Of Royal Blood: Part One (Courting Magik Series Book 1)

by Michele Barrow-Belisle

  I pressed a shaky hand to my chest as I rose.

  The queen rolled her eyes. “Why must you be such a scardey-cat,” she began, cutting me a steely glare. “Oh, yes, of course, it’s your name.” She breezed into the room and stopped next to our table. Her expression contorted as she looked down at the red marks, but she didn’t comment on it. Instead she said, “I would like to see my daughter’s progress.”

  “I, um. I’d be happy to show you her portfolio, if you’d give me a bit of time to get it assembled.”

  She sighed. “This court does not pay you for your inefficiency and disorganization, Miss Stark. Get her things ready to be presented at the All Hollow’s Eve ball this coming Friday evening.”

  “Yes, Your Majesty.” I dipped my head.

  “And see to it that you’re there to accompany my daughter to and from the event.”

  “Is it here, in the castle?”

  “Of course it’s in the castle. As is tradition,” she snapped. Then she scanned the room, meandering to the charts I’d hung on the wall along with the other drawings Charlotte had made.

  “What are these?”

  I stole a quick glance at Charlie, whose head was hanging so low I couldn’t even see her face.

  “They’re drawings we created to accompany the corresponding French adverbs,” I lied. Then added, “They were just for fun.” Which I knew was equally, if not more important than formal studies, but I doubted Her Royal Highness would agree with my theories.

  “They seem familiar,” she said, peering closer.

  I glanced over at the wall and froze. My intention was to document her progress, visually. I’d hung the pictures myself. Oohed and ahhed over each and every one, and yet…somehow, I’d managed to miss the story they told when viewed in order, from start to finish. The colors, they were deliberate, and her seemingly random scrawls when placed side by side, formed a coherent and cohesive image. One that was a near-replica of the painting in her room.

  “I, uh…” I blinked at it, turning to look at Charlie again. She was back to focusing on her paper and her now-broken red crayon. “I think she’s done a marvelous job demonstrating her understanding of French colors,” I said. My hand twisted behind my back, and I fought off the itching creeping up my arm.

  The queen’s cold gaze slid to me. “I thought you said she was studying adverbs.”

  “Yes. She was.” I nodded. “The color of adverbs. I mean, colors and adverbs. Together. It uhm,” I cleared my voice, “was an advanced lesson. She’s doing very well.”

  Queen Zara’s cold glare stayed on me for longer than I could bear, before they returned to the painting. “Well. Good. I will allow you to continue,” she said, turning from the drawing and returning to the door. “And Miss Stark, do make sure these are included in her portfolio. I must have something tangible to show for these lessons.” She paused, then crossed her arms over her rail-thin frame. “In fact, I think we should put them on display at the Day of the Dead celebrations. Have them framed and lighted for a proper display.” She scanned the artwork again, her eyes narrowing. “They’re just macabre enough to fit in nicely.”

  With that, she left. And I realized with a sinking emptiness in my stomach, that she’d not said one single word to her daughter.

  The only thing more unsettling than that fact, was that little Charlie no longer seemed to care.

  CHAPTER 15

  The great hall was dazzling. And the air itself felt thick with energy. It was palpable... a low-frequency current running just beneath the surface of what was real and what was imaginary. If magik actually existed within the palace walls, I was certain it would feel like this. That nagging voice inside spoke up. It does exist. And it feels nothing like this.

  More than anything, it was this place. Being here at the palace amid the decadence and opulence was still a heady experience. One any commoner would find overwhelming. It made sense I was dazzled into feeling like the room itself was magikal. In many ways, it was.

  The ballroom, like its myriad of noble guests, was ornately dressed in shades of autumn... harvest gold, orange and black. Vibrantly painted sculls perched on every surface, and boldly colored pumpkins filled the corners of the room. A thick mass of slow rolling fog enveloped the room, clouding the raised ceiling. Several of the guests wore full costumes... witches, vampires, and faeries. But more wore masks, either fully covering their faces, or handheld half-masks that covered only their eyes and nose. And one man wore one of those eerily compelling plague masques... black with a long, beak-like nose.

