out in a sea of black. Like a single white rose among a bed of thorns.

Jack’s gaze lingered on the young woman, wondering why she was alone and whom she was mourning. Then she looked up, and a spark of recognition fired in his brain as their eyes met. Even though they were standing at least twenty feet apart, it was as if an invisible cord connected them, and a jolt of electricity shot through Jack.

He gasped and stepped away, breaking eye contact. As if it had severed the cord, his body returned to a numb state. He recovered himself and scanned the cemetery to look at the young woman again. But she was gone.

“Look. It’s snowing. Bob, how long have we lived here?” An old lady standing far off pointed to the thick, gray clouds.

A sea of heads looked up.

“Good grief. You’re right,” an old man replied. “It hasn’t snowed in Tynhem for over sixty years.”

Tynhem was a little town just outside of Oxford, and in all of Jack’s life, he had never seen it snow. A dusting of white fell like ash from the sky and settled on the ground.

Jack watched the flecks of snow fall into the open grave and allowed a slight smile to break his grimace. He knew his grandfather would have something philosophical to say about the moment. But Jack appreciated that, for once, the weather reflected his mood.

He whipped his head back and forth, searching the faces for the young woman he had seen just moments earlier. But she had vanished.

Slowly, the mourners walked back to the waiting cars, and Jack followed. Many of these people had known Jack’s grandfather since before Jack was born, and yet no one so much as looked in his direction as they made their way to the manor for the wake.

Jack was grateful that Mr. Thomas had everything in hand. He took care of all the funeral arrangements, organized the caterers, and even booked a string quartet. It was above and beyond what any family lawyer should do. But he did it anyway. All Jack had to do was put on his suit and turn up.

The tires crunched over the gravel driveway as the stretch limousine pulled up outside the manor. A door opened and Jack stepped out gloomily. As he walked to the entrance, he stuffed his hands in his pockets and kept his head bowed low. Whispers flew around the courtyard and followed him into the home, but no one addressed him. He could have been invisible for all he knew.

A large stream of nosey people swarmed in and looked around the manor like they were visiting a museum. Arthur Smith was the grandson of a duke. The manor was the finest example of eighteenth-century architecture in Tynhem, and this was the first opportunity for members of the public to look inside.

According to the will, Arthur bestowed everything to Jack. But Jack did not like the idea of living in a twelve-bedroom manor and maintaining four acres of gardens alone. He instructed Mr. Thomas to sell it as soon as the funeral was over and let him know as soon as the funds were available.

What Jack would do next, or where he would go, remained a mystery. But he didn’t care. This was no longer his home, and an unknown future called out to him.

After several awkward minutes of standing in the entrance hall, picking at the seam of his jacket, he headed upstairs to the bathroom, certain he would not be missed. He glanced at the paintings of his ancestors as he ascended the steps and allowed his hand to drag along the oak rail, rubbed smooth over years of use.

The floors creaked as he crossed the hall, and a sudden flash of light stopped him in his tracks. It came from his grandfather’s office—a room Jack had been forbidden to ever step inside. But unlike most days, the door was cracked open, and a light flashed again.

Jack’s curiosity piqued. Just what was so special about Grandfather’s office that I could never go inside? he wondered.

With a light shrug, he walked to the door and pushed it open. No one was there to stop him this time.

The hinges squeaked as the door swung open and a flash of brilliant white light momentarily blinded him. Shielding his eyes, he cautiously stepped forward and blinked several times to take in the room.

A wide mahogany desk stood proudly in the center with an open leather-bound book laying on top. Jack leaned in to find a quote encircled.

The best portion of a good man’s life: his little nameless unremembered acts of kindness and love.
-William Wordsworth

Jack traced the words with his finger and let out a heavy sigh, but his breath caught in his throat. He tugged at his collar with a grimace and glanced at the small dusty window. He supposed it had never been opened.

The room was hot and stuffy, and Jack shrugged out of his jacket as he looked around. Many dusty shelves lined the walls, all sporting various antiques and artifacts. His grandfather’s coat hung on a coat stand by the door, and a cane leaned against the desk.

