The next morning
A ring-a-ling, followed by a scratch at the door dragged Sly from a heavy sleep. Groaning, he pushed to an upright position and focused blearily, blinking twice before his vision cleared “Yes?”
Alfric entered, carrying a tray bearing a white mug and a jug of hot chocolate. His thick black brows resembled a caterpillar as they squeezed together, a stark contrast with his sparse gray hair. “Your morning beverage, my lord.”
“Thank you, Alfric.” Sly forced his attention from the fluffy brows, yawned, and tensed as Cinnabar’s warning stabbed his sluggish thoughts. “Just set it there, and I’ll drink it in a moment.”
“Should I prepare your garments for today? The princess indicated she would meet you in the royal salon once she completes her magic study.”
“Yes, please.” Sly figured the man would have a better idea of what he should wear. “Will the rest of the family be present?”
“Yes, my lord.” Alfric strutted across the chamber and opened the wardrobe. It was filled with a variety of colorful clothes. Bold reds and greens and yellows and blues. Alfric’s fingers ran across the different items of apparel. Finally, he pulled out an emerald-green suit, of a style like the one Sly had worn yesterday.
Sly grimaced. At least he’d blend with the plants in the garden when he went exploring.
“Do you require help to dress?”
“No, thank you. You get on with your chores, Alfric. I am quite capable of dressing myself. When should I arrive in the royal salon?”
“As soon as you are dressed, my lord.”
Nodding, Sly climbed from bed and stretched.
Alfric’s eyes bulged, his brows arching to give the caterpillar a curl. “My lord! Where is your nightshirt?”
A prude. This servant, or whatever his job description, was a prude. “Sorry,” Sly said, and reached for the robe Alfric hurriedly plucked from his wardrobe. He thrust his arms into the sleeves and belted the garment around his waist.
He walked over to the hovering tray and poured steaming hot chocolate into the pristine white mug. When he noticed Alfric watching him, he paused. “Was there something else?”
“Ah, no.”
Sly narrowed his eyes even as he fought to keep his expression pleasantly neutral. Again, Cinnabar’s words flooded his mind. Take care with what you eat.
Sly picked up his mug and lifted it to his mouth, but didn’t take a sip.
Was that relief? Yes, Alfric knew something. He might as well have a banner floating above his head. That was the face of a guilty man, which made Sly wonder exactly what other duties the princess ordered Alfric to undertake.
Sly set his mug back down on the tray without taking a sip. “Perhaps I’ll shower first.”
When Alfric pulled a face in protest, Sly unbelted his robe and let it drop to the floor. He hid a smirk as Alfric took one horrified glance and backed away.
“You are correct,” Alfric said. “I have tasks to complete.”
Once Alfric left, Sly picked up his mug and took a pretend sip. If the princess had Alfric spying on him, she might have other methods of keeping watch. He wandered into his en suite. Darkness greeted him. He was about to order lights on when inspiration hit. He let rip with a curse. “Fuck! That was my toe.” He tipped his mug and let the contents pour onto the floor.
“I do not recognize that command,” a feminine voice said.
Sly grinned. “Lights on.”
Instantly, illumination showed him the puddle of hot chocolate.
He stepped closer to the red-tiled wall and the part he thought was a shower. “Water on.”
Freezing water bombarded his chest. “Crap! Warm water. Warm water!” he ordered. At least the hot chocolate problem was taken care of. He scanned for soap, but saw nothing obvious. “Soap.”
The texture of the water pouring over his head and body changed and bubbled as it hit his skin. Wow, if it wasn’t for the aching gap in his memories, he’d enjoy this experience. As he washed his hair, he pondered the best way to arm himself with information. Not Princess Iseabal. That’s for sure. He’d gained the impression of a self-centered woman who used others to get what she wanted, and he didn’t think he’d spent much time with her before yesterday.
He thought back to the last thing he remembered. Waking in this room. But prior to that? An ache speared his temples, a jagged pain that told him whatever the princess had done to him came with vicious side-effects. She didn’t intend him to resume his regular life.
“Rinse,” he ordered. “Warm rinse.”
Cinnabar flitted into his mind. Cursed to remain an owl. What kind of life was that for such a beautiful and kind woman? He liked her. A lot. A satisfied grin formed as another memory surfaced. Cinnabar in his arms.
He did not want the princess, despite her beauty and prestige.
It was the mussed Cinnabar he craved, with her stained white gown and bare feet.
Aware of time passing, Sly issued commands to halt the water and entered the drying tube. He dressed in the hideous green suit, although the looking glass told him it matched his eyes. Scarlett would say they popped.
