" Look at those women over there, Bella. They haven’t ceased staring at me all night. One would think they’d never seen a fictional character come to life before.”
“They and everybody else,” Arabella said impatiently. “But not for— Jackie, are you listening to me?”
“And that Baron whatever-his-name-is has winked at me six times. Six! Can you imagine? It is positively diverting.”
“Jackie, look at me.” Arabella held a cheaply printed broadsheet. “Have you read this? Part III?”
“I have. It is a very satisfying finale.”
“Satisfying?”
“Everybody ends up just as they should,” she forced herself to say.
Arabella squeezed her hand. “This is not like you, darling. He hurt you terribly, and I understand that this ending satisfies that hurt. But you cannot like the stone princess’s fate. Do not tell me you have resigned yourself to it.”
“I haven’t, of course. She goes willingly, while I—”
“Willingly?” Arabella peered at her. “You haven’t read it, have you?” She pressed the page into her palm. Jacqueline cared nothing that at least a dozen pairs of eyes were on her as she uncreased the paper and yet again forced her misery behind the blockade of pride and confidence she had erected. If they must all see her read it to be satisfied she knew the ending— the ending she had written an hour after telling Duke Tarleton that she could not marry him or any other man— then so be it.
But as her eyes scanned the words, she did not recognize them.
This was not her writing.

The king he swore in fury’s rage
His daughter would be wed
To warlike man through violent force, And chained to mortal bed.

The princess wed; her husband learned The secret of the portal.
With axe and club he broke it down, Entrapping her as mortal.

The Sun Prince knew not this tragic fate;
He waited at the feast. ’Midst song and dance he watched for her,
Yet found in them no peace.

In silv’ry light he stood upon
The brook’s clear bank where once
With hands entwined they’d spoke of joy,
Yet now came still silence.

Days passed to weeks, weeks into months.
The princess did not come.
He called his heartbreak to the stars, Beneath which they had loved.

The trees whispered his sorrow’s grief, The Moon in solace shone,
But the prince no comfort would he take Now his mortal maid was gone.

His beauty waned; the prince grew weak. His golden luster faded.
For it was she who’d brought him life; From her his beauty came.

O’er song and feast the dark night crept
Upon the desolate shore.
Then sending forth his final breath, The Sun Prince was no more.

Jacqueline blinked, shedding a tear and marring the freshly printed ink. She swiped a finger beneath her lashes.
Before her appeared a linen kerchief. The hand that held it was masculine, strong and familiar.
She lifted her head. The Earl of Bedwyr knelt before her upon one knee. His hair was tousled, his coat wrinkled, his cravat hastily tied, and his hand extending the linen was unsteady.
His dark eyes spoke something she could not readily believe: hope.
“Princess.” His voice was rough. “Don’t let me die.”

-Jacqueline, Arabella, & Cam "

― Katharine Ashe , Kisses, She Wrote (The Prince Catchers, #1.5)