  When Zara had commanded that I attend tonight’s festivities to keep an eye on Charlotte, she’d failed to mention it was a costume party. I’d selected a simple long black evening gown from Hannah’s closet, but had nothing else to reflect the Day of the Dead theme.

  The queen wore a ruby-encrusted, crimson gown, that swept the floor around her, and a black Dracula cape draped over her narrow shoulders. Even little Charlotte had a tall witch’s hat on her head, her willful curls jutting out from beneath the brim. Standing a few feet from her mother, she looked as bored as a child could be, until she spotted me, and her frown flipped into a wide toothy grin.

  “Yay, Kat’s here!” She jumped up and down until her mother silenced her with a stern glare.

  I approached Queen Zara and offered my much-improved curtsy. A few weeks at court had done wonders.

  The queen wrinkled her nose, as if she smelled something foul. “Well, dear, you look...well, like yourself, I suppose.”

  Yeah. Guess I’m the something foul. I smiled and offered another bow. “Thank you, Your Majesty.” Tucking a stray curl behind my ear, I forced myself not to clench my jaw so tightly.

  Her cutting gaze slid to my ring and froze there. Thin lips parted, as if on the verge of asking about it.

  Charlie wriggled next to me. “There's candy apples,” she squealed, tugging on my hand. “Can I have some, Kat?”

  “Of course.”

  “No.”

  The queen spoke at the same time as I did.

  I looked at her, puzzled.

  Charlie didn't move, but her little face fell into a frown. “But why can’t I have some, Mummy?”

  Zara’s scowl deepened. “Because, you know sugar in the evenings gives you bad dreams,” she hissed. “I won't have you unsettling the nanny with your silly nightmares this evening. The country is already spooked by the Day of the Dead, so I see no need to add to the paranoia and overactive imaginations.” She gave me a stern look. “Do not allow her to eat sweets.”

  I dipped my head, inwardly rolling my eyes. “Of course not, Your Majesty.”

  Zara craned her neck in another direction, seemingly spotting someone more interesting to talk to than her five-year-old and her tutor, because she glided off without another word to either of us.

  Charlie’s sad face turned to look up at me. I could only offer a helpless shrug. Didn’t do either of us any good going against her mother’s wishes. Royal Rules stated the queen’s word was law. Doubly so, since she was also her mother.

  I sighed. “Maybe we can find something else to nibble on?”

  A moment later, the man in the bird mask sidled up to us. He whipped off the mask, touching a finger to his lips so I wouldn’t give it away. Ethan. I should have guessed it by the way my heart beat a little faster just looking at him. He snuck up behind Charlie and grabbed her around the waist, swinging her high into the air. She squealed and giggled as he twirled her around, tickling her mercilessly before setting her down next to me.

  “You look ravishing,” he said, his eyes on me. “Both of you.”

  “Mummy said I can't have any sweets,” she complained.

  Oh, this little one knows how to work the room. I could take a lesson from her myself. Like a hot knife through butter, Ethan melted.

  He glanced over at the queen, then at the dessert table laden with confections. “Well, Mum's not watching, so you go help yourself.”

  She was about
to bounce away but paused. “Won’t that get Kat in trouble?” She looked genuinely concerned.

  It touched me, that someone so small, would be willing to forego candy if it meant keeping her temporary governess out of trouble. I laughed. “Don't you worry about me, Charlie.” I smiled at her. “I’ll be fine.”

  Ethan nodded, pulling his gaze from mine back to his little sister. “Exactly. Who's the boss when Father's away?”

  “Mum.” Charlie couldn’t even try to hide her toothy grin.

  Ethan cocked his head. “Okay, who's the second boss.”

  “You,” she said. She lifted her dress to scratch her knee. I noticed it was covered in lavender bruises.

  “Right. And I say you shall have all the candy you wish. It’s the Day of the Dead, sweets were made for this occasion. Go. Quick.”

  She picked up the stuffed bunny she'd dropped at her feet and scurried off toward the sweets table.

