SEVEN
I didn’t sleep until dawn licked the sky.
I made a fire and curled before it on the floor cushion, studying the silver whorls in the caged hearth while awaiting the return of my ghastly betrothed.
But Atakan never returned to his rooms.
As the flames died and bright birds flew by the doors to the slim balcony, I finally closed my eyes.
“What a well-behaved pet, sleeping on the floor without instruction.”
Startled awake, I yelped and lifted my head, unaware the prince stood on strands of my hair. I made sure the rest were safe before sitting up, and rubbed my smarting scalp.
Long and curving yellowed strands lay trapped beneath the toe of his brown leather boot.
Atakan feigned a gasp. “Oh, look at what I’ve done. My apologies.” Yet his devastating grin said he was anything but sorry. The way he kicked the strands toward the fireplace further proved it. “Your presence is required downstairs in the dining room for breakfast.” He headed to the bathing room. “Etheria knows why. Just imagining it has ruined my appetite.”
He slammed the door.
I scrubbed my eyes, then inspected the apricot sleeves of my gown. Deciding it would do, I fluffed the floral skirts and didn’t wait for Atakan to return. It sounded like the bathing tub was filling, so I stepped into my satin slippers and quietly made my escape down the tower stairs.
Elion stood beneath the staircase on the second floor.
Sunlight gilded the wood, revealing critters and vines within the worn steps. My thumb traced the bends in the branch railing as I descended, my skirts in my other hand.
The steward ceased fussing with the gold rope binding the heavy sky-gray drapes, and tutted. “Your hair.” He shook his head. “Follow me, Princess.”
I didn’t think it mattered what my hair looked like. Certainly not after the prince had shown such an evident lack of care for it. And trusting this steward could be a mistake. I supposed now was as good a time as any to find out. So I trailed him into a sitting room and sat on the wooden stool he plucked from an ornate writing desk.
A comb was procured from an interior pocket of his lavender coat.
He turned my chin forward, explaining, “Do you think my hair stays this fantastic all day long?”
I laughed despite being in no mood to. “You do have lovely hair. Lots of body.”
“The trick is to bunch it while you sleep.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” I smiled at the painting of the goddess upon the wall. Within the bronze frame, Etheria had been depicted similarly to the statue atop Cloud Castle’s drive but in vivid color.
No one truly knew what the twin goddesses looked like. Fable stuck to repetitions of rainbow hair, delicately cloudy wings, and gold eyes for Etheria. In contrast, Asherlin was rumored to have dark hair, even darker feathery wings, and starlight in her night-blue eyes.
Supposedly, the goddesses—day and night or sky and earth, depending on beliefs and territories—were fond of the chaos in our world. It distracted from their heartbreak. Their shared love for a daring mortal had caused the Fae’s creation. A love that had ended with them tearing him in two.
Quite literally, many stories had said.
Etheria and Asherlin had been fooled by their pet human. For years, he’d taken advantage of their adoration. Unless speared through the heart, decapitated, or drained of blood, faeries were immortal, and he’d intended to breed an army of them to conquer the continent.
For the most part, it had worked.
By the time the twins had discovered his treachery and tore him in two, hundreds of faeries had already been created from their mystical wombs. Fae with abilities that would begin to shape each realm and their royal bloodlines.
Many claimed he’d died laughing—victorious even in defeat—as the only mortal to ever gain the love of the divine.
Others warned that to utter his name would invoke a swift death and damnation in the dark pocket of everlasting nothing. Where it was said the same male now ruled—immortal and gleeful in his gruesome attempts to gain the attention of the goddesses.
My family and the realm of mortals worshipped a god named Errow, who had not forgiven the mistakes made by his twin sisters. Song and story shared that he’d retreated deep into his beloved seas to keep his hatred for all they’d done leashed.
I’d never known which deity to give my faith to, on account of lacking much faith at all.
