by K. M. Shea
“You assigned Rangers to me?” Severin said.
“Yes. There were two stationed at the chateau most of the time. I wasn’t going to leave you unguarded in this godforsaken manor, Severin. Usually I used combat trained Rangers, but Ranger Seventy Eight was available at the time and none of my combat Rangers were,” Lucien shrugged. “So, how does it feel to be human again?” he brightly asked.
Severin would not be distracted. “You had her stationed at the chateau. Was this a set up, falling through the roof and staying with me?” Severin demanded, running a hand through his hair.
“No, the rooftop incident was Ranger Seventy Eight’s clumsiness,” Lucien said. “I was most displeased about that. I was planning to send her to Arcainia for an infiltration assignment after she finished her two week stint of guarding you. But she wasn’t a total failure. She did fall for you.”
Elle wished she could sink into the ground, or sock Prince Lucien in the face. His blasé manner was going to make everything worse. Elle shifted, accidentally drawing attention to herself.
“Oh. I forgot about you. You can go. Check in with the rest of your team or something,” Lucien said.
Elle looked at Severin, but he wouldn’t even glance at her.
“What are you waiting for? Go,” Lucien said, his voice growing frosty.
Elle bobbed forward in a bow before she retreated. She blew her silver whistle—which hung from a leather cord around her neck—three times before untying Fidele from the tree she had secured him to. She may as well take him back to the stables while she waited for her team to reorganize.
Elle led Fidele through the snow, winding her way around the gardens. She teared up when the big gelding affectionately nudged her.
The courtyard buzzed with soldiers. Elle saw a flash of a Ranger uniform, one of her fellows was leading a tied and gagged assassin off, a squad of soldiers trailing behind them.
“Elle?”
Elle turned to the chateau front door. Oliver stood on the top steps, his mask gone and his face bright with joy.
“It is you! Elle!” Oliver whooped, throwing himself down the first stair.
He was stopped by Emele, who hauled him back by the collar of his jacket. The ladies maid was truly lovely. Her skin was smooth like porcelain, her features were fine and perfectly proportionate, and her eyes were fastened on Elle.
“Elle?” Emele said. Her voice was just how Elle imagined it, soft and warm. The ladies maid traced Elle’s uniform, and unlike Oliver she understood its implications. “You lied?”
“It’s not what you think,” Elle said.
“You’re a Ranger. Were you tasked with infiltrating the chateau?”
“No, breaking my leg was an accident,” Elle said.
“What else did you lie about?” Emele demanded.
“Nothing.”
“I can’t even begin to believe that. Is your name even Elle?”
“It is. Emele, you’re jumping to conclusions. I—,”
“Jumping to conclusions? You are a lapdog of the Crown,” Emele said, her words as painful to Elle as a hot brand. “Your duty is to lie. I can’t even be sure I know you! Does His Highness know?”
“He does now.”
“Then you have broken his heart, lapdog. Everything you did was a lie!”
“Get your head on straight, Emele,” Elle snapped. “If it was a lie you wouldn’t be able to speak to me right now.”
Emele shook her head and backed up to the Chateau doors. “Do not talk to me. Come, Oliver. Let’s go inside.”
“Elle?” Oliver ventured, straining against Emele when she tried to pull him along.
Elle offered the stable boy a weak smile.
“Don’t,” Emele thundered before pushing Oliver away. When the groom was safely stowed inside, Emele turned back to face Elle one more time. “I liked you, Elle. You were my friend. How could you do this to His Highness?”
“I didn’t do anything. I genuinely love him. Emele, you have to believe me.”
Emele shook her head. “No, I don’t. I would never believe someone who could lie to His Highness,” she said before also slipping inside, shutting the doors behind her.
Elle clenched her eyes shut and bit her tongue to keep from crying. “I knew this is what would happen,” Elle said. “I knew it, but it’s worth it. They’re free now. Severin is free, Emele is free. I just want them to be happy.”
