Chapter 16
T he festivities wore on past nightfall, with Maeve’s agitation seeming to increase by the hour.
By the time Alder stood to escort Mireille to her chambers on the pretense of her needing rest—not entirely a fabrication as she was utterly exhausted from the day’s nerves—Maeve was watching the pair with open hunger. She would most certainly take the bait.
Mireille took Alder’s arm, avoiding Maeve’s sharp gaze as they walked past. Beyond the enchanted doors that shut out the sounds of revelry, they walked in silence until they reached the entrance to Mireille’s suite. “Do you think she’ll?—”
Alder held a finger to her lips, and it immediately recalled when she’d done the same to him, and the kiss that followed. She had to bite down a curse at her foolish heart, picking up pace in her chest. He did not care about her. He needed her only to trap the queen.
He said, “I vowed to protect you. You are safe.”
She stared up at him, aware they were standing far closer than was necessary. None of it was real; it was only a pretense, a show for the queen. “Of course.”
His brow furrowed at her curt reply, but she stepped back, slipping into her room and closing the door behind her.
Despite asking Thomas to trust in her judgement, she hadn’t been certain he would give way easily until she found the room empty.
Suddenly, Alder’s plan seemed like a terrible idea.
She glanced at the closed door. Safe , the prince had said.
As safe as she could be, under the circumstances.
Midnight would come, and perhaps she would visit the tree.
Perhaps she would once again know her father and their people were safe as well.
Or perhaps the queen would come to call instead.
Removing the formal gown, she wrapped herself not only in a nightshift, but a thick silk dressing gown, then crawled into bed. The land and its law and the prince’s vow might protect her in the waking world, but the safety of dreams was not as faithful. Heaviness fell over her.
Mireille walked barefoot down a corridor she recognized, only it was not quite the same as it had been before.
The walls seemed to breathe with the pulse of magic and the silver embroidery of her black gown shone unnaturally bright in the moonlight that streaked the stone floor.
It was a dream, not the mindless midnight wandering she’d done under the queen’s power.
But Alder was nowhere in sight. And weren’t they supposed to be laying a trap for the queen? She could not quite remember.
Her feet continued forward despite her concern, compelled to bring her to the familiar door at the end of the hallway. Unlike the other wanderings, Mireille was entirely aware of the fear gripping her heart, and yet, she pushed open the heavy door.
The hourglass that centered the room seemed brighter than before, and there, in the dream, Mireille understood it was a curse clock, counting down until the terms would end.
Less sand rested at the top than when she’d last seen it, and as she watched, another grain fell.
It glowed, ethereal in the shadowed room, like a shell dropped through water, sunlight catching on its nacre.
The fall of sand had sped. The prince was running out of time.
“Perhaps I should have made you my spy.”
The queen’s voice was playful, but it turned Mireille’s blood to ice.
Maeve stepped from the shadows, still wearing the crimson gown.
Foxglove and lilac clung to the scent of her magic, as if trying to hide the power that pricked Mireille’s skin.
Maeve said, “You already know this room, else you would not have found the way.” Her gaze turned speculative.
“But Alder would not have shown it to you.”
“You cursed him.” Mireille’s voice revealed no hint of tremor, though her body felt sick with fear. It was true, she could feel it. The queen’s magic was everywhere, but it centered on the clock.
Maeve tilted her head, one corner of her wide mouth tipping up.
“No.” Then she leaned forward. “Let me tell you a story, Princess, like they do in Westrende. Once upon a time, a handsome prince of the fae was trapped in a curse he did not create. The land was broken, his father was dead, and the prince was desperate. Tragic, really. Suffering all around. You know the way. But one day, a beautiful queen appeared with an offer. And that poor prince, well he had nothing left to lose, so he gambled it all. Twice the cost of the curse for a slim nothing chance to break it.”
The queen straightened. “You humans love to believe that the noble-born are noble of character, but the fae never do. You see, pet, he was not cursed by me. He accepted my bargain of his own free will.”
Her gaze traveled over Mireille. “For a time, he held out hope that he would beat me, but he has obviously grown desperate with this—” she waved her hand disdainfully in Mireille’s direction, “charade.”
Mireille swallowed hard, at both the explanation and the accusation. She knew well enough why the queen had come for her. It was not simply to win Norcliffe. “There is no charade. We will wed, and he will win.”
“Oh truly? You expect me to believe that he has fallen in love with you, and you him?” She snorted.
“Absurd. You come all the way from Norcliffe, show up on his steps like a lost pup, innocent and meek, and he’s supposed to fall for your ruse?
” Her voice dipped dangerously. “He will never love you.”
Mireille’s palms broke into sweat and she did not know if the sensation was real or conjured by the queen. She only knew that both Alder and the queen had mentioned love, as if it were a term of their bargain.
Two bindings, a curse and a bargain. Two requirements to break them.
Maeve grinned at Mireille’s shifting expression.
“I see he has not told you the full truth. And yet, you trusted him, fool that you are. You would not be the first to fall for it, I assure you. The prince does have a certain,” she rolled her hand again in that dismissive gesture, “ charm , but I had thought you cleverer than that. Cleverer than the others.” She edged closer, and Mireille had to fight her every instinct in order to remain still.
It was only a dream. Maeve wasn’t controlling her. She could not be harmed, not there.
Maeve whispered, “But I can offer you a way out.”
Mireille gritted her teeth. “I do not wish to escape. I have made my choice.”
“Princess, there is no choice.” Maeve lifted her hands as she approached the curse clock. “Your wish is to save your kingdom, and I am the only one who can grant it.”
Mireille’s hands curled into fists. “You are the very danger it faces.”
Maeve shot her a self-satisfied grin. “Precisely. And so, if you would like to save your kingdom, you will do exactly as I say.” She stroked the hourglass, expression gone dark.
“You will let Alder believe you are his accomplice until the last moment, but you will keep your distance, treat him as coldly as a viper, for that is what he is to you. You will tell not a soul of your plans. And when time is nearly up, when he believes he has won and outwitted us both, you will forsake him. When the moon is high, all of Rivenwilde gathered round, triumph will finally be mine.”
When it was too late for Alder to find someone new. But Mireille understood there was no one else. Only she was left as a threat to the queen.
And the prince’s time would be out. The price of breaking Mireille’s bargain with the prince was her cooperation.
If she turned against him, chose her kingdom over defeating the queen, it would be to spend eternity in Rivenwilde.
Not as Alder’s wife, but his prisoner. But the safety of Norcliffe would rely solely on the promises of a treacherous queen.
Maeve lifted a finely arched brow. “I see that you are concerned. If your fear is in regard to your bargain to marry the prince, do not fret. Once Rivenwilde is mine, I can set you free. You would not remain a prisoner of the prince for long. And I will never bother Norcliffe again. You would have my word.”
Mireille’s heart pounded in her ears. Surely, the queen meant that she would merely be her prisoner instead.
And if she refused, well Maeve had proven what she wanted for Mireille.
It was of no consequence how: a dagger, a fall, at the hands of her guard.
Alder had wanted the queen near to win the protection provided by the laws of hospitality, and perhaps that was all that was preventing Maeve from ending Mireille right then.
With Alder’s plan, Mireille was walking a dangerous line, balanced on the edge of a blade. Now the blade itself offered a promise. She stood tall. “I will make my choice on the altar.”
“And what choice will that be? The false promises of a broken prince, doomed to lose all, or the vow of a clever queen who only grows in power?” Her magic swelled through the room. “It is not often I make such a generous offer to one such as you. I assure you, it will be the last.”
“I would be a fool not to take it.”
Maeve’s grin was full of teeth. “I see we understand each other.”