In the corner of the room stood an ornate free-standing oval mirror. The brass frame had etchings of words written in a language he did not recognize. Which was a surprise to him, as his grandfather had him study twelve languages, including Greek and Latin.

He caught his reflection. His muddy brown hair sat wavy around his ears, and despite his moody disposition, his eyes twinkled. He had always been scrawny and small, but the young man looking back at him in the mirror was taller, with a healthy glow. He stood up straight and squared his shoulders, clenching his biceps and setting his jaw.

Then a pair of sky-blue eyes blinked at him from behind his shoulder.

As quick as a flash, he turned to see who was standing behind him. He recognized those eyes. But no one was there.

Jack looked back at the mirror and took a step closer, his heart thumping and ears ringing. Next to his head, he saw a spray of blonde hair obscuring a woman’s eyes. He took another step and squinted. A delicate hand rose and brushed the strands of hair away from a porcelain face. His eyes lingered on a pretty pair of rosebud lips, and two glittering eyes met his gaze.

They held eye contact for a moment, then a blast of frosty air shot past Jack from the corner of the room. Startled, he stumbled forward, grasping the frame to find his balance. He didn’t dare to break eye contact with the woman in the reflection for fear that she might disappear again if he did.

Then a stronger blast hit him from behind. It was as if an unseen energy willed him to fall. Jack clutched the frame as his body went hurtling forward. He braced for impact with the glass, but to his utter surprise, he fell through as if it was not a mirror at all, but an archway.

Shards of glass surrounded him and hung in the air, sparkling like glitter. Jack marveled at the sight, then another gust of air scattered them as far as the eye could see.

He stood on the top of a snowy hilltop, and brilliant white light flooded the sky. To the right, a magnificent white castle sparkled in the distance and a little village of wooden houses with smoking chimneys sat nestled in a valley.

Jack whipped around on the spot. The brass frame of the mirror lay in pieces at his feet, and his grandfather’s office was nowhere to be seen.

“What the––?” he said in a breathy voice.

Then he realized he was not alone. His brows shot up and his chest squeezed as he watched a young woman walking toward him. Her face looked the same as the woman he had seen in the mirror, but now her hair was brown.

Despite the winter frost, and the thin material of her cloak, she did not shiver. Nor were her cheeks rosy from the cold. She held out a gloved hand and smiled at Jack like she was an old friend. As if this was not the first time she had witnessed someone stumble through a mirror.

“Quickly,” she said in a hushed voice, her smile fading as she grabbed his hand.

Jack stumbled forward, his legs like jelly as he struggled to keep up. The young woman broke into a run, her feet flying across the snow with ease, cloak billowing out behind her. Jack’s chest burned and the snow crunched under his feet.

“Wait. I can’t––” he gasped and came to a halt.

The young woman’s eyes flashed as she stopped and looked at him with alarm. “We can’t stay here, Jack. We have to go.”

Surprised at the sound of his name, Jack began moving again, and the two of them hurried down the hilltop towards the castle. All the while, the mystery woman kept her face forward, never so much as glancing back.

The ground leveled as they entered a woodland. Jack’s lungs burned, and his legs refused to walk any further. He doubled over, gasping for air.

“We can’t stop,” the young woman urged.

Jack looked up and frowned. How was she not out of breath? They had been running at full pelt for several minutes and his heart was about to burst out of his ribcage. Yet she hadn’t broken a sweat.

“Who are you? How do you know my name?” he asked through gulping breaths. “And where am I?”

The young woman took a step closer, her warm breath tickling his forehead as she bent down to him. “You have a lot of questions. But for now I only have one answer.”

Her voice was soft and musical and her words seemed to soothe his troubled soul. But then her eyes darkened.

“Trust no one.”

She threw her arm back in a swift motion, and struck him on the back of the head.

Then everything went black.

Who is she, and where has the mirror taken Jack?
Keep reading: all 8 Fairy Tales Reimagined books are in the box.

