by Ann Hunter
Colin’s father gritted his teeth. “Or what?”
“I shall tell the king how you treat people.”
Colin’s father threw the boy to the ground and laughed. “That’s a good one, little highness.” He continued laughing. He laughed so hard that tears sprang to his eyes. He wiped them away and crouched down before Glory. He leaned in until his face was an inch from hers. “How I treat my boy is no one’s business but my own.”
Glory stared him down.
The man grinned, then gave a sudden snarl with a gnash of his teeth.
Glory wanted to bite him.
Colin’s father cut across to his son. “Do not come home until Ilyndiil is found. Hear me?”
Colin bit his already bleeding lip and nodded. His father stormed back to their cottage.
Glory offered her hand to Colin. He pushed it away, got up by himself, and started kicking the leaves and dirt.
Glory placed a hand on his shoulder. “Are you all right?”
Colin brushed her hand away, sweeping through the leaves more fervently.
“Do you want help?”
Colin shook his head and stooped. “It’s gone. I left it in a hole that does not exist.”
Glory knelt beside him. “Don’t say that.”
Colin rocked back on his haunches, turning his head away and wiping at his face with his sleeve.
Glory knew he was crying. She slipped her hand into his. “What we saw was real. You are a hero.” She scooted closer and put her arm over his shoulders. Colin swept her into an embrace.
Glory’s eyes widened with surprise, but she assured him, “We will get through this together. We will find someone who will listen. Then we can get back your dagger.”
“I should have cut off its hand for proof,” Colin muttered. “It does not matter. I cannot return home until I have Ilyndiil.”
Glory blinked. “Your father doesn’t really mean that… does he?”
Colin was silent.
It had not occurred to Glory that Colin would be alone in the woods at night. He would be hungry, and cold, and unarmed. It was a very real possibility that he could perish, especially if there were any more creatures—like the donestre—lurking.
“Perhaps Papa could find you a new dagger,” Glory suggested.
Colin let her go and shook his head. “Father would know the difference.”
“Well at least come back to the castle with me. I will ask Maeb to speak with the scullery maid. You can sleep in the kitchen.”
Slowly, Colin put his hand into Glory’s and wove their fingers together. “I’d be lost without you.”
Stout Maeb waddled around Glory’s bed on creaky bones. She hummed a tune of her Fae-people, tucking in her charge for the night. Glory had told her about Colin’s predicament and kindly Maeb had seen to it that the boy was fed and looked after.
“Maeb, tell me more about donestres.”
Maeb was about to speak when King Balthazaar appeared in the doorway. “You will do no such thing, Maeb.”
Maeb grimaced, then gave Glory an apologetic look and left.
Glory sat up in bed. “Colin and I saw one today.”
The king smiled. “I do so love your active imagination, dear one.”
“No, honestly, Papa, we really did.”
Balthazaar shook his head and moved to her. “You saw no such thing. I fear if Maeb continues with her stories that you will have night terrors.”
Glory clenched her fists. She was going to tell her father how Colin’s father had treated him when Balthazaar extinguished her bedside candle, kissed her cheek, and murmured, “There’s no such thing as monsters.”
CHAPTER ONE
Morning Glory
Five years later…
White buds, like little delicate cowry shells, sprang from kelly stems. They blossomed into alabaster petals, and silvery dew hung from each frond until it dripped to thorns below. Ivy crept along the trellises of each latticework wall. Sunlight strolled through the land and leapt the bulwarks of Winterholme Castle, bidding the rose garden good morning, asking the buds to rise to its kiss like a sleeping lover.
Princess Glory stepped lightly over the cool gravel of the garden path. The golden beauty, radiant in a pale beryl gown, trimmed in silver filigree, hummed a simple, pretty tune that caused the robins to harmonize. Her fair hand grazed the coarse white mortar of the garden wall. She stopped by the lily pond to check her reflection, smoothing herself over, then wound her way to the middle of the garden and stopped. She stared at the ground, watching the sunlight edge toward her bare toes.
“Come on,” she whispered, “a little further.”
