by AK Mulford
“How much did you buy?” Remy asked.
Bri shrugged. “Not too much.”
“Did you spend all my money?” Hale laughed.
“You didn’t want us to spend it all?” Bri smirked, passing them and stalking off down the hall.
The corner suite of the inn was the finest room in the place. The large windows looked over both the turquoise river and the verdant gardens. A giant four-poster bed sat against the far wall, billowing white curtains flowing from each post. A sitting area with a blue velvet couch and two matching armchairs were arranged in one corner. Bookcases framed either side of a fireplace with a fire already burning away. Another door led into a bathing chamber holding a giant marble tub.
Remy gawked, looking around the room. It was fit for a queen. She glanced at Hale as he watched her with a smug expression. She supposed they designed it to fit royalty, since he was, in fact, a prince. His status hadn’t confronted her so much as it had in this moment. They had travelled through the woods and backcountry. There had been no praise or fawning over Hale as they journeyed this far. But now, in fae society, he held himself differently. He acted like he was aware of the deferential stares of the surrounding people. He stood straighter, his chin tilted higher. It made Remy wonder if she knew which face was the mask and which one was real.
A new traveling pack for the prince already sat on a low table next to a grand armoire, open and overflowing with clothes. A red, floor-length gown hung prominently on the hook behind the door.
“You did well,” Hale said, sitting in one of the velvet armchairs. He removed his boots and set them by the fire.
“Thanks . . .” Remy said, still staring at the enormous bed.
“It probably is as comfortable as you’re guessing,” Hale followed her gaze, “but we will be out for most of the night tonight. Tomorrow when we return from the game, successful or not, we will make a hasty exit.”
“Such a waste.” Remy pouted at the luxurious white linen.
“Indeed.” Hale laughed.
Remy sensed him watching her. She wondered if he was trying to capture her gaze. Biting her lip, she doubled her efforts to avoid that magnetizing face.
Hale moved to his old pack against the wall. Fishing something out of the bottom pocket, he handed it to Remy.
“Here,” Hale said, “put this on your necklace.”
Necklace. He said it as if the collar were a piece of jewelry and not a symbol of ownership. Still, Remy held out her hand and accepted the golden ring the prince passed her. She turned it over in her fingers. HN, his initials, engraved the golden surface. Remy untied her collar and threaded the ring through.
“But I am wearing your family’s crest already?” Remy questioned, pursing her lips at the ring on the collar.
“Yes, but that ring says you do not belong to my family . . . you belong to me.” His words dropped into a low rumble. An unknown heat deep in Remy rumbled along with it. You belong to me. “It also says I treat you well and that I trust you not to run off with my gold.”
Remy finished clasping the collar back on her neck. She reached under her tunic and into the hidden pocket sewn into the lining, pulling out her totem bag.
As Remy opened the small pouch, the sound of the ring on her stone tag clinked along her collar. Remy produced a long length of red string from the bag, then closed it and tucked the bag back in her pocket.
“What is that?” Hale asked, looking at the string.
“Give me your wrist,” Remy instructed. The prince narrowed his eyes at her but did as she said. Remy wrapped the string around the prince’s wrist, once, twice, three times and then tied it in a neat knot.
“There,” she said. Still holding the prince’s wrist, she refused to look into his smoky gray eyes as she said, “Now you belong to me too.”
Hale’s pulse hammered against her fingertips.
Hale shook his head and said, “Good thinking, Red,” winking.
“My name is Remy.”
“Remy.” He nodded softly, turning to the armoire. The prince took his time scanning her figure and then a wicked smile appeared on his handsome face as he said, “Ready for your acting debut . . . Remy?”
Remy stood at the first-floor landing and rapped on the door in front of her. Heather opened it on the first knock. Seeing it was Remy, she stepped out into the hallway, shutting the door behind her.
“What’s going on? Are you ready?” Remy asked, shifting back and forth. They were heading into Saxbridge for lunch with the Heir to the Southern Court. Remy could hardly contain her excitement. She had always wanted to see the Southern Court’s capital city, half an hour’s carriage ride from Ruttmore.
