Chapter 10
T he familiar weight of the fae queen’s magic settled upon her once again and Mireille felt her body begin to rise from the bed.
Then the heavy sensation suddenly disappeared, along with the sickly-sweet scent of hawthorn flower, and Mireille’s eyes blinked open to the glow of unnatural moonlight that filled her room.
Alder stood over her, as if he’d been waiting.
Taking his proffered hand, Mireille swung her feet toward the edge of the bed, and realized the dress she wore was far different than the night before.
Her free hand came up to the lace that curled at her neck, matching the butterfly sleeves and the lace that nearly covered her hands. It felt like… A wedding gown.
Had she conjured such a thing, or had it been him? Aghast, she met the prince’s gaze, unsure which might be worse.
He made no comment, only turned to lead her from the room. They followed the same path as before, through the maze of gardens that surrounded the wisteria tree, but though her room was roughly the same in the dream as when awake, the corridors and paths never were.
The night air was warm, and fireflies danced amid the swaying greenery. In the distance, soft rain pattered against leaves. The gentle scent of wisteria clung to everything, its presence alone working to ease Mireille’s distress. She said, “It is beautiful here.”
Alder glanced down at her. “It is.”
Mireille recalled that she had a purpose. No matter how seductive the idea of sinking into the peace the garden brought, she had to find her course. “Why do you wish to be free of it?” His brow lowered in confusion, and she asked, “Are these lands not enough for you?”
His lips tightened and it appeared he would not respond, then he turned abruptly to face her. “The land chooses its ruler. There is no enough . The land does not wish to be divided, and so I, as its prince, must find a way to unrend it, to destroy the curse that holds us within its walls.”
She stepped closer, his figure in the moonlight somehow more imposing, yet he was not as icy and closed off as before.
Mireille wasn’t certain what had changed, but she had no interest in pretense.
“What happens when the boundary falls? You will rise to king and the land will be satisfied? Or will it want more?” It was hard to imagine the Rive coming down as anything good, not when she had seen what an unbound queen was capable of.
Part of her, a part she understood may not be entirely virtuous, wanted to keep them caged.
Alder’s expression darkened. “You think me so power hungry?”
His tone sent a chill down her spine. Her shoulders drew back.
It was only a dream. She would speak as she pleased.
“You accepted my bargain with no apparent desire to have me as a wife. I was given to believe we would be wed, but it seems as if you only wish for me to break the bargain, so that you might add me to your collection of prisoners.”
He stepped nearer. “What makes you think I have no intention of marrying you? Do you truly believe I would not honor my word?”
She craned her neck to look up at him. “You’re evading the point.
You have done nothing but attempt to keep distance between us.
You want my choice to be a prisoner. Why else bring me to Lord Cadby and make clear that I would be choosing relative comfort?
Why else not show me a single consideration above what is required by law of hospitality? ”
He leaned in so that he looked her directly in the eye. “If being a prisoner of Rivenwilde sounds so preferable to being my wife, then perhaps your decision has already been made.”
She released a growl of frustration. “Would you please cease answering my concerns with accusations.”
The corner of his lips twisted in a manner that made Mireille uncomfortably aware of how churlish she was being. After a moment, he released a resigned breath. “I felt the fae queen’s magic on you. That was why I agreed to the bargain. That is why I… held myself in reserve.”
Mireille’s own breath caught.
“I was not wrong,” he added. “I will admit I never expected you to allow her into my home. But even before you entered my chambers, it was evident you had ties to her. As an ally, or a pawn, or a victim. I believed you the former.”
The subtle swaying of the flora seemed to shift, as if agitated. Mireille asked, “And what is it that you believe now?”
He did not answer. It was answer enough. Alder believed she could be conspiring with the creature who had entirely destroyed her life. The one who had threatened her kingdom so thoroughly that she’d been left with no choice but to abandon her family and secure a bargain with a fae prince.
Her fists clenched tighter. “I am no ally or pawn, and though some have given it their best attempt, I am no one’s victim. I have told you before, and I will say it again. Norcliffe is under threat. I stand before you now, in this—whatever this is—because of her.”
He studied her face, then lifted a hand to pluck a leaf from her hair.
She jolted when he reached toward her, and they both knew it.
The bravado of her speech didn’t change what a fae was capable of.
But he was not the queen. He held the leaf for a moment between his fingertips, then let it fall to the ground.
He was using her as a tool to unbind his kingdom. She was using him to save her own. She could not have one without the other.
“Is any of this even real?” she asked.
“That depends how you define what is real. The garden is true, but we linger now in your dream. Your mind conjured the way your hair is styled, the gown you wear. Will it not persist in your memory? Does it not become part of your existence?”
Heat flushed her cheeks. The wedding gown certainly felt more significant knowing she was responsible for it. She would have somehow preferred it had been his conjuring. She said, “I suppose if it does not exist in the morning, then it is not truly real.”
His fingers trailed across the lace covering her arm, and her traitorous body reacted to the touch, leaning nearer.
He said softly, “It feels real enough to me.” But his gaze never met hers, instead shifting toward the moon in what was most certainly not a sky Mireille had imagined. “The midnight hour is far beyond us. Good night, Mireille.”
