It was the prince, there was no mistake in that aspect. He wore jewels embedded into his surcoat; most were large, polished pieces of tanzite, the gem of his nation. They set his blue eyes aflame, as if the hottest witch fire blazed in them.

The prince held a more roguish handsomeness then the usual royal pretty boy. His brown hair was slightly longer then what Moira thought was permitted for someone of royal blood, but she was impressed about how little it took away from his masculinity. Surely he was more than twenty winters of age, for she had seen no man of eighteen have such neat facial hair, even though it was simple grizzle around his face with a little extra at the end of his chin.

Nevertheless, Moira thought with disgust, looking him up and down once more. He is of royal blood and they are all pretentious beings with little more to occupy their minds then how the weather fares.

Moira felt herself blush as Prince Derek studied her as well. He seemed unperturbed by the fact that his guards had just been turned to frogs; this fact greatly annoyed Moira. Perhaps he did not see it happen, but the scattered clothes would surely see some reaction from him.

Jumping over the stone wall so there was nothing standing between them except for the five metres of undisturbed dirt, Moira decided that introductions were a necessary step in trying to strike fear into the calm prince's demeanour.

Curtseying in a way that would make any noblewoman whisper with disgust at her poor etiquette, Moira said, "Your highness, tis a great honour to have your coach pass through our lands. We witches get so little company, especially those of noble blood."

"A shame really," the prince replied and Moira was taken aback by the smile that crept from the corners of his mouth. "Truly, if I'd known the witches of Delorna were so beautiful, I might have taken this road more often."

Moira felt her eyebrow twitch; she'd not anticipated the prince to talk back to her. She had expected a cowering little weasel, who would bow at her knee's and beg for mercy while she cackled, as all witches apparently do.

Yet here Derek stood, unafraid, disrespectful and even mocking her. Her, a witch from one of the darkest bloodlines. No human had ever dare stood up to her; usually they accepted their fate and grovelled all the same.

Moira's anger died as she let slip a smile; this would be a fun. She'd never had anyone talk back before, beg perhaps but never engage in a conversation. Speaking to the witches was hardly the same thing. They spoke of spell casting and what evil deeds they were to perform next, never had she tried a battle of wits with any. She remained mostly silent at home.

"Your flattery will not save you prince," Moira said innocently, looking to the piles of clothes around them and giving a taunting smile. "I'm afraid I've turned your friends to frogs, a fitting creature really for any who bears royal arms."

The prince laughed and shook his head, "I'm sure they will not remain so. A witch cannot evoke fear if no one is to talk or hear of her deeds."

Cocky bastard, she thought, narrowing her eyes on him.

"How odd that you do not quake in the presence of a witch, most would be on their knee's begging for their lives. Perhaps I should introduce myself, so you know of whom you face. I am Moira, descendant of Maleficent, heir to the witch clan that plagues this land. Greatest foe of Princess Rosalind, your fiancée."

Derek looked thoughtful, mulling over her grand announcement. "Truly that is an impressive list of attributes but how am I to be sure you are the greatest foe of Rosalind? I have never been told that she has ever been ailed by any witch."

Blood on fire, Moira stepped forward and knew her green eyes were flaring with power. How dare such a man get under her skin.

"You're not much of a prince," she spat out, realising how much he'd gotten on her nerves. "I see you've yet to introduce yourself."

"You're right," Derek smiled, stepping forward so there was only an arm's length between the two of them. He bowed slightly, reaching out and grabbing Moira's hand before she had a chance to snatch it back. He kissed it gently and then turned the palm over and kissed it as well, a form of polite introduction in Emeera. "I am Prince Derek, heir to the throne of Emeera. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance Moira."

Pulling her hand back, Moira scowled. "Careful prince," she spat out. "You might get warts from kissing a witch."

"Utter nonsense," the prince replied, leaning casually against his coach. "Honestly, as a witch I thought you might know a little better."

Impertinent little toad, Moira thought. She'd never encountered a man who'd tried to charm their way out of being cursed; he was clever, Moira had no doubt of that. He knew how to play the game and though that excited her a little, she had more pressing matters in her mind, such as the time quickly passing by as she engaged him in conversation. It would have been a while more before the coach would've reached the castle but another passing coach or caravan might see them and attempt to save the prince.

Moira was not immortal; a sword or arrow could easily kill her. She might put up a fight but more than four men who knew her presence could easily pierce her with something before she could complete any spell on them.

"I'm sure such sickening charm might work with Rosalind, however I am unmoved by your words," Moira said, standing back. "I'm sure she will be utterly devastated to learn her little prince has gone missing and that he is nowhere to be found."

"Rosalind is a princess, she will hold the grace that anyone of royal blood would. I have my fullest confidence in her. What is that expression everyone uses? Ah yes, good always triumphs over evil."

Moira didn't expect his words to sting but they did regardless. She was just a side to him, of course. Witches were meant to be feared, meant to be the monstrous hags that ate children, which was an outright lie; they weren't the pure souls who bathed in sunlight and cut down evil at its roots. They were evil, so she'd play the part.

"Perhaps," Moira said, trying to regain her composure. "But your princess is not here and you stand alone now."

Lifting her hand, Moira started chanting under her breath. She had never attempted the spell before, no one in her family had. It was one they'd learnt from travelling witches who dealt with more of the love curses.

Moira felt her power surround her and she took satisfaction in watching the prince take an uneasy step back as the waves of black energy surrounded him. She'd made a few adjustments to the spell, a way to try to call the princess out a little faster than she might be inclined to do so.

Now that she'd seen the prince, she understood the appeal of his appearance. Making him slightly inhuman might damage his reputation, a terrible loss to the princess, though Moira knew that was just the pickiness of humans.

The energy began to surround him until he was consumed by it and she could feel it working, changing the prince. Finally she stopped chanting and the energy slowly dissipated and Moira smiled as she saw the prince.

"Look on the bright side of this your highness," she smiled, bending down and tying a rope around his neck. He seemed to dazed to notice as she stroked the length of his neck, shrugging as he let out noise. "At least the spell worked, better off cursed then dead."

Standing, Moira knew of only one place she could take him. "Come Prince Derek, there's a place you can stay while your pretty little princess finds a way to release you. You'll love it there, lots of water, fish, perfect for a swan, though I think I would've liked you better as a toad."