by Lexi Ryan
I wish you’d stop saying sweet things. “Do you think your mother will allow me to stay?”
“I’ll insist. It’ll be fine.” He takes my hand and skims his thumb across my pulse point. Awareness shivers through me, but when I look down, my scar is gone. “What—did you . . .”
“It’s a glamour,” he says quickly.
I stare at that smooth skin on the inside of my wrist and frown. I like my scar. It’s a reminder of who I am, where I came from, and what I will sacrifice for the people I love. It represents the only truly good things about me. “Is that necessary?”
“I’m afraid so.” I hear the regret hanging on his soft words.
What kind of mother is she that she won’t allow her son to marry a girl with so much as a small scar? “Okay. I understand.”
“I have to go, but I will see you soon. Remember not to let on that you knew me before you arrived at the castle, and don’t tell anyone details of your life. They can know your name and that you’re from Fairscape, but that’s enough.”
I nod, and as I watch him go, my stomach clenches uncomfortably.
How can feeling unworthy of a position I never wanted make me feel so small?
* * *
I play my part. A human girl excited over the prospect of marrying a faerie prince.
I’m bathed, scrubbed, plucked, and moisturized to within an inch of my life. Tess and Emmaline ask me questions about home, about what I think of Sebastian, about what it’s like to have his eye. I try to act like a regular human girl who’s known luxuries rather than having provided them for others. I pretend I don’t know more than I should about their prince—like the way he gravitates toward the outdoors when the sun is out, or the way the muscles in his back ripple when he swings a sword. For them, I pretend I don’t know what it’s like to feel those soft lips meet mine, and for myself I pretend I don’t want to feel that again.
The entire morning is surreal. My maids treat me like I’m some beautiful princess from a foreign land, not the penniless human thief who lived in a cellar for the last nine years. If I’m honest, their doting is . . . nice. I’ve spent all my time going unnoticed, being unremarkable, and I’m surprised to find that there’s some part of me that likes having them coo over the blazing red of my hair and the hazel eyes I’ve always found too plain.
They present me with half a dozen dresses of different shades and styles, each more lovely than the last. Jas would have swooned over the gowns as if they were priceless works of art, but all I can think is how much I’d rather wear pants. If I’d been in pants last night, I might’ve stood a chance when running from the Barghest. Now isn’t the time, though. I need to dress in something the queen will find appropriate for her son’s potential bride.
“Hair all up or half up?” Emmaline asks. She drops my curls and hides her delighted giggle behind her hand. “The prince thinks you’re lovely either way, I’m sure.”
I cock my head to the side, studying her in the mirror. “Why do you laugh like that when you talk about Prince Ronan liking me or asking you to do things for me? Is that uncommon with the fae?”
The maids exchange another long look. “Not with the fae,” Tess says. “But Prince Ronan . . .”
Emmaline shakes her head subtly and offers me an apologetic smile. “We shouldn’t say.”
“I wish you would.”
“It won’t hurt anything,” Tess says under her breath to her twin.
Emmaline bites back a smile, then lets it loose. “Our prince has been reluctant to choose a bride. He’s been doing what he must because this is tradition, but he’s not been involved in any of it. He alone has been responsible for all these delays in the ceremony.”
“He didn’t even show up the first night of the ball,” Tess says. “Rumor has it he told his mother he wasn’t ready, but she moved forward with it anyway. Eventually he had to comply, but he’s been . . . distant.”
“Until you showed up,” Emmaline says, pinning a curl at the back of my head. “Now he’s suddenly very interested in the process. So interested it seems he’s already decided. Make sure Abriella has coffee. Please prepare dresses for Abriella. Could you put a bouquet of day lilies on her breakfast tray?”
“And of course he also gave you the nicest guest quarters,” Tess adds.
“And the sweetest maids, it seems,” I say softly.
The twins giggle happily at the compliment, but it’s not just flattery. I know it’s true. Sebastian has done all this for me and I’m not sure I deserve it.