But I’d wondered if the Fae’s devotion might be less about true worship and more about placating the twins. A way of ensuring their powerful existence would continue. For no matter how much the goddesses might love their children, they were a constant reminder of their heartbreak.
The steward’s gentle combing lulled, and I fought to remain awake as he braided strands into a thick band along my hairline.
Lifting my chin, he inspected his work, then my features with inky yet soft eyes. “Beautiful.”
For some reason, I believed he was sincere. That, or I was too tired to guess at his reasons for helping me. “Thank you.”
“I heard you were mortal, and it was only rumored that you had a faerie mother.” He stepped back. “But with hair that yellow and eyes a green so dark…” He pocketed his wooden comb. “Well, the prince will loathe you all the more for the way others will soon admire you.”
“Better be careful with those sneaky compliments. If I start to believe that not everyone has sinister intentions, I won’t last long here at all.”
Elion chuckled, a lovely deep-chested sound. “Your fingers are rather short,” he said. “Very human-like, and your ears aren’t nearly pointed enough.”
At that, I laughed, too.
But the lightness he’d gifted my steps was soon weighted by the many eyes in the dining room.
Elion bowed, then gently pushed me into the room before closing the doors.
Though daylight poured in through the blue-stained windows backing the overflowing buffet, flame flickered from the chandelier’s black branches over the expansive table.
I curtsied toward King Garran, whose hazel eyes gleamed as he chewed and nodded.
From the corner of my eye, I caught a brunette female slithering onto the prince’s lap. Chatter resumed, but gazes still pressed upon me as I straightened and took an empty seat closest to the doors.
“Mildred.” Garran grinned. “We’ve waited so long for this day.”
Unlike most other times I’d seen him, he wore no crown. Maybe he was similar to my father in that he preferred not to if he didn’t need to.
The longing for home grew teeth at the thought, and I desperately cast it aside.
Beside the king, Cordenya lifted her crystal goblet. But she failed to hide the curl of her pink-painted lips. Her long wine-red hair had been pinned behind one pointed ear, revealing a row of glinting rubies.
Garran asked, “How was your first night in my son’s chambers?”
The female seated atop the aforementioned prince laughed.
“Traumatizing, no doubt,” said another female with sleek brown hair that fell over her shoulders like a silk curtain.
The faerie on Atakan’s lap buried her head in his neck and snorted. “It might have been,” she said, and pressed her lips to his jaw. “If he’d not been in my room all night.”
A tiny pit of flames burned low in my stomach.
Garran gave his son and the female a disapproving look that was ruined by the slight twitching of his lips. “Perhaps he was not aware of your arrival, Princess Mildred.”
“Come now.” Atakan nudged the female’s arms out of the way and reached for a strip of pork. “I most certainly was.”
The desire to flee was almost impossible to fight.
Doing so would give them too much satisfaction. So I tried my best to seem unaffected by fixing myself some peppermint tea, a small bowl of fruit, and some buttered bread. All the while, prying eyes became needles pricking at my skin.
“I do believe the king asked you a question, Princess,” said the female on Atakan’s lap.
“It’s quite all right, Ruelle.” Garran leaned back as Cordenya refilled his goblet of wine. “Let Mildred eat.”
Although I was no longer very hungry, I nodded once at the king, then nibbled at the bread while the faeries surrounding me resumed their meals and low conversation. Fixated on eating and keeping my heartbeat under control, I failed to give any thought to the male beside me.
Phineus.
“Welcome, Princess.” His mouth curved mischievously when I turned to him. “Might I just say that you are far more alluring than the rumors suggest?”
“Dare I ask what they suggest?”
He pursed his lips, pale-blue eyes dancing. “Well, to put it kindly, they say you are so plainly human that your faerie ancestry must be a lie.”
Atakan snorted.
I’d wager he took part in sharing such rumors.
