Killian nodded, fondly remembering the gravelly purr of Melchior’s ancient stump-tailed tabby. Melchior yawned and rolled out his shoulders. “Anyway, I think I’d like to find my bedroom and turn in for the night.”
“Ugh,” Annette scoffed. “Seriously? You’re such an old man, you know that?”
“Excuse me, but some of us had to take a boat just to get here.”
“A ferry isn’t a boat, Melchior.”
Killian intercepted, nodding at Melchior and pointing over at the staircase. “I’ll go with you, I could use some rest too.”
Annette rolled her eyes. “You are both such disappointments.”
“Will you tell Cosette where I went if she asks for me?”
Annette waved them off with an annoyed nod and Melchior started toward the staircase. Killian quickly fell into step beside him. Although the inside of the ballroom was well lit and without a touch of frost, he didn’t want to remove the coat just yet, examining it as they walked. The sleeves barely reached his wrists, the well-worn cuffs soft as lambskin. For the first time he noticed a tiny embroidered border in red and purple along the hem.
As they reached the top of the stairs, he took a final glance down to the ballroom floor. The swirling gowns and twinkle of jewelry was dazzling, yet he held his breath, hoping for a final glimpse of that coal-black hair and dark eyes.
But Duke Fedya was long gone, nowhere to be seen. Melchior was already making his way down the wide hallway. Killian scurried after him, and soon they turned down a much narrower corridor filled with doors. Each door was labeled with a sign for its occupants, as each guest would be staying at the castle for the duration of the two-week-long event. Killian noticed his own room, but they continued walking until they reached a door at the very end. The sign read: DR. & MRS. BELROSE
Melchior sneezed the moment he stepped inside.
“Ugh, I know we’re a little early, but you’d have thought they would sweep.”
“When did you become so high maintenance?” Killian’s voice trailed off as he stepped in the room after Melchior. It was even larger than his bedroom back home, with an enormous sleigh bed in front of a fireplace, and iron lamps that glinted with gemstones. Its vaulted ceilings opened up into wide, clear windows. In the pale moonlight, the snowy mountaintops gleamed like silver, their jagged tops stabbing through thick forests of deep green.
“It’s nice.”
Melchior walked straight to the fireplace and began to coax the flames to life. “You see? Being married isn’t all bad. At least you’ll get a room upgrade.”
Killian scoffed in response as the flames flickered beneath Melchior’s fingertips. He trailed his fingers across the dusty phonograph as he wandered further in and slouched against the bedpost, picking at the metal buttons on his coat. They were smoothed to a polish and strangely warm between his fingers.
“Have you ever heard of a place called Tuskidor?”
“I take it this is about that rather interesting coat you’re still wearing.”
“Yes.” Killian paused as Fedya’s face flashed in his memory, and he couldn’t stop the corners of his mouth from curling upward. “I met someone tonight, and he told me he was from Tuskidor. But I’m not sure I’ve ever heard of it before.”
“Well, geography’s never been your strong suit. You can hardly remember the districts in your own country.”
“It’s not my fault when Maman changes them every two years,” Killian muttered.
Melchior straightened up from the fireplace, now bathed in the orange-tinted light of the roaring flames. “Not exactly what I was getting at. Anyway, I can’t say it rings any bells, but I can ask around, see what I can find.”
He sank onto the embroidered footstool, warming his palms before the flames. The light refracted off the lenses of his wire-rim glasses, giving his whole face a peculiar shadow. “So, who is this stranger from Tuskidor? Perhaps your fiancé in disguise?”
“Ugh,” Killian groaned and stepped away from the bed, “must you always return to that?”
“Well, it’s not exactly something you can avoid for much longer, Killian. This isn’t a surprise for you; you’ve had all year to plan for this event. Maybe it’s time to give it a rest and try to look forward to everything that’s going to happen.”
Killian didn’t answer, but his eyebrows knitted downward as he walked over to the fire. The warmth coated his face, and his forehead began to prickle with beads of sweat beneath the additional layer of heat. Still, he didn’t want to remove the coat just yet.
