The castle, Seelie, a week later
Sly dressed in a flash suit—the silver and ruby-red garment given to him by Alfric, as per Princess Iseabal’s instructions. He stared at his reflection and snorted. He looked like a friggin’ girl with all the lace and frills.
“Here is your hat, my lord,” Alfric said.
“Do I have to wear that?” Sly turned the silver three-pointed hat in his hands. It sported a perky red feather. “Ah, what is it?”
“A tricorne, my lord. It is part of the traditional dress worn during a banns reading.”
He pushed out a sigh, fought back the dozens of smart-arse comments tickling his tongue and plopped the tricorne on his head. Transformation complete.
“You’re running late, my lord,” Alfric intoned.
“I’m going now.” Sly strode from his room and headed toward the Great Hall. Evidently, the chapel was in a room off the hall. His footsteps slowed despite his tardiness. He should recall offering marriage to Princess Iseabal. A life event like that should stick with a man.
Once he reached the Great Hall, a steady stream of people pointed him in the right direction. The chapel. Princess Iseabal waited by the entrance, a dark glower on her golden face. Wisely, Sly blurted an apology before she started to speak. “Sorry I’m late.”
“This is the first reading of the banns,” Princess Iseabal whispered in a fierce undertone. She wore a red gown with silver trim, which made them a matching pair. “You are making me look stupid. The priest is ready.”
He was having trouble breathing. Sly surreptitiously tugged at his collar as he offered the princess his arm. He guided her into the chapel.
“We sit at the front,” the princess said.
Sly ignored the flurry of whispers and guided the princess to an empty pew at the front. Lord Calum, Princess Katrina and Prince Liam were already seated. Sly settled Iseabal and slid onto the pew beside her.
A woman wearing a red robe, her hair covered by a hood, glided to the front of the chapel. She raised her hands in prayer and began a melodic chant. The rest of the congregation joined in. Sly kept his gaze down and remained silent. He expected the woman would stop after a while, but the chanting continued. He didn’t comprehend a word. Peculiar, since he understood everyone as a rule. The incantation went on and on and on. Sly yawned, then grunted at the elbow in his ribs from Princess Iseabal.
Sly swallowed a disgruntled retort. He didn’t want to be here, didn’t understand how he’d found himself betrothed.
The vocalizing ended on an exuberant hum. Finally.
Sly straightened as silence fell.
“Now for my final duty for today. It is with honor that I publish the banns of marriage between Princess Iseabal MacAsgain and Lord Sly Mitchell. This is the first time of asking. If any of you know any reason in law why they may not marry each other, you are to declare it. We pray for Princess Iseabal and Lord Sly as they prepare for their wedding.”
No one uttered a word.
Sly swallowed, everything in him protesting. An objection. Do it.
But his protest remained unspoken.
“Thank you,” the priest said. “I will see you next holy day.”
Princess Iseabal turned to him with a beatific smile, her golden beauty dazzling in that moment. Her face glittered with happiness, with triumph, while Sly struggled with the how and the why. He forced a smile, tried to project pleasure and excitement, but a heavy weight crushed the unwilling emotions flat.
This betrothal business trapped him, beat him down, snapped around him like a steel trap, and he felt as if he should try to gnaw his way free, but he had no idea of where to start.
The next day
Another interminable event with Princess Iseabal and her friends. This afternoon it was a tea party out in the gardens and singing. Sly scowled at the woman currently trilling vocals. The sort of singing that built raging headaches. Liam had left Seelie to attend a sale. Sly had wanted to go, but Princess Iseabal had created a fuss. Such a fuss, he’d agreed to stay and attend her stupid party. Huh. Screaming tantrum, more like. That boded well for future harmony.
The diva came to the end of her song, holding the last shriek for an excruciatingly long time. She bowed and Sly applauded, glad, so glad, she’d finished.
No one else clapped.
Heads turned. Several of the ladies, young and interchangeable in his mind, giggled behind their hands.
“Barbarian,” Lord Calum said, and flicked his wrist in Sly’s direction.
Energy tugged and pulled, lifting the hair at the back of his neck. Big, fluffy gloves puffed onto Sly’s hands, muting his appreciation. The titters grew louder. Sly snorted and slipped off the lilac gloves. He stuffed them under his chair.
“I beg your pardon,” he said. “I assumed everyone would show appreciation of the singer.” He rose, conscious of the sniggering expressions of Iseabal’s friends. Excuse me. Princess Iseabal’s friends.
