Chapter 3
N oal waited in the corridor outside the dining hall. When they strode past, he followed Mireille and the prince through the adjoining room and into a large, open space scattered with statuary.
The prince released Mireille’s hand as he turned toward her and inclined his head. He seemed to be restraining a great deal of fury. “Noal will return you safely to your rooms.”
“I’d prefer to walk with you. I was hoping for a tour,” she said, mildly ill and shaky, and somewhat proud her voice did not reveal either. What she was truly hoping, was to not lose her chance to stay near him so that she might discover anything at all to help her kingdom out of a mess.
He frowned. “I have important tasks that must be completed?—”
“Of course. The tour can wait. You may complete your tasks as needed and I’ll simply watch while you…” She made a little fluttering gesture with her fingers to indicate his tasks, light and airy, as if they both weren’t aware she’d just watched him destroy a dining hall.
He did not seem pleased by either the gesture or the suggestion that she accompany him.
“The information I intend to discuss with my staff is privileged. Though you are a guest here, even your own interkingdom policies would not permit an outside presence, regardless of our agreement. If you will allow Noal to return you to your rooms so that he and I may have a private word?—”
“That is entirely understandable, and I assure you it’s no trouble at all.
I’ll just wait over here by the sculpture until you’re finished with the confidential bit with Noal.
” She brushed a hand casually over the fabric of her gown, where the lesser fae had left a tear.
“I doubt anything will bother me while I wait. If it does, I’ll be sure to scream. ”
His expression darkened.
She did not waver.
The prince flicked a gesture—considerably less carefree than her own—toward Noal, effectively ordering the man into a separate room.
The door closed behind Noal and the prince as Mireille wandered nearer the statue, then she lifted her feet out of her slippers and rushed across the room.
Ear pressed to the door, she held her breath to hear.
“…whoever did this and deliver them to me personally.”
“Of course.”
“She is under my protection. We are betrothed. I do not have to tell you the consequences should she be endangered again.”
“Of course. I shall see to it straightaway.”
“Noal.”
“Highness?”
“You cannot possibly believe I will let you walk out that door without answering for the rest of it.”
“I am unsure of what you’re referring?—”
“You know exactly what I’m referring to. But by the wall , I cannot understand what you were thinking.”
“Of course. The princess’s attire. It was entirely my mistake. I was working under the impression such was the fashion in Westrende so I believed it fitting. It is our duty to make guests comfortable, after all, so of course only familiar fashions would do.”
“You’ve been to Westrende,” Alder snapped. “Recently. You know their fashion is no such thing. It was clear to me, as well as everyone in attendance, the intent of such a costume.”
“I am unsure what?—”
“Do not try me.”
“Of course,” Noal repeated. “Her highness’s wardrobe will be remedied. Just as soon as the seamstresses are able.”
There was a weighty pause. “ As soon as they are able? So that is how it is, then? Betrayed in my own house by my own man.”
Noal did not answer.
The prince’s voice dropped low. “Do you think me so easily persuaded? That a bit of skin would tempt me to fall at her knees?”
A pause. “She is quite striking, is she not?”
There was the sound of something solid settling very heavily onto wood.
When the prince spoke again, his resolve was evident.
“That seals it. You have proven you cannot be trusted. No more traps for your prince—the prince, I’ll remind you, to whom you’ve sworn allegiance.
And from this night forward, no more gatherings.
You will not parade her about or take risks with our treacherous court.
In fact, dinner will be private, the lady and myself only.
Should she attend a gathering, she will be on my arm through the entire event or she shall not attend at all. ”
Noal said, “I can see how that would be best.”
The prince’s tone dipped and Mireille had the sense he was leaning in to deliver his threat. “I will not forget whose side you are on.”
“We are on the side of Rivenwilde, Highness. With respect.”
He huffed. “ We you say, as if the entire house were against me.”
If Noal made a response it was silent. Then footsteps sounded and the prince’s voice came nearer to the door. “I am Rivenwilde. You would all do well to remember it.”
Mireille stumbled backward then ran as fast as she was able toward her spot by the far wall.
When the door came open, she held her gaze on a tall piece of marble statuary in the shape of a woman, a bounty of fruit spilling over the carved arms and a fox curled around the figure’s legs so that the tail hung over the base.
She could feel the prince’s eyes on her as he stood for a moment at the doorway.
He closed the door with Noal inside, then strode toward Mireille.
Beneath the long skirt of her own gown, she shoved her feet back into her slippers.
She kept her gaze on the statue, specifically the flowers and fruit, which somehow evoked the scent of early summer despite that they were merely cut stone.
When Alder reached her side, Mireille said, “This is beautiful.”
He did not reply.
“I’ve noticed a few recurring themes in the works throughout the palace.” She glanced at him. “What is the significance of the orange blossom?”
It was the wrong question. His posture, already rigid, went more so, his wide shoulders drawn back and neck taut. “I must return to my tasks.”
She straightened to face him, offering a small smile. “Of course. Do, go on. Pretend as if I am not even here.”
