“Shh. Say nothing, my friend.” Viggo set down the glass and made as if to reassure him with a touch on the knee, but his hand hesitated and fell back into his own lap instead. Hunter Black bristled. Anouk felt as though she was watching something she shouldn’t. She knew that Hunter Black was in love with Viggo. Judging by the careful silence of Luc and Petra, everybody knew it, just as they also knew that Viggo wasn’t attracted to boys.
Viggo rested his palm on the assassin’s shoulder. “Our lives are intertwined, don’t you know that, Hunter Black? Where you go, I go.”
Hunter Black looked moodily at the lace tablecloth he was wrapped in and mumbled, “Even to hell?”
Viggo flicked a lace edge between his fingers. “Even there.”
“Even to Liverpool?”
“Oh God, no.”
That elicited a half smile from the assassin. Viggo tsked and plucked a few stray pieces of long gray fur off the tablecloth Hunter Black was wrapped in.
“You’ll catch your death in this ugly thing.” He twisted to face the group. “A penthouse full of magic handlers and no one can conjure him some clothes?”
Violante was offended by the idea that she would trouble herself with such simple magic. But Petra came over to the leather chairs. Luc’s elixir was still in her veins, unused on Rennar. Her gaze raked over the curtains and the billiard tables and then settled on a deck of cards with a black spade design. She gave them a quick shuffle and tossed them toward the ceiling. Quick as a flash, she threw out her hands and cast a trick that froze them in midair. Fifty-two cards hung like a lazy cloud over Hunter Black’s head. Petra began to whisper in the Selentium Vox, and the cards, one by one, exploded into fibers that wove themselves together into a dark fabric and then stitched themselves into sleeves and a collar and pants, and soon black trousers, a black shirt, and a coat floated over the coffee table. When the coat caught the light from the fire, an impression of spades shimmered. As a final touch, she whispered toward a paperweight of cut glass that had fallen on the floor. The paperweight floated across the room, then shattered apart and reformed into three smooth clear buttons that sewed themselves onto the shirt.
Hunter Black snatched the clothes out of the air and pulled them on, seeming not to be concerned that everyone got a good glimpse of his bare backside in the process. He tugged up the trousers and buttoned the coat’s glass buttons.
“Thanks,” he growled with a nod.
Anouk tugged off her socks and handed them to Hunter Black. “Here. They’re torn, though,” she said. “And, um, covered in soup.”
“I’ve seen worse. I’ve worn worse.”
“Anouk.”
She spun toward the billiard tables. Rennar was lifting up his head; his eyes were rimmed in red, but his blue-gray irises were clear and fixed on her.
Chapter 24
At the raspy sound of Rennar’s voice, Queen Violante turned too, but Anouk climbed over an ottoman and beat the queen to the prince’s side. She touched his forehead.
“Rennar! Are you all right?”
“Of course he is,” Violante declared. “I cured him.”
He pushed himself up on one arm and with his other hand, he touched his lips, his nose, and his ears, then looked at his fingers as though expecting blood. “I’m surprised to be breathing, to be honest.”
Anouk sat on the edge of the table. “Whatever that smoke was the Coven used to possess King Kaspar, it nearly got you. The king’s gone. Vanished just like the entire Court of Isles. The other Royals are nearly at war with one another, arguing over what to do next.”
He sat up halfway, shaking his head. “Never mind them at the moment.” He coughed, his whole body trembling with the effort. He ran a shaky hand over his face. “Where are the animals? The cat and the dog?” His voice was hoarse.
“Still in the ballroom.”
“Get them.”
She gave him a questioning look. Impulsively, she leaned forward and felt his forehead again. But he pushed her hand away and sat up fully, wincing with pain, and then wincing with the effort to hide it. He had to use both hands to swing his stone leg down from the table.
“What are you doing? You nearly died! Sit!” She gently tried to push him back down.
“I’m fine.” He was clearly not fine, but the look in his eye dared anyone to contradict him. “You saved my life. Now, do you want me to turn your friends back or not?”
She stared at him as though he were muttering in a fever dream. “You said you wouldn’t turn them back until our wedding night,” she said. “It was our deal.”