“Where are you going?” Princess Iseabal demanded.
“I require fresh air,” Sly said, backing up.
“But we’re outside.”
Yeah. Fresh air. “I will return soon.”
Another step backward sent him into a collision. He froze as drinks and tiny cakes flew in all directions and dropped to the ground. Ping. Ping. Ping. Crash.
A feminine grunt sounded behind him.
Sly whirled to view the carnage. The maidservant sat on the ground. Her tray—upside down—glittered from the garden. The rainbow-colored cakes had splattered gowns and velvet suits, pristine tablecloths. Silver goblets had disgorged their contents, mostly on Lord Calum.
“You imbecile!” Lord Calum sprang to his feet, fury contorting his golden face.
“It was an accident—” Sly said, breaking off when he realized the direction of the lord’s fury. It wasn’t at him.
Lord Calum’s hand flashed, and black spots broke out on the servant’s face. “Clean up this mess. By hand,” he spat. “No magic.” He tugged his wet jacket away from his torso. “My clothes are ruined.”
Someone behind Sly snickered, and Lord Calum’s face turned puce. The servant swallowed, panic stripping the color from her features, the black spots standing out in stark relief.
Sly offered her a hand to help her up, but before she rose, Lord Calum kicked her in the ribs. The girl—and she was a young girl—cried out in pain.
Some of Princess Iseabal’s friends laughed.
Lord Calum kicked her again.
“Enough!” Sly roared and shoved the man away. “It was an accident. My fault. Not hers.”
“You touched me!” Lord Calum gritted out.
“Duh,” Sly muttered.
Lord Calum’s blue eyes narrowed, then flashed red. His nostrils flared and he lifted his hand, muttering a few words Sly didn’t catch.
Pop. Pop. Pop.
Sly’s cheeks stung. His chin. His jaw. He touched a sore spot. It felt shiny and raised.
Ah, spots. How old were these people? Ten? He ignored the laughs and chortles from the bystanders and helped the maid to stand. “Are you all right?”
She winced but nodded quickly.
“I’m sorry I caused you trouble. Let me help you.”
“I-I can do it, Lord Sly.”
Sly ignored her and bent to gather the tray from the garden. He placed it on the ground and scooped up empty goblets and cakes. Pink cakes. Red cakes. Purple cakes. Ugh. Who the heck ate purple cakes?
“Stop,” Lord Calum ordered. “She dropped them. She can clear the mess.”
“Sly, let the maid do it.” Princess Iseabal clicked her fingers. “More singing.”
The chatter rose in volume, whispers behind hands. Sly ignored the gossip to continue plucking cakes off the ground. He dumped a handful on the tray. A pained cry had him straightening.
“Stop that, you bully.” He shoved Lord Calum away again, removing Lord Calum’s foot from the maid’s hand. The moron had stood on it on purpose, and now the girl cradled her hand against her stomach.
“Don’t interfere,” Lord Calum snapped. “It’s my right to discipline the servants.” He zapped the maid with another burst of magic and she grew a set of cat’s whiskers.
Sly gaped at the girl. Tears poured down her face as she awkwardly collected the last of the goblets. Princess Iseabal and her friends had lost interest and were chattering and making rude comments about the new singer. He spied another cake and had to consciously relax his hand to pick it up.
“Let her do it,” Lord Calum snarled.
Sly stood to his full height and turned slowly to face Lord Calum. “Cretin, you’re abusing your power. It’s not right.”
Lord Calum twitched his fingers, muttered something, and suddenly Sly had his own set of cat’s whiskers.
Anger exploded in Sly, a fury so great, it cried for release.
Sly led with his fist and struck the lord’s nose dead center. His second quick punch made a satisfying crunch, and blood splattered both him and the bully lord.
Lord Calum hit the ground and curled up with a pitiful whimper.
The caterwauling from the singer ceased. Silence fell, and everyone stared at Sly with varying expressions of pity and glee.
Disgust curdled his stomach. He had to get out of there. Sly commandeered the tray from the maidservant. “I’ll carry this for you.”
“Sly, where are you going?” the princess asked in a frosty tone.
“Away from here!” Sly snapped.
“He hit me,” Lord Calum whined.
Sly rolled his eyes and walked off, herding the maidservant away from the selfish and entitled lords and ladies of the court.
