Enchanted: A Fae Fantasy Romance (Fae Magic Book 3)

by Jessica Aspen

  His adrenaline shot through the roof. It was all he could do to smile normally when all he wanted to do was blast the majordomo to dust and put his plan of running into action.

  What the hell? The queen didn’t have a niece, not anymore.

  Agrona was dead. There were no princesses in the Black Court, unless you counted Prince Kian’s new wife, Bryanna. And there was no way the queen would allow either a MacElvy witch or the rebel Prince’s bride to masquerade as a princess at her own table, so this couldn’t be her.

  His nerves hardened into anger.

  She hadn’t let him down. She hadn’t forgotten her vow.

  She’d screwed him.

  Chapter Five

  Bosco scanned the castle’s hall and into the entrance to the ballroom. The majordomo, his pained face reflecting forced patience as he waited for a response, faded into Bosco’s peripheral vision. Exits, soldiers, servants. He could still run. Still get out of here, pick up the rest of his stored power, and head north. He had enough power boluses hidden away. Didn’t he?

  Old anxiety had his belly tightening. It wasn’t enough. It would never be enough. He’d faced the Winter Queen once and lost nearly everything. He had one more chance. If he blew it because he didn’t have enough power, he’d never forgive himself.

  Not that it would matter at that point. He’d be dead. And so would Siobhan.

  He nodded to the majordomo. “I’ll find my own way, thanks.” Turning his back on the man’s appalled face, he merged into the crowded ballroom.

  There was no way he could sit so close to the queen, the most powerful fae in the room. His Gift was strong, but she knew him and at that distance he would be an insect under the microscope of her powers.

  And while Lord Haddon wasn’t as magically powerful as the queen, he was possibly more dangerous. Haddon had risen to power from the position of whipping boy. No one did that without being clever and ruthless.

  Bosco observed his lovely young benefactress at her seat of honor at the high table. She played with the napkin on her lap and frowned, looking left and right around the ballroom. Haddon asked her a question and she glanced at the empty seat beside her and blushed.

  The queen, Haddon...everyone at the table laughed, the malicious sound carrying across the large space. Bosco had a sudden uncharacteristic surge of guilt.

  He’d made her a laughingstock by insisting on her finding him a seat and letting it sit empty. But there was nothing he could do about it. He’d counted on not being noticed to smooth his investigation. Even with him not sitting there, everyone was wondering who he was. With so much scrutiny, someone was bound to notice he didn’t have the warm fuzzy feeling from the spell at the door, and they’d start to ask questions.

  He turned away and blended into the crowd, searching for someone he knew. Seated on a tall stool at the bar he found the queen’s uncle, Lord Nial.

  “My Lord Nial.” Bosco bowed.

  “What ho? Do I know you, sir?” Nial frowned. “I don’t think we’ve been introduced,” he slurred.

  “It’s Bosco, my lord. Bosco Ni Maigh.”

  But Nial’s bushy white eyebrows snugged together and he pulled away, his shoulders stiffening. “I’m sorry, sir. You’ll have to refresh my memory. I’m an old man, likely the oldest one here.” He raised his glass of whiskey letting the ballroom lights gleam through the rich amber. “And I think I may have already had one too many. If that’s even possible.” He downed the glass and pounded it on the bar. “Here, boy! Fetch me another round.”

  Bosco examined the queen’s uncle. The old man was wavering on his feet, but he’d seen him far drunker and always in control. He was a conniving son of a bitch who’d managed to survive the Black Court by being clever and ruthless. Bosco had used him as a source of information many times and knew him well. He liked the old man. Admired his tenacity and willingness to risk his life to speak his mind. But tonight something was off.

  “Bosco Ni Maigh? You remember me, don’t you?” He peered closely into Nial’s bleary eyes.

