16. Chapter 16
Chapter 16
Rahk
If I had thought the scent of the human lands was overwhelming, this ball is vastly worse.
I haven’t even stepped inside the palace before the perfume, the soaps, the hair oils, the boot polish, and the melting candlewax is too much. I pull my vial of ollea out of my pocket and swipe one drop under my nose. My pulsing headache eases at once. I hold it out to Edvear.
He shakes his head, politely declining, but when his eyes linger on the vial, I pass it to him. Relief melts across his face as he applies it.
“It was too much even for you,” I say with a smirk.
“Humans and their fragrances,” he mutters.
When we reach the grand archway, several guards emerge from the nearby guardhouse and approach me. I step out of the line of humans in their finery heading inside and meet the guards. Edvear trails behind me.
“You are the fae?” one of them with forked facial hair asks. They all wear armor that immediately snags my interest. The recently shined plates of metal fit closely together, leaving hardly an inch of exposed skin anywhere—and yet if I had a blade longer than three inches, I could slip that blade right beneath the shoulder plates. Every step they take announces their movement and location.
I’d sooner go into battle in the ensemble I’m wearing now than one of those suits. How do they move fast enough to counter or avoid blows?
I drag my attention back to the guard. He is the oldest of the group, but I would guess he is barely thirty years old. “I am indeed. I come as the queen requested. My steward here will not enter with me.”
The guard jerks his chin. “Dismiss him at once.”
I nod at Edvear. He withdraws.
“I come without weapons. Do you wish to search me to verify?” I ask.
“I am afraid we must. Please, this way.”
I follow them into the guardhouse, aware of the way they surround me and how two of them touch the hilts of their swords. I watch for threats, but there is no sign of a potential ambush—only fear.
I stand there, just inside the guardhouse, as three guards check me for weapons. They clearly intend to be thorough, and after several minutes, I grow impatient, but I let them do their work. This is about making the queen comfortable in my presence. I will tolerate what is necessary.
At last, they pronounce me clean. Then the fork-bearded one motions that I can follow him back to the entrance of the palace. Several other guards accompany me. I keep my movements casual and light—a contrast to their loud, hulking steps.
The hall they escort me into is grander than I expect. A vast ceiling soars above us, painted with a mural of . . . winged babies in clouds? Interesting. A red carpet unfurls across shining white tile. Guests walk ahead of us. Several of them peer back at me as though I am some strange spectacle.
Nat did make it clear that despite everything, I still look distinctly fae. Even without my wings.
The ballroom itself is smaller than I expect, but I watch as some partygoers drift through doorways into adjoining rooms. Even through my ollea, I can smell the thick stench of human as I step into the throng of colorful gowns. The men do wear decorative knives at their hip, and the concept amuses me more than anything else I’ve encountered tonight.
Everyone gives me a wide berth. One young woman whose back is turned when I approach openly flinches when she sees me, her mouth falling open as she drags her gaze up to mine. She immediately steps out of my way, her skin pale. Most stare openly and do not bother hiding their whispered comments to one another. A few try to be more dignified about it.
I exhale slowly and try to arrange my features in as least threatening of a mask as I can.
If Nat were here, she would likely say I have failed.
Why do humans fear so deeply anything that does not closely resemble them?
The queen sits on a throne at the far end of the ballroom. She seems tall for a woman, her back erect and her dark hair piled in a towering updo and dripping with jewels. On a smaller chair beside her is a young boy, about seven or eight, with soft curls a shade lighter than his mother’s.
Queen Vivienne and her heir, Prince Lionel.
Her gaze meets mine across the ballroom, and her chin lifts. An invitation.
“Will you escort me to the queen?” I ask my guards.
“We will take you close enough to speak with her, but no further.”
I end up parked twenty feet from the queen’s dais, still surrounded by the guards. I shift my weight to one leg. “Queen Vivienne. Prince Lionel.”
“You haven’t aged a day since I last saw you,” says the queen, speaking loudly to cross the distance over the hum of the orchestra. “You look exactly as you did when you escorted my sister away.”