“It’s just difficult looking forward to something I had almost no input in. I’m going to spend the rest of my life with this person, shouldn’t my opinion count for something in the matter?”
Melchior crossed his arms and gave a half shrug. “Sure, perhaps if you weren’t a prince. But royalty doesn’t tend to receive that type of luxury.”
“Well, maybe we should.”
“You already have everything, and now you want to choose who you’re going to marry? Spoiled.”
Killian scrunched his nose at Melchior’s incessant good humor. “Maybe I just need a break. Is that so much to ask? A couple of nights to get away from this all, maybe make my own choice.”
Melchior raised an eyebrow. “To what? Fall in love?”
“I don’t know.” Killian shrugged. “If that’s what it is, why not?”
“You don’t believe in love at first sight, remember?”
“Don’t be so dramatic, I didn’t say I was in love with him.”
“Ah, yes,” Melchior said, tapping his chin, “the stranger from a strange land. Why didn’t I make the connection before?”
“Stop it.” Killian’s gaze shot up from the fire and over to Melchior. His cheeks were suddenly even warmer than before. “He was just…”
Melchior gave an uncharacteristic sly grin. “Hopelessly attractive?”
Killian scowled. “It’s not like that. He’s just different. He’s not like anyone else here, at least anyone I’ve met. I just…I want to get to know him better.”
The smile skittered away from Melchior’s face as quickly as it had come, and he gave another nonchalant shrug. “So why don’t you just ask him to dance at the Silver and Gold Dance? Isn’t it in a couple days? That should give you enough time to sufficiently woo him.”
Killian was about to argue when he paused. “Actually, that’s a pretty good idea.”
“I never let you down.” Melchior braced his palms against the flames and shivered. “How’s your mother, by the way? Last I heard she was going to some…astrologist?”
“He called himself a Star Healer, said there’s magic in the stars and constellations, it’s just a matter of knowing how to ask for it.” Killian shrugged. “I don’t know, he seemed pretty convinced of his own magic.”
“Oh, I’m sure he did.” Melchior scoffed and rolled his eyes. “They all do.”
“I don’t know, she said she felt better.”
Melchior scoffed again and leaned in closer to the fire. “Didn’t she get those vitamins I sent for her?”
“Sure, but you know Maman. Every minor cough is the Red Plague and there’s always something new to try. I mean, she wouldn’t come to her own son’s Union Ceremony because she heard a rumor King Ambrose’s gardens have Huffley Blossoms, which she’s allergic to.” Killian stopped, realizing how bitter he sounded. He quickly cleared his throat. “She’s fine, honestly.”
At last Melchior straightened up and latched on to Killian’s arm, steering him toward the door. “Good to hear it. And don’t forget to let me know how the dance goes.”
“Won’t you be there?”
“Not if I stay in bed from now until the end of this week. I’m still deciding.”
Killian grinned. “I’m sure Cosette wouldn’t mind.”
“Good night, Killian.”
With a wave and a final cheery smile, Melchior thrust Killian out of his room,
and nearly slammed the door shut after him. Killian couldn’t help but grin, feeling infinitely lighter than he had in days. The music from the ballroom still drifted up from downstairs, but he turned and headed to his own bedroom instead.
As suspected, his room was smaller than Melchior’s, and piled high with far too many stuffed suitcases his mother had sent along with him. He didn’t bother to light a fire, walking over to the balcony instead and stepping outside.
The frigid night air nipped his bare skin, but the coolness felt good as he looked out across the tops of the redwoods, their earthy scent mixing with the snow. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his engagement ring. Soon it would be on the finger of his fiancé.
It was simple and gold, the small, red stone gleaming in the waning light of the moon. He glanced up at the sky, staring at the pool of white light in the midst of all the stars. It would be a new moon soon enough.
