by K. A. Linde
“Yes. Well, no. Usually, it’s just a mistress, but I am unwed. So, that makes you a whore.”
Kerrigan wanted to be offended that they assumed that, but all she could do was laugh. She doubled over at the thought. That she, Kerrigan Argon—originally Princess Felicity, First of the House of Cruse, and now a member of the Society as a dragon rider—could be something as simple as someone else’s whore.
“Stop laughing,” Fordham said.
“I’m sorry,” she said, trying to get it under control. “But it’s absurd.”
“Where you are from perhaps but not here.” He shook his head. “You don’t understand. Half-Fae are not treated as equals.”
“Obviously.”
“The best you could hope for would be to become the concubine of the crowned prince. And I was aware that it was going to be difficult to convince my father that you’re a Society member and ally, but now, we’re starting below zero in a world where perception is everything.”
“Fine. Fine.” She wiped her hand down her face and shook off the last of her laughter. “Wouldn’t it have been better for us to discuss this before coming here?”
“When would we have, Kerrigan?” he demanded. “While you were out, drinking with your friends, or when you were hungover on the flight?”
“I don’t know. Maybe before or after you told me you were exiled,” she snapped right back.
He froze at the words. “I wanted to tell you.”
“Don’t bother, princeling,” she said, retreating to his nickname to keep them on solid ground.
“As you wish, halfling.”
The word cut just a little bit more than normal.
“What do we do now?” she asked after a moment of silence.
“Wait for my father to see us.”
Kerrigan looked at him skeptically. “I don’t do well with sit tight and wait your turn.”
“We’re trying not to get either of us killed.”
“I can’t make any promises.”
Fordham chose to ignore her comment and headed into the bedroom, pulling a sheaf of papers out of the writing desk. He sat before it and began to write his sad, broody boy poetry. Meanwhile, she did what she always did when trapped inside with nothing to do—she slowly went crazy.
6
The Princess
Two days went by with nothing.
An interminably long space of time alone with Fordham Ollivier in his bedchamber. Anything could have been happening. They could have been using the big, beautiful bed in his chambers, just to give someone something to actually gossip about. Not that they’d seen anyone, except Benton and Bayton delivering meals three times a day.
But no. No fun bed times.
Fordham retreated to the couch, and she had the giant, fluffy goose down bed all to herself. He left a few times to try to speak to someone who would get them an audience with his father. He only came back angrier every time he left. She’d taken to avoiding him when he returned. They alternated between arguments and cold shoulders, and she didn’t have the energy for it. He was out now and had been gone for an hour. She’d wanted out of the room bad enough that she even offered to join him. He’d almost laughed at her. As if her half-Fae presence would make everything worse.
“Miss Kerrigan,” a voice called after a knock on the door.
Kerrigan rolled her eyes at the use of miss but still hurried to answer. It wasn’t yet time for Benton and Bayton to bring lunch for her. Any reason for interaction would be worth it.
She flung the door open. “Yes?”
Benton and Bayton curtsied.
“Will you follow us, miss?” Benton said.
“Where?”
Bayton blanched.
Benton smiled warmly. “We’re to prepare you for dinner.”
“It’s not even lunch.”
Bayton nodded. “Yes, but we have our orders.”
“Are we finally going to meet the king?”
“That I don’t know,” Benton said.
“Right. Orders,” Kerrigan said. “Does Fordham know? I mean, His Royal Highness.”
“We do not know,” Bayton said with a shy smile.
They didn’t really seem to know anything, or they refused to tell her. But this was her ticket out of this room. She’d go with her worst enemy to escape another day of solitude.
“I’ll leave him a note,” Kerrigan said. “Just one moment.”
The attendants protested, but Kerrigan had already darted back into the bedroom. She found a scrap piece of paper and jotted out a little something to let him know where she was going. He’d probably be angry if he came back and saw she was gone. Even worse, if he had no idea where she’d gone.
“All ready,” she said, stepping out of the room and closing the door behind her.
The twins took the lead, navigating the empty corridors with ease. And they truly were still empty. It was so disconcerting. She kept expecting to turn the corner and for the halls to be teeming with people. She found it hard to reconcile it with her home.
“Does no one live here?” she couldn’t help asking the twins.
Benton and Bayton shared a glance. Benton answered, “Did His Royal Highness not inform you of how the court functions?” Then, she swallowed at the question, as if she’d already misstepped by asking it.
“Prince Fordham is famously recalcitrant and restrained,” Kerrigan said.
Bayton stifled a giggle. “That he is, miss.”
“You can call me Kerrigan.”
Benton shook her head. “We couldn’t.”
“I assure you that I would not be offended.”
They shared another look that Kerrigan took to mean that she was odd. But they smiled lightly afterward, as if they liked her strangeness.
“We really aren’t supposed to discuss the inner workings of the court,” Bayton whispered.
“But it wouldn’t hurt her to have some knowledge of where she resided,” Benton said. Bayton blinked at her sister, but Benton continued right on as they went up a flight of stairs, “The entire court has recently been called back into attendance.”