He coughed a mirthless laugh. “Anouk, Anouk, forget our deal. It was all just a stupid game, like you said.” He swept a weak hand toward the collection of chessboards lining the shelves.
“You can’t possibly be strong enough.” She instantly regretted her words when he bristled. She let out a puff of air. “Don’t growl at me like that! It’s the hardest spell there is. It would be challenging even if you were well.”
He thrust his hand toward Violante and beckoned for the vial around her neck, which she handed over after a long moment of reluctance. He uncorked it and poured the entire contents down his throat, then followed it with the contents of his own vial. Anouk gasped. That much powder would have taken the powdersmiths in the basement half a century to produce.
“Do you still doubt me?” Rennar’s eyes practically glistened with power.
Anouk felt a thrill spread from the pit of her stomach to her throat. “You’ll really change them both back? Even Beau?”
Instead of answering, he eased himself to the edge of the billiard table and tested his weight on his leg of stone.
She gave his chest a shove. “And Beau?”
He winced and she clapped her hands over her mouth, afraid she’d hurt him, but he waved off her concern. “Yes! Yes, damn it. Beau too.”
Hope surged like the sugary rush that followed the first bite of something sweet, but she swallowed it back down. The Shadow Prince did nothing for free. People would have razed entire cities for the amount of powder he’d just poured down his throat. “Why?” Her voice was hard.
“Just get the animals before I change my mind.” It came out as a snarl. He added, softer, “Please.”
She felt several sets of eyes on her. Hunter Black and Viggo by the fireplace, Luc and Petra near the bar cart. The only person who seemed bored by the exchange was Queen Violante, who had made herself a mimosa.
Anouk wanted to press Rennar further, but there was a slightly unhinged look in his eye. His offer was fragile. Push him, and he might change his mind. She hurried back to the ballroom, where a fleet of maids were already mopping the floor. The Royals were gone. A few Goblins picked through the fallen trays of food for anything worth snacking on.
She spotted Cricket’s cage overturned beneath a table. She dropped to her knees and fished it out. The white cat inside yowled.
“Zut. Sorry we left you, Cricket.” She peered under the rest of the tables. “Little Beau? Where are you?” She whistled softly and the tablecloth over the dessert table rustled. A blond snout poked out, followed by big brown eyes. “Come on, Little Beau, it’s all right! You can stop hiding. The witches are gone.”
Anouk dusted off a piece of ham that had fallen on the floor and coaxed him out with it, then she tied the end of a tablecloth around his collar and led him back to the billiard room, holding the cat’s cage a safe distance away from him.
Rennar was standing, though he looked unsteady. When he saw her, he motioned to the animals. “Take the cat out of the cage. Put her there, in the center of the rug. Hold her so she doesn’t run away.”
Anouk gingerly reached into the cage and grabbed the cat by the scruff of her neck.
“Here, give her to me. Cats love me.” Luc took her. He sat cross-legged on the rug with the cat struggling in his lap.
“Anouk, take the dog,” Rennar commanded.
The dog sniffed at the magic still sparking in the air from Rennar’s healed bod
y and Hunter Black’s playing-card coat. Then he licked Anouk’s nose.
“Just wait, Beau,” she whispered into his floppy ear. The dog couldn’t know why her hands were shaking. That this was what she’d worked so hard for.
The hush over the billiard room felt sacred as Rennar began to whisper. Something tugged inside Anouk. She knew the words like she knew her own name.
“Des skalla animaeux, fiska ek forma humane . . .”
She closed her eyes. Her lips moved silently in unison with Rennar’s voice. The pit of her stomach ached with longing. It should have been her turning them back to human. Like a rash, the shame of failure spread up her neck.
She opened her eyes. The air began to swirl around the cat and the dog. White fur floated off the cat like dandelion fluff. The cat twisted and snarled in Luc’s lap, green eyes flashing. Little Beau trembled beneath Anouk’s hand. She muttered reassurances in his ear, stroking his back. Handfuls of blond fur came away in her fingers. And then suddenly pale skin showed and she jerked her hand back. The magic was swirling faster, whipping her hair around her face. The cat yowled. Luc hissed—the cat had clawed him. So much for cats loving him. But he didn’t let go.