The light crept over the ground, and she felt a wash of warmth cross her feet. She smiled and tilted her head back, soaking in the morning’s most delicious gift and breathed in the botanic perfume balancing on the air. The light seemed to set her golden tresses ablaze, accentuating every exquisite detail of her face and frame. Even the roses turned back for shame in her presence.
The morning sunlight not only filled her body, but it filled her soul, mantling her with an Apollonian robe. She welcomed the day, feeling blessed that the sun loved her so. Today was Lucullia’s wedding, and Glory was relieved to have escaped the madness of the preparations inside, especially her overbearing older sisters. Now she waited for the only thing she desired to hear. To her, the world went silent. No birds sang, no cricket chirped.
“There you are,” his tenor voice chimed.
She knew he would come. She turned toward the voice and graced the man with a perfect smile. “Colin!”
“I love when you smile.”
She ran to the arms of her father’s Royal Falconer. “I am so glad you came.”
“Why would I not?”
Glory gazed up at Colin. “Because Father would have your head if he knew.”
“Let your father worry about his other daughters. Let him especially worry about Lucullia today. What he does not know will not hurt him.”
“Poor Lucullia,” Glory sighed.
“Yes. Poor, poor Lucullia… marrying that poor, poor Lord Davenport with hardly an Adamantine Nickel to his name.”
“It is a good thing falconry pays so well.”
“Yes, it is.” Colin took Glory’s arm in his and began to walk. He was quiet at the interim. Glory could see, from the corner of her eye, Colin’s gaze fixed on her face. She soaked in the sunlight again, sublimely happy. “A good thing indeed,” Colin said, “for I have been saving every cent.”
“Why? Are you at last replacing that knife we never found?”
Colin stopped and swept Glory into an embrace. “Because, Little Bird, soon we will fly away.”
Glory’s mouth formed a little ‘oh’. Her heart fluttered. “Colin, do you mean it?” Colin laughed and lifted her into the air with an agile spin. “Yes, my love, every word of it.”
He set her down and took her head into his hands, as if clutching a small bird, and stared into her eyes. “Glory, I love you.”
He sealed his mouth to hers and held her tightly. They lingered, hanging on the edge of excitement, then Glory pushed him back. Colin lost his balance against a marble bench and fell over it.
“Oh, Colin, tell me again!”
Colin chortled. “I love you?”
“No,” Glory whined with a little stomp of her foot. “Tell me why.”
“Oh, Glory, because you are so very beautiful.” Colin grasped her lithe fingers in his hands and rose.
“Tell me more, Colin.”
“Your eyes are like two glimmering agates, polished by the angels themselves.”
Glory smiled. “Go on…”
“Your hair is like the golden fleece, captured by Jason from the serpent at Colchis.” Colin’s hands slid down to Glory’s svelte waist. “Your silhouette is like the hollow wing of a bird that flies on song and rules the sky.”
Glory giggled as Colin squeezed her hips. “More, Colin. Tell me more! What else do you love about me?
”
“Your voice. When you speak it’s like the skylark’s song. I could hear it for eternity.”
“Oh, Colin,” Glory sighed.
“Even the sun worships you.”
“Oh, Colin, stop!” Glory laughed, “You are too much.”
Colin seemed lost in her presence. He was beaming like an idiot, obviously reveling at how supple Glory felt in his grasp.
The grin on Glory’s face vanished. “I didn’t really mean that.”
Colin’s face was blank. “What?”
“I said, ‘Stop’, but I didn’t mean it.”
“Uh… your shoulders are like two snowy doves?”
Glory sighed exasperatedly. “Must you compare me to avians, you birdbrain?”
“But I love birds…”
Glory pivoted abruptly, whisking herself away. She wasn’t really angry with him. She counted to three under her breath. She knew he would follow like a pup at any moment. Sure enough, she heard his boots crunch against the gravel.
“Glory, wait!”
Glory paused. Colin’s hand reached for hers and turned her toward him.
