Verena #2
"This may have something to do with those irritating summonings you've been receiving from that kingdom," Eris huffs from the window. "Disrespectful ingrates. Again, I suggest you ignore them and—"
"This invitation also says," Merrick goes on, unaware that he's interrupting my beautiful mirror confidante. "That their king and queen are eager for you to bring the young princess, since she is of age to meet their son as a potential bride."
"I'm all for Snow White having a fun time at the festival, but over my dead fucking body will she get saddled with some prince and his raging foot fetish."
Merrick coughs. "His what?"
"Nothing. What do the other letters say?"
Merrick breezes through more envelopes, giving me summaries of several basic queen duties. Some are letters from nobles about property or northerners requesting permission to settle in the kingdom.
Two envelopes have the same golden seal as the letters I received before—the ones Eris told me came from an anonymous nobleman in Aurefeld who was apparently helping the evil queen plot to seduce a prince.
I tell Merrick not to bother reading those.
The very last envelope contains a small note. When Merrick opens it, a sprig of rosemary falls out.
I pick it up, studying the fragrant buds as he reads.
"The endless river of cruel moments keeping us apart will soon run dry. Find me in Aurefeld. Ever your love, Fiete." He hums, looking at me curiously. "Who is writing to you so amorously?"
Whoever Fiete is, he's writing to Queen Rhinestone, not me.
Still, this reminds me…
All it takes is one request, and Merrick follows me to my chambers, with Wulf once again following. Eris sees me grab the old letter off the desk and hand it over to the chamberlain.
He sighs. "I hoped you'd forgotten about that one."
Subtly flipping him off, I smile at Merrick.
"What does it say?"
He holds the note up to read better in the afternoon light pouring through the cathedral-like windows nearby.
"Your lost songbird will not keep me from you much longer. I ache for you, always. Your love eternal, Fiete."
This guy seriously has it bad for the evil queen.
Was Eris so hesitant to read it to me just because it's a love letter? Was he borderline jealous just thinking of someone writing those words to me?
Aww.
If I could reach through the glass, which I've fantasized about more than I care to admit, I would flick his forehead…and then probably try to kiss him.
Actually, it's a good thing that glass is clamjamming me. Otherwise, I might have just as difficult a time keeping my hands off of him as I do with Wulf.
Merrick offers the note back to me with a playful smile. "For someone so certain she doesn't want Favored at her beck and call, you appear to be gathering some by mistake."
I groan. "Please don't even joke about that. Anyway, I want to design some ballgowns and masks for the upcoming masquerade. Before I get started, do you happen to know what's fashionable in Aurefeld?"
Merrick becomes animated with excitement as he gives me an in-depth rundown of that kingdom's popular styles and the masquerade rules.
Apparently, Aurefeld's patron is Gilda, the Faerie of Greed. That kingdom is well-known for its love of gold and riches, and they spare no expense going all out with intricate looks for the masquerade.
Already, I can't fucking wait to create showstopping ensembles for Snow White, Anika, and Ingrid. And for me too, because I've always wanted to get dolled up for a masquerade.
Merrick informs me that he's going to Isenhold to tell Anika's father and the rest of their family the good news about their sustained nobility.
He adds that he'll try to convince them to attend the festival in Aurefeld, since he thinks it's well past time they resolve whatever nastiness took place so many years ago.
Then, with a cheery goodbye, my chamberlain leaves the queen's chambers.
As soon as we're alone, I fold my arms and face the two gorgeous men watching me.
"So." I narrow my gaze at the smatter on Wulf's tunic. "Whose Kool-Aid is that?"
"No one you must worry for."
"Come on. Was it another someone you thought didn't deserve any kind of trial? Just another soon-to-be-boneless Bob?"
"If you must know, order me to tell you. Otherwise, it is no one you must worry for," the Huntsman repeats stubbornly, his pale blue gaze daring me.
Damn it.
Wulf knows how carefully I word everything so that I never give him a direct order by accident. He wants to be given orders so he can feel like he's slowly making up for what he did to me.
I'm not nearly curious enough to give him the satisfaction.
"Fine. Then when were you sneaky, homicidal maniacs going to tell me you killed Schultz?"
"I should be excluded from this rebuke, since I lack the means to spill blood on your behalf," Eris says, tapping on the glass to underline his point. "Until we find my body, at least."
I again narrow my eyes up at the Huntsman.
"He posed a threat to you, vantaei."
"Maybe he did, but I can handle a manipulative, one-armed, Frisbee-mouthed dickhead all by myself. I could have made a public example out of him by actually banishing him."
Wulf shakes his head. "Leeches like him do not quit their prey so easily. It is better to slay a wet hatchling than spare a future roving drachen."
I'm still puzzling out that meaning when Eris laughs.
"How nice to see you on the receiving end of gibberish for once. That's a northerner proverb about getting rid of problems before they grow bigger. Drachens are a scourge in Nordhjem, so northerners take hunting down their hatchlings quite seriously."
Beowulf glances at the mirror curiously. "Have you been to my homeland to know this?"
"No, I've just read many books in Turnstadt about it. Speaking of which…shall we continue your reading lessons, Fairest?" the iridescent model asks.
I grimace. Even though I had no trouble learning to read in my world when I was a kid, I swear the squiggles they use in this fairytale dimension all look exactly the same. It's pure fucking torture, trying to mentally reassign English-sounding phonetics to a bunch of handwritten scribbles.
And what are the odds I'll find anything useful in Rhinestone's journals, anyway?
Bumming some fairy godmother magic off of Cinderella is looking better and better.
"Fuck learning to read," I decide.
Wulf's expression softens slightly. "You will not search those journals for a way home?"
"She doesn't mean it like that," Eris muses, squinting at me. "She must be plotting something else."
With a grin, I move to the queen’s writing desk. After all, these masquerade outfits won't design themselves.