Heather’s hazel eyes skimmed over Remy, and she smiled. Remy wore the duck-egg-blue dress that Bri had left laid out on the giant bed. The lightweight fabric had a high boatneck that hid most of her witch’s collar. She wanted to keep it that way, but the point was for it to be seen, so she forced herself to pull it from under her dress and lay it on top in prominent display. Her dress clung around the bust and top ribs, spreading out from her waist into a bell-shaped skirt that landed at her ankles. The dress had short, sheer sleeves slitted so her shoulders peeked through. Remy wore her hair tied in a low ponytail, her hair extra voluminous in the Southern humidity. A few escaping curls framed her face. She wore round, silver stud earrings that matched her flat silver slippers. It was a modest outfit compared to the opulence she had seen others wearing, but it was perfect for a member of a royal’s entourage.
“You look so beautiful,” Heather said. She reached out her hand and tenderly stroked a sheer sleeve between her fingers. “This is a fine dress. You look like a queen. You look like your mother.”
Heather gave Remy a sad smile. Remy had forgotten that Heather had lived in Yexshire for a time. She had known her mother, though they never spoke about her. This is the closest they ever came to speaking of secrets they kept locked tightly away.
“Are you not coming?” Remy asked, looking to the door shut behind Heather.
“Fenrin is still a little under the weather today,” Heather said with an unconcerned shrug. “I will stay back and make some more medicine for him. It will be no problem.”
“But . . . Saxbridge.” Remy’s eyebrows lifted. “Don’t you want to see it?”
“I have been there before, actually.” Heather’s smile was soft. It was then Remy realized how little she knew of who Heather was before the brown witch had taken her in. “Once in my youth. It was beautiful. I’m excited for you to see it.”
Remy clasped her hands in front of her. She didn’t know much about Heather at all. She blamed Heather for their boring, backcountry lives but Heather could have had a much more exciting one were it not for Remy. The brown witch sacrificed her own life to hide Remy’s secrets.
“You don’t mind me going without you?” Remy asked, squinting at her guardian.
“You have told me time and time again that you are not a child.” Heather’s cheeks dimpled. A strand of her copper hair fell free of her bun and she tucked it behind her ear. “These past weeks have shown it to me more clearly. I’m sorry it took me so long to listen.”
Remy swallowed. She never expected Heather to acknowledge her as an adult. She thought if it were up to the brown witch she would go on doting and fussing over Remy forever.
“You don’t need to worry,” Remy said, even though she knew Heather would, because worrying about Remy was what she did best. “I will have four fae warriors around to protect me.”
“I wish there were more, but I’ll accept it.” She chuckled, cupping Remy’s cheek. “You are priceless, Remini.” Remy stilled at her full name. “Do not forget your purpose. Do not forget who you truly are.”
Remy’s heart beat faster as she nodded to Heather. Her purpose had only ever been to stay alive and keep hidden. There had never been a plan beyond that. She wanted to ask Heather what came next. What happened beyond the hiding? But they never talked like this.
Now, as she was showing herself in the world, it seemed she needed reminding.
“I won’t forget,” Remy said, looking at her hands.
“Let’s go, Rem!” Talhan called from the floor below. The rest of their fae companions waited at the bar.
“I should go,” Remy said sheepishly. It felt strange to leave Heather behind.
“Have fun,” Heather said. It might have been the first time Heather had said that to her in her entire life. “But be careful with that prince.”
There it was. Remy couldn’t help but chortle at her guardian’s warning.
“Always warning me away from the boys, Heather.” Remy laughed.
“I’m not talking about blushing at some fiddle player, Remy.” Heather pressed her thin lips together. So she had noticed the fiddler player’s looks then. “I see the way you look at that prince. It is something more than flirtation.”
Pulse drumming in her ears, Remy looked away. She hated that Heather could see all that. Her guardian was willing to say the things that Remy wouldn’t, even in her own mind.
