Chapter 5 #2
Her family was blessed with skin that would ward off even the sharpest knife, and her weight in rubies.
I don’t know what happened to the first wife. Her name was lost to memory, and the very fact they honor the Willow Queen each and every blood moon tells you something about the first queen’s ending.
The doors before us open, and a self-important kelpie in a pomaded wig draws a deep breath and bellows, “His Royal Highness, Prince Keir of the Court of Dreams, and his betrothed, Lady Merisel of Greenslieves.”
Heads turn.
Gasps echo through the chambers.
The entire dance comes to a stop, as even the members of the string quartet in the corner tilts their heads to look at us, with one last discordant shriek from the cello.
I have never wanted to fade into the shadows so much in my life.
“Come, my love,” Keir says, taking my hand and drawing me forward into the light, as if he can sense my horror.
They’re all looking at me.
Hundreds of whispering fae. I think I’m going to vomit.
Focus on the job. I swallow it all down, and even though I’m no longer feeling sick, I know my skin has paled.
“Prince Keir,” a brunette breathes, her eyes wide with joy as she welcomes him. “An honor.”
“Your Highness.” Another woman swims out of nowhere, dropping into a deep curtsy. “We never dreamed we would have such an illustrious guest.”
On and on and on it goes as the females of the court swarm toward us.
But it’s the impossibly handsome fae prince on the throne who draws my attention.
Malechus is the Crown Prince of the Court of Blood, the last in a long line of vicious, dangerous males.
His father, King Aswan, may rule the court, but it’s said he keeps Malechus here at Castle Blackrock in virtual exile, far away from the throne and any ambitions his son might foster.
A crushed velvet doublet the color of a black-red rose spans his broad chest, with black edging clinging to his shoulders. Rings glitter on his fingers, winking in the light, and I catch a glimpse of midnight leather shifting over his thighs as he finally sights us through the crush.
Instantly, he stills, like a panther sighting its enemy.
His brown hair hangs in a wavy curtain to his shoulders, and eyes the color of a crystalline lake lock on me, even as he plucks a golden goblet from his attendant’s tray and nurses it negligently.
He slowly lifts the wine to his sulky mouth, but he barely sips it.
Instead, he watches us over the rim, his blackened claws scraping on the gold.
Or no, not us.
Me.
That look shivers all the way through me. It’s intimate, as if he’s picturing stripping the gown from my body or drawing me into the embrace of a knife.
“You’ve met before?” Keir murmurs in my ear, clasping his hand over mine as he leads me toward the dais.
“No.” Though there’s something about the way the prince looks at me that makes me question the truth of that myself.
“Maybe he’s met my sister. Soraya resembles me in some ways.
Her hair and eyes are black, but otherwise we could be twins.
” My voice roughens. “A little bit of glamor and she fooled even you, after all.”
“Mmm.” Keir strokes my knuckles. “Then I don’t like the way he’s looking at you.”
Me either, but— “If you kill the prince, then we won’t get what we both want.” Though the Prince of Blood is going straight to the top of my suspect list for those involved in Soraya’s disappearance.
“Prince Keir.” Malechus strides down from the dais, a dangerous smile on his mouth as he clasps hands with the prince and draws him into a swift embrace. “If I’d known you thought to attend, I would have sent an invitation.”
“If I’d known you would invite me, I would have made my intentions clear.” Keir’s smile is a knife.
The two of them part.
And though Keir has an inch on him, Malechus feels in no way less dangerous.
“Please allow me to present my lovely bride-to-be, the lady Merisel,” Keir purrs, a hand coming to rest in the small of my back as he gestures me forward.
“Ah yes.” Malechus reaches for my hand and brings it to his lips, his eyes settling once more on me. “I’ve heard many things about the lovely lady. Twenty potential brides accepted your Summons, and yet it was this one pretty little dove that caught your eye.”
“A dove?” Keir laughs under his breath. “I consider my love a peregrine instead.”
“And she’s captured fair prey,” Malechus says, breathing the words over my bare knuckles. He straightens abruptly. “You are very brave, my lady, to have survived such a dangerous ordeal, for others were not so lucky. You may recall my dear cousin, Narcissa?”
The last I saw of Narcissa, she was entombed in a wall and only her hands—forever clutching for help—remained free of the marble.
“A terrible tragedy, Your Highness.” I never liked her, but nobody deserves to die that way. “And it was not bravery that saw me win the day, but luck.”