  I scanned the room, not wanting her to get caught, but the queen was shrouded by a gathering of people hanging on her every word, and her attention was on anything but her family. As was typical.

  I was suddenly overly aware of the fact that it was just Ethan and me. And yes, a room full of strangers, but with him standing so close to me, and smelling like freshly washed linen and pine, it felt like it was just the two of us.

  His gaze roamed over me again. “So. You really do look stunning.”

  Cue the butterflies fluttering across my belly. “You too.” Didn't he always. And wasn’t that part of the problem. Bet those missing girls would back me up on that.

  Queen Zara’s voice rose above the din of chatter and background music. “Ethan, come over here, darling.”

  We both glanced in her direction to where she was flanked by two handsome older men, while a pretty brunette curtsied before her.

  Zara summoned her son again, waving an impatient, bejeweled hand. “Come meet the Duchess De Lavega, and her delightful fathers.”

  Ethan exhaled a barely controlled sigh and shook his head. “Well, Katriana Stark, I’d like nothing better than to stay here by your side for the duration of this evening, but I don’t want the queen giving you a hard time for all of my actions.”

  “No. No one wants that.” Part of me wanted to say, “screw it, just stay here with me.” The self-destructive part of me. But the bigger, self-preserving part of me had to agree with him. For us to be seen spending too much time in each other’s company would start the gossip mills churning, which inevitably spilled out the palace doors and into the media. That would be catastrophic, especially since part of my job was to make sure his image remained spotless, not to mention keeping my secrets concealed.

  Ethan took my hand in his, and my arm went limp. It was like a low-voltage charge tracked over my skin. Like a shock, but so much better. The ring on my finger began to warm. I fingered it absently with my thumb but stopped when I noticed it glowing again.

  Ethan blinked. “Interesting gemstone,” he remarked, eyes narrowing. Then he dipped his head and pressed the back of my hand to his lips. My breath caught and refused to start again until he released me.

  “Enjoy the party, Kat.”

  He bowed his head and I did the same. It really was best if we weren't seen spending too much time together, I though, soothing myself as I watched him move on to charm his guests. The connection we shared, while undefined, was palpable and it wouldn’t take much to raise the queen’s suspicions. Plus, his presence seemed to trigger my magik in ways I still didn’t understand. Didn’t want to understand. Ethan was protecting me, protecting my name, my job…and my life. But I hated that I couldn't just make my feelings known. Even if it was only to myself.

  I mingled with a few people at the party during the course of the evening, but it was impossible to relax. The music was stiff and formal, the guests, even more so. At least I had Charlie to keep me busy. She skipped from one treat table to the next, filling her tiny belly with what seemed like more sweets than she’d ever eaten in her entire five years combined.

  I followed her, giving her the freedom to charm the guests and entertain them with her stories when they asked about her paintings. They laughed and patted her head and murmured about how delightfully macabre and imaginative she was. Exactly what Zara wanted.

  Only, I knew they weren’t solely from her imagination. Something about those images was very real for her. She’d experienced…something. Something dark and haunting. Something that latched onto her psyche and refused to let go. I wasn’t sure exactly what it was, yet, but I knew it was anything but imaginary.

  I watched as the queen’s guards announced the arrival of another guest. A rather beautiful girl, with long blonde hair and piercing eyes. I paused, the drink I was about to sip from froze midway between my hand and my mouth. That girl. I knew her.

  Zara glided to her, and the girl dipped into an elegant curtsy. She looked familiar. So familiar. And then, like that—it hit me. I knew exactly where I knew this girl from.

  That night. That strange unnerving night. One I’d never forgotten and would remember forever…when Ethan had been touching her, and I’d felt it as though he’d been touching me.

  My mind drifted back to the last time I’d attended a party at the palace. I wasn't exactly a guest, but my sister was, and I’d come with Father to pick her up after the event.

  It wasn't until my sister had presented us to the royal family, and Ethan had looked at me with those startling cerulean blue eyes of his, that I felt my entire body and soul tingle. He was surreally beautiful... long dark lashes, tousled dark wavy hair, square jaw. He had a camera-ready smile and was always leaning casually with the brooding look of a stereotypical bad boy, the hint of a sullen pout on those perfectly sculpted lips.

