by AK Mulford
Hale gave her a half-grin. “I don’t doubt it. They are some of the most skilled fighters I know. Although . . .” He looked at the trees over her shoulder. “Seeing you tackle them into a pool is something I won’t be soon forgetting.”
A flush blanketed Remy’s skin. She had tackled them into a pool with her magic. Her hair was almost dry now and coiled tighter from the water of the reflection pool. A few perfect ringlets framed her face.
“So you accept my apology?” Hale said.
“There’s nothing to apologize for . . .” Remy said. Hale opened his mouth but Remy continued, “You saved me that day and if another day like that happens, though I hope it won’t, you have my permission to save me again.” She tried to add a lighthearted laugh, but it felt strained. “I’m sure you protect all your assets well.”
Hale recoiled, his mouth tightening, forehead crinkling.
“I shouldn’t have said that.” He fiddled with the red string around his wrist. “Yes, I am grateful that we have found a red witch to help us. It would be impossible to acquire those talismans without you, but . . . your life means more to me than that.”
Remy turned those words around in her mind, picking them apart in different ways. Her life meant more to him than what? Than only being a useful tool in their quest for the High Mountain talismans? What did “more” mean? Remy did not know. Ugh, she thought, these bloody fae and their half-truth words.
She looked up at him. His hair fell across his forehead as he bent to look at her. Remy’s fingers twitched with the urge to brush it off his face. Nibbling her lip, she knew she wanted to find an excuse to touch him. When she was pretending to be his red witch, it was the closest to an honest feeling she had. He had caught her in this spider’s web. She did not know how to untangle herself from what was real and what was pretend.
Remy was sick of these cycling thoughts. She wanted to give herself over to the heady music and sweet fragrances and reckless abandon. Enough of wishing to do things and never doing them. She smoothed Hale’s hair off his forehead. That wavy, brown hair was as silky as she had hoped it would be. His ocean air scent mixed with jasmine and evening primrose.
“Your life means more to me too, Hale,” she said, her voice huskier than she intended.
Those dark pupils dilated. It was the first time she had ever called him by his name. The look on his face sent a quiver through her. She moved to take her hand out of his hair, but he reached up and held her hand on the side of his face.
Remy took a shallow breath. Hale’s eyes wandered to her large lips. He unthreaded their other hands and slowly traced his fingers up her arm, leaving bolts of lightning in the echoes of his touch. His hand smoothed up her shoulder and down her neck. His thumb braced her cheek right before her ear as his fingers curled around to the nape of her neck.
She wasn’t sure she was breathing. It only took the slightest pressure on those fingertips to pull her in. The scent of honey wine wafted off his breath. She was so ready for . . .
“Hale!” Bri’s shout came from behind the trees. “We’re heading to the bar. You coming?”
Hale growled, but he released Remy.
“Hale?” Carys shouted in a whining sing-song. “Come on. More wine. Let’s go.”
Remy laughed quietly.
“We should go,” she whispered.
Hale hung his head, resigned. When he lifted it again, that charming princely mask was back on his face. He extended his elbow to Remy again, and she took it. Walking back onto the main promenade, Remy’s whole body still tingled with that one soft touch. Hundreds of glowing lanterns illuminated the promenade, their flickering light dancing across the smooth surface of the reflection pool.
Bri and Carys sat perched on the ledge of the pool. They looked at them with knowing, wicked smiles. Carys winked at Remy. Remy narrowed her eyes back at her, but that only made the female fae smile wider. She wasn’t sure what they had thought had happened between them. Remy blamed it all on the magic of the night. She thought of Heather’s warning. The brown witch would go on a lecturing rampage if she had known what happened this night.
Remy sighed.
She was in so much trouble.
They had walked most of the way home over the course of the night, stopping in crowded pubs and music halls, drawing as many eyes to them as possible. It was strange being so openly watched. Remy had shied from it at first, but by the end of the night she welcomed the looks. The rush reminded her of when she and Fenrin would go sledding as children: the high speed, the blurring of her periphery, the absolute surrender to the sensations through her body. She had never felt so alive. She didn’t know why such revelry felt like an accomplishment, but as the evening wound down, she thought back on their escapades with a strange sort of pride.
