Chapter 4
M ireille had taken a pair of books from the prince’s study that appeared well-worn.
The first included diagrams of a variety of plants and their root systems, and the second was a thin volume of poetry in a language she was less familiar with.
Perhaps it was true that she would not find his secrets, but it might at least bring her some understanding of the man.
She could appreciate the responsibilities of a title and the desire to hold distance or withhold trust—the very behaviors she practiced with him—but Mireille could not help but wonder what else might be behind the prince’s taciturn manner.
She wished very much that he had not brushed aside her comment regarding any princesses who might have come before her.
Back in her suite, Mireille sat with her feet curled up on the settee while Thomas settled in the chair nearby.
Dressed in a dark blue coat and breeches, he appeared as dapper as any of the fae she’d dined with, though considerably more weary.
She gave him a brief summary of her evening’s events before asking about his own.
“You seem to have survived, at least. Did all go well?”
He shrugged his shoulders, adjusting his jacket. “ Well may be too strong a word, but I was able to gain my bearings a bit and met a few members of staff.”
“Anything of use?”
“It seems the palace staff is eager to have you. So that’s something. Past that, I’m not certain what either they or the prince gains from the bargain. Noal was keen to assist with anything I asked…”
“But?”
His gaze slid to hers. “I do not believe he’s dressed you in the style of court.”
Mireille nodded. “So it seems. I overheard the prince giving him a thorough set down. The household may be encouraging the prince in ways he is not comfortable with. Unfortunately, it’s impossible to know if this makes them our allies or simply another obstacle to overcome.”
He nodded, though his mouth had gone flat. “Evidently staff is also aware that the queen has shown interest in the relationship between Westrende and Rivenwilde. There is speculation as to how it might shape the future of the realm.”
When Thomas went quiet, Mireille realized her hand had slid protectively over her throat. She dropped it. “What else?”
Thomas’s finger tapped the plush arm of his chair. “It was brought to my attention that there is a lovely piano in the music room. Twice.”
She frowned. “I’ve not played in years. How would they have guessed I once had an attachment to such a thing?”
“They’ve evidently made inquiries.” He gestured to the console table near the door. “And look there.”
Mireille followed his indication, finding the table had been set with a bowl heaped with oranges between a pair of orange blossom bouquets. “Well,” she said. “We will certainly be looking into the history of oranges.”
Thomas hummed in agreement, but it was not the satisfied sort. It was the sort that held an undercurrent of concern. If Mireille had to guess, she would say it was owing to the time they had left, and that it was already dwindling away.
But she did not have to guess. Thomas had told her repeatedly how displeased he was with her plan. He wanted her safe. He wanted her alive.
Fate save her, she was trying. The prince’s reserve wasn’t helping.
He did not trust her, and she couldn’t be certain it was merely due to her connection to his enemies in Westrende.
That they had looked so deep into her past was worrying.
Mireille hoped very much they had not looked as far into Thomas and his skillset, or his access to the palace and its staff might be cut off.
She said, “So, tomorrow night I attend a private dinner and you…”
“Find the dungeons,” he finished.
She dropped her head back onto the settee. “Capital. All we need now is to figure out how to thwart a queen who is all-powerful.”
“She’s not all-powerful. Everyone has a weakness.” Thomas stood. “Mine is cheese.”
Mireille smiled up at the ceiling as Thomas made his way to the doorway. He sank easily to the floor in front of the door to the corridor, tucked a hand beneath his head, and crossed his legs at the ankles before his eyes slid closed.
* * *
It was midnight when Mireille rose from her bed.
She had no need of a timepiece; it was always midnight when she rose.
Bare feet gliding silently across the cool stone floor, she made her way to the door of her room.
She did not step over Thomas, but stood very near his slumbering form.
The understanding that he could not be awoken settled within her, and her body shifted.
Drawn toward the corner of the room, she pressed her palm flat to the wall where no door should be. A hidden panel opened.
Mireille did not feel the surprise that should have come at her hand finding a panel her mind had not known was there.
She walked into the corridor. If anyone in the palace was present, Mireille was not aware.
Her feet continued through the maze of corridors, taking her to an exterior palace wall.
The palace was somehow more alive in the darkness, but she could not pause to consider why.
She only continued through the corridors, past carvings that seemed to writhe, past gilded decorations and crawling vines.
Her steps did not cease until a toe bumped against a tall arched window, open to the world beyond.
Cool night air brushed over her skin, seeping through her thin shift.
The sickly-sweet scent of hawthorn flowers on the breeze drew her forward.
She leaned into the archway, only night air between her and the courtyard three stories below.
Mireille did not feel the fear that should have come.
In the distance, firelight dotted the horizon, the fae courtiers in their costumes and finery, dancing at a moonlit ball.
She could hear their laughter, feel their revelry.
Wind tugged at the hem of her shift and she swayed with the music, further toward the open air and the nothing below. She had no control.
The song of the fae whispered, beckoning her on. Mireille , it sang. Mireille .
Her bare foot lifted past the lip of the archway.
Mireille was unable to feel the dread that should have filled her, but she knew what was to come.
She stepped forward.
“Rei!” Strong hands gripped her shoulders, drawing her back just in time. Thomas, chest heaving, hands trembling, murmured, “I have you. There we go.” He dragged her farther from the ledge, cursing and muttering about the sort of palace that would have open windows and an utter lack of guards.
Mireille did not feel the relief that seemed to swim through him, though she knew she would.
He let go only long enough to wrap a dressing gown around her.
“Come on, back to bed,” he said, and he tugged the gown tighter before guiding her by the shoulders.
“This was a close one. Tomorrow night, we’re tying bells to your person. ”
* * *
It was early the next morning, wrapped in her dressing gown beneath several layers of blanket, that Mireille felt everything she should have the night before.
It was never pleasant when the feelings returned, never left her unshaken to have lost all control.
The hope that a bed inside the palace might be out of the queen’s reach was gone.
She had woken to find Thomas’s spot by the door empty. A large dresser had been slid across the room, covering the panel they’d missed in their initial inspection. A collection of delicate glassware was placed precariously near its edges, easily crashed to the floor should the dresser be jostled.
They should have found the panel. They had made a mistake.
They would have to do better.
Mireille called for tea, then searched the wardrobe for her most serviceable gown. She found a scrap of fabric to tuck into the low neckline of the bodice like a fichu, and in short order, she was prepared for the day.
Thomas met her near the library as planned, where they intended to scour the shelves for fae tradition, law, and history.
Much of the outside world did not credit the existence of magic.
To most, fae were only a tale of times past, a danger which had long ago been caged, which was how the fae queen had been so easily able to slip into the kingdoms she’d taken before Norcliffe.
Few understood the laws that bound fae, and even less was known about how they spent their time.
Mireille knew more than most, but it felt as if she knew nothing at all.
The library rose three stories, open in the center where arched beams draped with tangled ivies cut through the light from a ceiling composed of etched glass.
A network of stairs and ladders wove between balconies and levels, and yet, many of the shelves remained bare.
Likewise, despite the size of the palace, not a single other soul was present.
Mireille’s best chance to save her father and their kingdom should be there, within the massive fae library. But the scene was suspect.
Mireille glanced at Thomas, who was biting his lip. “Do you suppose…”
“Let’s not suppose.” He ran a palm over his neck. “We’ll do well to remember we are no longer dealing with the expected. It would be foolish not to check here first.”
“Right,” she said. “Where shall we start?”
Lips pursed, he gestured vaguely toward the far wall. “You take that section, I’ll try the second level.”