  My tummy fluttered when I stole a glance at him as he effortlessly captivated his mother’s guests. God, I hoped I'd managed to hide the inner turmoil he stirred when I was around him. Not sure I had. When he’d kissed the night of the dinner, I could have sworn I'd been zapped with a live wire. Electrifying. His low laugh, deep velvety voice...they all fed into the irresistible package. He was not my type. The bad ones were never my type. They were my sister's type. The more reckless, the better. Jeremy was more my speed. Steady, responsible and reliable, with that whole clean-cut, good-boy thing going on. He would be ideal, if I thought of him that way. But he was destined to languish in the friend zone, as Hannah called it. While he wished it was otherwise... I just didn't see him like that. Might have been the sloppy kiss he gave me back in the fourth grade, but as perfect as he might have been on paper, we would always be just friends.

  But around Ethan, it was like at any moment, I could spontaneously combust, and there'd be nothing left between us but ashes and cinder. I forced myself to look away. Cocky and arrogant was cocky and arrogant, no matter how hot the packaging. He was known for his voracious sexual appetite and his gift for getting into trouble. I’d wandered to the kitchen that night, five years ago, to collect any leftover treats from the night. That’s when I’d heard them... Ethan, and the blonde pinned up against the wall in a darkened corridor. I’d felt his hand on my body, his fingers threading between mine. Felt his lips move everywhere across my skin, and then felt him—

  “That’s the Comtesse deMarquise.”

  I blinked, forcing myself to come back to the present. Charlie’s little face was peering up at me, her expression pinched into a grimace.

  “Really?” I said, watching as she circled the room, and dazzled every male with a pulse. “Do you not like the Comtesse?”

  Charlie was shaking her head before I finished my question. “Nope. And neither do they.” She scrunched her nose.

  Frowning, I was about to ask who they were, but then she spotted another child her age and squealed. “There’s Cameron, he’s my best friend! Can I go see him?”

  I could hardly say no. If I had a friend show up at this thing, I’d squeal and run off, too. More than ever, I wished Hannah had been perm
itted to come. But her job description didn’t allow for many social functions that involved interacting with the Royals. Lucky her. I tried to stuff down my disappointment at being abandoned for another five-year-old and made my way back to the dessert table.

  “Lovely spread.” An older gentleman, wearing a black and red vampire cape…Dracula circa 1800, smiled next to me.

  I returned the smile but was completely distracted as he went on with idle small talk.

  My body still felt flushed from the memory of Ethan and the Comtesse together. Without a thought, my gaze wandered over to him again, and I found him staring directly at me. Again. In fact, his gaze had scarcely left me most of the night.

  Ethan motioned, dipping his head toward the back door. My brain fogged. Was I reading that signal right? He did it again, promising that I was.

  I bit my lower lip. So much temptation. Okay, that's a bad idea. I was here, at a party that his mother was hosting, not as a guest, but as the princessa's chaperone. Royal Rule number one was to stay away from the prince, and now I was actually considering slipping out the back door with him? This is crazy. Like, self-sabotaging crazy. And yet, I excused myself from the dull conversation with the queen's physician and his monologue on the health benefits of kale, while he loaded a second slice of cobbler onto his gold-rimmed plate…and circled the ballroom toward the back door.

  It was almost as if I was powerless not to go. Which sounded like a massive cop-out, like I was blaming fate, or kismet or pheromones, for my choice. But it was a choice. Wasn't it? Warmth crept over me as I got closer to the exit. Closer to Ethan.

  I caught my reflection in the gilded mirror, my cheeks flushed with heat, hair a little disheveled from toying with it. My insides nearly vibrated with anticipation. I opened the door and stepped into the darkened enclave. A seldom used servants’ entrance from years gone by, was completely deserted, bathed in a pool of cool moonlight. Overgrown bramble roses grew wild, their thorny branches reaching beyond their fence out into the path, ready to nip at anyone who ventured too close.