The hours bled together until fires dwindled to nothing but embers. They stumbled back to the inn, the sky perking with fresh morning light. Sounds of the night still echoed through her body as they stepped into their quiet corner suite. A high-pitched ringing filled her ears at the sudden quiet. Happy, satisfied tiredness filled her body. A sore ring of red had worn its way onto the tops of her feet as they swelled from all the drinking and walking, chafed by the ribbons of her silver slippers. But Remy didn’t care. It was a soreness that felt like a victory, like after a hard morning’s training with Bri.
Hale kicked his soft leather boots off by the door and collapsed into a heap on the blue velvet sofa.
“You can use the bathing chamber first if you like,” he said, slinging his arm over his eyes. “I think I could fall asleep right this second.”
Remy looked between Hale and the gigantic bed. Maids had turned down the bed, the sheer, white gauzy curtains pulled around its edges. Four giant, plump white pillows rested against the wooden headboard. It looked more enticing than chocolate cake.
Remy looked back at Hale.
“You’re not sleeping on the bed?” She asked.
“No,” he said resolutely, his voice tinged with sleep. “This couch is perfectly comfortable.”
“But that bed is . . . ,” Remy said, looking over the bed again. Somehow she knew it would feel amazing to slip her tired body beneath those smooth sheets and rest on the soft pillows. Surely Hale would want the same.
“Do you want me to join you in bed?” He peeked out from under his arm at her.
“Oh, um . . .” Remy stumbled, and Hale laughed.
“You take the bed, Remy,” he said, chuckling. “I get to sleep on beds like that all of the time.”
She had forgotten that. This wasn’t a big deal to him. She frowned at her feet. For a moment it slipped her mind that he was a prince and used to all the creature comforts of the world. When hiking through the woods, he had simply been Hale to her. Even tonight in the capital, even with a princely mask, she had forgotten who he was and the weight of his title. She couldn’t forget who she was too.
Remy made her way over to the armoire and pulled out a basket of clothing Bri had left in the bottom. In it were three chemises, satin scarves, and a week’s worth of undergarments. Remy couldn’t believe how much clothing Bri had purchased for her. It was going to be hell to carry it all when they left the following night. But she refused to complain when Bri had outfitted her with a decadent new wardrobe.
She selected the black satin garment with short sleeves and a hem that dropped below the knee. It was lighter weight than the other two, but she hoped with the black color it would be less revealing than the white ones. Her eyes snagged on a matching black satin robe hanging over the armoire. Gods, Bri had thought of everything.
She grabbed the chemise, a black-and-purple satin scarf, and the robe. As she tiptoed to the bathing chamber, she heard Hale’s loud, slow breaths. If he wasn’t asleep already, he would be soon.
Remy was too tired to enjoy the giant bathtub. That would be her mission for tomorrow. She hastily readied for bed: tying up her hair, washing her face, and brushing her teeth. Tying the robe around her, she to
ok a quick, appraising glance at herself in the mirror. She looked . . . happy. Remy and her reflection exchanged conspiratorial smirks at the night they had. It was the most they had ever lived.
She sneaked back into the bedroom, blowing out all the candles except for the one on the bedside as she went. In the darkness, she removed her robe and slid into the giant bed. The feeling made a pleasurable hum escape her lips. The bed was so soft it made her feel like she was floating, cocooned in fluffy pillows and eiderdown blankets. She blew out the bedside candle and lay back down. The sensation was just as overwhelming the second time.
A chuckle sounded from the couch. She only saw Hale’s outline in the darkness. He had removed his arm from over his eyes, and even though Remy couldn’t see them, she sensed him watching her. She wondered if his fae eyes could see her face.
“It’s that good, is it?” His laugh was gravelly with sleep.
“It is . . .” Remy didn’t have any words to describe how it felt. The warm way it cradled her body made her drowsy. She was sure they would all sleep through most of the day, only waking for dinner before heading to the parlor that night. “Tonight was fun,” she said to the darkness.