In the next moment, with a flash of brilliant light, there was a boy on the floor and a girl in Luc’s lap. Two pelts fell to the rug like fur coats sliding off hangers. Beau was crouched, his blond hair hanging in his face, light reflecting off his naked back and thighs. Cricket’s tea-brown limbs were tangled in Luc’s arms as she sputtered and shrieked, scratching him with fingernails. Luc caught her wrists.
“Cricket! It’s me! It’s Luc.”
Cricket was breathing so fast that Anouk was afraid she’d pass out. Her head whipped around the room, blankly taking in the unfamiliar wall of chessboards, the billiard tables, Rennar, Queen Violante sipping her cocktail, Hunter Black, and Viggo.
“What the . . .” Cricket pressed her fingers against her temples.
Anouk felt a gentle touch on her shoulder, and she spun around. Beau squinted at her with dazed eyes. He rubbed the back of his neck groggily. “Anouk?” His voice was hoarse, as though he’d been asleep for days.
She threw her arms around him, knocking them both completely over. “Beau!” She couldn’t touch him enough. His hair. His cheeks. The off-center bridge of his nose.
He looked around the room, bewildered. “I’m . . . confused.”
She laughed and buried her face against his shoulder. She drew in the very human smell of him, sweat and stale breath and boy.
“What happened?” he muttered.
Petra whistled low. “How much time do you have?”
Anouk pressed her palms against his cheeks and turned his head to face her. She grinned so hard it hurt. “Beau. You’re back. You’re really back.”
His eyebrows knit together as he looked at his bare limbs. On impulse, Anouk kissed him. His lips against hers were big and clumsy, but he kissed her back. She leaned against his chest, slid a hand around his side. His lips were like honey. His pulse was quick, almost too quick, but so was hers.
“Dust Bunny?”
“Yes, it’s really me, Beau. You’re back.”
He touched her face. His thumb brushed her cheek and she leaned into it, closing her eyes. Waiting for him to kiss her again. Her lips parted.
But the kiss never came. He pulled his hand away, and her eyes shot open in alarm, but she saw that he was grinning and holding up an accusatory finger smeared in frosting. She touched the part of her face that must have collided with the engagement-party cake during the commotion.
He gave a lopsided grin. “Some things never change.” He popped his thumb into his mouth.
“What. The. Hell. Is. Going. On?” Cricket’s eyes were glassy. “My head is killing me.”
“Welcome back.” Luc released her wrists and she massaged them, scowling, but then she saw the bleeding claw marks on his arms and made a small squeak.
“Christ, did I do that?” She peered at her fingernails.
“Cricket!” Anouk let go of Beau, crawled over to Cricket, and swept her into a hug. She smelled like cherry Pop Rocks. Her hair tickled Anouk’s cheeks. Luc wrapped his arms around them both, and then pulled Beau into the embrace as well. Anouk wasn’t sure where she ended and they started. She only felt marvelously warm in her heart. They were together again.
Well. Except.
Hunter Black, still weak, leaned back in the armchair and scowled at their public display of affection.
Anouk rolled her eyes.
But even Hunter Black couldn’t keep up his moody pretense for long, and his scowl, despite his best efforts, changed into a smile as Cricket and Beau both stretched out their arms and tested their fingers.
“How did this happen?” Beau asked.
Anouk twisted around to point to Rennar, whom she’d halfway forgotten about in her excitement. Her grin vanished. He was slumped against the billiard table. His face had lost its color. Queen Violante was dabbing a silk handkerchief against his brow. Anouk shoved herself up from the rug.
“Rennar! Are you okay?”
He mumbled something that sounded like the opposite of okay.
“It’s a difficult spell, that one,” Violante said. “Even with all that powder, he was already weak.” She went to the bar cart and rummaged around for something to strengthen him.
Anouk fought the urge to comb back the hair falling in his eyes. “Rennar,” she said softly, shaking his shoulder gently. She kept her voice low, only for the two of them. “Tell me why you did this. Why you were kind.”
