I’m filled with excitement. I’ve never met a fairy, though my father tells me they are kind, benevolent creatures.
“Did Pippa truly hold a fairy at knife-point?” I ask.
How cruel to snatch a tiny thing from the air and threaten its life—like a child plucking the wings from a grasshopper. I’ve only seen Pippa a few times, but I don’t think I will like her very much should I get to know her further.
Galinor laughs at the memory as if it is a fond one. “She did.”
I scoot forward so I am not sitting so close to him.
There’s a strange clicking noise from one of the bushes, and I strain to hear it. I’ve never heard it before. “Do you hear that?” I click back, trying to imitate the sound with my tongue and the roof of my mouth.
His voice sharp, Galinor says, “Stop that.”
“I’m just trying to draw it out. Don’t you want to know what it is?”
He shakes his head. “Not particularly.”
I scoff at the uneasy tone in his voice. “Listen to it— it’s tiny.”
I click again, and this time the creature responds. “Did you hear it?” I squeal. “It answered.”
I click. It clicks back. I click again, and this time a little brown creature pops from the brush and scurries up a branch, leaping from limb to limb to keep up with us. It looks like a squirrel, but it has large, round ears like a mouse.
It clicks at me again.
“You are adorable,” I say to it, and then I turn to Galinor. “What is it, do you think?”
The prince tilts his head to the ground. “It’s going to be a meal in a moment.”
Danver watches the creature, and he’s crouched, ready to attack.
“Danver, no!”
I’m too late. Danver pounces, and the little squirrel-mouse disappears into the trees. I scold Danver. The fox looks at me, twitches his ears, and then runs down the deer trail in front of us.
The prince leans in close, his breath tickling my ear. “Very well trained.”
I swat his arm, and he chuckles. I bite my bottom lip, fighting back a grin as we continue along the path.
Chapter Four
“We have to turn back.” Galinor’s voice is soft and full of regret.
I shake my head. “Not yet. Please.”
“You don’t want to be in these woods at night, Anwen.”
We have ridden this area with the strange blue bushes over and over, cutting through deer trails and making our own in some places, but we still haven’t found the eldentimber tree. We must be close; I hate to leave now.
Hearing horses behind us, I turn. Irving and Bran approach, their gait steady and fast.
“Something is following us,” Irving calls when he is near.
Galinor tenses behind me. “Have you seen it?”
Bran shakes his head. “No, but we’ve heard it.”
“We looped around to see if it would continue its pursuit, and it has,” Irving says.
“Follow me.” Galinor urges his horse on, and we race through the woods at as fast a pace as is safe for the horses.
“Wait!” I cry, twisting around. “Where is Danver?”
“We don’t have time for this, Anwen,” Galinor says.
I meet his eyes, pleading him with my gaze. “He’s too little. He can’t keep up.”
Galinor sets his jaw but then draws his horse to a halt. I leap to the ground.
“Anwen, wait!” He follows me, his hand on his sword.
“What are you doing?” Irving asks when he and Bran draw their horses next to us.
I ignore them, leaving Galinor to explain. I whistle for Danver. “What if it has him?” I rush ahead of the prince, running down the path we’ve just come from. There, quite a ways behind us, is Danver.
Galinor’s hand stops me. “Get back on the horse.”
“Danver—”
He grasps me by the shoulders. “I’ll get him. Go.”
I hesitate but then run back. I mount the horse and rein him toward Galinor and the troublesome fox. Danver runs for us as if something is right on his tail—and Galinor is rushing right for it. I kick the horse forward, hoping to meet them before this thing—whatever it is—catches up.
Danver leaps into Galinor’s arms, and the prince turns. I pull the horse back, Galinor tosses Danver up to me, and then he’s on the horse as well. There’s a flash of black between the twilight masked trees. I squint, hoping to see it again, but Galinor nudges the horse forward, and we race through the woods.