  “Ah, Bosco, of course.” The elderly fae’s forehead wrinkled and his expression clouded. Bosco could almost see him sorting through his memory, trying to place where he knew Bosco from. The bartender placed Nial’s freshly filled glass of whiskey on the bar and the old man’s eyes darted to the glass, drawn like fireflies to the light. “Sorry, old chap, my memory’s not as good as it used to be. Why don’t you have another on me.” He gripped the glass and laughed, swinging his arm out wide. “Old joke. Old joke.” He took a deep swig, and exhaled, the creases of worry easing from his face. “Of course all the drinks are free. That’s how she lures us out here to the country, you know.”

  “Lures you?”

  “The queen, man, the queen.”

  “Ah. And the princess as well?”

  Nial snorted out whiskey, coughing and grasping for the napkin the bartender thrust at him. “Cassandra wouldn’t know how to lure if she tried. Poor girl. She’s lost her family, her inheritance, even her Gift is acting up.” He leaned closer, breathing wet whiskey fumes. “But she’ll learn fast at the viper’s side. It’s a shame her parents died and she ended up here. It’s that damned war. And my damned nephew. We need to find him and kill him so we can all drink more.” He wiped his mouth and tossed the napkin onto the bar.

  Bosco’s jaw nearly hit the floor. Nial was a steadfast supporter of de-throning the queen and placing the prince on the throne. So steadfast Bosco had worried for his safety at court. The spell here must be very strong to steal away the old man’s memories and his convictions.

  Nial downed his whiskey and stared at the empty glass in his hand as if he’d never seen it before. “What hey? I’m empty?” He pounded on the table. “Another, man, another!”

  Bosco took advantage of the elderly fae’s distraction. Touching Nial’s shoulder he cautiously extended a tendril of power. Using his Gift he mimicked the spell. Another thick layer of glamour slid over his costume of fool, covering his intentions and making him look like every other idiot in the castle. Now, he’d be safe. No one would see why he was really here. And no one would know he wasn’t be-spelled.

  “I’ve been away.” He waved at the bartender for a drink of his own. “Can you tell me what happened to the princess’s parents?”

  “Damn shame. Attacked by their own nephew. Everyone killed. She’s the only survivor.” The bartender poured in more whiskey and Nial raised his glass. “But my niece will get him.” Nial’s attention jerked away. “Oh, cake! Carry on, old chap, enjoy the party. I’m off for pudding.” Nial lurched away, whiskey sloshing over the sides of his glass.

  Bosco snagged his own glass and searched for an empty spot to eat, preferably far away from the head table. Princess. He frowned into his drink. It was insane. He knew the royal bloodline like he knew the backs of his own knuckles. The queen’s deceased father had two younger brothers. The eldest was long dead, his grandson was the bastard huntsman, Logan Ni Brennan, rebel and court outcast. And the other was Lord Nial himself, who’d given up his claim to the throne years ago. There were no other heirs, besides the queen’s own son, Prince Kian.

  Certainly no princesses. Unless one counted Kian’s new bride, the witch Bryanna MacElvy. The mere mention of that marriage had the queen frothing at the mouth. He’d seen it. Foam flying, maids ducking. So how had this pretender managed to fool Haddon, the queen, and the entire court into thinking she was a princess of the Black Court?

  “Why aren’t you sitting next to me? You certainly worked hard enough to get the seat.”

  Only years of practice had him not jumping at the sound of Cassandra behind him. He turned, a smooth practiced smile on his face. “Your Highness, I apologize. ” He bowed. “If I’d had any idea earlier who you truly were, I would never have asked you to find me a seat.”

  She snorted and choked on her champagne. “Seriously? Don’t pull that crap with me. If you’d known who I was you would have asked for something bigger than dinner and
a bed.” She snagged a napkin from a passing waiter and wiped the liquor from her chin. “I can see it in your eyes. Even now you’re calculating what else you can get.”

  “You know me so well?” He arched a brow. “After only one kiss?”

  “Shh.” She grabbed his hand and drew him behind some potted palms. “Everyone will be listening.” Her eyes gleamed. Green eyes, crystalline, almond shaped, and that true emerald color so rare among the fae.

  “You’re too young to be so jaded.” He tapped a finger on his chin. “What are you, two hundred? Two hundred and fifty max.”