I sit still as they finish my hair. They pull the top half of my hair back and pin it in place, but they leave the rest down, using special creams to tame my curls and make them hang perfectly.
These women want to be my friends. That simple kindness fills me with guilt as I imagine how I’ll have to deceive them in the days ahead, but I lock up the feeling and push it aside. Starting now, I will use every tool at my disposal to get Mordeus his relics and free Jas.
Even these human servants’ kindness.
Even Sebastian’s blind trust.
Chapter Eleven
“LADY ABRIELLA KINCAID OF FAIRSCAPE,” the steward calls from the doors of the throne room. “Her Majesty, Queen Arya of the Seelie Court, and His Royal Highness, Prince Ronan, will see you now.”
I throw a glance over my shoulder at my maids. I need their confidence. They give me the smiles I’m looking for, and I take a fortifying breath, lift my soft white skirts, and follow the steward forward.
The queen’s gray-and-yellow-clad guards line both sides of the path from the doors to the dais, where she sits on her throne in a yellow gown that sparkles in the sunlight. The jeweled golden crown atop her head looks heavy enough to break a neck, but she keeps her head high. Sebastian stands beside her, turned away as he speaks with the armed sentry nearest him. He looks nothing short of regal in his uniform of steely gray, a velvet yellow sash hanging across his body.
The space alone is intimidating—too big for so few people, too polished for a girl like me—and each step forward is an effort. But I realize that’s the point. Any girl who doesn’t feel worthy upon entering this room has no business becoming the Seelie princess.
When I reach the foot of the dais, I curtsy deeply. I wish Sebastian would look at me. I need some reassurance—any at all—that he’s going to make sure I can stay, that it’s going to be okay. But he’s wrapped up in his discussion with his sentry. “Your Majesty,” I say, standing. “Thank you for seeing me this afternoon.”
As I speak, Sebastian whips around and blinks at me. He must not have been paying attention when they announced my name, because he looks surprised. Slowly, his gaze travels over me, and I feel my skin heat with each detail he observes. My hair curled and pinned neater than he’s ever seen it, my eyes lined with kohl, my lips stained a dark crimson. His gaze sweeps across my bare shoulders and continues to the swell of décolletage above the dress’s sweetheart neckline, over the bodice covered in glittering silver and gold crystals. My cheeks warm, and when his lips part and he draws in a ragged breath, my entire body warms.
My maids chose well when making their selections. With just enough white, we can make you look like a bride without wearing a bridal gown. I lift my chin, fighting the instinct to revel in the appreciation in those eyes. A week earlier, I could only dream of Sebastian looking at me like this. It’s a struggle to remember that everything has changed. He’s not the sweet, struggling apprentice next door. And I’m not an innocent girl looking to become faerie royalty.
“Tell me your name again, girl,” the queen says.
I tear my gaze away from her son to look at the queen. “Abriella Kincaid,” I answer. I don’t use the title lady like her steward did. I’m no lady, and to pretend otherwise feels like an insult to a female I can’t risk upsetting.
“Abriella. What a lovely name. Congratulations on making it this far. As you’ve seen, countless women have tried and were sent away. More will be sent home today. Tel
l me, why do you wish to marry my son?”
I open my mouth to answer, then snap it shut again. I was prepared for this question, of course, but in this moment my planned response strikes me as shallow. Sebastian seems to hold his breath as he waits for me to answer. I meet his eyes and imagine an alternate reality where Sebastian never had a secret identity. One where he became a mage and took me to meet his family.
“I can’t claim to know your son well,” I say. It’s in line with the part I’m playing, but it’s also true. “But I’ve met many males, young and old, powerful and powerless.” My voice shakes a bit. “And yet Se—Prince Ronan is the only one who’s ever made me feel special from his first smile and safe from his nearness alone.”
The queen chuckles and looks to her son. “She sounds quite besotted with you.” When she looks back to me, she rolls her eyes in an expression that is so young and so human it’s almost difficult to believe that she’s an immortal ruler. “All the girls feel that way, my dear. Don’t feel too special.”
