“The king is dead. Long live King Liam!”
The cries echoed over the courtyard and through the Great Hall the next evening. Inhabitants from the surrounding properties and the village had been arriving since the release of the news, earlier in the day. Now, they crowded the courtyard, all facing King Fionnghall’s tower.
Cinnabar watched the royal family as they stood at the top of the tower. Liam, the new king. Princess Katrina and Lord Calum. Princess Iseabal. Where was Sly?
As she wondered, King Liam turned and spoke to someone out of sight. Sly appeared and strode to the king’s side.
He didn’t remember her.
Not a scrap of recognition had flitted over his face when they’d met by the lakeside.
Princess Iseabal had won.
Sly hovered in the doorway, reluctant to draw attention. Calum winged a glare in his direction. It was obvious the man objected to his presence. Liam had explained that once Sly and Princess Iseabal married, he would hold more power than Calum, and if anything happened to Liam, he and Princess Iseabal would rule Seelie.
Until their marriage took place, Calum stood above Sly in ranking.
Sly’s mouth pulled firm, revulsion filling him. Politics. Power. Not for him. He’d prefer to spend time on the land. Animals didn’t care about society and their proper place. He shifted his focus to Princess Iseabal. Her mood drifted like a dark cloud about to unleash a storm. Every muscle in her body quivered with angry tension, and she replied in clipped syllables whenever anyone spoke to her.
She was pissed because the reading of the final banns would not occur on schedule. The period of mourning—four weeks of official grieving and respect—trumped wedding procedures.
A sense of relief filled him, along with confusion. He spent every afternoon with Princess Iseabal, every evening. Sometimes they went dancing. Some evenings they attended private parties. Yet, he and the princess didn’t appear compatible. Their relationship seemed more about appearances. Without thinking he’d called her by name yesterday, omitting her title, and she’d thrown a wobbly fit, ordering him to address her as Princess Iseabal. She insisted on formalities, unlike Liam, her older brother. Hell, now the king.
Then, he’d kissed her good night—a fiancé should be able to kiss his lady—but she hadn’t enjoyed that either. Nor had he. It had been like embracing a wooden statue. No, he didn’t understand the woman he was to marry and welcomed the delay in their nuptials.
Liam held up his hand and waited for the crowd to quiet. “It is with deep regret that I announce the passing of my father, King Fionnghall. The funeral will take place in four cycles.” He paused, his chest rising and falling before he continued. “I, my sisters and brother-in-law, wish to thank you for your attendance today, for your condolences and messages of sympathy. We invite you to attend the funeral wake to pay your last respects. The wake will take place on the cycle before the funeral. I… Thank you,” Liam said. “Announcements of the program will be posted in the courtyard this eve.” Liam dipped his head, then retreated into the tower.
The rest of the family followed. Sly too, but he kept to the background. Princess Iseabal didn’t require his presence and Lord Calum hated his inclusion.
He’d slip away. With that in mind, he edged to the door, intending to escape to his favorite spot by the lake.
“Where are you going?” Princess Iseabal demanded as he reached the door.
“I thought to leave the family alone,” Sly murmured.
“At least he admits he isn’t part of the family,” Lord Calum remarked to his wife.
Sly didn’t hear her reply, but the truth—he rattled around like a spare player on the reserve bench. He scowled because he had no idea where that thought came from or what it meant. His mind was a foreign entity. Strange and peculiar. And when he pictured a woman at his side, he didn’t think of Princess Iseabal. He pictured red hair and sad blue eyes, feathers…
“I need fresh air,” Sly added. “My head is aching and I thought a walk might help.”
Princess Iseabal’s expression softened. “I’ll make you a potion.”
“I have a headache, too,” Liam said. “Come, Sly. Let us walk in the gardens.”
“But we have friends coming. Relations. They expect you to greet them,” Princess Katrina objected.
“I will,” Liam said. “But meantime, Sly and I will walk. We’ll return in time to greet our guests.”
Liam gestured at Sly, and they left the salon together.
“Sly.” Liam’s mouth relaxed, quivered in a tiny show of amusement before firming again. It was as if he’d momentarily forgotten of his father’s death and had returned to the teasing prince.
“What is it?” He caught a flash of black behind him. “Aw, crap. They’ve given me a tail.”
“And whiskers,” Liam confirmed.
Sly fingered his face, felt the stiff catlike whiskers. “Lord Calum, most likely. He takes immense pleasure in his pranks. Can you magic them away, please?”
Liam muttered a few words, and the whiskers disappeared.
Sly glanced over his shoulder in time to witness the tail evaporate.
“I had to get one of the servants to magic them away earlier. Every time I attend parties with Iseabal, I develop strange appendages or get weird spots on my face or hands. My clothes change color and my eating utensils drop to the ground without my help. Yesterday, my entire meal turned to blue bugs. No one wants me here.”
“No talking,” Liam barked.
Sly fell silent, anger squeezing his chest tight. He didn’t fit at the castle, so why did the princess insist on marriage?
