Chapter 1 #2
For Mireille’s part, she had not even asked the price to break their bargain.
The due for bargain-breaking was always more than a person could satisfy, and never a matter of petty wealth but one of unthinkable sacrifice.
Whatever it was, she would not be able to pay it.
The fae did not allow humans into their realm only to let them return to their homeland freely.
She asked, “What happens if we are not wed at the turn of the moon? I will no longer be protected by the laws of hospitality. I will not be treated as a guest. But should I go through with the marriage or not…”
The prince’s manner seemed to darken. A chill breeze swept the clearing. He said, “Either way, you will belong to me.”
His queen or as his captive, that was her choice.
Mireille wet her lips. She’d heard many tales regarding how prisoners of the fae were kept.
She would be deciding between that uncertain fate or becoming a member of the Riven Court.
It may have seemed like an obvious course, but the fae court held dangers of its own.
Dangers that might make a person beg for the discomforts of a small, dark cell.
And should she marry the prince of Rivenwilde, she could no longer be heir to Norcliffe, not when the entire reason she left was to keep it safe from the fae.
Neither situation would be as unpleasant as the fate that awaited her outside of his protection, though.
If she did not find a way to defeat the queen, Norcliffe and everyone Mireille loved would be destroyed.
The month she’d been gifted as his guest needed to be enough.
Whether she was confined by walls or by vows, Mireille had to get close enough to the prince to discover the secrets of fae magic, but not close enough to risk him discovering her own.
She gave a quick, decisive nod. “I accept your terms. Let us away.”
The prince’s gaze held a hint of wariness as it flicked toward Thomas, then returned to lock on Mireille’s.
“Very well.” Mireille thought it telling that he would have suspicion of the agreement at all, but he said, “It is agreed.” The power beneath her feet swelled, and the prince, the clearing, and Mireille’s future all seemed to shift by unknowable degrees.
It was done. Her fate was sealed. Mireille moved to take the prince’s arm, and there was a moment of awareness between them that he had not yet offered.
More hesitation, it seemed, despite that their bargain was settled.
It was a solid reminder that the arrangement was bigger than just the two of them.
Mireille gave a farewell glance toward the Westrende marshal, who returned a firm nod.
It was unclear whether Westrende had any faith she might succeed.
Head inclined slightly, the prince finally lifted his arm, Mireille slid her hand through, and they walked together toward the wall.
“Thomas,” she reminded the prince.
He blinked at her, then, evidently understanding, cleared his throat. “One does not have to be touching a fae to pass through once the gateway is open.”
“Oh.” She did not let go. “Well, at least, do not forget him.”
Behind them, Thomas muffled a chuckle. He was carrying a single small bag, the entirety of both their possessions since their departure from Norcliffe had been executed with as much stealth as possible, and he was the only bit of security and sense of home that Mireille had left.
It was calming to hear the hint of levity from him and to know that her friend was at her back.
The prince’s jaw flexed but not, it seemed, with shared humor.
He did not seem to be having a great deal of fun stealing away a human princess under the watchful gaze of his sworn Westrende enemies, truth be told.
But before another breath, they were walking through the wall, its filigree wires uncurling to surround and gather the prince, its magic parting in a manner that Mireille was not quite able to make sense of, even as she was drawn inside the boundary with him.
She could see through the wall’s glamour to the cage beneath and feel the magic around her, in a way that felt as if it could not be denied, no matter how much power one might possess.
It was an insistent pressure not only against her skin but every part of her being, as if gravity, like diving from the cliffs of her home into the icy waters of the sea.
Not that a princess would do such a thing. But if she had—very similar.
They came through the other side and the prince pointedly did not glance at her, heaving in breath and clinging to his arm as she was, or at Thomas, who Mireille was grateful to find had made it through and was again at her side.
Thomas was a little green and looked as if he might be regretting not taking that last chance to flee but when he met her gaze, he gave a halfhearted nod.
They had made it.
Through the wall, only. The easiest step. Mireille wasn’t even certain it counted as a step in her plans. She should have made a list so that she might check off getting to the forest and finding the wall , lest that was all they would manage. It was always good to feel accomplished.
“Shall we pause for a moment?”
The prince’s words brought a huff of helpless laughter from Mireille’s chest. “No,” she said finally. “That was quite an experience, but I believe Thomas and I have our land legs once more. Do carry on.”
His brow pinched. “I thought it best to walk through our domain but that was inconsiderate after the journey you’ve already made. I shall bring us closer at once.”
Mireille opened her mouth to protest but before a word was out, the three of them were transported to a different path entirely.
The objection died in her throat. They stood suddenly between an avenue of trees, leaves overhead shifting in the warm afternoon breeze and laying patchy shade over the path.
The avenue ended at a splendid palace, but she could not take her eyes off the canopy, made up of orange trees and covered with flowers and fruit.
The prince seemed to notice her gaping, so she explained, “I’ve only ever seen them in illustrations.”
He paused, his gaze flicking between her eyes with something that was not quite so distant before he released her from his arm.
He crossed to a low branch at the edge of the path then reached up, and his long, graceful fingers pinched off one of the delicate blossoms. When he returned to offer it to Mireille, their bare skin brushed, and she felt a flutter of his magic once more.
