by Bekah Harris
Her plans were lining up perfectly, all the pawns and players in her game in just the right position. Now was her moment to shine. It was all or nothing. She would either sit on the Winter throne, or she would die in the effort.
Chapter Eighteen
Ivy thought she had made her wishes abundantly clear—she didn’t want to see anyone.
Not to sound like…well, a princess, but today was the last day she wanted to see Ardan. He had betrayed her for the last time, and even though she may one day be forced to marry him, she would never like him, let alone love him.
So when Bear had reluctantly informed her that Ardan was in a meeting with Queen Lyric, who was insisting the Unseelie prince apologize to Ivy in person, she wanted to break something. Grabbing a vase from the table closest to her, she hurled it across the room with a frustrated scream. Jules had ducked out of the way just in time and now sat in the floral divan near the window as Ivy sifted through her closet.
“A little help?” Ivy said.
She could hear the hysteria rising in her voice. She was determined to look nothing less than perfect when her beloved Ardan arrived. She refused to give him the satisfaction of thinking for a second he had broken her.
Jules looked up from the book she was reading, raising her eyebrows. “Is it safe?”
“You know that none of my anger is directed toward you,” Ivy said. “I need your fashion advice more than I’ve ever needed it before.”
Jules rose from the chair and put her hands on her hips, her inky black hair spiked out all around her face like a lethal helmet.
“Did you ever invest in that string bikini? I guarantee you that would have him eating out of your hand in no time.”
“Sorry to disappoint you, but swimming isn’t exactly a leisure activity in a court where everything is frozen.”
“Right,” Jules said. “I see the problem now. Anyway, let’s take a look and see what you’re working with.”
Jules stood and made her way across the large room until she was standing beside Ivy in a huge walk-in closet. Her eyes widened when she flipped on the light switch, and a crystal chandelier that hung in the center of the cavernous room lit up the racks of clothing, shoes, and accessories. She whistled low as she took in Ivy’s extensive wardrobe.
“I bet your mother doesn’t even realize how wasted all this is on you.” She shook her head, taking in the delicate fabrics of Ivy’s evening wear.
“Not a clue,” Ivy admitted. “I just let Madra and Nareena dress me. I don’t even know what I’m looking at.”
“Which is what makes my reality all the more tragic,” Jules said, as she sifted through a row of tops. “I think we have a winner!”
Jules pulled out a flouncy black top with a deeply plunging neckline. The shirt would barely cover anything, though the satin scrap of fabric looked like it hooked halter-style around the neck.
“I can’t wear that to see Ardan!”
“Why not?” Jules asked.
“Because it’s…there’s hardly any…I’ve never worn…just no. I can’t wear that in front of him.”
“Which makes it the obvious choice,” Jules argued. “Do what he least expects. It will totally catch him off-guard. The element of surprise has been known to work wonders on members of the opposite sex.”
She thrust the top at Ivy and thumbed through racks of skirts and pants, finally settling on a pair of sparkly silver skinny pants.
“Perfect!” Jules said, tossing them to Ivy. “Now, let’s find shoes and accessories.”
Jules grabbed a pair of red satin pumps with pointy little toes.
“You’ve got to be kidding,” Ivy said. “I’ll break my neck in those.”
“Not before you break Ardan’s heart.”
Ivy stared down at the armful of clothing before taking in the shoes Jules held out in front of her. Maybe Jules had a point. Maybe wearing something more…risqué would reflect a confidence Ardan didn’t know she had.
“Fine,” Ivy groaned.
“Squee!” Jules said. “That’s the spirit!”
For someone who dressed in all black and looked like a goth pixie, Jules sure knew how to put clothes together. She had done Ivy’s make up, too. She stared in the mirror at herself in disbelief. Gazing back at her was a porcelain skinned beauty who looked like she had just stepped from the silver screen in old Hollywood. Her blonde hair was styled in a half-updo and she peered at herself with heavily lined smoky eyes accentuated by heavy blush and bright red lips. And the outfit… Ivy didn’t even look like herself. The silver pants hugged her legs, and the satin top plunged down in the middle nearly to her belly button. Jules had carefully applied double-stick tape to ensure the top stayed in place where it mattered.