Without warning, a flock of scarlet birds dive-bombed them.
“Bloody prats,” Sly muttered and urged the maidservant to hustle. With his free arm, he protected his face and head as best he could. Cupcakes dropped to the ground and the birds scooped them up like treasures. He flung a handful away and most of the birds left to feast, but one or two determined attackers pecked his hands and chin before retreating.
Sly strode into the steamy kitchen. “Where do you want these?”
“Lord Sly.” The head cook was a tall, hefty man with a paunch that declared his love of food. “What happened?”
“It was an accident,” Sly said. “I was clumsy and backed into your maid. She dropped her tray. Lord Calum took exception and blamed her. Well, you can see what he did. The idiot kicked her and set birds on us.”
“Let me magic away your spots and whiskers,” the head cook said. “Maud, get some cloths to cleanse their wounds.”
“Thanks,” Sly said. “The cloths are welcome, but leave my spots. Fix your maid’s face and check her injuries. Let her work in the kitchen for the rest of the day to stay out of Lord Calum’s way.”
The head cook nodded. “Thank you for helping her.”
“You shouldn’t—” Sly broke off as his legs moved without orders from his brain. “What the fuck?”
“A spell.” The head cook scowled. “Don’t fight or you’ll cause yourself pain.”
Grimly, Sly let his legs direct him back to the party, to the empty seat beside Princess Iseabal.
If she thought to rule him with magic, she should think again. He was his own man and would behave as he thought fit.
Fuming, Sly ignored Iseabal, ignored the singer, ignored the smart-arse comments sent in his direction. He sat in his chair, not reacting until the weight of a stare prodded him. Slowly, he turned to meet Lord Calum’s red gaze.
If looks could kill…
Later that eve, Sly studied his reflection while dressing for dinner. Black spots and a set of white whiskers. Huh. He’d set a new fashion trend. Alfric had set out a red suit for him to wear to the evening meal in the Great Hall. Red. He was not a red kinda guy.
Sly stalked over to the wall and waved his hand to open the wardrobe. Some sort of sensor thingy. He froze. What the hell?
Red.
Every single item of apparel.
“Well, I might wear a red suit to dinner.”
He dressed in the suit Alfric had left for him and strolled from his room. Late. Too bad. Rather than spend time with the princess and her self-centered friends, he’d prefer to skip dinner and walk in the gardens and hang out by the lake with Cinnabar. He dawdled along passages, startling a laugh from two female servants he met.
“Lord Sly.” A buxom maid with golden hair to match her skin blinked at him. “You have whiskers.”
Sly fingered his cat whiskers. Strange, but they didn’t seem as weird as they should. “I didn’t have time to shave,” he said.
“We heard of your troubles. Thank you for standing up for Leeza,” the other maid, a chubby brunette, whispered. “Would you like us to magic them away?”
“You can do that?”
“Those of us with magic can undo basic spells. It doesn’t deplete much power.”
“I think I will leave them.” Let Iseabal and her friends snigger. He loathed the way they treated the servants. Someone needed to take a stand on their behalf. “They’re dashing with my red suit.”
The chubby maid tittered. “No one will miss you.”
Sly bent in a bow. “Have a good evening.”
A few minutes later, he walked past two security guards and into the crowded Great Hall. Silence fell as he strode toward Liam and the only empty seat. Heat sizzled through him without warning, and a quick glance showed his red suit had acquired a series of back spots to match his face.
Liam grinned as Sly took a seat beside him at the high table. “Who have you angered? I’ll magic them away for you.”
“No, I wish to make a point,” Sly said, and nodded at the young lady on his other side before turning his attention back to Liam. “Lord Calum was picking on a servant this afternoon. She tripped and spilled a tray of drinks on him because I collided with her by mistake. I’m tired of the people around the ‘court’.” He paused to do air quotes. “And the way they bully and treat the servants. It’s not right.”
Liam straightened, lost the grin. He waved his hand and a transparent bubble covered him and Sly, cutting off the chatter from the rest of the Great Hall. “What happened?”
“He gave the servant spots and ordered her to clean up the mess by hand instead of using magic. He took exception to me helping her, and we both ended up with spots on our faces. I hit him. Popped him in the nose. For that, a flock of birds dive-bombed me. The cook and several servants have offered to fix me, but I declined. Explain this magic system to me. I don’t get it.”
“Ah, do you mind if I change the color of your suit? It’s hurting my eyes.”
