Spellbound with Sly

by Shelley Munro

  The head footman placed the pot of tay in front of Sly.

  “Thank you,” Sly said, ignoring the bickering between her and Liam in favor of his meal.

  Iseabal frowned. He didn’t need to thank everyone. It was their job to serve the royal family. “I—” She started to chastise him, then saw Liam’s watchful manner. Perhaps she’d do it later, once she and Sly were alone.

  The head footman settled the cup and saucer beside Sly.

  “Don’t worry about pouring,” Sly said. “I can do it.”

  “It’s his job,” Iseabal snapped.

  “I wish to eat first.”

  Of course he did. Obstinate male. She’d break him of that after the marriage ceremony. One final banns to read before they announced the date of their wedding.

  Iseabal indicated she wanted fruit and the head footman hustled to carry out his duties. As it should be. Once she received her fruit, she nibbled at it, her belly roiling. Sly didn’t touch his tay.

  Impatience simmered in her and anger built. No one made a fool of her. No one.

  “Something wrong, Iseabal?” Liam regarded her over the brim of his mug. The hot chocolate steamed.

  “No.”

  “You appear upset.”

  “Leave me alone,” she snapped.

  “Liam, stop teasing Princess Iseabal,” Sly said. “What are we doing this eve, Princess Iseabal?” He picked up the tay pot and poured the berry-colored liquid into his cup.

  She held her breath, watching him closely, only letting her breath ease out again when he took a sip.

  Ah, that should do the trick.

  * * * * *

  Middlemarch Resort

  Joe stared at Sly’s still body. He didn’t understand it. Project Sleeping Beauty had been working. Sly’s appearance had improved, his skin temperature warmer—until half an hour ago. He placed his hand against Sly’s chest and the cold wrung a hiss from him.

  The weirdest thing. Sly wasn’t losing muscle mass. They’d discussed intravenous feeding again, but Casey said he didn’t require the sustenance. Ma had concurred. But this renewed coldness…that concerned him.

  The physical contact with the women had helped. Each day they had to send away disappointed guests since they limited numbers to fifty.

  Joe reached for the medicated salve Ma had made for chapped lips. He placed one hand on Sly’s arm while he gently rubbed the salve on Sly’s mouth. Perhaps he’d arrange a morning session and pray the extra contact halted the chill spreading through his brother.

  With a last pat of Sly’s arm, he left Sleeping Beauty’s boudoir, locked the door and went in search of Saber.

  His stomach roiled with each step, his mind a mass of knots and fatigue. They had to fix Sly, make him regain consciousness. They had to.

  * * * * *

  Castle Seelie

  Sly headed for the stables with Liam, his thoughts sluggish and dull.

  “Tell me about your brother,” Liam said.

  Sly frowned, his mind struggling with the question. “What brother?”

  “Saber,” Liam said.

  Sly stopped. “Who is Saber?”

  Liam’s brow wrinkled. “Ah, I’m beginning to understand.”

  “About what?” Saber? He didn’t have a brother. Did he? He considered the idea and flipped the thought through his mind. Sluggish fog. No, he didn’t have a family. “I don’t have a family.”

  Liam shrugged and led the way into the stable yard. “Let’s go riding.”

  “Hey, Brigitte,” Sly said, rubbing his mount on her shaggy neck. He knew everyone in the royal family. Iseabal, his fiancée. Her twin sister and her horrid husband. The names of some of the staff. A brother. No, he didn’t have one. He’d remember if he had a brother, parents.

  “There is that owl again,” Liam said. “It follows us everywhere.”

  “It has pretty eyes,” Sly said, and sprang onto Brigitte without the aid of a stable boy. “I like it. I enjoy working with animals of all types.”

  “You have a talent with them,” Liam agreed, and he led the way from the stable yard. The owl followed, swooping through the air and riding the currents.

  “The job today won’t take long. I thought to show you some of the land. There is another lake, not quite as big as the one near the castle but still pretty,” Liam said.

  “Sounds fun.”

  As Liam had promised, they spoke with the various farmers and studied their herds of kashmore. One of the farmers offered them refreshments, and they drank mugs of hot orange-colored tay and ate crackers and cheese.

