Lara
Ever may be an otherworldly faery prince, but he’s no different from the guys back home who run away the moment things get real, terrified of getting close to someone. Or feeling something.
It’s the day after he flew out of his bedroom as though his leather pants were on fire, and things at Talamh Cúig are back to pre-Samhain normal—normal for a city full of magical beings, that is. Fae prance through the castle’s endless hallways and chambers, the cooks toil in the kitchen, I’m in the garden with Magret, and Prince Ever is nowhere to be seen.
The jerk.
Fat raindrops fall from swollen purple clouds hovering above the vegetable garden, and I stand and wipe them from my face as I watch Lord Gavrin, one of the queen’s advisers, stride toward Magret who’s directing gardeners at the edge of the orchard. They chat a moment before she points in my direction, and then in a flurry of purple robes, the lord takes off at a trot, heading straight for me.
“Good afternoon, Lara,” he says when he arrives, violet eyes serious.
“Lord Gavrin.” I dip a curtsy.
“Leave your work and come with me. You are no longer required in the gardens.”
“What?” Now that Ever has satisfied his curiosity and actually slept with a human, he’s probably going to lock me up in the dungeons forever. “Why can’t I garden?”
“Prince Everend’s orders. You are to move to the guest wing of the castle and be at your leisure.”
Wiping dirt from my tunic, I scramble to follow Gavrin’s bouncing white plait as he exits the gardens and treads through the bustling city. “Is this just for today?” I ask when I catch up.
“No. From now on, you are to be treated as a guest of the kingdom.”
I skid to a halt in front of a cloth stall, knocking a roll of buttercup-yellow silk onto the ground. Apologizing to the stall owner, a handsome young man with a large set of ram’s horns curling from his forehead, I set the material back among a pile of colorful bolts on the table. Lord Gavrin squints his disapproval while tapping his pointed boot against the paving stones.
“You must be Lara,” says the ram guy, flashing his pointed teeth in a wide smile. “I am Magret’s brother. My name is Alorus, and I’m pleased to meet you at last.”
“Hello! Great to meet you, too. Please tell Magret I’m sorry about—” Before I can finish my sentence, Gavrin wrenches me away, then marches me through the streets and inside the castle.
In silence, we climb staircases, then enter the guest wing situated on the same level as the royal chambers, passing grand door after door before stopping at the end of the hallway. “Here we are,” says Gavrin. “Your new quarters.”
I can’t help but notice it’s about another galaxy away from Ever’s rooms, which figures. He’s definitely trying to send me a message, a mixed one at that. He doesn’t want me to work in the garden or live with the servants, but he also doesn’t want me anywhere near him. Right. Got it.
“You still haven’t told me why I can’t garden anymore.”
“It’s not my place to question the prince’s instructions. If you believe it is your duty to do so, please feel free to interrogate him accordingly.”
Damn right I will—as soon as I’ve checked out my new digs. A tall guard is stationed in front of a beautifully carved door, his features stern and impassive. His slate-blue hand reaches out and pushes it open.
“Thank you,” I tell him as I step over the threshold. “You can leave now.”
Lord Gavrin huffs, and the guard stares straight ahead.
This time, I inject a touch of arrogance into my tone. “You’re dismissed. Please go now.”
“You will remain at your station,” Lord Gavrin barks, and pushes me into the room. Then, with a clang and a clank of metal, he shuts me inside on my own.
I whip around and test the latch. It’s not locked. That’s good. I swivel back and see three enormous rooms connected by stone archways, tangled vines with faces peeping through leaves and flowers carved into the tall columns.
Okay. Wow. This is awesome.
As I walk through silvery light toward the Moorish-style windows of the parlor and sit in the deep, cushioned sill, I realize that instead of exiling me to the farthest, dingiest part of the castle, Ever’s given me an apartment fit for royalty.
Through the prince’s windows at the front of the castle, he has a view of gushing waterfalls and distant mountains, but I look over the forest and beyond to the ruins of the Black Castle and the sparkling Emerald Sea. It’s breathtaking.
A lick of excitement tingles my skin. I could read a whole library’s worth of books sitting here in this burnt-orange window seat. Like a pet who’s landed in a good home, if I were treated well while hanging out here, it wouldn’t be such a bad life at all. Except I’d never see Isla and Aunt Clare again.