Sebastian shifts uncomfortably, but he doesn’t correct her. How could he if he doesn’t want her to know we already have a relationship?
She arches a brow at her son. “Your thoughts, darling?”
Sebastian looks me over again before clearing his throat. “I’ve had the opportunity to speak with Abriella, and I wish her to stay. I . . . enjoy her company.”
The queen smirks at her son as if to say This one? Really? “You would risk marrying a girl who may not be capable of bearing you children?”
“Mother,” he says softly, warning in his tone.
“I won’t apologize for noticing that she is quite thin.” She taps her nails on the arm of her throne as she studies me. When she lifts her eyes to mine, I’m struck by the emptiness I find there. The sadness. Perhaps immortality does that to a person, but this seems like something more. “My son’s bride will be expected to bear him children. Do you even menstruate regularly?”
I blanch. “Excuse me?”
“Your cycle? Do you have it? Or is it irregular due to”—she waves a hand to indicate my figure—“malnutrition?”
I open my mouth—to say what I’m not sure—but Sebastian speaks first. “I’m sure Lady Abriella isn’t used to speaking freely of such things, Mother. She comes from a part of Elora where women are expected to keep such information private.”
I’m not sure which part of Elora doesn’t expect that. Girls are taught to dread their cycles, to never speak of them and hide every evidence of their existence. With all the trouble it brings—and risk of pregnancy high on that list when there’s never enough food—menstruation is considered a curse more than a sign of good health.
“She forfeited any right to privacy when she decided she wanted to be your bride.”
“I do,” I blurt. “I mean, my monthly cycle is . . . It’s normal.” My cheeks are on fire. It looks like I got something right about the Seelie Court. This whole tradition is built entirely around human fertility. As if, as a woman, my only worth lies in my ability to give them offspring. It’s a struggle to smile through this confirmation, but I do my best.
“Truly?” the queen asks. “If I ask my healer to examine you and he tells me you’ve lied—”
“Please, Mother,” Sebastian says. “I’m sure that any gaps in Lady Abriella’s nutrition can be corrected during her stay at the palace.”
The queen brushes her fingers against her son’s wrist but keeps her gaze narrowed on me. “My son’s tender heart will make his future bride so very lucky. He gets it from his father. My Castan was full of compassion and goodness. Beloved by our people.” She nods at me. “You may stay for now, Abriella. But see that you take full advantage of the meals while you’re here, yes?” She smirks. “I will recommend that my healer visit you for a full physical in two weeks’ time. Assuming that my son hasn’t tired of you by then, of course.”
I nod and curtsy. “Of course, Your Majesty.” I don’t dare look at Sebastian before I allow the queen’s steward to escort me from the room. I’m too afraid the relief on my face will make the queen question my true intentions.
* * *
After locking my bedroom door, I pull up my sleeve and snap a thread of my goblin bracelet.
When Bakken appears, he’s squinty-eyed and scowling.
I allowed my maids to ready me for bed, then waited for them to leave for the night, but every moment since the queen agreed to let me stay, I’ve been itching to start my search. At dinner, I remembered my goblin bracelet and realized that I might not have to search for the mirror.
Bakken blinks a few times, but his scowl turns to a smile when he takes me in. “Fire Girl, where is my payment?”
I pull out a knife I stole from my table setting tonight. I use it to slice off a lock of hair. Bakken yanks it from my grasp before I can offer it to him, quickly tucking it into the pouch at his waist. “Next time you call me, don’t do it from inside this palace. I’m not welcome here.”
“I need the Mirror of Discovery.” I turn to my bed and pull the fake from beneath my mattress. “It looks like this, and the queen is said to have stolen it from the Unseelie during the war.”
Bakken lifts his chin. “The queen keeps the mirror in the sunroom just off her bedchambers.”
The night I searched the castle for the portal, I was never able to search her chambers. They were too brightly lit and well guarded.
Bakken holds the hair to his nose and inhales deeply, like an addict taking a hit.