Remy opened her mouth to deny it, but Talhan called out again, “Come on! I’m hungry!”
Heather’s lips pulled up at his proclamation, but she kept her eyes fixed on Remy. “Just . . . be careful with him. Remember who you are,” she reminded her ward again.
Remy chewed on her bottom lip and bobbed her chin.
Remember who you are.
It was the one thing she wished she could forget.
Chapter Ten
White flagstones baked below their feet, the air warm and humid. It felt as hot as the peak of the Western summer, even though Remy knew the Autumnal Equinox was mere days away. She was grateful for the billowy light dress that Bri had picked for her.
The rest of the fae wore similar light fabric trousers and short-sleeved tunics. But they remained covered in leather belts and backstraps, armed to the teeth with weapons. They looked less rough in Saxbridge; even as menacing warriors they looked like refined fae out on the town. The Twin Eagles and Carys all wore straight-legged, moon-gray trousers. The Eagles favored tunics the shade of goldenrod that made their eyes seem to glow, while Carys picked violet, the color of the Eastern Court.
Everywhere around them, fae walked informally through the shopping precinct, wearing every color of the rainbow. The brilliant colors matched the tropical flowers bursting from planters placed around large, white marble columns. In the Western Court everyone wore muted earth tones. It was a celebration for the eyes to see so many colors and fabrics. The shopping fae around them slowed or paused as Hale’s crew walked past. They were sure to be the talk of the town soon. Gossip would fly about the Bastard Prince being in Saxbridge.
Hale looked ever the swaggering prince in his lightweight pewter tunic. Covered in intricate embroidery of silver, gold, and light blue, it matched his fitted trousers, the same duck-egg blue as Remy’s dress. Bri had dressed Remy to match the prince she was pretending to serve.
Pointedly looking from her dress, Remy gave Bri a sideways glance and Bri shrugged, “It’s the fashionable color here—what can I do?”
“Likely story,” Remy jeered. Hale’s golden ring clinked against the stone tag of the witch’s collar with her every step. “I see you and Talhan and Carys all found different colors.”
“They didn’t have any in your size,” Bri shot back with a grin. The Eagle knew what she was doing.
They continued along the grand outdoor mall. Domed white and tiled roofs peeked up beyond its high walls. In the farthest distance was a giant, golden geodesic dome, sitting like a crown in the skyline. A forest-green pennant waved in the wind from its peak. Emblazoned on it in gold was the flowering tree of the Southern Court crest. That must be the castle of Saxbridge.
Remy felt another crowd of fae eyes upon her. The scrutiny in them was relentless as they looked her up and down. Snickering, they noted her rounded ears and her witch’s collar. Remy ground her teeth together. She bowed her head, shoulders deflating a bit into the stance she had assumed for most of her life.
Carys’s light touch on her elbow pulled her out of her spiraling thoughts.
“Chin up,” Carys said through smiling lips.
Remy straightened and looked to the female fae. Her white-blonde hair was not in its traditional braid but unbound, flowing down her back. She looked elegant and showy, like a princess. She would look perfect draped on Hale’s arm. Remy’s gut tightened. She needed to stop thinking that way. Carys said that they were not together. She needed to let go of this story she was telling herself about them. Carys had only ever been kind to her. But even now, when she saw Carys’s beauty and thought about her and Hale sharing a bed in the past . . . it made her want to punch her fist through one of these marble columns.
They neared a pavilion crowded with seating areas of white tables and chairs. Remy’s stomach rumbled as the warm aromas of coffee, ginger, turmeric, and cloves wafted to her. She had heard the food in the Southern Court surpassed anything else in the realm.
As they neared the seating area, an opening at the very edge came into view. A ring of empty tables surrounded a person sitting by the balcony. The figure’s shoulders hunched over a book. Beyond that lone person lay beautiful, manicured gardens. A long, rectangular reflection pool bisected the lush foliage. A thin white gravel promenade wrapped around its crystal-clear water. Small groups of fae sashayed around it, taking in the gardens.
“Neelo!” Hale called.