Georgette Harrington looked out at the rolling seas. She inhaled the salty breeze as it washed over her, whipping her curls back. Though the skies were clear, she did not fancy the look of the ominous green tinge creeping across the horizon.

She felt restless. A flock of seagulls honked overhead and she knew she wasn’t the only living soul sensing the unsettling change in the wind. Something untoward was coming to Port Harbor.

She rubbed the goosebumps on her arms in a vain attempt to soothe them. It did nothing to slow her quickened heart rate.

Prince Edward’s blue eyes moved to her slender hands and a tight crease formed between his tidy brows.

“Are you well, my lady?” he asked, his voice full of concern. “Perhaps we should return to the palace.”

Georgette dropped her hands. The hairs on the back of her bare neck were up now, but she forced a refined smile. “There is no need, Your Majesty, I am but a little excited about the ball, is all.”

She glanced at Rose, the maiden walking three paces behind them. She had drawn the short straw to be their chaperone.

Georgette knew that there were numerous duties her maids would prefer over the tedium of walking three paces behind herself and the Prince. She wondered what it must be like for Rose and the other girls, having to pretend to not hear their every word even as they listened for orders and kept a hawk’s eye on the Prince’s body language.

As though her thoughts had triggered a reaction, Rose uttered a short, sharp gasp. Georgette realized why a second later, when the Prince’s royal jacket was suddenly being draped around her shoulders. His body heat flooded her with a comforting warmth that competed with the heat flooding her cheeks.

The Prince had just taken off his royal garments for her sake.

Their eyes met and he held her gaze for a long moment. “You are trembling,” he said finally.

Georgette’s heartbeat slowed and she simply stared, lost in the depth of his ocean blue eyes. She soon recovered herself.

“Your Royal Highness,” she demurred, lowering her eyes. “You are too kind.”

“I must enquire as to when you will call me Edward, my lady. On our wedding night, perhaps?” Prince Edward asked, his lips lifting into a smile.

Georgette bit against a grin as she heard Rose’s breathing quicken. If the Prince were to carry on talking on this matter, she feared her maid would faint.

Georgette stepped back a little to ease the tension rising between them. The inside of the Prince’s jacket was filled with his scent. As she moved, his perfume wafted up and enveloped her. She took a deep breath.

“I shall call you by name the day you address me by mine.”

Prince Edward took her hands by the fingertips and gave her a wanting look. “Miss Georgette, then.”

He stood too close to be proper, but he seemed to have forgotten his manners in the moment. His face hovered mere inches away from hers. Georgette was able to admire every angle of it. There was much to admire.

Georgette considered him handsome, to be sure. He sported clean shaven cheeks and jaws, with smooth, dark hair tied back with a piece of ribbon. Everything about his appearance was meticulously clean. Even his teeth were unusually straight, probably not daring to be out of line. She thought him a fine man indeed.

Prince Edward; captain of the Royal British Navy and heir to the throne.

To be matched with a prince was in Georgette’s destiny long before she had reached adulthood. Her father, Lord Harrington, was a good friend of the King, and though Prince Edward was almost a decade her senior, it had been decided that Georgette would marry the Prince when she came of age.

Georgette never questioned it. Having no mother nor siblings, she wanted to please her father and make him proud. The man had endured enough heartache to last a thousand lifetimes, and Georgette was not interested in causing any further pain.

She was raised by the Governess, who taught her all the manners and customs of being a lady in 18th century England.

She took music lessons, and became quite skilled at the piano. On more than one occasion, the Governess had referred to her needlework as “impressive.” She could even tolerate sitting with her ankles crossed in a tight corset for six hours straight without having to be excused; a most important skill for royal life.

Georgette was ready to be a princess of England. She only hoped that she could do her duty to bear the Prince a healthy son. That, and ignore the substantial pull of the sea.

They’d lost her mother to the sea when Georgette was just a baby. She’d reluctantly left Georgette behind, and died in a storm on the sea while sailing to France. Since then, her father had forbidden Georgette from ever going near the water.