Sly snorted. “Every piece of clothing in my wardrobe is this color.”
“You’ve made yourself an enemy. Lord Calum holds a grudge.”
Sly shrugged. “If he’s picking on me, the servants might get a break.”
“Is it really that unpleasant?” Liam scowled. “I hadn’t realized. I should have, since with Father ill, I am in charge.” He flicked his hand, and Sly experienced a faint vibration as his clothing turned from red to black. “Most residents can perform basic magic, and those from wealthy families tend to study the subject from an early age, which gives them a greater ability. Basically, our magic is performed by tapping into the energy—the ley lines—beneath Seelie.”
“Can’t the servants retaliate or work together to stop the bullying?”
“No. They can undo trivial things—the spots on your face, your whiskers. They can use magic to shift heavy loads, to clean. Simple one-action chores. A complex spell, such as decorating an entire chamber or making a meal of many ingredients, requires greater skill. Anytime one uses magic, it depletes our power. It’s the way we use the ley lines, and only time replenishes our magical ability. That’s why you’ll see more pranks than serious stuff.”
Sly thought of Cinnabar. “What about a curse? Or causing a death?”
“My father or I possess ample power. Maybe my sisters. Some of the high lords.”
“What about undoing a complex spell? Can you do that?”
“That is where things get tricky. Each spell is individual to the person doing the casting. Undoing another’s magical spell is difficult. Mostly impossible. And a complex spell can leave the spell caster vulnerable. Once again, that will vary and depend on the spell caster’s skill level.”
“Boredom is a terrible thing,” Sly commented.
Liam’s eyes narrowed. He resembled Princess Iseabal in that instant, and every muscle in Sly tensed for flight. “Are you telling me I need to mend my house?”
“I’m telling you vulnerable people are getting hurt and ridiculed because others are selfish and entitled. Not naming names. Just letting you know. Many of your servants spend their working hours terrified of making a mistake.”
Liam lost his royal hauteur. “Thank you for telling me. I must think about this.”
“Speak with your royal guards. They do their best to help, but interference dumps them in the firing line.”
Liam nodded, offered a wry grin. He murmured a few soft words and the transparent bubble vanished. The noise level rose to the normal Great Hall din.
“What were you discussing?” Princess Iseabal demanded.
“Farming matters,” Liam said. “I wished for privacy.”
“I saved you a seat,” Princess Iseabal said.
Not true. The only empty seat at the high table had been next to Liam.
Princess Iseabal clicked her fingers at him. “Come. Your place is at my side.” She stalked back to the other end of the high table.
“She treats me like a pet,” Sly muttered. And even more telling, she hadn’t made one comment about his appearance. The spots. The whiskers. The clothes that had turned red again. Frustrated with his position, Sly stood and ambled over to the empty seat beside the princess.
He was no man’s dog. Princess’s dog. Whatever.
He was his own person, his own boss, and somehow, he’d teach the princess this truth.
* * * * *
The days passed and fell into routine. The banns were read a second time, and it felt as if a trap was closing over his head. He spent his mornings with the family, breaking his fast, part of the day with Liam, and the rest with Princess Iseabal and her friends. The latter the most challenging part of his day. His late evenings he spent with Cinnabar, talking and making love.
Someone scratched at his door an instant before it opened and Alfric shambled inside, following a floating tray bearing his hot chocolate.
Sly yanked back the covers and slid out of bed, naked as usual. Grinning, he sauntered over to the tray and poured half a cup of hot chocolate while Alfric averted his eyes. Sly’s preference for sleeping naked bothered his elderly valet.
Sly pretended to take a sip. “Ahhh,” he said. “The first sip always tastes perfect. I’ll take the rest of my cup in the bathing room.”
Alfric gave a nod, yet stared at his feet. “Shall I choose a suit for you?”
“I’m going out riding with Liam. We’re checking the kashmore at the west farm.”
Alfric tut-tutted. “Very well, my lord. I’ll place an appropriate suit out for you.”
“If you wouldn’t mind, pick one for me to wear upon my return, too, Alfric. Not red, if possible.”
“Of course, my lord. Will there be anything else?”
“No, I’ll dress myself. You go ahead with your duties.” One of which, according to Cinnabar, was to report to Princess Iseabal.
“Thank you, my lord.”