Liam led them down a path Sly hadn’t explored yet. With nothing better to do, he followed the new king. King-in-waiting. It wouldn’t be official until after King Fionnghall’s funeral, when they’d hold the coronation. He recalled Lord Calum’s nasal explanation to his questions.
“Don’t you know anything?” Lord Calum had demanded. “Where did Iseabal find you? Under a mushroom?”
If Sly stuck up for himself, he ended up with clawed feet, tails or cloven hands. Then there were the subtle rashes in all the colors of the rainbow, the attacks of insects and birds. So he’d folded his arms and bitten his tongue, just as he was doing now.
“The old king is given a sendoff to Utopia before he is buried. The new king is addressed by the title, but nothing is official until the coronation, where he is bestowed with the crown and the ceremonial orb, the seat of the king’s power.”
Sly had taken the peaceful option. “Thank you for explaining.”
Lord Calum had sneered—as usual—and minced away to whisper with his wife.
No, Sly didn’t belong in Seelie.
The path widened and wound through a tangle of trees, their many branches reaching out like grasping fingers. Liam paused, waiting for Sly to reach his side.
“Sorry I was short before. I didn’t want anyone to overhear our discussion.”
“I see.”
“I thought that was my line,” Liam said with a conspiratorial smile.
“A figure of speech. Nothing makes sense to me. I have huge gaps in my memory. I don’t like your sister, but I seem to be marrying her, anyway. Only the servants speak to me in the castle.”
“I speak to you.”
“Mostly when we’re away from the castle,” Sly said.
Liam nodded.
“Your friends, your relations dislike me—no, that is too strong a word. They hold me in contempt and treat me as a nuisance. They enjoy making me the butt of their jokes and snigger behind their soft hands and perfect manicures about my lack of powers. And then there’s your sister. Princess Iseabal treats me like a hard-won possession, but now that she’s won me, she’s lost interest. It was the chase that excited her.”
A bird flew into the trees and perched above their heads. The owl. The bird followed him everywhere.
Liam observed the owl. “Go on.”
“She acted as if I had cooties when I tried to kiss her good night in front of Princess Katrina and Lord Calum. I mean, if we’re getting married, shouldn’t we have some sort of affection between us? If I suggested making love, I’m sure she’d give me warts.”
“The royal princesses are expected to remain chaste until they are wed,” Liam explained. “If anyone can prove improper behavior, the princess can lose her place in the royal line.”
“Your chain of command is confusing. The way I understand it, should anything happen to you, Princess Katrina and Lord Calum are next in line, followed by Princess Iseabal.”
“That is correct, but once you wed my sister, she’ll become next in line to me because she has a husband and the ability to have a royal heir.”
Sly made a scoffing sound deep in his throat. “I’m a possession. A means to an end.”
“I like you, Sly. I enjoy your company.”
“I’m not marrying you,” Sly said.
Liam barked out a laugh. “That wouldn’t work. One of us needs to bear a child to secure the line.”
“You can have the kid,” Sly said instantly. “I don’t mind.”
They reached the lake. A different viewpoint from Sly’s favored evening spot. An old log formed the perfect seat, and they sat, studying choppy waves that tumbled onto the stony shore.
“The wind has come up,” Sly said. “Does it ever rain here?”
“When the winter king visits.”
“Ah, I’ve heard him mentioned. Tell me more. Who exactly is the winter king?”
“Calvin. My cousin. He rules over Unseelie. I am—or will be—the summer king. I visit his lands and take over his castle while he comes here to Seelie. Our moves bring on the changes of seasons. It’s a symbiotic relationship and brings prosperity to both kingdoms.”
The owl flew from the tree it had claimed as a temporary roost and settled on the far end of the fallen log with them.
“I’ve seen that owl with Iseabal,” Liam said without warning.
“Oh?” Sly regarded the bird, its russet-red feathers and big blue eyes. “A spy?”
The owl hooted as if in protest.
“I’ve watched her feed it micelets.”
The owl hooted again, and this time managed to sound distasteful.
“Have you eaten today?” Liam asked.
“I wasn’t hungry.”
Liam waved his hand, and bread and cheese appeared in front of them, along with a bottle of something. “Eat with me now.”
“Liam,” Sly whispered. He touched Liam’s arm to draw his attention and pointed.
The white stag had appeared on the opposite bank of the lake. The creature lifted its heavy head and stared at them for an instant before taking a drink. Thirst slaked, it watched them for a moment longer before ambling into the forest.
“That doesn’t bode well.” Liam ripped off a hunk of bread and handed it to Sly.
“Do you wish to return to the castle?”
“Not right now.”
The owl hooted and took to wing. It darted away into the trees.
“Is that owl a spy?” Sly asked. “Is that possible?”
“Anything is possible in Seelie. You’ve developed a case of green spots on your face,” Liam said in a mild voice.
“At least it’s not stinging bugs or pecking birds. Princess Iseabal doesn’t seem to care if her friends pick on me. I’m confused. I still don’t recall our first meeting. I know nothing of my life before. Did I hatch from an egg and start life here in Seelie?”