I open my mouth to ask how I can get past her guards, but he snaps his fingers and disappears as suddenly as he appeared. I have to bite my fist to hold back a howl of frustration.
What a waste of a thread. What a waste of hair.
I unlock my door and crack it to peek down the hall. The guest wing of the castle is quiet but not dark. The corridors are dimly lit by soft orbs of light floating between each room. Quietly I leave my room and slowly close the door behind me.
I met the other eleven girls at dinner, but there’s no sign of them now as I slip past their rooms. Is Sebastian inside with one of them? I tamp down the jealous thought and focus on my mission.
I might need to turn myself to shadow to get through certain parts of the palace, but I’ll wait as long as I can. I’m not in full control of my power yet, and a girl suddenly appearing from shadow is much more conspicuous than one of Sebastian’s potential brides wandering around the palace in the middle of the night.
The guest rooms are in their own wing, and by the time I reach the entrance to the wing with the royal chambers, the bones in my feet ache from the cold stones. I didn’t think to put on slippers before I left my room.
Sebastian’s room is to the left at the top of the stairs, but I turn right, toward the queen’s chambers, only to scramble back a few steps at the sunlight filling her hall. No, not sunlight. The window at the end of the hall is still dark with night. It’s as if these walls have been enchanted to glow like the sun. Queen Arya’s guards stand watch every six feet down the hall. Even if I knew how to control my shadows long enough to sneak past these sentries, it wouldn’t help. What good is becoming darkness where there is only light?
“Brie?” I turn to see Sebastian. His eyes flick down to my white nightgown and bare feet before he lifts his chin and trains his gaze on my face, ever the gentleman. “Are you looking for something?”
Yes. I’m looking for a magic mirror your mother had stolen from the Unseelie Court. Would you fetch it for me? If only it could be that simple.
I sigh and deliver my preplanned lie. “I can’t sleep. I was hoping to find a hot cup of tea in the kitchen, but”—I look around and shrug—“I’m afraid I’ve gotten lost.”
I expect him to question this. Although I’ve not officially been shown the whole castle, I’ve been shown enough to know that the kitchen isn’t in this direction. Or on this floor.
But Sebastian’s too trusting for his own good. He gives me a sympathetic smile. “I can’t
sleep either. Come with me and we’ll have some tea together.”
We don’t exchange a word on the way to the kitchen. Sebastian barely spares me a glance as he leads me into the large, empty space and puts a kettle on the stove. Just two nights earlier I’d fallen through the wall into this kitchen, and these gleaming countertops were covered in enough food to feed hundreds while servants bustled about in every direction. Tonight, there’s no one here but us.
“Has something upset you?” I ask, leaning against the counter.
Sebastian pours steaming liquid from the stove into two mugs. He frowns as he passes me a mug. “Why do you ask that?”
“You’ve barely spoken to me since we headed down here, and I was surprised not to see you at dinner.”
“I’m not upset. I’m preoccupied. I apologize for that.” He blows out a breath. “I’ve just returned from a meeting with my contacts in the Unseelie Court.” He slowly lifts his eyes to mine, and I see the torment there. “They still haven’t found any sign of Jas.”
I can’t even register disappointment as panic has my lungs in a vice-grip. “You have spies in King Mordeus’s court?” Does he know I was there yesterday? Does he know about the deal I made with the king? If Sebastian learns of our bargain through spies, will the king renege on his promises?
Sebastian shrugs, but his answer is clear. Yes, he has spies in the Unseelie Court. Of course he has spies. “I don’t understand what he wants with her,” he mutters.
There’s my answer. Sebastian remains ignorant of my bargain with his enemy court. “None of your sources have any idea either?”
“Nothing helpful.” He hesitates a beat. “Has he tried to contact you?”
“He hasn’t. Do you think you could put me in touch with him?” It’s what I would ask if my lie were true. “Maybe he’ll tell me something about where he’s keeping Jas. Or maybe he’ll be interested in some sort of—”