“You look…hawt, girl.”
“Which is different from just regular hot?”
“Damn straight!”
With that, Ivy giggled as Jules peered over her shoulder at their reflection.
“Are you ready for Unseelie Romeo?”
“As ready as I’ll ever be. I guess I’ve kept him waiting long enough.”
“Not even half of what he deserves,” Jules says. “Can I be the one to let him in? I’m dying to see his face when he gets an eyeful of you. Bet there’ll be no trace of that arrogant little smirk this time.”
The outfit was definitely outside her comfort zone, but the way she looked did make her feel a strange sort of power. A confidence that would give her the upper hand in their meeting.
“You ready?” Jules asked.
Ivy smoothed her top, checking the mirror one last time, before she nodded. Smiling, Jules opened the door.
“The princess will see you now,” Jules said with such hauteur Ivy almost broke into hysterical giggles.
Bear stepped inside, swinging the door open. He froze when he saw Ivy, his eyes like blue dinner plates as he took her in from head to toe. A blush made its way to Ivy’s cheeks. But as Ardan’s figure filled the doorframe, the spell was broken. Bear, remembering himself, lowered his eyes and closed the door after him and Jules, leaving Ivy alone with Ardan.
“Let me begin by…”
Ardan cut himself off mid-sentence as he took her in. His shocked eyes fell upon her face in abrupt silence before doing a second, slower assessment of her appearance, scanning her from bright red pumps to even brighter lips. It made her feel like Sandy in the last scene of Grease. She threw her shoulders back and raised her chin.
“You wanted to speak with me, so speak.”
Ivy turned away from him and made her way to one of two chairs settled in front of the large floor-to-ceiling window in the center of the room. Slowly, she lowered herself into the chair. When Ardan absently moved to join her, she stopped him.
“I didn’t ask you to sit down,” she snapped, trying to imitate her mother’s commanding tone. “You may start with explaining why you wanted to humiliate me in front of my Winter Fae last night. If I’m moved by your explanation, I might invite you to sit, but until then, you can stand.”
Ardan opened his mouth to speak, closed it, and then opened it again. She had definitely accomplished the element of surprise, so whatever rehearsed speech he had been practicing since Queen Lyric had torn him a new one had been forgotten.
“You look…different,” he said, stumbling over the words.
She raised her eyebrows. He’d have to do better than that.
“I mean beautiful. You look beautiful. Just in a different way than I’ve seen.”
“Perhaps you don’t know me as well as you’d like to think,” Ivy said.
He paced for a few seconds, as if unsure how to continue. Ivy leaned back in the chair, trying to look bored as she concentrated on the window, which revealed freshly falling snow that fell in large flakes from the gray sky.
“I wanted to start out by apologizing to you,” he said, finally. “I used poor judgment last night. You see, I didn’t realize you’d had anything to drink before we danced, and I simply assumed so
meone in your court had warned you about our music.”
“And like most assumptions, yours was wrong.”
“Well, I know that now.”
“Which still doesn’t explain the grand finale you showed the crowd when the music had ended.”
“I was caught up in the moment with you, Ivy,” he said. “I would never do anything to cause you to lose favor with your people. If we are to share this throne someday, why would I do anything to ruin that?”
“I don’t know,” Ivy said. “I’ve been turning over the possibilities in my mind all morning. If you wanted to kiss me—if you ever want to kiss me again, perhaps you should allow me to consent to it when I’m sober.”
“Like I said, an error in judgement. There’s something about you. Something that captivates me. Something that makes me lose all sense of what’s proper.”
“From what I’ve heard, you aren’t usually so concerned with propriety.”