Fidele lipped Elle’s hair, jolting her back to the present. “Right, let’s get you stabled,” she said, leading Fidele towards the barn.
She glanced over her shoulder, just in time to see Oliver pressed against a window pane. The small groom waved before he was yanked away from the window by an adult.
Two weeks later Elle was in the palace to hand in her last report detailing the assassination attempt against Severin to Farand —the head Ranger who reported directly to Prince Lucien.
Severin and his household had returned to the palace. Banquets and balls had been thrown every day since Severin’s homecoming. Elle had seen only glances of him, and nothing at all of his servants.
Elle trekked across the courtyard wearing a black cloak over her Ranger uniform. The hood was pulled up, and she almost missed the tentative call.
“Elle?”
Elle turned to see Oliver, holding Fidele’s reins and standing under the stable overhang to escape the falling snow.
Elle smiled, heartened that at least one of Severin’s servants hadn’t rejected her. “Hello, Oliver.”
Oliver beamed. He took a step forward but stopped when Severin said, “Thank you, Oliver, you may return indoors.” The tall prince stepped out of the shadows of the barn to take Fidele’s reins. He was dressed for riding, wearing black boots, leather gloves, and his shiny hair was pulled back in a straight, orderly ponytail.
Oliver sketched a bow to Severin before he scurried back inside the stable, leaving Severin and Elle alone.
Severin stared at Elle with flat, lifeless eyes. The warmth Elle had grown accustomed to was gone. There was nothing there except for distrust and aversion.
Elle hesitated before she curtsied.
“Your pony has been brought to the stables.”
Elle looked up from her curtsy. “Pardon?”
“Your pony has been brought to the stables,” Severin repeated, his voice cold and impersonal.
“Do you mean Rosemerry?” Elle asked.
Severin briefly flattened his lips. “Yes.”
“You’re still giving him to me?”
“I do not go back on my word, even to those who are dishonorable.”
Elle flinched, but said nothing to defend herself.
“Was there anything you didn’t lie about? You obviously aren’t an indentured servant. I imagine your family doesn’t live in the country—if you even have a family.”
Elle swallowed and kept her chin up.
“Why, Elle. Why did you do it?”
“Why did I lie?”
“Why did worm your way into my life and lead my servants astray? Why did you befriend me under false pretenses? Did Lucien order you to?”
“Severin, my affection for you is real. If it wasn’t it would not have broken the curse. Why does no one seem to understand this except for your brother?” Elle said.
“Lucien sees only what he wants to see.”
“What? What does that have to do with anything? Your curse was that a girl had to fall in love with you. I did. I told you so and your curse was broken,” Elle said.
Severin shook his head. “No.”
“WHY are you being so stubborn when the evidence is staring at you in the mirror? Do you think your servants no longer have masks because I was able to trick magic with lies?”
“Silence!” Severin roared, sounding much as he did when he was a beast. Fidele shied from him, snorting and tossing his head. “Leave.”
“What?”
“Leave the palace. You have no reason to be here anymore as I gave you enough money t
o live comfortably on for the remainder of your life. Leave, and never return. I never want to see your face again. I have no use for faithless liars,” Severin snarled before mounting Fidele and riding off.
Elle’s shoulders shook, and she turned to watch Severin disappear through the gates before she fled to the stables.
Rosemerry neighed when he saw her. Elle ran to him, startling the pony when she threw herself into his stall and hung her arms around his neck. She cried into his soft mane, muffling her sobs. The pony good naturedly bore it as Elle wept in frustration and pain.
It hurt to be misunderstood. It hurt to be rejected.
Elle almost jumped when something pulled on her cloak.
It was Oliver. “I believe you, Elle.”
Elle smiled, brushing tears off her face so they wouldn’t freeze. “Thank you. That means the world to me,” she said, patting Rosemerry to reassure the fat pony. She glanced at the pony before returning her attention to the stable boy. “Oliver, would you do me a favor?”