“Yes, you put on quite the show today.” Remy beamed at that amused voice. It had been a crazy, exciting act . . . but it had been an act and that part still stung. What she would give for this to be their lives. For the fae to want to be her friend. For the prince to want to kiss her in the moonlit gardens.
“Yes, we certainly did.” We. She threw it out there like a shield. We had been putting on a show. It wasn’t real.
Hale didn’t respond. What else was there to say? It had been fun . . . fake, but fun. And tomorrow they’d have to act some more. Tomorrow they would go after the Shil-de ring, and they’d be one step further to finishing this quest.
“Goodnight, Remy,” Hale said. The sound of her name on his lips still made her tingle from the crown of her head to her toes. She wondered if it would always feel that way.
“Goodnight, Hale,” she replied, wondering if his pulse increased too when she spoke his name.
This was a game, she reminded herself. It was a game with no happy ending. But she wanted to keep playing it anyway, consequences be damned, because to be in his orbit felt so good. She needed to wise up if she was going to survive this.
Chapter Twelve
Carys came to collect the prince while Remy bathed in the enormous marble tub. Hale had called to her, “See you at the game,” through the bathing chamber door and left. Carys had mumbled something to him, and Remy had heard Hale’s growling, “Shut up,” in reply. They had a strange dynamic, Hale and his warriors—they seemed like his fatal weapons one moment and his bickering siblings the next. Remy had seen nothing like it, that familial bond. It made her ache for the siblings she had lost.
Remy took her time getting dressed. The scarlet, floor-length gown was made of light flowing fabric that billowed at her feet. She couldn’t help the tightening in her chest as she adjusted it. The top of the gown was little more than a V shape of fabric. It had sleeveless straps over her shoulders and a plunging neckline that ended right above her belly button. Remy gulped. People wore more clothing to go swimming.
Bri had left a bag of jewelry for her and another bag of makeup in the bottom of the wardrobe. Remy donned two long gold chains that hung down her chest. They were more beautiful than the thin leather collar she wore and accented the prince’s gold ring. She was grateful for the extra coverage on her skin that the chains provided too. She put on the three gold rings, bangles, and matching gold cuffs for the top of her rounded ears. Then she put on the shimmering red teardrop earrings, the gems inside shining like rubies. A sudden thought seized her: they probably were rubies. The prince had left her in this room with enough wealth to feed an entire village . . . an intrusive voice told her she could grab them and run. She pushed the thought away.
She was sick of rural taverns and keeping quiet, hiding her powers, and living in fear. Hale offered her protection, and she didn’t have to hide who she was to accept it. It felt superb to be allowed to exist for once. Remy wondered how much better her life would be the longer she stayed with him.
She looked at herself in the large mirror next to the armoire and didn’t recognize the woman staring back at her. She looked so much like her mother . . . though her mother would have never worn something so revealing . . . but she carried herself with that same easy, regal air. It was there in her, buried in her soul somewhere. Her mother’s voice whispered in her memories, “Never let anyone else tell you who you are, Remy, even me. No one decides how bright you shine but you.”
Remy realized that the reflection in the mirror had tears in her eyes. She sniffed.
Not now, she scolded herself.
She grabbed the makeup bag, powdering her red nose, rouging her tear-stained cheeks. She lined her eyes in kohl and painted her lips the same red as her dress. It took her a few tries to get it right. She was not very skilled at face painting, but the courtesans had indulged her occasionally, showing her the art of makeup during lulls in business. Heather had always told her to take it off straight away. The brown witch said she didn’t want it to give patrons the wrong impression . . . well, that was the exact impression Remy was trying to make right now.
Remy slipped on the red high heels left in the bottom of the armoire. They already hurt her feet as she bobbled around like a newborn calf for a minute before she got the hang of it. She adjusted her neckline one more time in the mirror, terrified one of her breasts might fall out of the thin fabric. She huffed a frustrated sigh and decided it would have to be good enough. Remy put on her new black cloak, clasping it at the neckline. Luckily, it covered most of her body except for the tiniest peek of red.