  “The cheese is delicious, sharp and flavorful,” Sly said as he reached for a second cracker. “Who makes it?”

  “My wife,” the farmer said. “She hates to waste the excess milk.”

  “Do you sell it?” Sly asked.

  “No, we mostly give it away,” the farmer replied.

  “It is tasty,” Liam said.

  “You should try making it on a larger scale. Sell some to the folks outside of Seelie,” Sly said. “Diversification is the key to farming.” The words formed in his mind seconds before he spoke them, yet when he tested the thoughts, they seemed foreign. He had no idea where they’d originated.

  Liam gave a thoughtful nod. “Sly’s idea has merit. Let me think about it and do some research. I’ll come back to you and your wife soon. Will that be all right?”

  “Yes, of course.” The farmer was pink-cheeked and flustered.

  But Sly noticed he stood taller, pride shining from his blue eyes.

  Liam stood and Sly followed his lead. “Thanks to your wife, Jonas. And yourself of course. I’ll be in touch.”

  Minutes later they were away, riding swiftly across an open paddock. A screech sounded from their right, and Sly scanned the sky for the source of the raucous call.

  “A hawk,” Liam said. “Ferocious birds. I hope that pet owl of yours is safe.”

  Sly scrutinized the sky again, this time with a trace of panic. The owl barreled toward him, flying at full speed, but the hawk had her in his sights. Without thought, Sly stuck out his arm.

  The owl landed with a heavy thump, hard enough to unseat him. His cambeest shied, and Sly clung with his thighs while he struggled to retain his balance. The hawk released another raucous shriek and flew over in a second pass, but the owl was safe.

  “I told you that owl is following you. Not me,” Liam said.

  Sly ran his finger over the owl’s head. The bird quivered beneath his touch, leaned into the next stroke. The hawk continued to circle overhead. Sly moved his arm. “Onto the pommel,” he directed, although why he spoke to the owl, he had no idea.

  “I get it,” Liam said, and humor lurked in him, his dimples digging into his cheeks. “You think of the owl as a pet.”

  Sly ignored his friend…because the prince had become his friend. He liked spending time with Liam, more than Princess Iseabal, which told him a lot. But he’d promised to marry her.

  Sly frowned. No, he’d asked Princess Iseabal to marry him. Not that he recalled the moment.

  And he should. Shouldn’t he?

  “Why are you frowning so hard?”

  “When did I propose to Princess Iseabal?”

  Liam’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t recall?”

  Sly sifted through his memory. Holes. They were everywhere, and he made little sense of the few recollections he discovered. “No.”

  “What do you remember?”

  “Meeting your family. Everything we’ve done. The places I’ve visited with both you and Princess Iseabal.”

  “Nothing earlier?”

  “No.”

  “I see.”

  “You said that before.” Sly stared at Liam, his scowl deepening until he felt his forehead crinkle. “What, damn it?”

  “The lake,” Liam said with a flash of a grin, yet it didn’t reach his eyes. His bright blue eyes remained serious, and Sly felt as if he’d missed something momentous. “Race you there.”

&nbs
p; Liam leaned over his cambeest, galloping furiously away, his yell of encouragement for his mount floating after him.

  “Hold on,” Sly said to the owl, and he urged his mount after the prince. He arrived at the edge of the turquoise lake a full two minutes after the prince, the owl flying in tight formation at his side. He pulled up beside Liam and dismounted on the rocky shoreline. The owl sought refuge in the nearest tree. By habit, he stooped to pick up a pebble. He tossed the pink stone into the calm surface and followed up with a white one. A gentle plop cut through the rattle of the reeds and the faint twitter of unseen birds

  Small bright blue insects flitted over the surface and a pale pink bird waded from the reeds on the far side of the lake. Sly inhaled the crisp air and released the tension from his muscles.

  An animal—pure white, with an impressive set of antlers—slipped from the undergrowth and delicately picked its way to the water.

  Liam hissed. “A white stag. That means death.”

  “A superstition?”

  “No,” Liam said. “We must return to the castle. Now.”

