Chapter 5
A Riddle
The redheaded teenager and the glamoured man are nowhere to be found. A burning curiosity has me searching for another fifteen minutes, to see where they ran off to, but finally my delusion clears and I can think sensibly again.
I secure the bolts of fabrics and Mavick’s gift to Storm and am pulling myself up into the saddle when it registers. The lack of a familiar, uncomely jingle. The pouch full of gold coins, decidedly less full after today’s shopping spree, is missing.
“Of fucking course,” I sigh to no one but Storm.
Sniped by the teenage girl who crashed into me, I suspect. Or worse, by the pretty fae man who distracted me with his dazzling smile and helping hand. Either way, it was likely they needed the coins more than I did. If it’s the one thing to go wrong on this near perfect day, I’ll take it.
And better than having been beaten senseless for them, I guess.
I spur Storm into a run, as I’m eager to visit Mavick.
Not only to give them their gift, but to ask them about a seemingly mortal man in Aston using glamours.
I never considered the idea of Sanctuarians living among mortals.
In retrospect, the thought is so incredibly ignorant, so laughable—but Mavick never talked about it.
And I never asked because, well... it’s evident I don’t get out much.
I arrive home without further issue and steer Storm toward the stables. The kind groom helps me dismount, asking, “Good day in Aston?”
“The best,” I reply. Other than the fact that I was robbed blind, but still much better than the last time. I give Storm another parting pat on the nose and bid goodnight to the groom.
At the front gate, a sweet guard offers to carry everything to my chambers for me, and I allow it. However, I decline his offer to escort me back there. The sun hangs lazily in the sky as dusk creeps in and now unburdened, I wish to see the grounds on my way inside.
There’s a bounce in my step as I walk the path toward the gardens.
Truthfully, I’m proud of myself. I arrived back at the castle before sundown.
I purchased what I said I would—besides Mavick’s gift, of course.
And I stayed out of trouble—other than losing a few coins to someone who needed them more…
charity. Perhaps I am more responsible. Perhaps I have matured.
But then I remember that I technically committed treason, and risked poisoning my father, the King, to visit Aston for a rather humdrum quest. Perhaps I’ve not grown at all.
As I stroll, my mind drifts to the glamoured young man yet again.
Was he with the teenage girl? Perhaps she was the distraction, and he was the thief?
Or perhaps he was chasing her to catch the thief?
Surely, I would have noticed if his hand slipped beneath my cloak.
Perhaps not with that light touch of his.
.. But the girl crashed into me—it’s as feasible that that’s when she sniped it.
Or maybe it was someone else entirely! Why does it even matter?
He’s Sanctuarian. I think of Mavick. What did this stranger really look like?
Goat legs? Ram’s horns? Blue, scaly skin?
With a pang of baseless wistfulness, I realize I will never know.
A sound pulls me from my thoughts. A rustling comes from the hedges near the chrysanthemums. Dusk settles and my eyes are slow to adjust. I move toward the bushes to discover what kind of animal munches on what were once Mother’s favorite flowers. Then—
The unmistakable trill of a lady’s giggle.
I recognize that laugh. I take another step around the hedge expecting to find Alma.
However, I am not expecting to find Alma so completely tangled in a shadowed man’s embrace.
One of his hands is buried deep in her blonde hair, while the other wicked one sits low on her hip.
I can only ascertain the back of her head in the fading light, but it is clear their lips are locked.
I cough. Loudly.
They break apart and, to my horror, I recognize the man as he pulls away from my lady-in-waiting to gape at me.
Edwin. He’s no longer dressed in his guard’s garb, as though he was given the night off.
My body bristles at the sight of him, my face growing hot.
Angry tears threaten to overflow without warning, and I bite the inside of my cheek to hold them back.
I shared with Alma how good of a kisser Edwin was. Perhaps she wished to find out for herself.
My lady-in-waiting bows so low to me, her nose almost touches the ground. Edwin runs a hand through his stupid hair, wearing a dumbfounded expression, but he at least has the decency to look me in the eyes. He doesn’t seem to know what to do with his hands now that they are not fondling Alma.
“Your Highness.” Alma speaks to the grass. “I did not realize you would be out in the gardens.”
Obviously.
“We were just enjoying a sunset—a sunset stroll, a… uh…” Edwin trails off. It’s quite unusual to find him at a loss for words. Under any other circumstance, I may find it amusing.
But now I cannot speak, as I clench my teeth together so hard they may crack.
“King Tobias changed his mind about Aston, that—that’s great! I wasn’t sure when you would return,” Alma breathes, still bent low in a strange half-curtsy, half-bow, staring at my boots.
Say something. Anything. It is work to unclench my jaw.
“Rise, Alma. Forget I interrupted,” I say, hoping my voice sounds more casual than I feel. “Carry on.”
Without another word from either of them, I turn tail and sprint toward the castle doors.
Very casual indeed.
It’s not that I still care for Edwin. Fuck him, his sugared words, and his hollow head.
It’s Alma I care for. And it’s Alma who has betrayed me.
I gossiped to her about every little detail of what transpired between Edwin and me as it happened.
I cried to her when I let him get too close.