“My lady,” says a voice out of nowhere.
My head jerks up. A woman stands through the archway before the canopied bed, holding out a long red-and-green colored gown. She curtsies. “My name is Orlinda. I am your attendant. Humans might call me a lady’s maid.”
“Hello.” I curtsy, and she bites a smile back. “Do you know if Prince Everend is home today, Orlinda?”
“No, my lady, he has joined a hunting party with several lords and ladies and will return before dark.”
“I need to speak to him. Will you take a note to his rooms so he’ll see it when he returns?”
“Yes, of course.” She smiles. “But first, I have new clothes to show you.”
“Oh, forget them,” I say, my gaze landing on a desk that sits in front of another set of massive windows, writing material strewn over it. Perfect.
After laying the dress on the bed, Orlinda hovers nearby looking like a dimpled medieval maid, young and fresh-faced. She watches me scribble with a metal-tipped pen on a smooth piece of bark paper.
When I finish, I hold out the note—a demand for an audience with the Prince of Air—the sharp smell of magic tingling my nose as she takes it. “Thank you,” I say.
She curtsies and walks toward the door. I wait until her elegant hand touches the gold latch. “Orlinda, are you wearing a glamor by any chance?”
Her face goes blank. “Yes, my lady.”
“Remove it, and please call me Lara.”
Her body wavers like a heat mirage, then sharpening, unveils her true appearance—that of a lean, muscular fighter. A long blonde braid falls over black armor, weapons strapped and slung from unthinkable places. She covers her smile with the same slate-colored hand as the guard’s out front of my door. She’s a warrior, not a lady’s maid.
I can’t help but smile back. “That’s quite an improvement. Don’t put the glamor on again. And, Orlinda, please come back as soon as you can. I want you to tell me everything you know about what’s going on with all of this…” I point at my chest, then indicate the fine chambers we’re standing in.
Instead of curtsying, this time, she bows. “I can tell you right now. The prince wants you guarded and protected at all times. It is simple.”
With another quick bow, she leaves.
I distract myself from worrying about what being dumped in extreme luxury might mean by exploring the contents of the wardrobe and taking in the spectacular view from the rose-covered balcony.
I wait.
And wait some more.
When Orlinda finally returns, she reports that Ever has returned from the hunt, received my note, and is currently resting in his chambers alone.
Considering my enraged expression, she says, “If you’re planning to go to him, put the gown on. Please. I know this court far too well. Dressed like one of us, your path through the castle will be easier.”
I nod, and she helps me wiggle into a gossamer-thin dress studded with copper-colored metal. She collects ornate shiny spikes of different lengths from a dresser and pokes them into twists of my hair, creating a disheveled, steam-punk hairstyle that I quite like. A swipe of silver over my lids, crimson for my lips, glittery copper on my cheeks, then she pronounces me ready.
Standing in front of a long mirror, I survey the results. The rust and moss colors brighten my complexion, making my hair glow like flames. Somehow, Orlinda’s made me look both wilder and more refined.
Rearranging the knife belt strapped to my waist, I frown as though I’m unimpressed and say, “Well, I suppose this will have to do.”
With a gust of laughter, she follows me through the door.
I stomp toward Ever’s rooms, Orlinda shadowing my every move and glaring at any faery who dares speak to or even look at me. On arrival, I’m surprised to find two black-armored guards barring my entrance. They’re a new addition.
“Let me through,” I tell the biggest guard.
“The prince is indisposed.” His purple, slitted eyes stare straight ahead at the golden wall opposite.
“Rubbish. He’s perfectly able to suffer a visitor. Let me speak to him.”
“No visitors today, my lady. The prince wishes to see no one,” says the second guard, his wolf-like snout quivering as if he’s sampling my scent. It’s disconcerting to say the least.
“We’ll see about that.” I pick up a statue of a falcon from a nearby pedestal and thump it three times against the solid door. “Everend Calidore Fionbharr, you evil fricking faery, open up. You’re a royal waste of space—”
The door bursts open, revealing Ever, naked to the waist, his silver and gold locks a beautiful mess, and his eyes as blue as peacock feathers. Before I say a word, an elegant hand yanks me into the room, and then slams the door behind me.