  Sly jumped onto the back of his mount. “I saw one not long after I arrived at Castle Seelie.”

  Liam flinched. “Where? You never said anything.”

  “At the lake near the castle. I saw it late at night. Just the once.”

  “I’ve never seen one myself, but every time someone reports seeing a white stag, someone important dies,” Liam said in a grim voice. “Someone is pleading me to return home. Can’t tell who.”

  A lone rider intercepted them when they were halfway back to the castle. “It’s the king,” he gasped. “Princess Katrina sent me to find you. The king is failing.”

  “Hi-ya!” Liam urged his cambeest to greater speed, and Sly followed.

  When they reached the stable yard, Sly slid off his mount. “Go,” he said. “I’ll take care of your cambeest.”

  Liam hesitated, since he liked to groom his mount and settle him after their rides. He said it relaxed him.

  “Go. I will take care of things here.”

  Liam gave him a one-armed embrace. “Thank you. Meet me at Father’s salon once you’re done.”

  Sly nodded and led both cambeests toward the stables, uneasiness stalking him like a savage predator. This wasn’t good.

  He took his time, wanting to do a respectable job, so it was over an hour later when he entered the castle by the rear entrance. A weighty silence hung over the inhabitants, the servants scurrying past with their eyes downcast.

  Sly started to go to the king’s salon, then wrinkled his nose. On second thought, he changed his direction. He’d shower and change first before he presented himself. Yeah. Princess Iseabal would approve of a clean suit. One of the suits she’d picked for him.

  He burst into his chamber, interrupting Alfric as he went through his chores.

  “Did you need something, my lord?” Alfric asked.

  “Just here to clean up. Has there been any more news about the king?” He frowned, knowing this was skirting close to gossiping with staff, but how else could he learn the news?

  “No,” Alfric said. “From what I hear, nothing has changed.”

  Sly nodded, although he wasn’t sure what that meant.

  Clean and dressed in a fresh suit, Sly headed to the king’s salon. He nodded at the two security guards stationed outside the chamber before he rapped on the door. It flew open almost instantly.

  “We told you no interruptions— Oh, it’s you. Why are you here?” Calum demanded. “It’s family only.”

  “Liam told me—”

  “Are you deaf? Family only.” Calum shut the door in his face.

  Sly stared at the heavy wood door, shook his head slightly before stepping back. “If Prince Liam asks for me, tell him I stopped by, but Calum refused me entry.”

  “Yes, my lord,” one of the men said.

  “Tell him I said sorry but didn’t want to make a scene.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  Sly retreated and decided to get something to eat from the kitchen then head down to the lake. Something about the castle oppressed him, and he was happier away from the place.

  Maybe things would improve once he and Princess Iseabal married.

  * * * * *

  Later that evening

  The instant Cinnabar experienced the tingles foretelling her shift to human form, she flew to the ground and waited.

  Sly already stood on the lakeshore, his restless pacing taking him across the pebbles and back.

  As usual, the process disorientated her, and she wobbled before she regained her balance. Her gaze went straight to Sly.

  He hadn’t noticed her, and concern made her steps slow. “Sly?”

  He turned. “Ah, hi. Is Princess Iseabal asking for me?”

  She stared, her throat tight. She swallowed to force out a reply. “Sly, it’s me. Cinnabar.”

  “Cinnabar?” He offered a polite smile, as one would to a stranger. “Have we met before?”

  Everything inside Cinnabar froze. He didn’t recognize her. Just her, she wondered, or had he lost every memory?

  “Do you remember your family?”

  A furrow formed between his brows. His jaw clenched, and he rubbed his temple. “I don’t… Princess Iseabal’s family?” His confusion cleared. “There is Prince Liam, Princess Katrina and Lord Calum. The king, of course.”

  Cinnabar wanted to cry at the injustice. The princess had either shored up her spell or created a new one to deepen her hold on Sly. “Have you met Princess Iseabal’s friends?”

  He sent her an odd look, as if he wondered at her impertinence. “Yes, of course. I am finally matching names with faces.”

  “What about the servants?”

  “Why are you asking me these questions?” he demanded.