I hold Danver’s quivering body close. Galinor wraps his arm around me, pulling me securely to his chest as we leap over a fallen log. I close my eyes, terrified of the speed we’re traveling at.
Bran and Irving are just in front of us, and I keep my eyes trained on them. We cross the path up the first terrace and then the next. Finally, our pace slows as we near the palace. The stars shine above us now, peaceful and oblivious to our flight through the forest. The moon rises over the mountains, and soon the road is washed in pale light.
“Do you think it’s still following us?” I tilt my head back to get a better look at the night sky.
“I don’t believe so.”
I stroke Danver’s fur. He sleeps in my lap, stretched out over one of my legs. Galinor seems to have made an exception to his rule about the fox riding with us.
“What was it?” I ask.
Galinor shifts. “Who knows? It could have been anything here. I’ll be glad to return to Glendon.”
He’ll leave tomorrow. There will be no hope of finding the fairies once he’s gone.
He sets his hand on my arm to comfort me. “I’m sorry.”
I touch his hand. “It’s not your fault. I’m grateful you tried.”
“What will you do now?”
“I’ll continue to look for the gypsy troupe.”
Galinor exhales, long and slow. “Will you tell me what happened to you? And not the short, sweet version you fed me this morning.”
I like Galinor. I like riding with him. It’s nice to have company after the last few lonely weeks.
“I met a man named Dimitri in the village near my home. He was…” I struggle for the right word. “Mesmerizing, I suppose.”
My heart aches when I say his name. I shouldn’t miss him, not with what he did to me. But I still very much want to believe the whole ordeal was a terrible misunderstanding.
I clear my throat and continue, “I was with the seamstress, commissioning a gown. When I stepped out of her shop, Dimitri was across the square, speaking with the owner of the sundry.”
I feel foolish, but I’ve never told anyone the story, and it feels good to let it out.
“I waited by the fountain in the center of the square, hoping he would come. He did. I knew he was a gypsy—it was obvious. He looked like a gypsy, spoke like a gypsy.”
“Anwen—”
I look back, meeting his eyes. They’re soft with pity, and it makes me feel foolish.
“I know.” I turn back to the front. “Gypsies are trouble. My father says it often.” I laugh like I couldn’t care less, but my heart cracks a little bit more. “He asked to see me again. I began to sneak away to meet him. One day we were in the woods, talking. He told me of the amazing things he’d seen while traveling the kingdoms. I wanted to impress him.”
Handsome, charismatic Dimitri—how I fell for him. I could barely think with his hands in my hair and his eyes drinking me in.
I shake the memory away and continue, “My father is a merchant. He has many astounding things, but none are as amazing as the stone he wore around his neck. I told Dimitri about it—the changeling stone. A gift from fairies.” I’m quiet for a moment, but Galinor waits. “A few days later, Dimitri announced he was leaving, moving on with his troupe. He asked me to come with him—to be with him. He wanted the changeling stone, as well.”
“Why would you—”
I turn around to face him, needing him to understand. “He said it was a token, a
way to show my devotion.”
“Running away with him wasn’t enough?” Galinor growls.
Startled by his tone, I scoot forward. He stops me and draws me back. “I’m not angry with you.”
“I took the stone. I stole it from my father’s bedside table while he was sleeping.”
Saying the words out loud, hearing them come from my mouth, makes it so much worse. What horrible, ungrateful girl would steal something dear from her parents? People who have loved her and given her anything she could ever want?
I hold my hand to my lips, waiting for the ache of the memory to subside. Galinor runs his hand over my shoulder again, and I focus on his soft touch.
“I met Dimitri that night, and he took me to his troupe. The next morning he was gone.”
“What do you mean he was gone?”
The pain gives way to anger, and I finish the story.
Galinor is quiet, and I wonder how horrible he thinks I am. How could he not? I think I’m horrible. I can tell from the way he is tensed that he is on edge.
We arrive at the palace gates, Irving and Bran ahead of us, and ride to the stables. I wake Danver and coax him down. Galinor drops from the horse first, and then he turns to offer me his hand. Unable to look at him now, I avert my eyes and watch mist rise from the waterfall.