She turned the blossom in her fingers before lifting it to her nose. It smelled sweet and bright over a hint of something bitter, with a trace of other, more familiar fragrances. She quite liked it.
The prince was watching her from where he stood, rather close, Thomas unmistakably looking away from them both.
Mireille tucked the blossom into the collar of her jacket then glanced up at the prince. “Thank you.”
His eyes held a strange hint of warmth in the dappled light as they rose from the blossom to trail over her face, the stillness in his form giving Mireille the impression that he was uncertain how to respond. She took hold of his arm once more so that he didn’t have to.
The three approached the palace under the distrustful gazes of onlookers who appeared to consist of palace staff and members of court, all of them fae.
Mireille held her chin high, eyes forward, and wished she’d chosen a slightly richer gown.
She had been unsure what to expect but the opulence of the fae court was impressive, even to one who’d seen a fair share of fine and fancy places.
The lawn was lovely, lush with greenery and blooming flowers, alive with birdsong, and formed in such a way as to create a natural path toward the agate steps leading to the imposing palace.
In the distance, trees rose impossibly high, their boughs no doubt obscuring the many dwellings of Rivenwilde’s fae.
Mireille could not be certain of what lay beyond, though, because illustrations of the kingdom had not been available to anyone outside the wall, and what few sketches Thomas had been able to find were clearly only those of fancy.
Fae were secretive, and Rivenwilde fae most of all.
As they reached the top of the steps, the prince’s chest rose in a deep breath, and the sensation of magic seemed to rise with it, like the swell of the sea. His gaze stayed forward as they strode through the door, his arm steady beneath hers.
A massive archway opened into the entrance hall, where they were met by a smartly dressed fae man who appeared to be near the prince’s age. His skin was the same dark olive as Mireille’s, but where her hair was long and light chestnut, his was in short, neat waves of dark mahogany.
“Mireille,” the prince said, as if it pained him to speak her name so casually, “may I introduce Noal?”
The man fell into a deep bow.
“Noal will be at your service for any need. You will have all the food and care you want for, at any hour.”
“Because of the laws of hospitality,” Mireille said.
The prince’s jaw flexed. Again, not with humor. “Not because you are a guest of the prince of Rivenwilde. Because you are his betrothed.”
She met his gaze. Mireille might not be able to find maps of Rivenwilde, but she knew the laws of hospitality would protect his guests, and until she was thrown into a fae prison for breaking their agreement or thrown into the fae court once she’d followed through, she possessed a title that was equal to his own.
A princess would require the highest of care or he would be breaking one of the oldest fae tenets.
He said, “You are under my protection.”
“And what of Thomas?” Mireille asked.
“My protection extends to Lord Holden as well.” The prince’s voice was level. “While you are both within these walls.”
“So if we were to leave…”
“Do not leave these walls.”
The words felt sharper than Mireille might have expected, and she glanced at Noal to determine if the man seemed to think the reaction out of the ordinary.
Noal, however, was staring wide-eyed at the orange blossom tucked into the collar of Mireille’s jacket.
His gaze slid accusingly toward the prince.
An unspoken message passed between Noal and his sovereign.
“What’s this?” Thomas said, edging closer as he gestured between the two. “What’s happening there?”
“I do not know what you mean,” Noal said, just as the prince said, “Nothing.”
The prince did not flick an annoyed glance at his man, but it was clear he wished to. He said, “I must take my leave now.”
Mireille asked, “Why?”
The prince froze mid-bow. “I must attend to…”
She suspected he might have been about to answer something like important prince concerns when his words dried up.
Instead, he said, “I should allow you to get settled in. You have had a long journey.”
She glanced down at her gown, the hem damp and stuck with briars. “Yes, I suppose that’s so. I shall dress for our first dinner together, and resume your company then.”
When she glanced back up, he was already halfway to the door. He stopped at her words. A moment later, he turned back to face her. “Dinner?”
“We must have dinner together.”
“I am… Quite a bit occupies my time.”
“Very busy,” Noal added helpfully. “Barely an hour free for meals.”
The prince shot him a look that promised violence.
“You must have dinner with me,” Mireille said. “Every night.”
He stared at her, aghast.
“I’ve only a month to come to know you, to understand what becoming a part of your world will mean.
” A mere month to uncover his secrets, to safeguard Norcliffe by whatever means necessary to prevent the villainous…
villainess from folding it into her malevolent empire.
“If you prefer, I could accompany you with whatever you’re about.
It would be no trouble at all, as I’m to be idle here every moment of every day, unable to leave the palace and unable to plan visits from my friends.
A guest must be entertained, after all.”
His eyes narrowed infinitesimally. Mireille gave him her most winsome smile. “Alder,” she started, and something seemed to roll through him at the word.
He held up a hand, as if to forestall her speaking it again. “Dinner. When it is feasible.”
“Every night.”
Thomas and Noal stood rapt, no attempt at hiding the looks they were darting between their prince and princess.
The prince’s mouth shifted, leaving no doubt he understood her challenge. “As you wish, Mireille. We will dine together, every night. Until the turn of the moon.”