Kerrigan tilted her head. That actually made sense. The court wasn’t always in attendance in Bryonica either. People had their own homes and lives. They were called back when the ruler requested it. But there wasn’t more land for their estates, just the mountain.
“Where do they normally live?”
“Well, Ravinia is the largest of three peaks, but the tunnels into this mountain expand to the other two—Valeria and Tesera. The three families of the House of Shadows have separated between the mountains. The Ollivier royals in Ravinia. We call the other two the little courts for Houses Laurent and Blanchard.”
Fordham had mentioned once about there being three families, but they weren’t like what she was used to. These were more factions, always vying for the right to rule. People could move between the factions, depending on their loyalty. They went to war against each other continuously, seeking to depose his father, and then war would start again until he got his throne back. It sounded barbaric. And explained so much about Fordham.
“So, Laurent and Blanchard are traveling back to court for …”
“The prince’s return,” Bayton whispered. She looked around, as if someone would catch them.
“Is it good or bad that he’s back?” Kerrigan asked. She could see it going either way, considering his exile.
“We do not know,” Bayton said, glancing uneasily at her sister.
“But court has not been the same since he left,” Benton added.
They reached the top of the stairs, and Benton and Bayton went completely still. Then, they dipped into a low curtsy.
“Princess Wynter,” they said in unison.
Kerrigan took their lead and dropped low. Princess? Who was this girl? The figure before her was hardly how Kerrigan expected a princess to dress, but what did she know about this bloody court?
“What is going on here?” Princess Wynter as
ked.
Kerrigan rose with the twins and got a good look at the woman. Princess Wynter was dressed in all black—a loose black tunic tucked into tight fighting pants. Her boots were quality leather, laced up to her knees. A bow was slung over her back with a quiver of arrows attached to her hip. Her hair was down to the middle of her back and the same color as her skin—white as snow. She had uncanny light-blue eyes that seemed to suck life out of the world.
“Ma’am, we’re escorting Miss Kerrigan to get ready for dinner.”
Wynter tilted her head to the side. She was practically ageless. She could have been seventeen, like Kerrigan, or three hundred, but either way, those eyes were something altogether different.
“I shall join you,” she declared. “I need to prepare as well.”
Benton nodded, even as Bayton clenched her hands into fists. “As you wish, my lady.”
“Bayton, fetch my attendants as well.”
Bayton dipped into another curtsy and then all but fled. Benton, to her credit, held her head up as she directed them down the hallway.
Wynter fell into step next to Kerrigan. Her eyes were forward, but it felt as if she were weighing her. “So, you are Fordham’s new interest.”
Kerrigan kept her face carefully neutral. New interest was such a clever way to say concubine. Though the more interesting part of the sentence was using Fordham’s given name. This was his sister. So it made sense. And yet, it made little sense at the same time.
“I suppose that I am.”
“Well, you are beautiful. I’ll give him that for taste.”
Kerrigan tried not to laugh but couldn’t help it. “Beautiful? Me? I hardly think that’s what did it.”
Beautiful wasn’t usually anyone’s choice word for her. Between the uncontrollably curly red hair, freckled face, and mouth that never seemed to know when to shut up, she’d gotten rambunctious, obstinate, and intimidating before beautiful.
And Fordham, of all people, had thought that she was an insult. She’d been sent by the Society to work for him during the tournament because the servants were too scared of him. That didn’t exactly go as planned—until she had prophetic dreams about him. The only thing he seemed to like less than a mouthy half-Fae shadowing him was one who actually helped him. Feelings for her enemy had only come later… when she stopped thinking of him as her enemy.
“Well, you’re not like the last one. That’s for certain,” the princess said.
Kerrigan forced herself not to react to that. Surely, Wynter was baiting her. “So, you must know the inner workings of the court then.”
Wynter arched a pale eyebrow. “Of course.”
Kerrigan hated to show her ignorance, but she needed answers. She couldn’t go on, not knowing what she was walking into. “Well, what is this dinner? Am I to meet the king?”
Wynter eyed her skeptically. “No one told you?”
Benton opened the door to reveal a room full of hundreds of stunning gowns. “Here we are, my ladies.”
Kerrigan met Benton’s gaze, and she shook her head just once. A warning. Don’t confide in Wynter. Don’t give her your secrets. You’ve already said too much.
But Wynter was waiting for an answer.
“No. No one told me.”
Wynter smiled at her. It was supposed to be friendly, but somehow, it only looked a little mad. “We’re to have a ball to celebrate my big brother’s return.”
A ball.
Big brother.
These words didn’t compute. Fordham had a … sister? Well, that had definitely never come up before. Of course, she should have associated princess with her being Fordham’s sister, but she was still so used to Bryonican royalty that these rules didn’t exactly make sense to her. In Bryonica, there were four royal lines and all the first of their line were considered princesses. Kerrigan had been a princess. Helly was technically a princess from a different royal house. She hadn’t realized that it would mean blood relative. If Fordham had divulged information about his home, then she wouldn’t continually be caught off guard. Wynter was apparently relishing in it.