He shot her a sideways glance. “Well, if it makes you feel any better, I was thoroughly punished for the incident.”
“Oh?” Ivy wasn’t impressed. He’d probably been admonished by his father, but she doubted he had really been made to regret his actions.
But then, in a surprise movement of his own, he began unbuttoning his crisp white shirt.
“What are you doing?” Ivy asked.
Her eyes darted from each corner to the door. If she could make it to the door, make it to Bear, everything would be okay.
She cleared her throat, trying to remain calm. “If I scream, you probably won’t live long enough to regret what you’re doing.”
“A little confidence, please? I’m simply showing you something.”
After he fumbled with the last button, the shirt fell away, revealing bright red jagged bite marks all over his perfectly sculpted torso. Ivy tried to hide her shock, but she had gasped before she could stop herself.
“Red Caps,” Ardan said. “My father’s favorite form of punishment.”
Ivy’s eyes settled with intensity on the shallow pits scattered across his abdomen, where little chunks of his flesh had been ripped away.
“Oh my, goodness,” she whispered, leaning forward. “King Odrhan let them…feed…on you? Your own father?”
“Of course,” Ardan said. “As long as they didn’t kill me, he didn’t care what they did to me. They made a nice little snack out of me. So whatever anger you’re harboring toward me for my unintentional behavior last night, take comfort in knowing that I was thoroughly punished for the embarrassment I caused you and Queen Lyric.”
In truth, Ivy wouldn’t have wished Ardan’s punishment on her worst enemy, and though it was the last thing she wanted to feel, sympathy rose up from somewhere deep in her gut, nearly choking her. She swallowed back the feeling before it stung her eyes. To see him—to see anyone—mutilated like that was enough to make her sick.
“I’m sorry if you have suffered because of me,” she whispered. “All I want is to be treated with respect.”
She handed his shirt back to him, turning away as he slipped it back over his shoulders, buttoning it up until the damage the Red Caps had done to him were covered once more.
“I suffered because of my own behavior,” Ardan said. “I was out of line, and I came here to apologize to you—if you’ll accept it. The way I see it, we’re both in an impossible situation, and if either of us is going to survive it, we are going to have to work together.”
He held out his hand.
“So what do you think?” he asked. “Can we start over? As friends?”
Ivy stared skeptically at his hand, a thousand warnings rushing through her mind like hurricane winds. She didn’t like him. She didn’t trust him.
But he was right.
If they were going to keep their kingdoms safe through unity, then they would have to at least try and get along. Against every instinct in her body, Ivy reached out and took his hand.
Ardan leaned toward her, reaching out with his other hand to brush a strand of loose hair behind her ear, when they were interrupted by a knock at the door.
Chapter Nineteen
Lyric pushed past Barrett without pausing for him to introduce her.
Something about Ardan’s expression and body language had been bothering her all morning. Though it would be the biggest mistake of his life, she couldn’t help but wonder if he had been complicit in Alena’s escape, despite the fact that Violet had tricked Ivy into returning the royal key. His brother, Padraic, would never be that stupid or arrogant, but Ardan was another story.
The arrogant younger son of an arrogant father and king now leaned toward her daughter in an intimate way, just as he had the night before, and the sight of it made Lyric feel tired. Ivy looked like a frightened deer, uncertain and ready to spring away at any moment.
“I decided to have tea with you,” Lyric interrupted.
Looking annoyed and disappointed, Ardan settled back into his seat. Lyric smiled, the act of upsetting Prince Ardan filling her with such happiness that she considered for a fleeting moment how nice it would be to change thousands of years of tradition.
“Good morning, Ivy,” she said. Ivy looked nauseated, like she was waiting for Lyric to order her beheading. “I see you’ve delved deeper into your closet this morning.”
Ivy’s plunging neckline was out of character, but Lyric was glad she had been bold enough to wear it before the prince. Such items reflected confidence and power—an air of intimidation that Ivy would need to embody before taking Lyric’s place someday as queen.