“Anything for you, Elle.”
“I’m going on a long journey, and I won’t be back for weeks, maybe months. I can’t take Rosemerry with me.”
“I will take care of him,” Oliver volunteered. “His Highness paid his board and feed for a year. I will groom him and see that he is fed.”
“Thank you, Oliver,” Elle said, stroking Rosemerry’s forehead. “If I am unable to return… he is yours.”
“It’s another mission, isn’t it,” Oliver said, his voice shaking.
“What?” Elle asked.
“Your journey, it’s a Ranger assignment. A dangerous one,” Oliver said, his voice almost accusing—but with fear, not anger.
Elle hesitated. “Yes,” she finally said. “It’s an important mission, there’s a lot at stake.”
“But you don’t have to do it,” Oliver protested.
“I do,” Elle said, shaking her head. “I’m sorry, Oliver, but I must do this.”
Oliver hugged Elle. “Why? Why do you hafta leave? Why doesn’t His Highness believe you? It’s obvious that you love ‘im.”
“Sometimes adults quarrel over silly things, and we are too proud to make amends.”
“Being an adult sounds painful,” Oliver muttered, pulling back from the hug.
“Love can be painful,” Elle agreed. “But it is worth it. I promise. Thank you, Oliver, for believing in me and for caring for Rosemerry.”
Oliver nodded and rubbed his eyes.
Elle sighed. “I had better go. Take care, Oliver. I am so glad I finally got to hear your voice,” Elle smiled before she left the stall, leaving the groom and pony together.
Oliver thoughtfully looked up at the pony. “Adults quarrel over silly things, but not all adults. There’s one adult who is always right, and who everyone respects. I wonder, can we find her?”
Two months had passed since Severin last saw Elle in the courtyard before she returned home. It was the middle of winter and Severin was stuck in Lucien’s private study—avoiding their father and listening to Lucien make hints about a war against Arcainia.
“Father actually went ahead and suggested an arranged marriage between our countries in a communication with Arcainia’s king, can you believe that?” Lucien complained. “He is set that I marry that trumped up princess.”
“What was their response?”
“A short letter from the crown prince.”
“And?”
“He said absolutely not.”
“So why are you complaining?” Severin asked, paging through Ranger records.
“He said I wasn’t good enough! The letter was quite abusive, actually.”
Severin glanced up. “What do you care? It means you don’t have to marry the princess.”
“Not necessarily. The crown prince said they could probably scrounge up a duchess or something for me to marry. I thought that would offend Father, but he’s jumping at the chance like a drooling dog,” Lucien said, sounding disgusted.
Severin returned to thumbing through Ranger files. “That is because he is afraid you are going to bring ruin upon all of us by insisting on a war.”
“I’m not going to bring ruin. A war will hardly ruin us, especially because we will win. What are you doing?”
“I’m checking to see which Rangers are on active assignments.”
“Why?”
“If we have any that are waiting for an assignment I would like to send one out to track down my servant.”
“Are you nattering about that again? I told, stop worrying already. It’s just a stable boy, easily replaced.”
“His name is Oliver and he is an orphan. He has no place to go,” Severin said.
“He obviously does since he’s been gone for over a month,” Lucien said.
“That’s why I want to send a Ranger after him.”
“Give it up, Severin. You sent out a huge search party after he initially disappeared. He’s long gone now,” Lucien said, marching across the room in ridiculously frilly shoes.
Severin froze when he came to a Ranger record. “Lucien,” Severin said, his voice dangerously quiet.
“Hm?”
“Why is Ranger Seventy Eight on active duty?”
“Oh, that Elle girl? She volunteered for one last mission before retiring. You really messed up, you know, when you gave her that money to pay off her debts,” Lucien said. “She’s the best intelligencer we’ve got. Now we’ll have to train a new one and that is going to take ages.”
“What?”