She went to the door to find Briata and Talhan leaning against either side of the hallway chatting. They straightened when they saw her. Talhan’s mouth dropped open as he looked at her face, his eyes drifting down that peek of body behind the cloak. Bri pushed off the wall and smacked her twin hard on the shoulder. Talhan coughed and averted his eyes.
“You look good,” Bri said with an approving grin. “Let’s go.”
They held the game on the upper floor of an exclusive inner city parlor. The establishment arranged the bottom floor in several small seating areas. Large leather armchairs clustered around low wooden tables. Two card tables sat at either end of the space. A crystal chandelier hung from the center of the room. Wisps of cigar smoke circled the dimly lit space. Only a few sconces dotted the forest green walls. This was where high-society fae came to drink and gamble.
Talhan set three glasses of ale on the small side table that Bri and Remy sat around. They had picked a place in the corner where they could survey the room. In a room filled mostly with fae, they were some of the biggest and most brutish looking ones Remy had ever seen. All armed to the teeth, they dressed as if they were about to enter a battlefield and not a gambling hall. She spotted a few witch’s collars in the crowd too. One witch caught her stare and gave her the briefest nod, as though they were sisters and she, too, knew what it was to be owned by a powerful fae.
“What did you learn?” Bri asked Talhan, adjusting the dagger at her hip. Bri and Talhan had come dressed for war too.
“There’s five players and the Heir of Saxbridge, though Neelo isn’t playing,” Talhan said, taking a long drag on the foam of his drink. Remy guessed that he had talked the bartender into sharing some details of this secret game. Talhan looked cautiously to his twin. “Renwick is here.”
“Shit,” Bri cursed.
Remy froze. Renwick Vostemur, the Witchslayer, was the only son of the Northern King, Hennen Vostemur. Renwick had earned the name for all the red witch heads he brought his father over the years. Ruthless, he was equally cunning and cruel. Remy prayed they would not need her for this plan. If Hale could simply win the ring outright, she wouldn’t need to be called up. Remy did not know if she could look into the eyes of the Wit
chslayer. What if he threatened to take her head once he learned of her red witch powers? Her throat tightened.
Bri’s hand on her arm snapped her out of her panic. “Hey. We won’t let him harm you. You are safe under Hale’s protection.”
Remy swallowed, giving the briefest of nods to Bri.
Talhan pushed the glass of ale to her. “Drink this,” he said, as if it were a magical elixir to fix all her problems. Remy frowned at the ale. She had spent her life in taverns, permanently branding the smell of old spilled ale on her skin. That stench still took hold of her stomach.
“I do not drink ale,” she said with a frown. Talhan shrugged and grabbed Remy’s drink for himself.
“Here,” Bri said, passing Remy a flask. “You need some liquid courage.”
Remy took the flask. The liquid burned hot down her throat and she screwed up her face, trying not to gag on it. The hairs on her arm stood up.
“What is that?” Remy sputtered.
Bri threw a devious smile back at her, “Moonshine.”
“Ugh, it’s awful.” Remy gagged, coughing out the taste on her tongue.
“It grows on you.” Bri winked. She turned to her brother, “Who else is playing?”
“The Western Princess, Abalina. And her cousin, Delta. Both have seats at the table,” Talhan said, averting his eyes from his twin.
“Delta is here?” Bri’s low voice rose an octave as her golden eyes widened. Remy looked at the Eagles and the unspoken conversation between them.
“Easy Bri,” Talhan warned. “We’re not here for fun.”
Bri rolled her eyes. “Right.”
“The last player is Bern,” Talhan said.
“Bern . . . how do I know that name?” Remy looked to the ceiling, pondering its origin. She was certain she had heard it before.
“He’s the one who told Hale about the witches,” Bri said. Remy remembered—Hale had said Bern was tied to the High Mountain Court, though he had never said how. “I remember his name,” Bri continued, looking to her twin, “but I keep forgetting which one he is.”