He muttered, “ Of course ,” then turned to walk down the long corridor.
Mireille hurried to keep pace, concerned she might have pushed him too far by using the words Noal had repeated. But she had to push him enough to keep him at least a little off balance, or she would never find answers.
They traversed several rooms and corridors, passing dozens of closed doors before she said pleasantly, “While I eagerly await the coming tour—I suppose I would do well to be familiar with the expectations of your house in the meantime. Are there rooms that I am not to investigate? Areas that may be forbidden?”
“You are not imprisoned. You may go where you like.”
“But not outside the walls of the palace,” she said. “And not to court events.”
He stopped so abruptly that she nearly stumbled into him. “You agreed to the bargain. Willingly.”
“I have not changed my mind. I am only attempting to find my footing.”
“There is nothing to find. Until the next moon, you are a guest here.”
Afterward, Mireille would be taking on an entirely new role. There was a tiny line at the edge of his brow, as thin as one of his dark lashes. She fought the urge to reach out and touch it.
Something like ire sparked in his gaze. “Perhaps you should focus on ways to take your duties as guest more seriously.”
He pointed toward what Mireille realized was a familiar corridor. “At the end of this passage, you will find the door to your suite.”
Ignoring the dismissal, she glanced at the set of doors that had to be his. She said quietly, “It’s very close to yours.”
He went still.
“I suppose they are like our queen’s apartments back home. Meant for your bride. So you might—” She made a little walking gesture with her fingers, indicating how a prince might make his way to his wife’s room. “I wonder who might have stayed before me.”
“Good evening, Your Highness.”
“Mireille,” she reminded him.
His jaw tensed. “Mireille.”
“You said I may go wherever I like.”
“You may. I suggest you learn to like your suite.” He inclined his head shortly, then turned back the way they had come.
Mireille followed.
Hand on the lever of a door dark with age, the prince stopped to look down at her. Mireille was not a small woman but he managed to tower over her anyway. There was no possible way that he believed she’d misunderstood his dismissals. “This is my study.”
“Oh,” she said. “So, anywhere , but not”—she pointed toward the door—“ there . Would you call the study forbidden, then?”
His gaze narrowed. She smiled sweetly.
After a moment, he unlatched the door, then held it open as he gestured her past.
She stopped in the center of the dimly lit space. It was exquisitely decorated in rich hues and dark finishes and smelled faintly of something warm and sweet. It was a very personal, intimate sort of space. She was surprised he’d let her in.
His low voice seemed to brush over her skin from where he waited behind her. “I’ll remind you that you will not be able to repeat anything you’ve seen here. Investigations into my rooms will do you no good.”
She did not turn to look at him. “I’ll remind you that I am not a spy. I’m only interested in becoming acquainted with Rivenwilde.” She did not say, And you are Rivenwilde, after all , because she had been, in fact, spying when she’d overhead the comment.
The prince walked past her toward his desk and she moved to peruse a wall of books.
It was clear that he was endeavoring to stay within the bounds of courtesy and those of the laws of hospitality—he must, given that she was princess and equal to his station—but there was no question he found the entire situation trying.
What was less clear, was why he needed a princess that he did not seem to want.
“Is this your full collection? Or is there a library located elsewhere?”
Head down, hand spread over a document he appeared to read, he said, “I believe I was to pretend you were not here.”
She could not help the smile that tugged at her lips. Reaching toward a book on the shelf, she glanced at him over her shoulder. “May I?”
He watched her face, not the finger hovering over a title. “You may take all the privileges due to a guest.”
She dropped her hand. “I do not wish to take privileges. I would rather they were granted freely.”
His eyes returned to the document. “Read any title you like. You will find no secrets on those shelves. I have nothing to hide that you might find there, nor on any shelf in this palace or its library.”
She wandered close to his desk, her gaze tracing the lines of the fine script on the page. “No secrets, then. But I wonder if the tales are true.” She leaned nearer to watch as the line of words grew beneath his pen. “Can you lie?”
The nib caught on the page for just an instant before resuming its path. “What is a lie but intent?”
She hummed. “And what is glamour if not a lie?”
The quill stilled. The prince looked up at her. “You have seen through our glamour from the start.”
She reached forward, carefully brushing a finger over the edge of his brow where a small scar hid beneath that glamour, invisible to the eye but plain beneath her touch. “Then why does it remain between us?”
His reply was barely above a whisper. “That is not for you.”
She drew her hand back, uncertain whether he meant the glamour or the touch. “How thoughtless of me. Of course not everything is meant for me.”
In the candlelight, the darkness of his eyes seemed to shift—like pools beneath a night sky that begged to draw her in.
She straightened away from him. He was right, the glamour had not been meant for her.
It was only another tool of the fae, and if the prince wanted her to be drawn to him, he would not be trying so hard to push her away.
“Forgive me,” she said quietly. “I will leave you to your work.”
Halfway to the door, she stopped at the sound of his reply.
“Perhaps… a book might help to occupy your time. Feel free to take along whichever were of interest to you.”