Still, she often found herself gazing upon the ocean from her balcony, daydreaming about a life away from the pressures and responsibilities placed upon her. She’d often see sailboats and all manner of ships come and go from the port, and long for the freedom to sail away into the great blue horizon.

Prince Edward and Georgette began their courtship on her twenty-first birthday.

All her years of preparation were finally coming to good use, but the Prince seemed set on throwing it all away out here on the palace grounds. He had her hands in a grip as strong as a vice, and she could hear his breaths coming out in short pants.

One hot breath tickled her cheek and his smile faded. It was the first time in six months Georgette had seen his regal mask slip. He dipped his head and shut his eyes, as if to offer a prayer.

“Georgette,” he whispered. “I cannot wait to marry you.”

Hearing her name uttered with such longing sent Georgette’s head into a spin. For a moment, she thought he might kiss her. His lips, mere inches away a few moments ago, was suddenly a breath away from hers. They breathed each other’s air for what felt like an eternity.

A squeak and a cough shattered the stillness. The Prince jolted back and dropped her hands as though they were hot coals. Rose had cleared her throat.

“You must only wait three days more… Edward,” Georgette said, pouring all of the tenderness she felt into the syllables of his name.

Prince Edward’s eyes flashed and he turned to beam at her.

But a far-off wave crashed and Georgette couldn’t resist glancing at the sea again. The tide had crept in, and she watched the water toss and beat on itself with a little more zeal than usual.

She looked back at Prince Edward. “Pray tell, Edward. Do I please you?”

Prince Edward looked deeply into her eyes, another slight line forming between his brows as though the question had caused offense. “Yes, Georgette. You are the most beautiful maiden I have ever laid eyes on.”

Georgette forced a smile. Many people had remarked on her rare beauty over the years. She had sun-kissed blonde hair that sparkled in the sunshine like a head-dress of millions of miniature diamonds, and her lips were naturally plump—as red as strawberries. But surely he could see more than that.

“Thank you,” she said, pretending to blush to hide her slight annoyance. “Is there anything else about me that pleases you?”

Prince Edward inclined his head. It reminded Georgette of a confused cocker spaniel for a moment. “I do not believe I understand.”

Georgette swallowed. “How is it, that after all these years, you still do not know me, Edward?” she asked, unable to hide the sharpness in her voice.

She pulled her hands away and watched the Prince’s brain at work. He scratched the back of his neck and stared at the ground as if he might find there a piece of parchment with script on what to say next.

“I assure you, I have been counting the days to the night I get to know you.”

Now Georgette blushed for real. “That’s not what I…” She couldn’t finish the sentence. Her throat had gone dry.

“Ma’am, Lord Harrington’s carriage has arrived.”

Georgette jumped at the sound of her maid’s voice and followed Rose’s line of sight.

The palace gardens were set on a hill, giving a perfect view of what lay beyond the stone wall encircling the palace. Rose was right. It was still a small object in the distance, but Georgette recognized her father’s carriage by the family crest etched into the frame over one of the doors.

She removed the Prince’s heavy jacket and gave it back to him. He bowed his head. “I look forward to seeing you again, Miss Georgette,” he said, folding his jacket over his arm.

As he escorted her back to the palace, Georgette couldn’t help but notice that his eyes lingered on her. Her irritation faded.

“You will not have to wait long,” she said, glancing at him with a shy smile. “The engagement ball is this evening.”

She found it difficult to remain annoyed at the Prince when he looked at her like that.

“Our engagement ball,” he corrected, and his words made Georgette’s heart flutter.

Their engagement ball. The long-awaited event. Every esteemed friend and acquaintance of the royal family would be in attendance. It would be their first public appearance as a couple, and Georgette had spent many late nights practicing her steps for their dance.

The Prince must have misinterpreted her anxiety for concern, because he gave her an earnest look.

“Do not worry yourself, my dear,” he said, as she stepped through the palace doors ahead of him. “We have a lifetime to get to know each other.”

* * *

On the way home, Georgette stared out the little window of the carriage, listening to the babble of talk from the city folk walking the streets.