Malechus glances at Keir beneath his lashes. “Tell me… did you bring me her killer’s head?”
Keir stares him down. “No. I burned Calliope’s body and gave the ashes to the forest.”
“A pity.” Malechus’s lips thinned. “I should have liked to have set it on my castle walls.”
There’s a hard truth in Keir’s eyes. “I should have liked to have had a chance to… discuss many things with her before I was forced to kill her.”
A shiver runs through me.
Calliope claimed she was born from the bloodlines of Queen Mab—the fae queen who married the most powerful of the dragon kings. Mab birthed a daughter, Igrainne, who bore half of her mother’s magic and her father’s power, and all of the hunger for more.
Calliope was a direct descendant of Igrainne.
She tried to kill me.
She very nearly pushed me into a wall, leaving me to suffer the same fate as Narcissa. If I’m a little swift to snatch a glass of elderberry wine from a passing servant, it’s only because drowning isn’t the only death that makes my heart race.
But it’s the first time Keir has mentioned Calliope’s name.
She was part dragon herself, determined to eat his heart in order to fully transmute herself into “what she was meant to become.”
As I sip the wine, I can’t help stealing a glance at him. Does he wonder if he could have reached her and swayed her from her mad plan? Or does he wish he had time to personally question her, in a chains-and-rack kind of way?
“Come,” Malechus says, gesturing us into the hallway. “I shall have servants sent to make chambers for you. In the meantime, you must greet our guests.”
A gasp comes from behind.
Glass shatters.
I have the hilt of a thin dirk in my hand as I turn, but the danger doesn’t come in the form of a weapon.
No. It comes in the form of a voluptuous redhead wearing a gown of seafoam draped with gold netting, her jaw gaping open as she stands in the wreckage of what was once an elegant wineglass.
Princess Ismena.
The sister of the King of Storms, and the woman I saved from Calliope’s murderous wrath the night she was killed.
“Merisel,” she says in faint horror, and relief floods through me as I realize she still believes me to be Merisel of Greenslieves.
If her brother has my face plastered on reward posters, then I need to ensure my glamor doesn’t slip, even once.
Is that why she’s looking at me as if I was the one who tried to kill her?
What does she know?
Keir pushes past me, using his body to force my hand down. I shoot him a glare and vanish the knife.
“Your Highness,” I greet.
Ismena recovers well, pasting a smile on her lips as she glances toward Keir at my side. “Such an honor, my prince. I did not expect to see you here—either of you.”
And then she makes a swift apology and virtually flees.
I exchange a look with Keir.
This might be a problem.
* * *
“I forgot how much I hate these shoes,” I groan as I climb the stairs toward our rooms. They’re endless monstrosities of polished alabaster and my heels are a good four inches high.
I’m fairly certain my calves are about to commit mutiny, and my toes want to scream.
“Do you think anyone would notice if I Sift to the top?”
“I forgot how much I hate balls,” Keir mutters as he eyes me. “Here.”
He sweeps me into his arms before I can react and resumes our quest.
“What are you doing?” I blurt.
“Carrying my beloved,” he mocks. “As any heroic prince would do.”
My tongue stills. No one has ever carried me and it’s a strange thing to be in his arms like this. It takes me back to the Court of Dreams. To the first time he kissed me. I found his strength and presence overwhelming then, and if anything time has only worsened that impression.
But I also forgot how warm he is.
A shiver runs through me. I can’t stop myself from thinking about what it would be like to have all this weight pressing me into a mattress. I’m trying not to touch him, but up close and personal, all this muscle is distracting.
He sets me down outside the door to our rooms, my skirts slithering down around my calves.
“There,” he whispers. “Better?”
I’m not entirely certain the answer to that is yes. “Thank you, but if anyone was to see us, they’re going to think you’ve fallen for me.”
Keir’s smile remains dangerous as he reaches past me to unlock the door to our rooms. “Anyone who saw us this summer would know I had already been a fool for you.” His smile fades.
“If we’re going to continue the lie, then we have to sell it.
Anyone who knew me would know that my feelings for you would not fade so swiftly. ”
I examine the stern lines of his jaw as he opens the door. If a sculptor was ever to create that face out of stone, they’d be lauded through the ages.
“You’re a prince,” I point out as we sweep into the antechamber that lingers between our bedchambers. Despite my distraction, my breath catches when I see them.