“You are absolutely right. You are far more beautiful than any bird. Birds are jejune. Birds can not hold a candle to you.”
Glory smiled smugly.
“It does make me so happy to see you smile. I am sure the gods forged the sun from your very smile. How unfortunate Lord Davenport will not be able to afford teeth for Lucullia when she is old and they all fall out.” Colin tickled her.
Glory burst into laughter.
“And poor Murtia whose husband demands she answer his every beck and call,” Colin barreled on, “Poor hungry Portia who can not even attract a man who will continue to indulge her insatiable appetite.”
Glory joined in. “Poor Alexa whose husband can not keep the bed hot enough for her. Poor cheerless Ophelia who’s espoused is eternally happy.”
Colin laughed. “You mean eternally obnoxious.”
“And poor, poor Odessa whose betrothed does not have the ballocks to bridle her rages.”
“Glory!” a voice shouted across the garden.
Colin tensed. Glory gasped, “That’s Odessa.”
“Will I see you tonight?” Colin whispered.
“Come to the wedding.”
Colin nodded and dashed way.
“Glory.”
Glory turned to see her older sister, Odessa, pink with vexation.
“Where have you been?”
“Here,” Glory said.
“I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”
“Obviously not very hard,” Glory chortled.
Odessa’s face contorted. She grabbed Glory by the elbow and pulled her along.
“Ow,” Glory whined, “you are hurting me. Help!” she yowled half-heartedly, “I am being pulled to certain doom by a wild woman masquerading about as a princess.”
Odessa’s fist tightened on her elbow, her fingernails bit into her skin. Glory’s face scrunched up, and she paled. “Odessa, that really hurts.”
“We have a lot of work to do today, Glory. Father will be returning tonight from Council’s Realm, and everything must be set for Lucullia’s wedding.”
“Why can’t Ophelia and Portia help you?”
“They already are.”
Glory blew a stray strand of hair from her face. “I have better things to do today.”
Odessa dragged Glory into a corner and quickly looked about to ensure no one unwanted was coming. “As in consorting with Colin?”
Glory’s face was drawn. The blood rushed out of her complexion. She felt dizzy. “You know about us?”
“Everyone knows about the two of you,” Odessa growled.
Glory swallowed hard.
“Everyone, that is, but Father. If you do not pull your weight today, I will make it my personal charge to change that.”
“You wouldn’t!” Glory hissed.
“Try me.”
She glowered at Odessa, but was no match for her obstinate stare. Glory yowled in frustration, conceding with a huff. “Fine! Where am I needed?"
CHAPTER TWO
Lucullia’s Wedding
Glory knelt near a seamstress, helping her put the finishing touches on Lucullia’s white gown.
“Ow, be careful!” Lucullia stomped as a needle poked her ankle.
“I am sorry, My Lady,” murmured the seamstress.
“This should have been done weeks ago,” Glory muttered.
“It would have if I were not being wed to such a beggar,” Lucullia retorted. “It is all I can do to at least turn this rag he sent me into a proper dress.”
Ophelia, Odessa’s twin, had been sniffling softly in the background and suddenly burst into tears. “I wish I were getting married!”
“Your day is coming. What’s the rush?” Glory mumbled.
“It is just that…that…” Ophelia sniveled, “Lucullia looks so pretty.”
Odessa rolled her eyes at her twin. “Ophelia, you already are pretty.”
“You are only saying that,” Ophelia sobbed, “because you are my sister.”
Portia stood near a table in the corner laden with food. “We’re all sisters,” she garbled with a mouth full of rump roast.
“That may be so,” said Lucullia, “but do not dare put your fat little sausages on this dress. It is bad enough as it is without the stains of whatever garbage you have been eating.”
Ophelia wailed.
Odessa growled. “Oh, what is it now, Ophie?”
“Lucullia called Portia fat again.”
“She is,” grumbled Odessa.
Ophelia dried her blue eyes and dabbed at her nose. She looked at Portia who was now stuffing her face to conceal her hurt feelings. Ophelia burst into broken laughter. “Hey, you are right. She is!”