A woman reprimanded a child for getting mud on his nice clothes. A man stood on the corner shouting out Bible references, calling all to repentance. Then the carriage passed a group of men chuckling darkly about something. Georgette could not quite make out their words, but she guessed it might have been about the preacher, because they were all looking at him.

The sounds merged into a toneless drone as she became lost in thought.

The Prince was sweet, but she couldn’t ignore her reservations. It was well known that his mother, the Queen, had fallen out of favor with the King. When that happened, he sent her to the Tower of London, never to be seen again. Soon after, the King announced her dead, and married a new Queen.

Georgette worried. If Prince Edward were to become King and fall out of love with Georgette, would she meet the same fate?

Georgette tugged on the top of her tight bodice and touched her neck, as though checking she was still in one piece. Her fingertips grazed a string of pearls.

It marveled her that her father and the King were so close. She couldn’t imagine her sweet, benevolent father condoning such actions. He worshipped her mother when she was alive, and devoted much of his time to Georgette. They played chess by the fire many a night. He told her several stories of his travels as a mere sailorman.

A sudden jolt forced Georgette out of her thoughts. Before she could process what was happening, the carriage tipped sideways and crashed to the ground. Georgette collided with the side of the carriage headfirst, and the world went black.

She woke in a commotion of screams and shouts. An acrid, burning smell clung to the back of her throat. She coughed and struggled to sit up. Disoriented, she looked up at the sound of squealing hinges and blinked at the sunlight streaming in through the open door.

“Take my hand.”

Tanned, callous fingers with golden rings on every digit reached down towards her. Georgette’s first instinct was to bat the hand away, but she held restraint and frowned up at the light instead.

“Take my hand or stay in there and burn.”

Georgette scowled deeper at the harsh tone of the man’s gruff voice and looked around her. The smell of smoke grew stronger and swirling clouds of black seeped in through the slits of the carriage’s woodwork.

“This is your last chance,” the gruff voice warned.

Georgette shakily got to her feet, swayed at the thumping pain in her temple, and reached up for her savior’s hand. As soon as she gripped his wrist, another hand reached down and grabbed her forearm.

After some grunting above her head, her feet left the ground and Georgette’s upper body emerged through the open door. Now standing next to the man who had pulled her out, Georgette studied his appearance.

He wore a long leather coat with fine gold buttons running along the seam. A soft, white, ruffled shirt hung open at the chest, giving Georgette an eyeful of the man’s defined and sweat-drenched muscles.

She fought the urge to recoil. She had never seen a man like him before. Two dark brown eyes met hers, framed with thick black brows, wild dark hair, and a shaggy beard.

The man wrapped his arms around her waist to carry her safely away from the burning carriage and suddenly, she was cradled so close to his body that her ear pressed up against his bare chest and she could hear the steady thump-thump of his heartbeat.

“Hold onto me,” he said, his voice rumbling against Georgette’s ear.

She gripped the collar of his soft leather coat, but the man growled with dissatisfaction, took her hands, and placed them around his neck.

“Now wrap your legs around my waist,” he ordered.

Georgette gasped as she wondered at the audacity of this stranger. When she didn’t obey his command, the man lifted her skirts roughly and grabbed a leg. Georgette squeaked.

He huffed with impatience. “In case you haven’t noticed, the carriage is on fire. If you don’t do as I say, we’re both going to be engulfed in flames.”

As though on cue, Georgette began to feel the heat from below. She glanced down, and red flames licked the bottom of her feet. Her heartbeat went wild.

Sensing her alarm, the man pinned her thigh to his waist. She wrapped the other leg around him without hesitation.

“Good girl,” he growled into her neck, and his voice sent a shiver through her body. She tried to ignore it as she focused on clinging onto him while he climbed down.

Georgette had never been this close to a man before. She wasn’t sure if it was the fire or the intimacy causing her to break into a sweat. This was certainly no gentleman, but her body didn’t care. His wavy, shoulder-length hair smelled of the salty sea. Despite the horrid circumstances, she had never felt more safe in all her life.

