For Love of Magic, For Magic of Love

By Mistress Dawnstar

Summary: Princess Anoira had everything a girl could want, a loving father, a title, wealth, power, and magical talent. She thought she was the luckiest girl on earth, until she discovered that her father planned on marrying her. Based loosely on the Grimm fairy tale Princess in Disguise.

Prologue

He was the picture of weary dejection. He sat, head clutched in his hands, on a blue velvet covered bench beside a massive, intricately carved door. His fine robes were wrinkled with wear and hang much too loosely on his frame. A golden circlet hung lopsidedly on his head. His once thick, raven black hair was now liberally shot though with premature white. The shadows under his eyes and the hollowness of his cheek bespoke of far too many sleepless nights and skipped meals.

The door creaked softly open and a bearded man in the robes of a healer exited. The man's head snapped up. Desperate hope waged with pain in his dark blue eyes. "What news?" he croaked hoarsely.

"I'm sorry, Your Majesty. We did our best. She is failing too fast." The healer's velvety voice was thick with sympathy and pity.

The King, for that's what he was, uttered a cry of anguish and buried his head in his hands once more.

He felt a gentle touch on his shoulder and raised up his dull gaze once again. "She's been asking for you. She wants to see you again before…"

He nodded dully. "I understand."

He stood stiffly and entered the still open doorway. His eyes were immediately drawn to the figure, a woman, lying in the large canopy bed in the middle of the room. He strode quickly to the bed and knelt beside it, taking one of the woman's hands and gently clasping it in his own. "Lysa" He breathed.

The woman, Lysa, turned towards her husband and managed a wan smile. The illness had been cruel to her. Her famed creamy skin was now pallid and clammy. Her luscious black hair had turned prematurely gray. Her cheeks where shrunken in, throwing her cheekbones into sharp relief. Her green eyes, perhaps the only remaining fragment of her great beauty was over-bright with fever. Her lips parted. "My love, I'm sorry."

"Don't say that. You can still recover. You'll be alright." The last came out in almost a sob.

"No, my time is up. I am gifted strongly with the visions, you know that. I knew it was to be this way years ago." The woman's whispers were barely discernable.

"Why did you not tell me?" The reply held a tone of anguish.

"And force you to bear the burden, along with everything else." A laughed escaped her lips and quickly turned to a cough that racked her entire body. "No, I could not do that to you, or the kingdom." She whispered when she rested quietly once more.

"Don't try to speak."

"No, I must. My time is short. There was one other…" Another bout of coughing interrupted her words. "Other vision. Of you, your future." She gasped.

"My dear, try to get some rest. You can tell me this later, when you're rested." He glanced behind him. "Physician, come quickly!"

"No, let me speak. I saw…I saw…it was your wedding…you must promise me." She wheezed between the coughs that came with increasing velocity.

"What is it that you want me to promise?"

"Don't…"

"I will never marry again. I will not forsake you." He exclaimed.

The woman shook her head, but even that slight effort was enough to leave her gasping. "No…you are king…you need…need a queen…she who is to be your bride…you must promise…never… promise me…choose she who is…like me…promise me." Her feverish green eyes seemed to burn into his and her grip on his hand was as strong as iron.

What did she mean? What was it that he had to promise? Of course! She had asked him to choose a woman who was like her. "I promise that if I wed again, it only be to a woman who is like you in every way." He said firmly. "Now, my dear, you must get some rest." He extricated his hand from her grip and beckoned to the healer who now stood beside him. "Get her something to help her sleep. She needs to rest."

"No! Promise me…" The rest was lost in a long bout of coughing. Her body convulsed violently with each attack. On last spasm shook her body and then she was still…forever. Even as she died, one last tortured thought flitted through her head. :Anoira, forgive me:

A/N: I know this is a really short chapter, but I hope I've given you a taste of the story. As always, please read and review.