I nod once. Stella and her sisters all wore veils when Ash and I came to find a bride for him, so I cannot return the compliment. Still, I say, “You look well.”
The queen is a handsome woman who makes the subtle lines of aging look regal. I search her face for resemblance to Stella, and find less than I expect. Her eyes, however, give her away. While darker than Stella’s, they are the same rounded, overlarge shape.
She inclines her head in acknowledgement of my compliment. “What brings you to my kingdom, Prince Rahk?”
“It is as I wrote to you. Faerieland’s border has begun receding, returning the land stolen by our last High King. I am here as emissary of the new High King and Queen to serve you during a challenging transition.”
Prince Lionel watches me keenly from his place beside the queen. He has large ears that stick out from his head. Unlike everyone else in the room, he doesn’t look at me with fear—only interest.
“It is kind of my sister to send an emissary,” says Queen Vivienne, “but we do not need your aid.”
“Of course, but there is the issue of a troll who might—”
She smiles coldly, cutting me off. “Whatever happens, I’m sure we can handle it.”
I release a slow breath. She will not enjoy handling Ymer the Indefatigable. “Excellent. I shall stay out of your way, unless you change your mind.”
“I do not see a reason for you to stay in Harbright, Prince Rahk. Not unless you intend to steal a bride as my sister was stolen.”
Steal a bride? I fight my snort. The very last thing I need on my hands is a wife—much less a human one. “I understand, Your Highness. I am afraid I am under orders from your sister and her husband to remain in Harbright, so remain I shall.”
“In that case, I shall tolerate your presence.” The queen rolls her eyes, sighing. The gesture instantly reminds me of Stella. “But if you cause any trouble, I will send my warriors to your estate and drive you away. Do we understand one another, Prince Rahk?”
Her warriors would not enjoy trying to do that.
I bow. “We understand each other.”
I step away from the throne just as a middle-aged woman with a narrow jaw and chin takes my place.
“Lady Duxbury Vandermore,” says the queen with the same ire she used with me. “Where is the young heiress? She said she would be here. If I cannot watch her fend off all the young men in pursuit of her fortune, then I shall have no entertainment for the evening.”
The new woman curtsies. “Yes, Queen Vivienne, I’ve come straight away to give Lady Vandermore’s regrets. She is very ill and cannot leave her bed.”
“That is a shame indeed. Tell her that her queen requires her to heal quickly.”
I move to the wall. I locate a chair without arms and take a seat. My guards prop themselves up on either side of me. If Ash saw me at this moment, he would laugh until he cried. I would give almost anything to be back at my estate, playing Fool’s Circle with Nat.
“Hello. Are you the fae warrior?”
I turn toward the voice. A young man approaches to my right, a little cautiously, but the light in his eye reminds me more of the queen’s son. Curious and eager.
“I am,” I say, rising to greet him. “Lord Rahk. You are?”
“Lord Rahk, it is a pleasure to meet you. I am Lord Oliver, the son of Baron Cranswick. My father helped your steward choose your estate.”
“Yes, my steward spoke highly of your father. It is a pleasure to meet you, Lord Oliver.”
He glances at the guards, then back at me. I offer no explanation. He wears a small decorative knife at his hip like the rest of the gentlemen.
“What brings you to Harbright, then?” asks Lord Oliver, ignoring my guards and standing next to me along the wall. For a human, he does not seem half bad. “Everyone assumed you were coming to steal away Lady Vandermore.”
That is the second time in the last few minutes I’ve heard that name. “Lady Vandermore?”
“That answers that question.” Lord Oliver laughs, then takes a sip of the wine he swirls in one hand. “You have not heard of Lady Vandermore? She is a lovely young heiress. We all want to marry her.”
“Why?”
“Well, not many would admit it is for her money, though I fear that is the honest truth. I like to consider myself one of the few who genuinely enjoys her company. If you are not here for our Lady Vandermore, then why?”