Sly took a moment to top up his cup before wandering into the bathing room. He set the cup on the counter and turned on the water. He’d dispose of the contents as soon as Alfric left.
About half an hour later, Sly strode toward the royal salon.
“Good morning,” he said to a maid who was dusting the china and sculptures in the alcoves along the passage.
She jerked up her head, stared at him then offered a shy smile. “Good morn, my lord.”
He continued to the salon, whistling a tune. He had no idea what it was or where it came from, but the melody cheered him.
“Hello,” he said to the two security men on the door.
“Good morn, my lord,” the senior one said.
“Have the family arrived?”
“Just Prince Liam,” he replied.
“Thanks,” Sly said and continued with his whistling. “Hey, Liam. How’s it hangin’?”
Liam blinked double time, the back of his throat visible, so big was his goggle.
“You’re inviting bugs to explore the interior of your mouth,” Sly said, smirking.
Liam offered a nonplussed grin, rather than his dignified king one. “It’s…ah…hangin’.”
“Good to hear. I can’t wait to get into the fresh air.” Sly fingered his lips and winced. The salve Alfric had given him seemed to have helped ease his cracked lips. Maybe an allergy of some type? He had the ointment in his pocket and decided to apply more after his breakfast.
A footman pulled out a seat for him.
“Thank you,” Sly said.
The young man dipped in a polite bow but didn’t quite hide his merriment. “Would you like your normal cup of tay?”
“Yes, please,” Sly said. Tay was similar to tea, although the color varied from day to day. He hadn’t worked out why, but it did the job and cleared the cobwebs from his mind.
The footman left to get his tay and Sly reached for the dish of eggs. He dumped three spoonsful onto his plate, then added four slices of the pink meat that reminded him of bacon.
“Everyone likes you,” Prince Liam said. “You have a knack with people. The castle seems lighter with you around.”
“Polite manners never hurt.” Sly shoveled a forkful of eggs into his mouth and chewed. “Ma drummed that into us from the moment we talked.”
“Ma sounds like a wise woman,” Liam said.
“Yeah, I miss her. I even miss Saber.”
“Who is Saber?”
Sly paused, considered his answer and waited for his memory to cloud over. “Saber is my brother,” he said slowly. “My oldest brother.”
Iseabal paused at the doorway, alarm skittering through her. How the shoodlepoppers had this happened? Alfric had reported Sly was drinking his morning chocolate. Somehow, he’d become immune to the spell. A servant marched down the hall with purposeful strides.
“Who is that for?”
“Lord Sly,” the footman answered, keeping his gaze lowered.
Something else she didn’t understand. Everyone at the castle thought well of Sly, even her sister Katrina. The only person who disliked him was Calum, and that was because, come their marriage, Sly would stand between Calum and power. Oh, and the fact Sly had punched him. That hadn’t helped.
“I’ll take that for you.” She growled when the servant hesitated. “I said I’d take that for you. Hurry or you won’t like the consequences.”
The cup and saucer and pot of steaming liquid—probably tay, since Sly seemed to favor it—rattled as he handed over the tray.
“Go,” she ordered.
The boy hesitated again, then almost ran toward the kitchen.
Iseabal set the tray on hover, opened the lid of the pot, and pulled a small bottle from her pocket. The one she’d intended to give to Alfric to replenish his supply. She tipped three crystals onto her palm, frowned and added one more. She dropped them into the pot and used the teaspoon to stir the liquid. That should do the trick. Just her luck to pick a man with a strong mind.
The head footman appeared. “Princess Iseabal. Let me take the tray. The boy should never have given it to you.”
She handed over the hover tray as if it were a distasteful creature intent on biting. “No, I don’t know what that was about.”
“I will discipline him,” the head footman said. “And confine him to the kitchen.”
Iseabal nodded and sailed into the salon.
Sly spotted her and rose. “Good morning, Princess Iseabal.” He seated her before taking his place again.
“Liam, are you dragging off Sly again this morn?”
“I’m hardly dragging him off, Iseabal,” Liam said in an even tone.
“I don’t understand why you both enjoy scrambling around in the mud. It’s undignified.”
“Let me remind you, Iseabal, that the farming operation gives our people work and opportunities. It gives them purpose.”
Iseabal flapped her hand in dismissal. She’d heard this lecture before. Why toil when magic did everything? What was the point?
The head footman placed the pot of tay in front of Sly.
“Thank you,” Sly said, ignoring the bickering between her and Liam in favor of his meal.