His lips part, and he takes a quick breath as if he’s going to speak, then snaps his mouth closed as his gaze whips over my body, pausing to trace over my face like he’s memorizing it. He sighs heavily, making me feel like a child bothering a grownup who has better things to do than speak to me. “What do you want, Lara?”
“Your eyes are bright blue again.” Which means he’s royally pissed… or something.
His brows knit like he’s concentrating hard. Liquid mercury flashes briefly over his irises before they revert to a startling iridescent aqua color. He skewers me with an icy stare but says nothing as he throws a shirt on.
“Oh, great. A staring competition! I didn’t mention wanting one of those in the note you rudely ignored.” Arms folded, I pace around him. “Do you have anything at all to say for yourself? I’ve slept in your bed and you seem to think that gives you the right to pull me out of gardening, which I happen to enjoy, throw me in a gilded cage, and refuse to speak to me. What the hell is that all about?”
“Your room is not locked. It isn’t a cage,” he says calmly as he folds his sleeves up, corded muscles flexing under golden skin.
Speaking of rooms, this one looks like the scene of a recent violent uprising—bedding, cushions, papers, wine jugs, and half-eaten trays of food strewn over most surfaces. My imagination goes wild picturing what he might have been doing in here. Revels and romps with pretty courtiers, I’m sure.
“Well, it feels like a prison,” I say. “I don’t need a constant guard disguised as a lady’s maid. In fact, I don’t even need a lady’s maid.”
Thunder shakes the windows, rattling the hnefatafl board in front of the fire, the pieces put back in place from our last game and about the only items in the room still in any order. I give him my best your-dark-prince-act-doesn’t-scare-me-at-all look and stroll close enough to see his pupils flare, feel his power flicker over my skin.
“Been having a big hootenanny in here?” I inquire, indicating the mess.
His head tilts. “What does that mean?”
“You know, celebrating? Dancing and drinking and getting it on with stupid amounts of faery girls and boys.”
“Getting it on…” he repeats, scratching his jaw. Then his eyes widen with understanding. “No! I have not. My room is in disorder, yes, but that’s because I’ve been driven mad by worry.”
“About what?”
“About you, of course, Lara. There are many here who wish to see the end of you.” He stalks around the room, white-blue bolts of magic sizzling from his fingers as he throws his hands up in frustration. “You have no idea of the danger you’re in.”
“But why would anyone want to hurt me? Just because I’m human? Or because we spent one night together?”
“Yes,” he says exasperated. “Both of those reasons and many more.” Pausing in front of me, he reaches for my waist but stops himself before making contact.
The uncertainty wavering in his eyes undoes me. “Ever,” I whisper, and lean closer, dress strap slipping off my left shoulder.
His fingers skim my skin, lingering and tracing the dragonfly tattoo. “How I wish I’d never seen this.”
“That’s not fair. Your own skin is inked.” I jerk my chin at the dark-gold symbol over his chest. “And half your court are covered in tattoos.”
“You don’t understand.”
“Then enlighten me.”
He shakes his head, biting his lip. “I can’t.”
“Why do I feel like whatever is freaking you out, has something to do with this?” I stab my finger at my shoulder.
“Because it does.”
“Right. So, tell me more.”
“I can’t.”
“This is ridiculous.” Fury bringing tears to my eyes, I turn to leave.
“Lara, wait, I know you’re angry, but please let me see you back to your rooms—”
“Don’t trouble yourself. Go back to drinking wine with your friends and making a mess. Follow me and I’ll never speak to you again.”
“Lara!”
As the door slams behind me, in a stroke of genius or extreme stupidity, I decide to pay a visit to the queen. I’m fairly sure I know where she’ll be this afternoon. Queen Varenus is both direct and brutal—she’ll likely take great pleasure in revealing whatever her son is hiding.
Or kill me on the spot.
Orlinda and I stalk silently along corridors, stride through busy reception chambers, race down narrow flights of stairs, and finally climb the grand staircase which leads to the Great Hall’s intimidating entrance.
If I’m lucky, the queen will still be inside, having just finished her weekly tithe collection meeting with the kingdom’s wild and lesser faeries, her advisers by her side.
“My lady. Lara, please wait a moment,” says Orlinda when we stop at the guarded doors, the glare of the bronze, six-pointed star in the middle of them making us squint. “I do not think it’s wise for you to speak with the queen.”