His blue eyes were piercing. He licked some moisture back into his lips as he rasped, “Call it a sign of faith that we can trust each other. I don’t want you to marry me because I’m holding your friends hostage. We enter into it freely or not at all. No more games. No more bargains.”
She gave him a slow nod.
Luc handed Cricket and Beau blankets to use until they could conjure them up some clothes. “A lot has happened,” Luc explained to them. “I’m afraid we haven’t brought you back with good news.”
“That’s okay.” Beau caught Anouk’s gaze from across the room and smiled, though his eyes flashed briefly to Rennar. “We’re back. That’s enough good news for one lifetime.”
Chapter 25
The beastie spell was taxing not only for the caster but also for Beau, Cricket, and Hunter Black. Their bodies had stretched, and so had their minds; evolving from animal to human in the blink of an eye would have fatigued even the strongest physique. When Mada Vittora had first transformed them years ago, she’d prepared pallets for them to rest on, strengthening herbs, and good hearty meals. At Castle Ides, there was no shortage of places to rest and sustaining suppers, though it still took them days to fully shake off the stupor. A near-constant stream of Pretty servants brought them chilled water and lavender-scented pillows and drams of pain-relieving elixir for their aching heads. Viggo oversaw their recovery with all the confidence of a boy who’d more or less successfully babysat a houseful of Goblins.
Anouk, meanwhile, ate cake.
Red velvet cake and raspberry cheesecake and tiramisu paired with champagnes and rosé wines and chocolate-infused merlot. She sampled roasted venison, baked Camembert, moules marinière. Rennar kept her so busy rushing from one wedding preparation to the next that she barely had time to pop in and check on her friends before it was time to taste-test more entrées.
A fleet of Pretty tailors took up an entire afternoon measuring her for a wedding wardrobe, but when December peeked in and saw the subdued fabrics they had chosen, she chased them out in disgust and rounded up the most fashionable Goblins to dress Anouk instead. The hours flew by in a flurry of black bows and long feathers and jagged-edged lace. The Goblins whispered the dress together, creating elaborate stitching that not even the most skilled Pretty could match. They added a few inches to the heels of her glass slippers along with a dash of enchantment so that they would leave glittering prints behind whe
rever she walked.
And the hairstyles! Elaborate braids plaited with magic, and updos that took the Goblins’ punk styles to a sophisticated polish. As soon as they had settled on a chignon shaped into a bow, Rennar appeared to whisk her away to the spell library, where a jeweler waited in the hazy blue lights to measure her for a ring. There was talk of fire opals and diamonds, of palladium metals. She’d barely selected a cut before Rennar paraded a stream of musicians past her, every type from jazz quartets to folk bands to punk rock and even a singer who—December whispered in her ear—was all the rage in New York after winning a televised singing competition. By the time she selected flowers, her mind was spinning. Florists carried in buckets of the most beautiful flowers she’d ever seen, all of them wildly impossible colors, and pressed her hard to pick a color scheme. She finally cried out, “Blush!” in a panic, and then everything from flowers to dresses to cakes were delicate shades of rose, pink, red, crimson. The cake was red velvet. The flowers were pink dahlias. Even her dress had pale roses woven in with the feathers.
“Please tell me this is the last of it.” She was seated on a throne by Rennar’s side, posing for a portrait by a Muscovite artist.
An arrogant smile flickered over Rennar’s face. “Come now, you enjoy it. You were drooling over the cakes.”
Her stomach groaned, betraying her. “I’m just saying that it’s an awful lot of work for a sham marriage.”
“My dear, all marriages within the Courts are shams. In the history of the near realms, I don’t think a single marriage has been a love match. That doesn’t mean they’re spared from tradition. In fact, some would argue that tradition is all the more important when the Royal Courts are nearly at war with one another, not to mention when the bride can’t stand the groom. You do still loathe me, don’t you?” His eyes dared her to contradict him.
“You’re fortunate that I’m good at pretending,” she said noncommittally.
And she was good at pretending. Pretending to enjoy his company. Pretending her smiles were real. Pretending to savor the luxury of royal life. She’d spent her life as a maid, so what was the harm of letting others wait on her for once? Of being the princess of her own fairy tale?
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