Iseabal frowned. He didn’t need to thank everyone. It was their job to serve the royal family. “I—” She started to chastise him, then saw Liam’s watchful manner. Perhaps she’d do it later, once she and Sly were alone.
The head footman settled the cup and saucer beside Sly.
“Don’t worry about pouring,” Sly said. “I can do it.”
“It’s his job,” Iseabal snapped.
“I wish to eat first.”
Of course he did. Obstinate male. She’d break him of that after the marriage ceremony. One final banns to read before they announced the date of their wedding.
Iseabal indicated she wanted fruit and the head footman hustled to carry out his duties. As it should be. Once she received her fruit, she nibbled at it, her belly roiling. Sly didn’t touch his tay.
Impatience simmered in her and anger built. No one made a fool of her. No one.
“Something wrong, Iseabal?” Liam regarded her over the brim of his mug. The hot chocolate steamed.
“No.”
“You appear upset.”
“Leave me alone,” she snapped.
“Liam, stop teasing Princess Iseabal,” Sly said. “What are we doing this eve, Princess Iseabal?” He picked up the tay pot and poured the berry-colored liquid into his cup.
She held her breath, watching him closely, only letting her breath ease out again when he took a sip.
Ah, that should do the trick.
* * * * *
Middlemarch Resort
Joe stared at Sly’s still body. He didn’t understand it. Project Sleeping Beauty had been working. Sly’s appearance had improved, his skin temperature warmer—until half an hour ago. He placed his hand against Sly’s chest and the cold wrung a hiss from him.
The weirdest thing. Sly wasn’t losing muscle mass. They’d discussed intravenous feeding again, but Casey said he didn’t require the sustenance. Ma had concurred. But this renewed coldness…that concerned him.
The physical contact with the women had helped. Each day they had to send away disappointed guests since they limited numbers to fifty.
Joe reached for the medicated salve Ma had made for chapped lips. He placed one hand on Sly’s arm while he gently rubbed the salve on Sly’s mouth. Perhaps he’d arrange a morning session and pray the extra contact halted the chill spreading through his brother.
With a last pat of Sly’s arm, he left Sleeping Beauty’s boudoir, locked the door and went in search of Saber.
His stomach roiled with each step, his mind a mass of knots and fatigue. They had to fix Sly, make him regain consciousness. They had to.
* * * * *
Castle Seelie
Sly headed for the stables with Liam, his thoughts sluggish and dull.
“Tell me about your brother,” Liam said.
Sly frowned, his mind struggling with the question. “What brother?”
“Saber,” Liam said.
Sly stopped. “Who is Saber?”
Liam’s brow wrinkled. “Ah, I’m beginning to understand.”
“About what?” Saber? He didn’t have a brother. Did he? He considered the idea and flipped the thought through his mind. Sluggish fog. No, he didn’t have a family. “I don’t have a family.”
Liam shrugged and led the way into the stable yard. “Let’s go riding.”
“Hey, Brigitte,” Sly said, rubbing his mount on her shaggy neck. He knew everyone in the royal family. Iseabal, his fiancée. Her twin sister and her horrid husband. The names of some of the staff. A brother. No, he didn’t have one. He’d remember if he had a brother, parents.
“There is that owl again,” Liam said. “It follows us everywhere.”
“It has pretty eyes,” Sly said, and sprang onto Brigitte without the aid of a stable boy. “I like it. I enjoy working with animals of all types.”
“You have a talent with them,” Liam agreed, and he led the way from the stable yard. The owl followed, swooping through the air and riding the currents.
“The job today won’t take long. I thought to show you some of the land. There is another lake, not quite as big as the one near the castle but still pretty,” Liam said.
“Sounds fun.”
As Liam had promised, they spoke with the various farmers and studied their herds of kashmore. One of the farmers offered them refreshments, and they drank mugs of hot orange-colored tay and ate crackers and cheese.
“The cheese is delicious, sharp and flavorful,” Sly said as he reached for a second cracker. “Who makes it?”
“My wife,” the farmer said. “She hates to waste the excess milk.”
“Do you sell it?” Sly asked.
“No, we mostly give it away,” the farmer replied.
“It is tasty,” Liam said.
“You should try making it on a larger scale. Sell some to the folks outside of Seelie,” Sly said. “Diversification is the key to farming.” The words formed in his mind seconds before he spoke them, yet when he tested the thoughts, they seemed foreign. He had no idea where they’d originated.