She opened her mouth to protest, but darkness took her instead.
* * *
Mireille jolted; someone was standing over her where she lay in her bed. Her eyes flew open, her heart racing, but it was not the unnatural glow of a dream that lit her room, only lamplight.
Noal stared down at her, his dark eyes narrowed consideringly. He held a silver tray, its contents smelling of tea and freshly buttered toast. He said, “Forgive the intrusion but it’s onto midday. If we were to wait any longer, you would not have time to prepare.”
From his spot on the settee, Thomas lifted a toast point. “I told him to let you sleep.”
She swiped a palm across her face. She could not remember ever lying in so long when she wasn’t ill. She looked back to Noal. “And what am I to prepare for?”
“There’s to be a ball,” he explained. “Kin is here to assist you.”
Mireille only then noticed the woman standing near the bathing chamber door. “So you were all three just… waiting for me to wake?”
Noal set the tray on a bedside table and gave her a meaningful look. “You’ll need to be rested for what’s to come.”
When he quit the room, Mireille looked to Thomas, who only shrugged. “You know as much as I.”
Kin frowned at them both, but made no effort to communicate additional information.
Mireille picked up a piece of toast, but her stomach turned, still haunted by the dream.
The prince had thought she’d been in league with the queen and had still brought her into his home.
For what, she didn’t know. Perhaps to get closer to the queen.
Perhaps something darker. Her gaze lifted to meet Thomas’s, desperate to share what she had learned.
But his gaze was on Kin. And Kin’s was on Mireille’s hand where it clutched her dressing gown.
A quarter hour later, Thomas was gone and Mireille was chin-deep in a hot bath, the prince’s words running through her mind again and again.
Kin placed a stack of towels and a jar of oil on the small table beside the tub.
The door to the bathing chamber eased open and Kin absently lifted a foot to press it closed.
Something low and dark wandered in, vaguely catlike, but before Mireille could even register it was not feline, the creature shifted to a woman around six feet tall.
Kin fell back, knocking into the table and overturning its contents.
Mireille darted up to help, slipped on the oil that had coated the tub edge, and splashed water across Kin and the floor.
She cursed, wiping at her stinging eyes.
Nisha sneered down at both of them. In a simple cream gown that draped her body perfectly, she looked every bit a princess of fae, even if she had only moments before been a mink. The entire weight of her distaste turned on Mireille. “Why aren’t you ready? I need time to work.”
“You?” Mireille choked.
Nisha rolled her eyes, then made a gesture at Kin. “Get her dried off.” She gave Kin a full once-over and shook her head. “The both of you.” With a flick of her skirts, she strode out of the bathing chamber, making a feline-like huff of disgust.
Mireille locked gazes with Kin. Whatever was happening with the ball, it seemed Mireille was not the only one uninformed.
A quarter hour later, Mireille sat before a vanity table and small gilt-trimmed mirror, her silk dressing gown decorated with a delicate pattern of swirling vines and flowers.
Kin ran a brush through Mireille’s long locks as three fae women in simple staff garb looked on.
One held a comb and assorted hair pins, another a sewing kit, and the third was apparently in charge of gowns.
Nisha snapped her slender fingers, then pointed at the gowns. The woman rushed to grab the first where it had been draped over a rack, then held it forward for Mireille’s inspection. She repeated the process twice more, each of the gowns deep cerulean and soft, supple fabric, but varying styles.
Nisha said into her ear, “It’s his favorite color.” She backed away and gave Mireille an appraising but somewhat disappointed look. “I’m not certain it will suit your hair. How do you feel about feathers? No? Understandable.” She patted her shoulder. “We will figure something out.”
In the end, Mireille was forced to try on all three gowns, and the group eventually settled on one sewn of the softest silk, with a high neck and detailed with delicate vines in a slightly darker shade of blue.
The same vines crawled down the sleeves of the dress, ending in embroidered foliage near the wrists.
It was a fae gown, through and through. Mireille had never worn anything like it, but even Kin nodded her approval.
The dress was removed, adjustments made, and Mireille was bustled back to the vanity where her hair was pinned and twisted into an elaborate form. Mireille met Nisha’s gaze in the curved mirror. “Are you going to tell me what you’re up to?”
Nisha’s grin was wicked. “If anyone knows how to truly tempt a fae male, it is me.” She held a palm out, and the woman with the hair pins handed another over.
“Why would I need to temp a fae?”
Kin dusted color onto Mireille’s cheek, distinctly not meeting her eyes.
“And why are all of you conspiring against him?”
Nisha made a sound in her throat, not unlike the dismissive sound her brother favored. “Careful, princess, for you’re making it sound as if falling for you might be to his detriment.”
Mireille caught the gleam in Nisha’s eyes, but Kin’s fingers trembled as she applied lotions and creams. The two seemed to be working toward the same goal but, possibly, possessed entirely different motivations.
Nisha, Mireille thought, was giving her the appraisal of someone taking pride in their well-trained pet.
“There,” she said. “Just one final touch.” And Mireille was dabbed with the light, fresh scent of orange oil.