Killian sighed and shoved the ring back in his pocket, and his hands instantly clasped back around the smooth surface of the watch. He pulled it out, and flicked his thumb over the small tab. To his surprise, it clicked open. He pulled it open the rest of the way, and discovered it wasn’t a watch at all, but a mirror. He smiled back at his own reflection, but even he could tell it didn’t reach his eyes.
“E
xcuse me, your Highness, would you like some tea?”
Killian grunted as his eyelids flashed open. A servant stood in front of him, gesturing to a small cart. It tinkered with stacks of cups and saucers and three steaming large teapots. Killian blinked slowly, his back aching as he lay slumped across one of the tables that dotted the dining hall.
“What time is it?” he mumbled.
The servant looked startled, then pulled out a pocket watch from inside his vest pocket. “It is almost five. Are you waiting for the sunrise?”
Killian squeezed his eyes shut tight for a moment, and when he reopened them, his vision was crossed from exhaustion. With a stifled groan he sat up in his chair, his back popping. “Don’t they ever stop playing?”
The servant frowned. “I’m sorry?”
“That.” Killian waved one hand over the entryway of the dining hall, where the endless sound of violins and harpsichords wafted in. “They’ve been at it all night. I couldn’t sleep at all.”
“Oh, utmost apologies, your Highness. King Ambrose instructed that there was to be music playing in all of the common areas, without stop, for the duration of the event. The evening of the Union Ceremony being the one exception, of course.”
“Of course,” Killian mumbled, resisting the urge to plop back down atop the table.
The servant twiddled his thumbs. “Um, tea?”
“Or a strong coffee?”
“My apologies, Highness, but per King Ambrose’s order, no coffee is to be served—”
Killian sighed, resting back in his seat. “Tea is fine, thank you. Whichever one.”
He battled with his aching eyes from going cross-eyed again as the servant handed him a cup. Its scent was strong and bitter, but he didn’t dare bother asking for anything else, and he sighed again, watching the servant bustle off with the cart. Still, the cup quickly warmed his palms and he drank slowly, looking around.
The dining hall was almost as large as the ballroom and surrounded with tall, narrow windows that snuck in hazy gray light from the early morning sky. Round tables draped with pale pink tablecloths dotted the room, although they were almost all empty.
He took another sip and tried not to wrinkle his nose at the bitterness. His eyelids felt like sandbags and his neck ached from his impromptu nap. He should have just stayed in bed, at least there he could muffle most of the music with a pillow.
Killian stood and popped his back. The servants were starting to fill the long tables at the other end of the hall with steaming dishes, their thick aromas floating in on a sweet and spicy cloud that left Killian’s stomach begging for a taste.
He approached the tables, overwhelmed by the ever increasing display of food. Glazed pastries were piled into perfect pyramids, fresh buns and thick slices of bread beside plates of sausages, poached eggs, sizzling bacon and fresh fish. Crystal tureens overflowed with white rice, baked beans, puddings, sliced strawberries, mangos, melons, pineapples, and grapes, while small porcelain bowls offered every manner of jam, marmalade, honey, butter, and sliced cheeses.
His stomach roared for attention, and he picked up a plate just as a loud rush of voices swarmed the hall. A tittering group of people bustled in through the entryway, heading straight toward him. Their shrill voices knocked inside his skull as they milled around the table, snatching up plates and piling them high with food.
He staggered back just as a hand touched his elbow.
“Excuse me, Highness, will you be joining this party for the sunrise viewing?”
“Huh?” Killian looked around, disoriented. “The what?”
“If you have already finished breakfast, I can seat you now. Please, follow me.”
A tall, slender woman with deep red hair stood in front of him. She wore a servant’s uniform and held a stopwatch in one hand.
Killian blinked, feeling stupid. “Sunrise viewing?”
“Don’t forget your tea.”
She thrust his cup back in his hands and ushered him along at a pace faster than he could think. He cast a final, yearning glance back at the table, but within seconds the jostling crowd had joined them. They swept him out of the dining hall and into a small, spherical room. Killian gasped.