  “And why is it you don’t know?” She frowned at him. “Everyone knows me, knows when my birthday is. The ball has been in the works for months, I’m surprised you haven’t tried to finagle an invitation.” She cocked her head at him. “Who are you really and where are you from?”

  “I told you earlier, I’m Bosco. I’ve been away.”

  She laughed, and again she caught him by surprise. Her laughter was fresh and unrehearsed. Nothing like the laughs he heard from the ladies of the court, contrived to manipulate their victims into traps.

  “You just stick with your story. It might fool most of the people here, but I know you slipped in under the wall. I know you don’t have an invitation.” She waved at the crowd. “Look at them. They come every night. They get drunk, they get high. They dance and eat and ask the queen for favors, but none of them understand what’s going on. But you, you avoided the spell. You’re sober, despite the drink in your hand. And you owe me for keeping your secret.”

  Bosco stared at the lovely young woman who suddenly had shown her claws. “My secret? And what would that be, my lovely princess?” He had a sudden need to down his entire glass of nectar and relieve the sudden dryness in his throat.

  “Why, you’re being spell-free and a spy.”

  The rush of being caught raced through him and the urge to run tightened his abdominal muscles.

  He ignored it, instead giving her an easy smile. But underneath his skin nothing felt easy. “What would make you think I’m a spy?”

  “Why else would you have gone to so much trouble to sneak into the party?” Her face was pure and innocent, but a pirate gleam lurked in her eyes.

  “Yes, indeed. Why else?” He knew his glamour held. She shouldn’t be able to see under him so easily. And yet, there was something in her eyes, in the quirk of her lips, that had him suspecting she held more than one of his secrets.

  He had to get her alone and find out how much she knew and if she was a threat.

  THE PARTY-GOERS EBBED and flowed around them, rolling their eyes in an effort to get a good look at the princess. Cassie ignored them all. She was having more fun than she’d had since she’d woken up in this castle, having lost everything. Everything, including even the memory of the loss.

  For the first time in months she wasn’t struggling to do something she should know how to do. Or trying to keep the balance of pleasing her aunt and not send her spiraling into a frothing rage. Or working her Gift to death searching for the rebels, trying to fight the war against her royal murdering cousin.

  This man had no idea what she could or couldn’t do and he didn’t seem to care. He was flirting with her, not her Gift or her station. And she loved it.

  He touched the top of her hand, drawing her back into his sphere. “Tell me, Your Highness, why is it I’ve never seen you at the Black Court?” His gaze sent a message trembling through her nerves.

  She glanced away, and her eyes met Gertrude’s. The lady-in-waiting’s face contorted and she changed course, cleaving like a dwarf-made blade though the sea of fae heading straight for Cassie and her mystery guest.

  “Let’s dance.” Cassie held out her hand.

  He took it and stroked the center of her palm with his thumb. “Aren’t we hiding from the crowd?”

  A shiver chased along her skin.

  She swallowed.

  Bosco rubbed again. She struggled for words against the arousal rushing through her body. “It’s too late to hide. My chaperone is heading this way.” She nodded at the crowd dropping to either side of Gertrude’s sapphire skirts. “If she gets here she’ll carry me off to be social with the important people. I’m sick to death of hobnobbing with these idiots.”

  She brazenly stroked him back, sliding her fingers along the inside of his palm. “I’d rather be with you.”

  His dark eyes went hot. Another shiver chased the first, blazing her skin.

  “As you wish, Your Highness.” He bowed over their hands. “Lead on.”

  It was early in the evening and the orchestra was still playing waltzes and country dances. Later on the lights would dim and the party would get wild. The rock band would take over, the stately formal jackets and ties would get thrown to the side, and the crowd would be so drunk and high that everyone was fair game. Even a princess was vulnerable when the Black Court partied hard.

  But for now the night retained a semblance of control.

  “Can you dance?”

  “I think I can manage.” He took her right hand in his left and placed his other arm around her. Then he winked, and swept her into the first lilting strains of a waltz.