  “Please, I don’t wish to anger you. One more question. “Have you visited the island of Ione? It’s not far from the Tiraq mainland.”

  His forehead puckered, and he shook his head. “No, I don’t believe so.”

  “Thank you. I’ll leave you in peace now.” Cinnabar forced herself to leave, forced herself to silence, forced her anger down when she wanted to rail and shout and stomp her frustration. Somehow, Princess Iseabal had managed to make sure that Sly recalled nothing of his life prior to his arrival in Seelie. He didn’t remember his home. He didn’t remember his family. And he didn’t remember her because they had met for the first time at the resort.

  Princess Iseabal’s spell had made them strangers again, and Cinnabar had no idea of how to fix this wicked tangle. She needed to think, and…

  Before her brain could overrule her heart, she stomped back to Sly. “My name is Cinnabar, and we are secret friends. I’m sorry you don’t remember me, but please heed this warning. Take care what you eat and drink. Watch the prince. Eat what he eats. Drink only what he drinks. I believe this might help your headaches—”

  “How do you know my head is aching?”

  “You are rubbing your temples.”

  “Oh.” His hand fell to his side.

  When he said nothing else, Cinnabar turned and walked away. Maybe, if she put her mind to the problem, she’d think of another way to help Sly. She’d done what she could tonight.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “The king is dead. Long live King Liam!”

  The cries echoed over the courtyard and through the Great Hall the next evening. Inhabitants from the surrounding properties and the village had been arriving since the release of the news, earlier in the day. Now, they crowded the courtyard, all facing King Fionnghall’s tower.

  Cinnabar watched the royal family as they stood at the top of the tower. Liam, the new king. Princess Katrina and Lord Calum. Princess Iseabal. Where was Sly?

  As she wondered, King Liam turned and spoke to someone out of sight. Sly appeared and strode to the king’s side.

  He didn’t remember her.

  Not a scrap of recognition had flitted over his face when th
ey’d met by the lakeside.

  Princess Iseabal had won.

  Sly hovered in the doorway, reluctant to draw attention. Calum winged a glare in his direction. It was obvious the man objected to his presence. Liam had explained that once Sly and Princess Iseabal married, he would hold more power than Calum, and if anything happened to Liam, he and Princess Iseabal would rule Seelie.

  Until their marriage took place, Calum stood above Sly in ranking.

  Sly’s mouth pulled firm, revulsion filling him. Politics. Power. Not for him. He’d prefer to spend time on the land. Animals didn’t care about society and their proper place. He shifted his focus to Princess Iseabal. Her mood drifted like a dark cloud about to unleash a storm. Every muscle in her body quivered with angry tension, and she replied in clipped syllables whenever anyone spoke to her.

  She was pissed because the reading of the final banns would not occur on schedule. The period of mourning—four weeks of official grieving and respect—trumped wedding procedures.

  A sense of relief filled him, along with confusion. He spent every afternoon with Princess Iseabal, every evening. Sometimes they went dancing. Some evenings they attended private parties. Yet, he and the princess didn’t appear compatible. Their relationship seemed more about appearances. Without thinking he’d called her by name yesterday, omitting her title, and she’d thrown a wobbly fit, ordering him to address her as Princess Iseabal. She insisted on formalities, unlike Liam, her older brother. Hell, now the king.

  Then, he’d kissed her good night—a fiancé should be able to kiss his lady—but she hadn’t enjoyed that either. Nor had he. It had been like embracing a wooden statue. No, he didn’t understand the woman he was to marry and welcomed the delay in their nuptials.

  Liam held up his hand and waited for the crowd to quiet. “It is with deep regret that I announce the passing of my father, King Fionnghall. The funeral will take place in four cycles.” He paused, his chest rising and falling before he continued. “I, my sisters and brother-in-law, wish to thank you for your attendance today, for your condolences and messages of sympathy. We invite you to attend the funeral wake to pay your last respects. The wake will take place on the cycle before the funeral. I… Thank you,” Liam said. “Announcements of the program will be posted in the courtyard this eve.” Liam dipped his head, then retreated into the tower.