He stilled. Turned over the name in his mind.
Nope. Nothing. Who the fuck was Scarlett?
* * * * *
Irritation and impatience simmered through Princess Iseabal as she waited for Sly Mitchell to arrive. She shouldn’t have rushed her abduction, but those blue ladies had attracted his attention. She’d needed to act immediately. She peered at the doorway. Although tempted to summon Sly with magic or to send a servant, she bided her time and confined herself to crumpling a piece of bread.
“Not hungry, child?” her father asked.
“I ate a roll and fruit earlier in my chamber,” she said. “You seem better today, Father.”
“My head has ceased aching. Where is that young man of yours?” His haggard expression dug deeper into his lined face as if he suspected a problem.
“I’m sure he’ll be here soon.” Iseabal strove for calm. It wouldn’t do for Calum or Katrina to witness her agitation.
“I’m beginning to think this man of yours is a mirage,” Liam said.
She bared her teeth at him and forced herself not to check the entrance to the royal salon again. Sly had better arrive soon, or she’d have words with Alfric. And perhaps a love potion to boost her spell. Something to back up the drug in his morning drink.
Just when her anxiety was about to force her from her seat, Sly appeared with a servant. He said something in a low voice and grinned. Every ounce of tension vibrating inside her dispersed. Ah, his smile. It lit her day, made her think of triumph.
Sly sauntered toward their family group and bowed his head to her father. “Good morning, King Fionnghall.” He turned to her. “Princess Iseabal.”
“I was about to send out a search party for you.”
He rolled his eyes. “I’m still learning my way around the castle. A search party would’ve proved helpful. Somehow, I ended up in the kitchens and one of the girls volunteered to show me the way here. I think I’ve memorized the route now and shouldn’t suffer further problems.”
“Really,” Calum muttered in an aside to Katrina. “I don’t know where your sister found this bumpkin but she should send him back.”
Fury had Iseabal curling her hands into fists, although she made certain they remained hidden beneath the tablecloth. Sly Mitchell would make a perfect husband. He was handsome. He was strong. And most important of all, she controlled him. The last thing she needed was a bossy husband with aspirations to become the next ruler.
“Sly, this is my brother, Prince Liam.”
Sly smiled in a pleased-to-meet-you way and held out his right hand.
Oh, no. Iseabal’s breath caught in alarm. She should have explained more about the protocol at the castle. No contact unless invited first. Her cheeks heated as she caught bits and pieces of Calum and Katrina’s whispering.
Liam rose from his chair and panic unfurled in Iseabal. Liam possessed the ability to injure Sly with a blink of his eye, his power on par with her own—if he practiced more.
But her brother shocked her. He grinned and clasped his hand with Sly’s.
Iseabal puffed out her relief—and almost laughed aloud at the abrupt break in Calum’s jeering whispers.
“I’m pleased to meet you,” Sly said. “I understand you’ve been away from Seelie to trade wool.”
“Yes. A necessary chore, but one I enjoy,” Liam said. “Come and sit by me.”
“I’d love to hear more about your wool. I understand it makes beautiful garments,” Sly said.
“Who told you that?” Iseabal demanded.
Silence fell, and she became the center of attention. Shoodlepoppers. Too pushy. Too strident. She’d give away her game plan if she wasn’t careful, but she must regulate Sly’s activities. She must control him at this stage.
“I noticed the servants have beautiful fabric in their garments. When Judith guided me to the salon, she told me about Seelie’s main export. She and the other servants are very proud of Seelie’s success. Your wool brings in money, which makes everyone’s lives better.”
She’d overreacted and drawn attention.
Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
If she didn’t ease off, her plan would fail.
“I’d enjoy learning more of your farming methods,” Sly said.
Curiosity glowed in Liam. “Are you interested in farming?”
The instant the question registered, Sly frowned, and Iseabal’s stomach churned with foreboding. She’d never had this problem before. Sly was strong, his mind, his will. A challenge.
“Yes.” Sly blinked rapidly. “I like to learn about different methods.”
“You can come with me after we’ve broken our fast,” Liam said, and approval shimmered in his invitation.
Iseabal popped a piece of roll in her mouth and chewed. This might not be a disaster after all. Liam’s opinion held sway with the castle residents. If he approved of Sly, then the people would accept her marriage.
Yes, this might aid her plan. Soon she’d marry Sly, and her power base would grow, and in the meantime, she’d do everything within her scope to ensure Sly’s history remained deeply hidden.
Soon, his past would begin and end at this castle.
Castle Seelie.