“I want to do an experiment. Try not to eat or drink anything in the castle.”
“I have to eat,” Sly said.
“I’ll provide food for you. If you’re forced to dine, only eat what I eat or drink what I do. If you must leave your plate or cup at any time, don’t eat or drink from them on your return.”
“You think someone is drugging me? Why? I don’t understand.” He rubbed his forehead to smooth away a stab of pain. “Wait, could it be another suitor trying to get rid of me? Could Princess Iseabal wed someone from the court of the winter king?”
“There are men from the winter court who have shown interest. She rejected their suits.” Liam chewed on his bread and cheese, drank from the bottle before handing it to Sly. “Remember, eat or drink nothing unless I have consumed it or given you the food.”
Sly frowned. “Someone else told me that.”
“An unscientific test to see if your mind clears.”
“Can’t you use your magic?” Sly asked.
“This is more than a practical joke. Memory loss is difficult, tangled. My help, however admirable my intentions, might worsen the problem because I have no knowledge of the subtleties. It’s possible someone is giving you a drug rather than applying magic.”
“Why are you helping? You don’t know me. My history.”
“You’re a decent man. You treat the servants well. The men at the stables and on my farms like you. You listen, ask questions and give suggestions. You don’t talk down to them. You can tell a lot about a man from how he treats his servants, and you have reminded me of this. My cousin, the winter king, rules with a firm hand, yet he is fair and he listens before he acts. That is the way I wish to rule.”
“Is your cousin the same age as you?”
“Yes, his father… Don’t mention or discuss this with anyone, because it will cause trouble. His father was a despot. A tyrant. My cousin fought to take over as king, and my father helped him. Having the two kings together for too long causes chaos with our weather, but by the time the summer storms had died down, my cousin had the throne.”
“I have much to learn. Are there books to study about your history?”
“You read?”
“You sound surprised. I read, but whether I can understand the written language here…” He shrugged.
“Not many of our people bother learning. Our history is passed between the generations in oral form, so it’s not necessary, but we do have scribes. If you have the ability to read, I can magic a pair of glasses to make sense of our language. Where were you educated?”
“I…” Pain darted through Sly’s head as he fought past the blocks in his brain.
“Stop,” Liam ordered. “Don’t worry about the answer. It’s not important.”
A muffled grunt came from the bushes. A squeal.
“Wild boar,” Liam whispered. “We should go. They’re vicious creatures, and we don’t wish to come across any when our weapons are back at the castle.”
“Weapons?”
“We hunt them with bow and arrows. ’Tis excellent sport. We’ll go for a hunt. Fresh pork for the wake. Our visitors will enjoy the entertainment.”
Sly followed Liam, retracing their steps to the castle. At least a wild boar hunt would alleviate his boredom and get him out of the way of his tormentors.
Cinnabar flew back to the castle the instant the two men reminded her of her spy status. The viewing of the white stag worried her. She’d thought—hoped—the death ended with the king. Another sighting meant more death, more suffering.
The men’s discussion. She’d heard enough for her anxiety to rise. Prince Liam knew or suspected his sister had bespelled Sly.
Pride. Stupid pride. Princess Iseabal despised rejection, and the moment Sly had turned away from her to favor those blue women had been the moment he’d sealed his fate.
Princess Iseabal bore a mean streak. She’d never experience guilt for her actions. Sly was a means to an end. She’d play by the most important rules until she wed and bore a child. Once she had her precious child and had cemented her position, Sly’s life would mean nothing.
He would die. Disappear.
Her eyes stung and her vision filmed. A sharp squawk escaped her. Feeling sorry for herself wouldn’t help.
Sly was lost to her now. Always had been. The princess would never lift the spell and free her. She knew this and accepted her fate.
She flew to her normal perch near the princess’s chamber. Hardly had she settled when the window flew open and the princess stuck out her head.
“What took you so long?”
Alarm skittered through Cinnabar, and she froze, wishing she could flee the coming tirade.
“I don’t understand why Liam has taken such an interest in him. He is nothing. Nobody. The man has no magic. He is a tool. My tool.”
Princess Iseabal’s words emerged in staccato, along with spittle. The fine spray struck Cinnabar’s feathers, but she quashed the urge to groom her plumage.
Masculine laughter filtered up from the gardens. “They’re back. I thought they might be gone longer. At least that is something. I want a report of their discussion. Write it for me this eve and leave it in the usual place. I want you to pay close attention to our visitors. If anyone discusses Sly, add that to your report. Understood?”
Cinnabar hooted and departed, thankful to leave. The princess’s temper, always volatile, seemed worse today. Cinnabar glided over the gardens until she knew she was out of sight and settled on the branch of an old tree with a broad, leafy canopy. What should she do? She thought about this for a brief second. Now that she’d started her duplicity, she had no option but to continue walking the delicate line of deceit. The princess would receive her reports, but Cinnabar intended to censor them, as she had since Sly’s arrival in Seelie.
She’d protect both herself and Sly.
Safe for now.