When they reached the ground, dark smoke encircled them. Georgette stepped back to look at the man again. There was something familiar about his eyes. They stared back, dark and intense. A wild wiry beard consumed a good portion of his face. She wondered what kind of man was underneath it.

He broke eye contact to secure his sleeve and Georgette followed his movements. Just before he could hide it, she caught sight of the black P burned into his skin.

She gasped and locked eyes with him again. “You’re a pirate,” she whispered.

Oddly, he grimaced at the word.

Had she caused offense? She opened her mouth to thank him, but found herself whipped into the arms of Prince Edward instead, who had wrapped her up in a tight hug.

“When I saw the smoke, and then your carriage on its side, my heart stopped. Thank the heavens you are alive.” He held her tight.

Georgette frowned into his jacket. The scent of his clean clothes and warm spice did not make her feel anything but numb. When he pulled back to search her eyes, Georgette forced a brave smile.

“I’m quite well. Please do not be alarmed. I’m just a little shocked, is all.”

Prince Edward squeezed her hands and nodded, then he barked orders to the guards standing by to put out the fire.

Georgette stood frozen on the spot as more people came into view, staring at her like they were looking at a ghost. She was not concerned by the attention, she was scanning the faces, searching…

“How on God’s green Earth did you get out?”

She whipped round to see her father, in his finest clothes, striding toward her. He put his arms around her and she relaxed into his warm embrace.

“There was a man,” she mumbled into his chest.

Then she pulled back to look again. But her efforts were fruitless. The man—the pirate—who had saved her, was gone.

“We shall delay the ball, and I insist on escorting you back to the palace. I’ll call for the doctor…” Prince Edward stopped at the sight of Georgette furiously shaking her head.

“No. I am unharmed, and I do not intend to delay our wedding a moment longer,” she said.

She had her concerns about joining the royal family, but there was simply nothing more torturous than staying in an anxious limbo for longer than necessary. She would find ways to keep the Prince happy.

Prince Edward’s face lit up, but he forced a serious look a second later and nodded. “At least allow me to take you home in my carriage.”

* * *

Back in her father’s manor, Georgette sat in a tin bath and stared at her knees while her maids poured warm water over her.

It made no difference what the temperature was. She had lost all feeling to a cold numbness since she caught sight of the dark P on the stranger’s hand. For all she knew, they were pouring buckets of ice over her body.

“You’ve had quite the scare, Miss Harrington,” one of the maids commented needlessly. “You’re still trembling.”

Georgette hugged her knees and bit her lip, willing her limbs to still. It was fruitless. Another shiver wracked her.

“Yes. I dread to think what might have happened if that pirate hadn’t saved me.”

A bucket dropped to the stone floor with a clang. One of the maids bent quickly to retrieve it, babbling a string of apologies.

“Ma’am,” another began fearfully. “Did you say, pirate?”

The word pirate was not often uttered in the Harrington household. Or indeed, many homes at Port Harbor. The small town was well known to be far safer than London. So safe, in fact, that the royal family tended to spend most of their time there, instead of in the city.

There had not been a pirate attack for more than two years, and the superstitious residents liked to keep it that way by refusing to name them. It was as though the mere utterance of the word pirate would summon them from the far reaches of the sea, to pillage and plunder their town.

“Yes,” Georgette responded calmly. She rubbed a bar of soap over her body. “He was exceedingly ill mannered. But if it weren’t for him, I would surely be dead.”

The maids whispered to each other, and one of them began to wash Georgette’s long hair, so she sat back and shut her eyes while her brain replayed the events.

She could still feel his body heat between her thighs, and his hot breath on her neck. Then she remembered his words as he carried her down. Good girl.

Her insides flopped like a fish out of water. She squirmed.

“Ma’am. Are you feeling well? You are flushed.”

Georgette’s eyes snapped open and she looked at the concerned maids staring down at her. Then she forced a smile to suppress the strange and new sensations flooding her body.

“Yes,” she whispered. “In fact, I do believe I’ve never felt more alive.”

Who is the pirate, and why are his eyes so familiar?
Keep reading: all 6 Romancing the Seas books are in the box.