“Well, a ball sounds lovely,” Kerrigan finally said. She hated court games and always had. But she was going to have to remember how to play if she was to survive here.
“I bet,” Wynter said.
“This way, Miss Kerrigan,” Benton said, pulling her into an adjoining room, away from Wynter.
It was a bathing chamber, like the one from the other day, and Benton gestured for her to get in. After a few minutes of Benton scrubbing some kind of salt scrub into her skin, Kerrigan couldn’t remain silent any longer.
“She’s Fordham’s sister?”
Benton nodded. “Half-sister. King Samael has had five wives. The first wife produced one sickly daughter, who died young. She wasn’t even a hundred. The next wife was replaced for producing no children. And then Fordham’s mother, Queen Kamara, was nearly displaced for lack of an heir when, miraculously, we got Prince Fordham.”
“What happened to her?” Kerrigan whispered.
“We do not speak of it,” Benton said. “But it was tragic. Wynter’s mother was Queen Wisteria, an alliance to appease Laurent family, but she wasn’t all there. She was removed from her role as queen as she slowly went mad.”
“How terrible.”
“Indeed.”
“And now, he’s remarried a fifth time?”
“Yes,” Benton said with a bite in her voice. “Queen Viviana from family Blanchard.”
“She’s not your favorite?”
“Family Blanchard hates half-Fae more than the other two families.”
Kerrigan startled and glanced up at Benton’s covered ears. “You’re half-Fae?”
“Yes, miss. My mother was a lady from Blanchard. The human male who … seduced her was beheaded.”
Kerrigan gulped, reading between the lines. “I see.”
“Bayton and I were given to King Samael as a gift with his new bride.”
“A gift,” I said flatly
“Yes, we don’t have rights in the House of Shadows.”
Fury burned in her veins, and she had to tamp down the rising magic that wanted to respond to the injustice. “Then, why ever am I being dressed for a royal ball?”
Benton looked at her in surprise. “You belong to Prince Fordham.”
“Belong,” Kerrigan repeated, unable to fathom these words.
“Of course. To belong to a male such as the prince is a great honor. It’s a prized position, even after he weds. You receive much protection from all, except the males.”
Kerrigan felt sick. This was worse than she’d thought. Worse than Fordham had even suggested. He’d said she’d be his concubine but nothing more. Had he wanted to save her feelings or suppress her rage?
“And what am I supposed to do at this ball?” she asked, clenching her hands into fists as she came out of the bath and wrapped herself in a towel.
Benton looked startled by Kerrigan’s apparent anger. “You truly do not know these things? Prince Fordham has not made you aware that you belong to him?”
“He has not made me aware of that.” There was no use in explaining to someone trapped within these walls that this was not how things were done outside.
“Well, you will attend as a sort of ornament. You decorate his appearance. Only the wealthiest Fae have the means to have such a person at their side.”
Kerrigan wanted to tear this mountain down from the inside. No wonder they had been trapped away in here for a thousand years. When she had heard that they tortured half-Fae, she had assumed physical abuse. Not… this emotional abuse and, clearly, abuse of the sexual nature. How could property ever say no?
“And did Prince Fordham ever have a half-Fae as an ornament before?”
“No, miss,” Benton said, fear creeping into her voice. “He was entirely against it, as it was a condition of his exile.”
Kerrigan wanted to ask more, but she didn’t need to. Fordham had never done this before. It
was a misunderstanding. She would go to this ball and be his little decoration if that was how they needed to be seen publicly. Then, together, they would fix this, as they had fixed everything else. They had just over a week to make this backward society see her for who she really was. It wasn’t long enough. Not by a long shot.
But she knew exactly how to play it in the meantime.
She wouldn’t be going to this ball as she was. Kerrigan of the House of Dragons, the scrappy and rebellious fighter, had to die in these halls. No, tonight, she would don a persona she had long ago discarded, but to survive, it was necessary to become someone else. Tonight, she would be Princess Felicity, First of the House of Cruse, a Bryonican royal.
7
The Ball
“Well,” Wynter said, her clear gaze sweeping Kerrigan’s gown, “this is an improvement.”
She spun her finger in a circle, and Kerrigan obliged, swishing in the sumptuous black-and-silver gown and letting her get a full look at the layers of soft satin. Kerrigan had never seen anyone wear a gown like this. The bone-fitted corset crushed her ribs and pushed her breasts up to her throat. A billowy plume of skirt fell to her feet. At least the bodice was more modern than the typical square neckline she had expected with this design. This one pushed the long, diaphanous, velvety sleeves off of her shoulders with a wide-open neck embroidered with Ollivier silver, accenting her pale throat and collarbone.
Her red hair had been straightened in an exercise that tested her patience like nothing else. She’d had no idea that the mass went down to her waist or that someone was talented enough to control the curls and frizz. That she could look like everyone else in an intricate updo. Even Darby had never managed something like this, and as a child, she never would have sat long enough. Benton had then darkened her lashes, colored in her eyebrows, added a line to her lids, applied careful rouge to her cheeks, and painted her lips the deepest, darkest red.
“You’ll be the talk of the evening,” Wynter said.
“Not next to you.”