The room jutted out of the side of the castle, suspended midair, and he knew this because it was built entirely out of windows. The tops of trees brushed the glass beneath their feet, the jagged snow-capped mountains looking close enough to reach out and touch. Rows of tiny chairs had been built inside, covering almost every inch of available space. There were no lights, but it didn’t matter as the dark night sky was already turning gray, shrouding everything in gossamer shadows.
“Please, have a seat.”
“But I…”
The woman clasped her watch shut, and stared straight at him. He swallowed and eased himself into the nearest chair. With a satisfied nod she turned and exited, though he could still hear her heels clicking away as the rest of the group filled the remaining seats.
Killian balanced his teacup on the arm of his chair and eased back, watching the throngs of people stuff themselves into every nook and cranny of available space. At last the door thudded shut, and a hush fell over the room. Every eye was trained onto the tops of the mountains, and soon Killian found himself staring in curious wonder.
The gray sky started to lighten even more, and then a flash of cerulean blue beamed over the mountain’s peak. The room held its breath. The blue lingered for a moment or two, and then a blinding ray of yellow overtook it before the sky ruptured into a visual cacophony of soft pinks, rich violets, and swirling emerald.
Applause erupted all around. For a moment all Killian could do was sit and stare, jaw dropped. The colors still lingered in the early morning sky, like watercolors smeared from an artist’s brush, but already they were beginning to fade.
Right on cue, the door clunked open again, and the same tall woman from before stepped in front of the crowd.
“Thank you, ladies and gentlemen, for joining us this morning. If you would like to join us again tomorrow, we are scheduled to begin at 5:17.”
Killian remained seated as everyone else gathered to their feet. Even as the sky rapidly shifted into a dewy shade of soft orange, he continued to stare at it, soaking it in and feeling an unfamiliar pang deep in his chest.
He had seen countless beautiful sunrises before, from the jagged coasts of Freyye to the plains of Belwyn, each dazzling. This one was no different, stored away into the back of his mind to recall at a moment’s notice on a dreary, rainy night or a gray, bitter storm. Yet even as the rest of the room’s occupants began to file their way out, an unsettling
loneliness followed in their wake.
Had any of them really been paying attention? Could they recall it the way he could?
He wanted to ask them, but already in the back of the mind he knew he didn’t really care what any of them had to say. They weren’t the one he really wanted to share any of this with.
“Excuse me, are you Prince Killian?”
The voice was beautiful and deep, and Killian jerked in his seat as it spoke his name. He craned his neck up, just as a poised figure swathed in gem-colored cloth glided in front of him.
“Yes, I’m—”
He moved to stand, and promptly jostled the teacup from the chair arm, its contents splashing to the floor. Killian grimaced and snatched up the cup.
“I am so sorry.” He muttered, eyes darting around as he tried to find a napkin. “If your dress was dirtied, I can have it cleaned for you by this evening. I’ll have—”
“Prince Killian?”
He stopped. A soft, small hand rested atop of his own and he looked directly at her. She smiled at him, and then her hand fell back away, folding neatly in front of her. She wore a scarf wrapped around her thick, ebony hair, the same hue of rich sapphire as her dress. Her large, round eyes were lined with a delicate wisp of black charcoal, accentuating them like two glowing pieces of ochre against her deep mahogany skin.
“My name is Merav. I am the Empress of Bruai Shia,” she said with a nod. “If you have a free moment, I would very much like to speak with you.”
“Of course.” Out of instinct, he almost reached for her hand, but when she did not offer it, he bowed instead. “What would you like to discuss?”
She paused and glanced around the nearly empty room. “Perhaps you would like to go for a walk. For privacy.”
The empress led the way, and they made their way down to the same gardens Killian had spoken to Fedya in the night before. The early hour only made it that much colder, and Killian tried not to shiver as they strolled along a winding path.
“Best not to go too far. There are dangerous creatures about,” Merav said, peering over at the hedges.
FAIRYTALE Page 3