  Usually the young lords were too rough or worse, too limp, but his right arm caged her with an expertise that had her relaxing, letting him guide her into the measured circles of the dance.

  “You’re very good.”

  “And you are perhaps less of a dancer than one would expect from royalty.” He quirked an eyebrow.

  “It’s true.” She gave a self-deprecating laugh. “Gertrude calls me the only fae princess in Underhill with two left feet.” She glanced down at her slippers. “Actually, I think one of the southern princesses does have two left feet, but she’s probably a better dancer than me.”

  “I’m sorry, Your Highness, I didn’t mean to make you feel bad.”

  His apology caught her off-guard. She glanced up. His lips were close, so close the warmth of his breath caressed her face. Behind his dark eyes was something sad that said he understood what it was like to be the one who didn’t fit in. The misfit.

  Without warning her Gift, the one she’d been unable to make work for months, kicked in. She saw a different man with black eyes and white hair. His face—sharper. Lips—not so thick. He was less classically handsome and yet he intrigued her. This was the real man hiding under the glamour.

  Her vision blurred. The real Bosco disappeared. She shook her head disoriented by the sudden change.

  “Are you all right?”

  She had to stop herself from telling him what she’d seen, What she now knew: that underneath the suave courtly male who danced with her, hid a sharper version with even paler skin and the high cheekbones of a Northerner.

  “I’m fine,” she said, shaking it off. She focused on the flow of their steps, the soothing cadence of the song. They whirled around the dance floor. Once again she relaxed, letting him lead her in the steps of the dance. A trickle of heat seeped through his tuxedo jacket and into her hand, resting at the small of his back. It reminded her of the trickle of arousal he’d stroked into her palm, and her center grew weak. She stumbled. He strengthened his arms, keeping her safe within the confines of his grip.

  Temptation swept through her. She’d been aloof from the court, keeping herself safe. She couldn’t remember these people, couldn’t remember who was friend and who was foe. She’d kept everyone at bay while she’d been here. She knew for sure this man wasn’t her friend, he’d made that clear. Why did she have this sudden desire to follow his lead and find out more about him? Why did she want to move too close to the heat of his fire?

  She didn’t know. But she did know, she was sick and tired of trying to be the good girl and failing. Maybe it was time to be bad. To take a risk.

  “Your jailer’s watching.” Bosco turned her so she could see without craning her neck.

  Gertrude stood on the edge of the dance floor her face a smooth mask nearly hiding the a
nger seething in her eyes.

  The crowd danced by. A woman spun into view. The woman angled her head, revealing the delicate angle of her jaw, her long blond hair flying out behind her puff of a ball gown.

  Cassies’s memory leapt.

  A name struggled to swim to the surface. Her heart pushed at the boundaries of her chest. And then the woman completed her turn and Cassie saw her full face. Too sharp, too old. The memory fled, leaving nothing behind but sick disappointment and a feeling that she’d almost remembered something important. She stumbled.

  Her partner’s arm became iron, supporting her, keeping her upright.

  “Princess Cassandra, are you alright?” Their circles slowed.

  Pain stabbed her forehead and she stopped dancing. The boy of Bosco’s past flickered in and out of his concerned face.

  Had she known him when he was young? Was that why when she touched him, for the first time in months, her memory was coming to life somewhere besides her dreams?

  Could this man be the key to her past and unlocking the rest of her magic? And who was the blond woman who broke her heart?

  She barely noticed as he guided her off of the floor and into the comparatively empty hall. “You there! Fetch the princess’s maid.”

  She shook her head at the footman. “No thank you, Ian. I don’t want anyone.” She looked up at her escort and attempted a flirty smile. “If you could just help me to my room.” If he was the key, she needed to know more. She had to know more.

  “Of course, but are you sure you don’t want someone else?”

  “No.” She was sure. No one but Lord Haddon and the queen knew the extent of her memory loss. And neither of them knew of the headaches or flashes of almost remembering she’d had in in her dreams. She’d never told them. Her instincts said to keep it a secret. Since she’d met this man, touched him, she’d almost remembered something important. Someone important.