My attention flicks to the queen. She threads her fingers into her young son’s hair, stroking gently. My view shifts suddenly, and it is Lady Nothril sitting in that throne, smiling coldly as she strokes Pavi’s hair.
I clear my throat. “The border of the Long Lost Wood, as I believe you call it, has begun receding. I am here as an emissary to facilitate a peaceful transition.”
“The queen doesn’t trust you, though?” Lord Oliver says, gesturing with his wine goblet at my guards.
“We did not meet on the best terms previously.”
His eyebrows rise. “Were you there when her sister was taken into Faerieland?”
“I was.”
He nods vigorously, chuckling under his breath. “She probably thinks you will steal her heir and carry him off into the Long Lost Wood.”
“I will do no such thing.”
His chuckles die away slowly. He takes another sip of his wine. “So, Lord Rahk, how do you plan to win Queen Vivienne’s favor?”
I’ve been considering that issue for the last several days. I have a few ideas, but none fully satisfy me. Even if one did, I wouldn’t tell Lord Oliver. He has proved himself friendly and outgoing, but his first loyalty is to his queen and his kingdom. “Have you advice on the subject?”
“Well,” Lord Oliver drops his voice to a whisper so even the guards cannot hear, “it is rumored that the queen is secretly a romantic. She always finds great interest in every blossoming romance between us young people. She is even known to use her influence to subtly matchmake. She will create opportunities for any unattached bachelor or lady to meet and socialize with potential suitors. And she has even been known to bring old flames back into the picture—just to stir up drama and see what happens. She loves watching stories unfold.”
I do not approve. “And?”
“And I think you should create a story to catch her interest. Court a young lady. Make her fall in love with you. Show that you are trustworthy. You’ll catch the queen’s attention then.”
What a horrible idea. “I am not in a position to marry.”
“Who says you need to marry?” the young man grins. “Just court the girl. You might even find one who could benefit from the arrangement and then you wouldn’t have to fear breaking her heart.”
“I shall consider your advice,” I say. Then I turn my attention to the way he lounges against the wall, one foot propped up on elegant white molding. “Why are you helping me?”
“I want the land returned from the Long Lost Wood,” he answers without hesitating. “Most of my inheritance is currently swallowed up in Faerieland. I will be a pauper if I cannot get it back.”
Now that interests me. “How much of the stolen land is yours?”
He shrugs. “Not much compared to Lady Vandermore’s portion. Her family owns the majority of it.”
“Do they?” This also intrigues me greatly. I turn the information over in my mind. This is very valuable information. I release a slow exhalation. I think I know exactly how to repair this situation with the queen. “Thank you, Lord Oliver, for your aid. It is generous of you.”
“Hardly!” Lord Oliver laughs. “If you can get me my inheritance back, I will be much more successful in my efforts of procuring a wife.”
“You are that desperate for one?”
“Desperate? I hardly think desiring a companion in the form of a friend and lover makes me desperate. I rather think it curious if you do not desire the same.”
If only relationships were as simple in Faerieland as they are here. I know better than to even look at a fae woman, lest Lord and Lady Nothril decide to use her against me as they use Pavi.
I open my mouth to reply when something twinges in my chest. My spells . A second later, the invisible spell thread inside me snaps in half.
The Ivy Mask has entered the Wood.
“Lord Oliver, I must leave, but it has been a pleasure,” I say abruptly, straightening. “I hope our paths cross again.”
He gives a friendly wave. “Come to the sparring yard if you’d like to cross swords with me and some of the other men. None of us have sparred with a fae before.”
I restrain my quiet snort. “I will see what I can do.”
With that, I take my leave. The guards follow on my heel, trying to keep up with my quick strides. Edvear waits for me outside, cleaning his fingernails. His head pops up the moment he hears my stride.
“Already, my lord?” he asks, pushing up to his feet as my guards disband to their guardhouse.
Edvear follows me as I take the steps down to the courtyard two at a time toward our carriage. “Ivy Mask.”
His yellow eyes, bright in the moonlight, widen. “You will catch him tonight?”
I will.