Liam gave a thoughtful nod. “Sly’s idea has merit. Let me think about it and do some research. I’ll come back to you and your wife soon. Will that be all right?”
“Yes, of course.” The farmer was pink-cheeked and flustered.
But Sly noticed he stood taller, pride shining from his blue eyes.
Liam stood and Sly followed his lead. “Thanks to your wife, Jonas. And yourself of course. I’ll be in touch.”
Minutes later they were away, riding swiftly across an open paddock. A screech sounded from their right, and Sly scanned the sky for the source of the raucous call.
“A hawk,” Liam said. “Ferocious birds. I hope that pet owl of yours is safe.”
Sly scrutinized the sky again, this time with a trace of panic. The owl barreled toward him, flying at full speed, but the hawk had her in his sights. Without thought, Sly stuck out his arm.
The owl landed with a heavy thump, hard enough to unseat him. His cambeest shied, and Sly clung with his thighs while he struggled to retain his balance. The hawk released another raucous shriek and flew over in a second pass, but the owl was safe.
“I told you that owl is following you. Not me,” Liam said.
Sly ran his finger over the owl’s head. The bird quivered beneath his touch, leaned into the next stroke. The hawk continued to circle overhead. Sly moved his arm. “Onto the pommel,” he directed, although why he spoke to the owl, he had no idea.
“I get it,” Liam said, and humor lurked in him, his dimples digging into his cheeks. “You think of the owl as a pet.”
Sly ignored his friend…because the prince had become his friend. He liked spending time with Liam, more than Princess Iseabal, which told him a lot. But he’d promised to marry her.
Sly frowned. No, he’d asked Princess Iseabal to marry him. Not that he recalled the moment.
And he should. Shouldn’t he?
“Why are you frowning so hard?”
“When did I propose to Princess Iseabal?”
Liam’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t recall?”
Sly sifted through his memory. Holes. They were everywhere, and he made little sense of the few recollections he discovered. “No.”
“What do you remember?”
“Meeting your family. Everything we’ve done. The places I’ve visited with both you and Princess Iseabal.”
“Nothing earlier?”
“No.”
“I see.”
“You said that before.” Sly stared at Liam, his scowl deepening until he felt his forehead crinkle. “What, damn it?”
“The lake,” Liam said with a flash of a grin, yet it didn’t reach his eyes. His bright blue eyes remained serious, and Sly felt as if he’d missed something momentous. “Race you there.”
Liam leaned over his cambeest, galloping furiously away, his yell of encouragement for his mount floating after him.
“Hold on,” Sly said to the owl, and he urged his mount after the prince. He arrived at the edge of the turquoise lake a full two minutes after the prince, the owl flying in tight formation at his side. He pulled up beside Liam and dismounted on the rocky shoreline. The owl sought refuge in the nearest tree. By habit, he stooped to pick up a pebble. He tossed the pink stone into the calm surface and followed up with a white one. A gentle plop cut through the rattle of the reeds and the faint twitter of unseen birds
Small bright blue insects flitted over the surface and a pale pink bird waded from the reeds on the far side of the lake. Sly inhaled the crisp air and released the tension from his muscles.
An animal—pure white, with an impressive set of antlers—slipped from the undergrowth and delicately picked its way to the water.
Liam hissed. “A white stag. That means death.”
“A superstition?”
“No,” Liam said. “We must return to the castle. Now.”
Sly jumped onto the back of his mount. “I saw one not long after I arrived at Castle Seelie.”
Liam flinched. “Where? You never said anything.”
“At the lake near the castle. I saw it late at night. Just the once.”
“I’ve never seen one myself, but every time someone reports seeing a white stag, someone important dies,” Liam said in a grim voice. “Someone is pleading me to return home. Can’t tell who.”
A lone rider intercepted them when they were halfway back to the castle. “It’s the king,” he gasped. “Princess Katrina sent me to find you. The king is failing.”
“Hi-ya!” Liam urged his cambeest to greater speed, and Sly followed.
When they reached the stable yard, Sly slid off his mount. “Go,” he said. “I’ll take care of your cambeest.”
Liam hesitated, since he liked to groom his mount and settle him after their rides. He said it relaxed him.
“Go. I will take care of things here.”
Liam gave him a one-armed embrace. “Thank you. Meet me at Father’s salon once you’re done.”