When I let him do things to me that no one ever had.
When I realized what I felt was simple lust, a rebellion at best, and not love.
She knows everything that is wrong with him and is still unable to resist necking with him in the gardens.
Mortal friendship is a capricious thing, Mavick once rhymed, but befriend a fae, and they’ll never sting.
It’s clear now—we are not friends.
By the time I return to my quarters, I’ve calmed down enough.
I don’t want to cry about Edwin and Alma here alone in my bedroom and, despite the new knot in my stomach, I can’t wait to tell Mavick about my first day of freedom.
And I fear the impending confrontation of when Alma comes to call on me, as she inevitably will.
As promised, the guard delivered the wrapped gift and fabric bolts to my quarters.
I take out the tea set, examine it for any damage considering the tumble it took in the market, and decide to wrap it in some pretty, blue silk I also purchased.
Mavick adores shiny cloth and will undoubtedly love this one.
With no Edwin around, it’s easier than usual to leave my quarters.
The strange tapestry’s corridor is deserted, as always.
I stare up at the scene in the Sanctuarian bazaar and wonder what it might be like to not be a mortal princess.
To be free. With all the time in the world.
I’m sure Mavick has responsibilities, perhaps a job even, but they’ve never told me about it.
A peculiar realization strikes me—there has never once been a time where I plopped through their passageway and they weren’t home.
What do they even do to fill their days?
Time is untrustworthy in Sanctuary, yes, but I wonder how long Mavick has known me in their timeline.
It’s likely I’m a hiccup in their life, while they have been a constant for more than half of mine.
It’s a strange, painful thought to consider. Wondering if you are as valuable to someone as they are to you. I can’t help but think of Alma again. I was the one who mistook her duty for friendship.
Maybe it’s not betrayal I feel, but envy.
Thanks to my title, I don’t get to experience much at all—true friendship, freedom, relationships.
What’s it like? To kiss whoever you want, whenever you want?
To make genuine friends? I didn’t even much like Edwin at first, but he was there.
And I was as bored as I was curious. I should have never allowed a guard to seduce me in the first place.
Not that I care much for stations. But it’s obvious our relationship was born of convenience.
He was the only man around allowed to get close enough to me.
With a pang of bitterness, it dawns on me.
What probably fueled Edwin’s desire to pursue me, considering we have nothing in common.
He conquered something unconquerable. He touched the untouchable.
The Princess. No doubt a thrilling, fun thing to brag about among friends.
I’m so fucking naive. Edwin and I may have used each other for different reasons, but we had used each other all the same.
I blink in surprise, taking in the passageway before me, barely remembering entering the tunnel in the first place.
The familiar glow ripples, consoling me.
I can’t see myself in it, but I can’t see past it either.
It’s comforting, somehow, despite feeling like I’m peeking into a boundless void.
Maybe it’s because my one true friend, who will never lie to me, awaits just beyond.
The floating sensation lasts for less than a second before my feet land on Mavick’s cozy rug.
A fire burns in the corner like always, and I smell pluckroot tea brewing in the kitchen.
I scan the living area for Mavick. With my lesser mortal vision, it’s not uncommon for them to blend in.
The light pink hue of their skin often rivals the dull light of the room as it mixes with the shimmer of flames from the fireplace. I peer around—
Odd. The crooked table that sits between our armchairs has been knocked over, and a glint of gold catches my eye.
“Mavick?” I call out, an inexplicable dread rising in my gut.
After over a dozen years of friendship, did I at long last stop in when they’re out?
I drop the wrapped gift into my usual chair and step closer to the toppled table.
This gold mess, I now realize, is everywhere.
Splattered on Mavick’s chair and shelves beyond.
Pooling on the vibrant carpet below. I kneel to touch it with my finger.
It’s a sticky liquid. Thick and warm. My breath catches.
Mavick’s voice rings in my head—a vivid memory of slicing my hand here once.
They wrapped it with a cloth and rambled: Red, rusty mess.
Horrible color. Mortal blood is awful—I bleed gold.
I bleed gold.
Blood. It’s faerie blood. Something is wrong.
I stumble to my feet and dart for the kitchen.
The cupboards and shelves are even more haphazard than usual, as if someone rummaged through them in a hurry.
Is this what it looked like after Mavick found the elixir for me?
Was I so distracted with my pursuits that I didn’t even notice how disarranged the room had become?
The cupboards’ contents litter the floor and I slip on various glass vials and papers, ludicrously waving my arms in a panicked effort to stay upright.
Or… has someone else been here?
I sense it before I see it. Slowly, I turn.
A door stands in the blank wall space I spotted on my earlier visit—the one I swore was glamoured. It would be unassuming, except for the scroll of paper pinned to it by the tip of a shiny, red-hilted dagger. I approach with caution, fighting to steady my ragged breathing with little success.
In silky black ink, the paper reads:
Are you brave enough to loosen the chains?
Are you strong enough to forgive blame?
Are you wise enough to request aid?
Are you kind enough to offer a trade?
If you’re looking for your lost friend
You’ll have to start where it all began
Because every bargain has a price
Because every deal requires sacrifice