Portia’s mouth stopped moving, and her chin began to tremble.
Glory looked at Odessa plaintively.
“You two are driving me crazier than the loons in the dungeon. Go and find something else to do before I throw the both of you out of the window,” Odessa snarled.
Portia swallowed her food, plucked a pastry from the table, and took Ophelia’s hand with her free one. “Come on, Ophie, let’s find some nice flowers to arrange.”
Lucullia fidgeted. “Are the three of you really not done yet? How hard is it to sew a few flowers on a piece of lace? It shouldn’t have taken this long.”
“Forgive us, Your Highness,” said the seamstress, “but there are thousands, and the stitch you requested is the most intricate—”
Odessa give the seamstress the look. It was enough to say, Silence, fool. Princess gets what princess wants.
Glory smirked.
They toiled in silence for a few hours. Lucullia grew more and more fidgety. Odessa threatened to drive the sewing needle into Lucullia’s Achilles if she did not hold still. They would bicker, but Glory knew Odessa was the smarter, if younger sibling, and always won.
Suddenly, the doors of the room burst open and work ceased. All four young women looked up to see large vases of colorful flowers flow in. Portia, stout and rotund, was concealed behind one and Ophelia, tall and swan-like, behind the other, blubbering again. “I can not help it.”
“Too beautiful?” asked Portia, setting one of the vases down.
“No. Allergies,” Ophelia sniffled.
Portia crossed the room and knelt near Odessa.
“Do not touch my dress!” Lucullia warned.
Portia stuck out her pink little tongue from her chubby, freckled face. She leaned toward Odessa. “They’re here.”
Odessa handed her needle and thimble to a servant and motioned for Glory to do the same.
“Where are you two going?” Lucullia demanded.
“Do not concern yourself with it, sister.”
“It is my concern. The two of you are supposed to be on my time today.”
“Not while we welcome your guests, you greedy little priss,” Odessa chided.
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Odessa marched to the bailey, with Glory filing behind, along with waddling, panting Portia, and languishing Ophelia. An ornate carriage crested the hill and rambled across the drawbridge. The horses, crowned with plumage and elaborate trappings, slowed to a halt, snorting and chomping on golden bits. The footman hopped off and opened the door. A raven-haired Venus of twenty-one stepped down, her eyes fixed on the footman as she slathered her charm upon him. The footman smiled foolishly and almost shut the door on the man who was also trying to exit the carriage.
Odessa stepped forward, offering her hands to the woman. “Alexa.”
“Odessa.”
Alexa regarded her other sisters as well. “So good to see…” Alexa’s eyes wandered to a stablehand across the yard. “You.”
Alexa’s head tilted to the side with a smile; the other sisters looked at each other knowingly. Their handsome, wealthy brother in law, Lord Coventry, was about to take Alexa’s arm when she parted company. “Excuse me, dears,” she said, “I need to see a man about a horse.”
Lord Coventry kissed the princesses’ cheeks chastely. He motioned to a trunk on the back of his carriage. “Gifts for my sisters. I’ll have my servants bring them to your quarters.” He trotted after Alexa, calling, “Oh, dearest! Wait for your Sugar Plum.”
Glory snorted, “Sugar Plum.”
Ophelia started crying. “I wish my Lord Gaylord would call me Sugar Plum!”
Odessa prodded her twin in the ribs with her elbow. “Oh, do try to compose yourself, Ophie.”
Portia brushed crumbs from her skirt and smoothed it out, not that it did much good. “Here comes Murtia.”
Another fine carriage pulled through the gate, much the same as the first. A heavy man threw open the door and only gave the girls a brief nod. “Bring the trunks up, Murtia,” he grunted as he lumbered off.
Murtia waited for the footman to help her from her perch within the carriage. She opened her arms to her sisters, motioning them over. They knew she was too lazy to take two steps toward them and closed the distance between them politely.
Murtia, who looked strikingly similar to rotund, umber Portia, hugged all of them and rolled her hand in some abstruse wave. “Do tell the servants to bring our things up.”