“You’re right. She’ll probably throw me in the dungeons.” Shrugging, I fake a confident smile and turn to one of the guards. “The queen has summoned me. Please open the doors.”
The guard, who barely looks at me, must assume I’m fae, a fae who can’t lie, because he nods to his colleague and they raise their palms simultaneously, the doors fanning open as if they’re giant wings. Like their prince, the guards have air magic.
We enter the foyer. In the distance, past endless vine-twined rows of emerald columns that soar forever upward, stands the dais and upon it, the queen with her green-skinned consort, Lord Stavros, their heads bent close in a heated discussion.
“Wait here,” I tell Orlinda, squaring my shoulders and aiming my chin at the throne’s spikes of glittering clear quartz.
When the queen and her lord notice me, they stop whispering and watch my progress past the gruesome paintings that send a shiver of dread down my spine. The heels of my pointed, silver boots clack a hypnotic beat with each step, the sound like a battle march, a rousing song I quietly hum along with, hoping to settle my nerves.
As I near the dais, I try not to focus on the jagged obsidian blades of the queen’s crown that send a clear warning—danger, danger, don’t come too close.
The queen’s silver eyes emit a feral gleam as she inspects me from her throne. “Ah, the prince’s passing fancy has come to request a favor. I see someone has tried to pretty you up. Did my son order it done?”
The insinuation that I’m nothing more than Ever’s plaything smarts, making me speak rashly. “Spare me your insults.” I tug my dress over my shoulder. “What is this?”
“Leave us,” she snaps at Stavros, the sound hissing through the chamber.
“But, Your Majesty—”
White hair rippling like an avalanche of snow, Queen Varenus pierces him with a terrible gaze, and he bows, flings his long plait behind him, and scuttles away.
Other than the two sentinels stationed at either side of the dais, the queen and I are now alone. Her eyes narrow, then in a blur of movement, she appears in front of me, her gown a sparkling river of gold flowing around spiky crystal slippers. She’s so close, I can taste her on my tongue—acrid, briny, salty.
She peers at my tattoo, her lips parting as she draws a sharp breath. “This cannot be possible. Where did you get it?”
“From a tattoo parlor of course. You’ve heard of them, I’m sure.”
“It is not healthy for you to patronize me, human. Who gave you this design?”
“My mother drew it.”
“Your mother?” The air shimmies around us, turning humid and sticky. “And her name is?”
“Ella Delaney.”
“Delaney? When we first met, you called yourself O’Sullivan.”
I want to step backward, away from her, but I don’t. “I lied.”
The queen’s eyes shimmer, heat misting my skin in a fine sweat, reminding me her power is water. “Is your mother a painter?”
“Yes, she painted.”
“I remember her.”
Footsteps sound behind us. The queen doesn’t take her eyes off me.
“Mother?” Raff’s voice. “What are you and Lara doing—”
Flinging both arms out, Varenus sends a torrent of water rushing through the center of the Great Hall toward Raff. He stands, gaze hard, fists clenched and lets the rolling wave of aqua and white hit him dead on. Then he’s gone, tumbling down the steps, hopefully not to his death.
My heart pounds, stomach roiling. “Will he be okay?”
“Perfectly fine. Now back to your mother, child. Her schemes are clear to me now. She was at Talamh Cúig one season, during springtime. She heard the legends of our court, our stories, and then thought to make you an impostor by branding you with false imagery.”
It is difficult to imagine my calm, gentle mother in this place, but if she survived it and managed to find a way home, I can too.
The queen’s gaze drops to my neck, then tracks downward to land on my pendant. Ever’s dragonfly. In slow motion, she cups her face in her palm as though she’s contemplating a pretty scene. It’s a seemingly sweet gesture. Then the nail tips pierce her cheek, dark-red blood beading on milk-white skin. At the same moment, fat drops of water descend from columns above my head and drip, drip, drip onto my hair. At least I hope it’s water. I’m too afraid to look.
I swallow down fear and clear my throat. “I don’t understand what you’re talking about. What has some fae legend got to do with anything?”
She paces in front of me looking like an irate mermaid, nails tapping against her forearm covered in iridescent pale-blue scales. They’re pretty, and I hope she’s not going to attack herself again and bleed all over them. “So, either your mother didn’t tell you or you are good at pretending you’re ignorant.”
