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Abbigayle Grace's books on Goodreads
Elfboy Elfboy (The Pizza Shop Chronicles #1)
reviews: 4
ratings: 8 (avg rating 4.75)

Goblinprince Goblinprince (The Pizza Shop Chronicles #2)
reviews: 4
ratings: 5 (avg rating 4.20)

Winter in Deglendark Valley Winter in Deglendark Valley
ratings: 1 (avg rating 5.00)

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Book 3 of The Pizza Shop Chronicles – Fairyspells: 1st Chapter

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And here’s Chapter 1! In case you missed it, you can read the prologue here. Please read & let me know what you think! I’m always open to constructive feedback 🙂

Thanks!

*****

Fairyspells (The Pizza Shop Chronicles #3)

Chapter 1: Corandor

 

Most people don’t understand how I could hate Alastair so much—the greatest king elves and fairies have had in centuries! But I really did. A lot. I didn’t think it was possible for someone to hate anyone more than I hated him.

But, obviously, somebody did. And they got to him before I could.

I was at my lessons table in the forest caverns, listening to my tutor and guardian, a blind elf named Olond, recite the history of the first elf king from over the mountains, Narya. Alastair’s ancestor.

One time, I’d thought it would be easy to get away with sleeping or doodling when I was supposed to be paying attention. I mean, Olond was blind, how could he possibly know what I was doing?

That was the day I learned why Olond was the head of the forest Council decades ago before there was a king. And why Alastair picked him for head minister of the caverns now. Olond knew what everyone in the room was doing, no matter what it was. He just knew. He didn’t need to see.

Sometimes it made me wonder if he’d gone blind on purpose just to show the rest of the elves he didn’t need his eyes. It was just as plausible as any other theory, since only Olond knew how he lost his sight and he never told.

Either way, Olond didn’t care whether or not I wanted to be drawing or paying attention. And he didn’t care that I knew he couldn’t actually see what I was doing. If it was time for my lessons, he made sure I was at the table in the library, copying what he’d written on the blackboard—in a very neat, looping hand—and that I was listening to everything he said.

Even if he was talking about people I hated. Or the ancestors of people I hated.

It seemed like no matter what I did or where I went, I couldn’t escape King Alastair.

After my mother died and Olond took me in, I had everything I could ever want or need—good food, clothes, books, education—everything. And it all came from King Alastair, via his favorite forest minister.

I hated them both for it, but I couldn’t help hating Alastair more. He did it to me.

He killed my father.

With the two of them alone on the battlements of the mountain castle, in the midst of a battle, Alastair ran a sword through my father’s chest and threw his body over the cliffs. I wasn’t there, but I heard Alastair’s eyes blazed orange like a goblin’s at the time and he even spoke in their language—which even the most learned Olond couldn’t decipher.

And then, if that wasn’t bad enough, Alastair blamed the goblin attack—as well as the political trouble with the fairies—on my father. With no witnesses to say otherwise sicne everyone was fighting for their lives, my father died with the brand of a traitor over his head.

And Alastair became king of the forest, the mountains, and the fairies.

Three kingdoms with one king on a throne he killed, lied, and cheated to get onto.

People didn’t understand how I could hate him so much.

I didn’t understand why they loved him.

And so, even though Olond forced me to pay attention to my lesson and recite the old songs and sayings, the back of my mind was always focused on how to show everyone what their king was really like. How to avenge my father on everyone who’d ruined and taken his life.

I thought surely the day I heard Alastair was dead would be the happiest day of my life. But when it actually came, I wasn’t happy.

I was scared.
“The red flag is raised over the mountain castle!” the elf soldier said, bursting in on my lesson. Perspiration beaded on his face and he was breathless from his run. “We have sighted goblins and—“ he gulped, looking from Olond to me and back. “—and all other flags fly half-mast… we’ve word that the Veldstone is dark.”

Olond’s blank gray eyes roamed around the place where the messenger stood, as though he were seeking out the truth of such a statement. “Then it seems the elves will fall,” he said with resignation. “What hope is there against goblins when the Goblinslayer is dead? Alastair was the last of Narya’s blood… But I would not have us fall idle! Take every soldier we can spare and bring any survivors back safely if you can make it in time to do any good.”

“But surely, Prince Galbraith holds the throne now,” the soldier said. “Should we not—“

“He has no doubt seen the flag already and is on his way,” Olond interrupted, snapping for the first time today. “Now, go. Bring him back as well if he’s there!”

“I want to go,” I said, surprising even myself as I stumbled to rise, tripping over my own feet. My knees shook a little and my heart threatened to pound right up my dry throat.

I’d never fought—or even seen—a goblin before. They were the stuff of nightmares with their glowing eyes and poison fangs. Not to mention the screeches! I’d only just turned thirteen and knew I’d lose in a real fight if it came down to it—no matter how many imaginary hordes I’d crushed with the sweep of my wooden practice sword.

But I had to know the truth. I had to know if Alastair was really dead—firsthand.

And I had to know, with him dead, could I wake the Veldstone Crown? If I could do that, I could finally claim the rightful place my father had set for me, couldn’t I?

Was it possible that I, son of a so-called traitor, could become king of the forest?

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