“Come on, I know that pack of gold came from you. She said as much when she came barging in here the night you sent her back.”
Severin stood up. “She was indentured to us?”
“Don’t you remember? You were the one who made the arrangement,” Lucien said, stopping in front of a bookshelf. He slid a leather bound logbook off the shelf and paged through it. “Here we go. Her father was a merchant who did some scouting for us on the sly. When all three of his ships went down he was bankrupt. We paid off his debts and bought him a cottage in the country in return for Ranger Seventy Eight’s service—she was accompanying him on all of his trips anyway, he was raising her to the business.”
Severin took the book and skimmed the pages as he sank back in his chair. He propped his forearms on the desk in front of him as his heart twitched while he read the terms of Elle’s indenture. When she had first started out no one suspected how good she would be, so her terms were fairly loose. After it became apparent that she was a master at infiltrating enemy strongholds and ferreting out information without notice, Severin took her family for everything he could get, squeezing funds out of them to lengthen Elle’s contract.
He never met Ranger Seventy Eight, although he had filled out the paperwork for her indenture. He hadn’t even read up on her so he never noted she was female, only that she always produced results.
Severin wondered at Elle’s acting ability. She knew who was responsible for her contract—he would have signed it before her. How was she able to smile and chatter and pretend around him, the man responsible for her being little more than a slave?
Severin threw the logbook aside and pulled Elle’s file out, reading the description of her current mission. “WHAT?” he roared, standing up so quickly he sent his chair flying.
“What’s wrong now?” Lucien asked.
“She’s infiltrating the Verglas assassin’s guild!”
“Yes. No one was very keen on taking that assignment. I was relieved when she volunteered to stay on and complete it.”
“She could be killed,” Severin said, slamming his fist on the desk surface.
“So?” Lucien blinked.
Severin could have happily strangled his brother at that moment. This willingness seemed to show in his darkening expression because Lucien hastily back tracked.
“I mean, why do you care? You’ve sent her on dozens of deadly missions before and never thought twice about it,” he clarified.
“You are an idiot,” Severin said, leaving the room.
“What? Hey, you forgot my proposed budget for the army next year. Severin?” Lucien called.
Severin ignored his brother and stalked down the hallway. He needed to get to his rooms. He needed to think.
He reached his quarters with great relief, sinking into the sofa of his personal sitting room. He glanced at the wall, where the ornate magic mirror was perched. Very little of Severin’s study had been transported to the palace—Severin wasn’t positive he wanted to live in the palace, but the chateau was haunted by memories of Elle—but the mirror had made the precarious journey.
Severin studied it. He had used it several times to look for Oliver to no avail. He hadn’t thought to use it until a scant week ago, and for some odd reason the mirror didn’t respond whenever Severin asked to see him. He hoped it wasn’t because the young groom was dead.
Severin was driven from his thoughts when there was a knock at the door. “Someone is here to see you, Your Highness,” Burke said, poking his head in the room.
“Show them in.”
Burke opened the door, and Oliver jumped through.
“I found her, Your Highness! I found her! I couldn’t hardly believe it, she was real hard to track down, but now she’s here and she’ll fix everything,” Oliver said.
“Oliver, calm down. Where have you been? I’ve been sending soldiers and search parties all over Loire looking for you. What possessed you to leave without warning?” Severin said, scowling at the sheepish boy.
“He was looking for me.”
Severin looked to the newest member of the party and gravely bent over in a bow when he realized who it was. “My lady.”
“There’s no need to bow. I am an enchantress, not nobility,” said Angelique, the enchantress who had returned Severin’s sanity to him and saved his servants from disappearing.
She was still breathtaking and lovely, beautiful enough to be the envy of every woman in Loire, but as Severin stared at her radiant beauty he thought—for just one moment—longingly of unruly black hair and lips formed in smiles that were too wide for polite society.
“I disagree. One with your standing deserves every display of respect,” Severin said.