I’m tired of listening to confusing prattle, so I hit her with a direct question. “Why does my tattoo upset Ever so much?”
“My son has seen this?” the queen asks, circling like a shark who’s scented gore in the water. Her hand flicks in my direction and I flinch, expecting a tsunami to crash down from the ceiling. When she laughs, I realize the hand gesture was dismissive rather than aggressive and relax for a moment.
She sighs through her haughty, narrow nose. “Of course he has. This explains why he had you moved to the guest wing. He would not want to dishonor you, tedious child, after seeing this. Still, he will never publicly accept you. At best, you would be a mistress, a consort, never a wife, so it would serve you well to remove any notions of grandeur from your sweet, little head as soon as possible.”
“I don’t expect him to fall in love with me—”
“And you shouldn’t,” she barks. “His is not the kind of love you wish for. It’s the kind you run from. Forever.” Then her head tips back, and she gazes through the vaulted glass ceiling into who-knows-what—the future, the past, or memories of her son’s dark deeds. Finally, she remembers I’m here. “Listen closely, mortal girl; you will not pollute our bloodline. If this tattoo is more than it seems, what is written can sometimes be amended, and I will find a way to change it.”
I have no idea what she means. Nor do I understand the horrible picture she paints of Ever. Yes, he can be an arrogant pain in the butt, but I haven’t witnessed sadistic behavior. Sure, he’s bitter and damaged, but he’s only once tried to kill me. Oh, yeah. Right. That’s bad. And, even if it occurred back when he saw me as an enemy, it does indicate a savage nature.
But since then, he’s proved to be reasonable—kind to his animals, sweet to Raff, and tolerant and patient with Kian, who probably does deserve to have the air sucked out of lungs with some regularity.
“Now. You must return to your rooms. Eärendil,” the queen calls, and a guard hurries over. “Take her to the emerald tower’s solar.” Both the guard and I stiffen, causing her to shriek with laughter. “Fear not, you’re only going back to the exalted chambers Everend put you in.”
What’s wrong with them, then? Do they have spiked walls that, with the press of a button, will shrink closer until they eventually stab me to death like some medieval torture instrument?
She glides up the stairs to her throne of crystal spikes, and says, “Go with Eärendil to your rooms and await my word.”
“Word about what? Please, Your Majesty, can you tell me what you know about my mother? How did she come here? How did she leave this place?”
“Oh, I suppose I can give you a tiny insight.” She inspects her nails, then scrapes them along the spikes of her crown. Well that’s disturbing. Just as I’m getting ready to flee from the mad queen, a vision of my mother wavers before my eyes.
Wearing a dress that appears made of midnight and stars, she stands painting in an outdoor pavilion surrounded with wild roses and jasmine. A group of fae gathers around her, a golden-haired child playing with a dog at her feet.
“Lara,” my mother says, turning to smile at me. The child turns too, his glowing silver eyes widening when our gazes meet. Oh, God! It’s Ever. A young, beautiful, and thoroughly innocent child.
Queen Varenus snaps her fingers, and the vision dissolves, taking my heart along with it.
“Your mother was the ceann a thugann athrú, the change bringer who introduced the Court of Merits to your mortal technologies that led them to the shunning of earth magic. One day, she simply disappeared. I thought her dead. But obviously not because here you stand.”
“But—”
“Be silent. Instead of drowning you, I have been more than generous. Return to your chambers, and I will find a way to help you depart my land forever. If that proves difficult, well, perhaps we will turn to more radical methods.”
I don’t like the sound of that.
Eärendil takes my arm, tugging me away from the throne.
“I don’t need any help to get back to my rooms.”
“He’s not helping you, dear, he’s assisting me.”
And that’s precisely what I feared.
“But before you go, you must return something that does not belong to you.” Her palm shoots out, and with a loud snick, my necklace is severed from my neck. I watch it fly through the air into the queen’s clutches.
I know I should stay silent. I should keep my lips zipped, but I can’t. “That’s mine. Ever gave it to me as a gift.”
Heavy rain buckets down, drenching me, while the rest of the hall remains dry.
“And I took it away to punish him. Go now before I do the same to you.”