“Please sit down,” Ivy said, gesturing to the spot between her and Ardan.
“Thank you,” Lyric replied, casting a frosty glance at the Unseelie prince.
Ivy looked worried. She watched Lyric intensely, as if she were terrified she was going to bring up her unintentional brush with Fae wine and music. There was nothing more to discuss. The fault had been hers for not warning Ivy about the wine or music and Ardan’s for having taken advantage of it, something she had only forgiven after seeing the deep bite marks of the Red Caps that marred Ardan’s flesh.
“Madra,” Lyric called. “We’re ready for tea.”
Madra scurried off to alert the kitchens, and Lyric turned back to her daughter and Ardan. “There is something very important I wish to discuss with you both.”
Ivy dipped her head in acknowledgement and urged Lyric to continue with a circular wave of her hand.
“I have spies everywhere, as you know.” She looked pointedly at Ardan. “I am informed that my sister has reached the Summer Court, along with the former princess. I have no idea what Violet could possibly gain from the Summer Court, but I know well that Alena often insults our Winter traditions by sharing a bed with King Zane of Summer…among other powerful Fae in both realms.”
Ardan raised his brows then. For the first time since laying eyes on him, the Unseelie prince looked shocked. Lyric smiled, satisfied.
Lyric knew for a fact that Alena had her own closet in the Unseelie castle, and she had always suspected she dallied with the younger prince, as well. He was his father’s son. Padraic had always been more like his mother, Queen Raakel, studious and capable, serious and perceptive.
“What do you plan to do, Your Majesty?” Ardan asked. “About the Summer Court?”
“Why, call on your father’s promise, of course,” Lyric replied. “He is contractually bound—as are you—to provide aid to Winter in times of war. King’s Zane’s actions are considered an act of war—and a bold one, in my opinion.”
Ivy took Lyric’s hand, a concerned expression sweeping over her features. Lyric would normally conclude that her daughter was worried about her engagement to Ardan, but this time, there was something more beneath the surface.
“How can I help?” Ivy asked. “What can I do?”
Ivy never did what Lyric expected. Ivy had been ghosting around the castle for weeks, going through the motions as she adjusted to her new life—which Lyric suspected
had more to do with her first heartbreak than her list of new responsibilities. Now, at the first sign of conflict, instead of shrinking away, Ivy wanted involvement.
Lyric smiled at her, so proud in that moment that her heart felt too large for her chest. Her beautiful daughter. Her intelligent, beautiful, powerful daughter.
“The best thing you can do for me is continue your studies. The more you learn of our conflicts, the more helpful you will be to our court.”
She turned to Ardan, then.
“You, on the other hand, have some decisions to make.”
“Me, your majesty? I beg your pardon, but I don’t have any idea what—”
Lyric cut him off right there, meeting his eyes and holding them.
“You need to decide where your loyalties lie. Perhaps your father does, as well. You must decide to honor our alliance and aid us in the coming battle or break the contract and abandon us. There can be no in between. You can no longer afford to play both sides.”
Ardan’s dark eyes tightened at the corners, as Ivy watched him with a disgusted expression. Lyric had voiced what Ivy had suspected all along, what Lyric had told her from the beginning. They couldn’t trust Ardan or anyone else from either realm. His silence further justified Lyric’s suspicions.
The tension was broken, though, as Madra entered through the side door, wheeling a cart which held the Queen’s best porcelain tea service. The silence was interrupted only by the tinkling of tea cups against saucers and the liquid splashing of steaming hot tea.
“Thank you, Madra,” Lyric said.
Then, still waiting for Ardan to answer her accusation, she brought the tea to her lips and took a long sip, more for show than anything.
She had already swallowed the tea by the time the heady scent drifted to her nostrils and the slightly bitter aftertaste registered on her tongue. It was a deadly scent more familiar to her than her own perfume, for it was the aroma that had lingered in the small breakfast room the morning her husband, King Dristan, had died.