I wasn’t bothered, as I wasn’t surprised. “I do love a good rumor,” I whispered conspiratorially. “Excuse my half-mortal ignorance, but what is your name?” Of course, I knew his name, but I wouldn’t reveal my attempts to study this court during my encounters with them over the years.
Atakan muttered something that sounded like, “Pest.”
The male beside me paid him no mind. “Phineus. Your betrothed’s cousin.”
Atakan informed, “Second cousin.”
Phineus smiled. “He’s fond of semantics.”
“I’m also fond of stabbing things that irritate me.”
I placed a grape in my mouth, chewing slowly as I chanced a look at my betrothed. He was glaring at me as if I were the one he wished to stab.
The female with the shiny, straight hair said without looking up from the parchment she wrote on, “You’re both intensely irritating.”
As her hand moved, I realized she wasn’t writing but drawing.
Atakan pushed Ruelle from his lap and snatched a pastry from a silver dish. “No one is forcing you to dine with us, Pholly.”
Ruelle pouted as she plonked onto the seat beside him.
Pholly set down her bone-crafted quill. “I’ll remember that next time I’m ordered to attend breakfast by order of the king.”
“We’re all here to welcome the princess,” Cordenya said, pushing her hair over her shoulder before sipping her wine. “Can we not act civil for five minutes?”
“It’s not in our nature, I’m afraid,” Phineus informed. “Certainly not Atakan’s.”
Atakan forced a dramatic gasp. “I’m the portrait of civility.”
“When you’re sleeping, I’m sure,” I couldn’t resist saying.
A mistake.
As everyone laughed, the prince stabbed a piece of melon with his knife, his eyes hard upon me. “I don’t sleep, dread . You’d do well to remember that.”
Even as my blood cooled, the new moniker made me raise a brow in question.
“Oh, Great Mother,” Cordenya groaned. “I warned you, Atakan.”
“Dread?” Pholly asked.
Ruelle said through a laugh, “Rather close to the word dead, isn’t it?”
Atakan chewed as he grinned.
Phineus chuckled. “How many times have you threatened Princess Mildred since her arrival?” Intrigue dripped from the question. “I’d wager at least five.”
“I’d wager you should’ve stayed trapped in your mother’s womb to rot with her corpse.”
From somewhere beneath the table, Pholly seized a dagger and leaned over Ruelle to point it at Atakan. Her gray-blue eyes glinted with rage. “Speak of our mother again, I dare you.”
When my gaze bounced from her to Phineus, he explained, “We’re twins. Pholly came first, and I got stuck.” He shrugged and stole a grape from my bowl. His forefinger and thumb squeezed it, juice drenching his hand as he said, “She bled out before I was forcibly removed from her—”
Pholly’s dagger landed right between the elegant fingers on his other hand, the gilded hilt swaying slightly from the impact.
Every inch of me tensed.
Pholly rose, snatching her parchment and quill. “You all disgust me.”
Atakan chuckled. “Even my betrothed?”
I balked at hearing the genuine sound—the rough interruption of his silken sharp tone.
Pholly swept through the dining room doors, her sheer pink skirts floating behind her. “That remains to be seen.”
In the quaking silence, Atakan raised his brows at me in unmistakable challenge.
“Shouldn’t you be seeing to your upset friend?” Phineus drawled to Ruelle, then whispered to me, though everyone could hear, “After all, Pholly is the only reason she’s tolerated here.”
Ruelle’s peach-stained lips peeled back over her teeth. “I was invited to take part in the upcoming events .”
I bit my lips to keep from smiling at her refusal to properly acknowledge the prince’s impending nuptials.
Phineus pried the dagger from the table and scratched at the slim crevice in the polished wood.
“Well…” Atakan stood, fluid and brushing crumbs from his belle-sleeved tunic. “I’m quite done tolerating the lot of you.” He exited the dining room, and Ruelle followed.
Cordenya sighed.
King Garran huffed, then raised his crystal goblet to me. “Welcome to Ethermore, dear Mildred.”