Irving hands his horse off to a groom. “Let’s see what we can scavenge from the kitchens, shall we?”
Galinor nods them on. “You both go. We will be there shortly.”
I wait by Galinor’s side as he fusses over his horse. Finally he hands the bay to a waiting stable boy. Without a word, the prince takes my hand and leads me toward the waterfall. We weave through lush gardens and pass many flowers I would have thought impossible to grow in the cool mountain soil.
We reach a small wall, and Galinor sits, facing me. He stretches out his long legs, and I stand by his side, unsure what to do with my hands. His tunic is smudged with dirt that was kicked up on the ride back, and his hair is rumpled. Oddly, the look suits him.
“You can’t go after gypsies, Anwen. They are dangerous.”
“What choice do I have?”
“I will look for the eldentimber tree again.” He holds his hand up when I’m about to protest. “I’ll wait a few days. Perhaps whatever is out there will move on.”
I sit next to him. “You keep saying ‘I’.”
He gives me a stern look. “I won’t take you out there again.”
“I wasn’t that difficult.” I try to scowl, but honestly, I am elated he’s willing to try again, even if it’s on his own.
He raises an eyebrow, and I notice there’s a smudge on his cheek as well.
“I have to be the one to speak with the fairies,” I say.
He makes a disgusted noise. “The fairies are another reason to leave you here. Who knows what they would do to you?”
I blink, startled by his vehemence. “Do to me? Fairies are known for their hospitality.”
Galinor looks at me, incredulous. “Not these fairies.”
I roll my eyes, take out a handkerchief, and wipe the smudge from his cheek. “I want to meet them.”
Galinor stares at my hand. “What are you doing?”
I wave the handkerchief as if it is obvious. “You have dirt on your face.”
Galinor grins. “You’re worried about me when you have dirt here…” He touches my forehead. “Here…” His finger brushes my cheek. “And here…” He moves to my chin, setting his finger just below my bottom lip.
I laugh, swat his hand away, and rub the handkerchief over my face. “Better?”
He nods. “Are you hungry?”
“I’m starving.”
He stands and leads me to the palace, guiding me with his hand on the small of my back.
***
It’s been several days since our outing in the woods, and Galinor promises he will try to find the tree tomorrow. Other than a few brief conversations, I’ve seen little of the prince. While waiting for the creature to move on, Galinor spends his spare time sparring with the knights and remaining nobles who have yet to return home from the tournament. I watch them for a while, but Irving is embarrassing and constantly calls attention to my presence.
Finally, I seek out Marigold’s company, but I’m baffled when I don’t find her in Lauramore’s meager library. I wander the halls, looking for her. Eventually, I find her with Prince Percival’s wife, Leonora. Tea is served, and the bright-eyed, prim princess swiftly invites me to join them.
“So you and Marigold grew up together?” Princess Leonora asks as she holds a gown up to me. She frowns, shakes her head, and then lowers the coral-colored dress.
“Yes.” I smile at Marigold, who watches us from a chair near a balcony in Leonora’s dressing room. “Our family visits King Windom’s family frequently.”
“And we knew each other from before…” Marigold trails off.
“Of course.” Leonora looks up, nodding in understanding. “And your father is Baron Thomas Millner?”
“That’s right.”
“He is a merchant? A very successful one, if I remember correctly.”
I nod.
Leonora chooses another gown from the large wooden wardrobe. “And how is it you came to be dressed as a gypsy?”
“It’s a long story.”
One I don’t feel like sharing again. I look around Leonora’s quarters. They are large and grand, just as I expect the future queen’s quarters to be.
“You really don’t have to do this.” I motion to the dresses I’ve already tried on.
Leonora laughs. “Look at me.” She waves her hand over her pregnant belly. “I can’t wear any of these now, and by the time I can, I’ll want new ones anyway. Besides, you’re just the right size, and Pippa will never let me dress her up.” She examines another gown, a rose one this time, and nods. “This one,” she says to the maid helping us.