Sly nodded and led both cambeests toward the stables, uneasiness stalking him like a savage predator. This wasn’t good.
He took his time, wanting to do a respectable job, so it was over an hour later when he entered the castle by the rear entrance. A weighty silence hung over the inhabitants, the servants scurrying past with their eyes downcast.
Sly started to go to the king’s salon, then wrinkled his nose. On second thought, he changed his direction. He’d shower and change first before he presented himself. Yeah. Princess Iseabal would approve of a clean suit. One of the suits she’d picked for him.
He burst into his chamber, interrupting Alfric as he went through his chores.
“Did you need something, my lord?” Alfric asked.
“Just here to clean up. Has there been any more news about the king?” He frowned, knowing this was skirting close to gossiping with staff, but how else could he learn the news?
“No,” Alfric said. “From what I hear, nothing has changed.”
Sly nodded, although he wasn’t sure what that meant.
Clean and dressed in a fresh suit, Sly headed to the king’s salon. He nodded at the two security guards stationed outside the chamber before he rapped on the door. It flew open almost instantly.
“We told you no interruptions— Oh, it’s you. Why are you here?” Calum demanded. “It’s family only.”
“Liam told me—”
“Are you deaf? Family only.” Calum shut the door in his face.
Sly stared at the heavy wood door, shook his head slightly before stepping back. “If Prince Liam asks for me, tell him I stopped by, but Calum refused me entry.”
“Yes, my lord,” one of the men said.
“Tell him I said sorry but didn’t want to make a scene.”
“Yes, my lord.”
Sly retreated and decided to get something to eat from the kitchen then head down to the lake. Something about the castle oppressed him, and he was happier away from the place.
Maybe things would improve once he and Princess Iseabal married.
* * * * *
Later that evening
The instant Cinnabar experienced the tingles foretelling her shift to human form, she flew to the ground and waited.
Sly already stood on the lakeshore, his restless pacing taking him across the pebbles and back.
As usual, the process disorientated her, and she wobbled before she regained her balance. Her gaze went straight to Sly.
He hadn’t noticed her, and concern made her steps slow. “Sly?”
He turned. “Ah, hi. Is Princess Iseabal asking for me?”
She stared, her throat tight. She swallowed to force out a reply. “Sly, it’s me. Cinnabar.”
“Cinnabar?” He offered a polite smile, as one would to a stranger. “Have we met before?”
Everything inside Cinnabar froze. He didn’t recognize her. Just her, she wondered, or had he lost every memory?
“Do you remember your family?”
A furrow formed between his brows. His jaw clenched, and he rubbed his temple. “I don’t… Princess Iseabal’s family?” His confusion cleared. “There is Prince Liam, Princess Katrina and Lord Calum. The king, of course.”
Cinnabar wanted to cry at the injustice. The princess had either shored up her spell or created a new one to deepen her hold on Sly. “Have you met Princess Iseabal’s friends?”
He sent her an odd look, as if he wondered at her impertinence. “Yes, of course. I am finally matching names with faces.”
“What about the servants?”
“Why are you asking me these questions?” he demanded.
“Please, I don’t wish to anger you. One more question. “Have you visited the island of Ione? It’s not far from the Tiraq mainland.”
His forehead puckered, and he shook his head. “No, I don’t believe so.”
“Thank you. I’ll leave you in peace now.” Cinnabar forced herself to leave, forced herself to silence, forced her anger down when she wanted to rail and shout and stomp her frustration. Somehow, Princess Iseabal had managed to make sure that Sly recalled nothing of his life prior to his arrival in Seelie. He didn’t remember his home. He didn’t remember his family. And he didn’t remember her because they had met for the first time at the resort.
Princess Iseabal’s spell had made them strangers again, and Cinnabar had no idea of how to fix this wicked tangle. She needed to think, and…
Before her brain could overrule her heart, she stomped back to Sly. “My name is Cinnabar, and we are secret friends. I’m sorry you don’t remember me, but please heed this warning. Take care what you eat and drink. Watch the prince. Eat what he eats. Drink only what he drinks. I believe this might help your headaches—”
“How do you know my head is aching?”
“You are rubbing your temples.”
“Oh.” His hand fell to his side.
When he said nothing else, Cinnabar turned and walked away. Maybe, if she put her mind to the problem, she’d think of another way to help Sly. She’d done what she could tonight.