The person sitting in the untouched corner of the café lifted their head.
“Thank you for agreeing to lunch.” Hale reached out and shook their hand as they begrudgingly put a bookmark into their tome and laid it on the table in front of them.
As Remy neared, she took in the sight of the withdrawn bookworm. They were nothing like Remy had imagined they would be.
The Heir of Saxbridge had strong cheekbones, thick lashes, and a rounded jaw. As most natives to the Southern Court, they had dark red-brown skin. Their slender fae ears poked out through their thick, straight black hair, which was tied in a knot at the nape of their neck.
This was the face of Neelo Emberspear, Heir to the Southern Court. They sat small and stooped, despite their muscled frame and hefty weight. Their unusual aesthetic was an androgynous mixture of fae beauty and strength.
Hooded brown eyes watched Remy approach as the rest of the fae took their seats around the table.
“Neelo, this is my new red witch, Remy,” Hale said, waving a hand at her.
Neelo gave Remy a prompt, grim look and said, “Pleasure” before looking back out over the gardens.
They wore an oversized, long-sleeved, black jacket, the black a stark contrast to the light colors worn by everyone around them. A thick, golden rope, tied in an intricate knot, held the jacket together. The rope belt was purely decorative, a sign of the Southern Court’s wealth. Neelo’s charcoal gray pants were simple and narrow, showing off strong, muscular legs. It was far too much clothing for the Southern Court’s muggy climate, but not a single spot of sweat dripped down Neelo’s face. They must dress like this all of the time if they were so acclimated to the hot weather.
Remy sat in a chair between Hale and Carys, looking over the grounds. Green witches were the caretakers of the botanical gardens before them. Not a single weed grew. Okrith’s best gardeners perfectly positioned every flower and shrub like a living painting. Brilliant green parrots flew from tall palm trees, squawking in a strange sing-song Remy had never heard before. The Southern Court was enchanting. Remy felt Hale’s eyes watching as she drank in its beauty. She still refused to meet his gaze.
“Where did you find a red witch?” Neelo said, their attention fixed on the reflection pool.
“In the Western Court,” Hale boasted. He spoke as if Remy were a treasure that he had stumbled upon.
“Are there any more red witches in the West who would like a patron?” Neelo’s brown eyes slid to Remy.
“Not that I know
of,” Remy hedged. Neelo pursed their lips at her. She wasn’t sure how to speak to the Heir of Saxbridge. They didn’t seem particularly welcoming.
Remy had only ever known fae as males or females. The fae were not men and women like the witches and humans—they were different creatures. But the heir was neither male nor female, neither prince nor princess, and it left Remy feeling on the back foot at what she should say to Neelo, fearful that she would offend them.
Everyone else seemed so at ease with what to say and do. Remy felt a rising tide of shame that she had never considered a person like Neelo before. She had met feminine men and masculine women, like Bri . . . but she had met no one who existed outside of that dynamic entirely, like Neelo. Remy grimaced. Maybe she had and didn’t even realize.
“Thank you for meeting with us. You know how I love the food here,” Hale said. He looked over his shoulder to a waiter and mimed a drink. That seemed to be enough information as the waiter scurried away.
“I was required to conduct another outing this week,” Neelo said, tracing the gold embossing of a serpent on the cover of their book. “My mother will be pleased.”
“Still making you show yourself about town?” Hale asked with a chuckle.
“It’s getting worse now that I’m of eligible age.” Neelo pushed their jaw to the side. Remy looked over the Heir of Saxbridge. They must be eighteen. Something about them seemed much older and much younger at the same time.
The Queen of the Southern Court and her heir subverted the traditional parent-child relationship. The Queen was a wild reveler, and Neelo seemed levelheaded and quiet. She had heard so many wild stories about the Southern Court Queen. Remy wondered what it must be like to be the child of an oversexed Queen who bragged about her parties and orgies around a dinner table. What expectations did that put on an introverted child?
“What other debauchery has your mother scheduled for you this season?” Hale asked, like he did not care, but everyone around the table listened more intently.