I hold up my arms as the girl slides the gown over my head. The whisper soft velvet settles against my skin.
“Yes, that will do nicely.” Leonora clutches her hands together as she admires me. I believe I’ve become the princess’s favorite doll.
The maid finishes with the ties, and I twirl for Leonora. “What do you think?”
With a twinkle in her eye, she declares, “Irving will love it!”
Marigold chokes on her tea.
I stumble but catch my balance. “Irving?”
Leonora wanders to a dressing table and idly runs a brush through her long, golden-brown hair. “He sent a message to your parents taking responsibility for your wellbeing.”
Perhaps she doesn’t know Irving well. I glance at Marigold, helpless. She widens her eyes and shrugs.
“I was in love with Irving once,” I admit.
Leonora’s face lights up like the sun.
“He told me he loved me as well.”
The summer evening is etched into my mind and my heart. It was several years after the childhood marriage proposal I teased Irving about at the wedding feast.
“I was fifteen.” Unable to help myself, I sigh. “He kissed me under the stars.”
Marigold gives me a soft, regretful look.
Leonora has practically melted in the chair by the dressing table. “And?”
I wave my hand. “And nothing. We were secretly in love for exactly five weeks, and then I couldn't stand the sight of him.”
Leonora’s face falls. “What happened?”
“Irving is charming and wonderful to every single female he’s ever been in contact with. Perhaps one day he’ll find a woman that will besot him so completely he will adore and dote on her—and only her—but that woman wasn’t me.”
“That’s horrible, Anwen,” Leonora says.
“I hated him, but he finally won me over. He’s a good friend now.” I look at Marigold. “You both are.”
Marigold stirs her tea. “I still feel awful, like I’m responsible for him.”
The world knows her as K
ing Windom’s ward, but her close friends know she is truly the king’s daughter—Irving’s half-sister. It causes her great distress when she tries to make a respectable man of the prince.
“Surely there must be someone in your life, Anwen? Secret longings? Unrequited love?”
I’ve decided I adore Leonora. She’s a horrible gossip in a perfect princess veneer. I sit on the bench and thank a handmaid when she hands me a cup of tea. “There is a man. His name is Dimitri.” I wait for their reactions.
Marigold’s eyebrows knit, and then they rise at the scandal of it. “Dimitri is a Bandolian name.”
I nod.
“You fell in love with a gypsy,” Leonora says. Her voice is accusing, but I can tell she’s dying for more.
I give her a wry smile and wave to the discarded gypsy skirt on the floor. “He’s a prince of Bandolia.”
“Or he would be,” Marigold says, leaning forward. “If the kingdom still existed.”
I nod. Over two hundred years ago the northern kingdom was besieged by Errinton and overtaken. The nobles and most of the subjects fled. Many, including the royalty, became wandering performers.
With wide eyes, Leonora asks, “Is he handsome?”
Hiding behind her teacup, Marigold smiles.
I think of Dimitri and his dark hair and dark, inviting eyes. “Yes.”
“Has he kissed you? Told you he loves you?” Leonora demands.
I nod again. “Oh, yes.”
“And?” Marigold asks.
“I ran away with him, and he robbed me of everything I had with me.”
Marigold’s mouth falls open. “Anwen!”
“I just don’t understand. I thought he loved me. I keep thinking there must be some reason—some explanation. I would have given up everything for him. Sometimes I think I still would.”
“You still have feelings for this man?” Leonora asks, appalled.
“I don’t know,” I say. “It’s very foolish if I do, isn’t it?”
“Yes!” They both exclaim.
Leonora sits forward. “You are a lady of Primewood. You can marry anyone—anyone at all. A real prince! Don’t pine over this gypsy.”
Marigold gives me a pointed look. “No matter how handsome he is.”
The Eldentimber Series: Books 1 - 3 Page 28