Prince of Then: A Fae Romance (Black Blood Fae Book 4)
Prince of Then: Chapter 20

Holly

The next morning, as Voreas and I return from my archery lesson in the forest, we come across quite a cozy scene. The royal family and a few key household members are on the tournament oval, hitting balls through hoops with long, intricately carved mallets.

“It’s called crooked,” Voreas informs me when I ask him to explain the game. “From a distance, it may appear elegant, but the players must employ a high degree of trickery, magic, and sometimes savagery to triumph.”

“Looks fairly peaceful to me.”

He snickers. “For now.”

Under a small pavilion bedecked with rich-colored rugs and cushions, lies an extravagant picnic feast. Finely dressed fae dot the scene, eating and applauding, and sylphs and pixies swoop through the sky, shouting encouragement and the occasional vulgarity.

The fire mage, Salamander, and her blue-haired sister, Undine, recline on cushions eating grapes, skewered on the tips of their long fingernails. Gauzy strips of material from their gowns, every color of the ocean and flames, move around their limbs as if alive, the effect mesmerizing.

Fyarn runs off with one of the mallets, and his sons, Elden and Blade, laugh as they chase after him. The spectators laugh too, including Gade, his crown glinting as he throws his head back, the sight of his light-hearted joy rendering me speechless.

By my side, Voreas debates out loud whether we should join the party or sneak into the kitchens and steal some of the honey and nut ices the cook has prepared for dessert tonight, but I am barely listening.

To regain my attention, he elbows my ribs hard. “Look, Holly. What do you think Serain is plotting, lurking there in the shadows of the third hazel tree?”

“He does look suspicious,” I reply, noting his stillness and the shape of his body, hunched but poised, as if ready to strike someone. The stone in my pendant pulses against my skin, confirming that danger is close by. “But Mern told me he’s always hanging about spying on everyone. Isn’t that his job?”

Gade suddenly sniffs the air and looks up at Serain, who’s still hovering on the outskirts like an outcast crow. Smiling, the prince shouts out his adviser’s name, beckoning him to join the party.

Voreas nudges me again. “What you say is true, but Serain has looked ever-more bitter of late, and last night, I saw him in deep discussion with a púca by the Moonstone Cave, where portals to other realms sometimes open. Those meddlesome creatures are always up to no good, sticking their noses into court politics. And Serain has long resented Fyarn for coming first in Gade’s favor.”

“But that doesn’t mean—”

“While he’s otherwise engaged, I think we should inspect his quarters for incriminating correspondence and the like.”

“We?” I splutter. “Why involve me? I’m a healer’s daughter, not a spymaster’s.”

“Come,” Voreas says, tugging me along the back pathway toward the castle, out of view of the picnickers. “You’re human, which means, if we get caught, you can lie and offer a plausible excuse as to why we’re rummaging about in Lord Serain’s room.”

“What could justify snooping in a High Councilor’s bedchamber?”

“I can’t imagine, but I’m sure you’ll think of something. Fear not.” He pats my shoulder reassuringly. “There is plenty of time to fabricate a reason. But I recommend you commence right away because once we enter Serain’s apartments, we’ll be discovered fairly quickly. Maids frequently go in and out and may alert someone.”

“What? Expecting to be caught is not a very good plan.”

“Who said I had a plan?” He laughs. “Chin up. I doubt you’ll lose your head over this. Our prince will likely forgive you any trespass, Holly sweet. You are a prize, and he knows it well.”

I roll my eyes and follow Voreas through the castle’s corridors and spiraling staircases to the middle level of one of the seven high towers.

Lord Serain’s apartment is a large, semi-circular room, divided by velvet drapes that hang from midair with no rails or hooks in sight. The walls are lined with panels of honey-colored wood, creating a bright, cheerful atmosphere at odds with the dour personality of the room’s resident.

Thick, white furs drape the bed in the middle of the room, its four posts carved with fire-breathing dragons. Rich tapestries cover all other surfaces except for the desk that bears neat stacks of scrolls, blank parchment, and writing implements, set in front of the arched windows that overlook the mountains.

Everything is neat to a fault and, in my opinion, rather too grand for a mere adviser. But I remind myself that this is Faery—where everything is excessive and flamboyant.

“Go look over the desk while I check the bed,” says Voreas. “Take care to put everything back in its place.” He sweeps pillows and cushions to the floor, feeling around and under the mattress. “Don’t just stand and watch. Search. Hurry.”

I dart over to the desk and rifle through documents covered in neat, cursive writing. I read quickly, skimming for words—like plot, spy, or murder—finding nothing remotely suspicious.

The large desk drawer contains maps of the land with no unusual markings, blank paper, and jars of ink. I flip through a huge leather-bound book called The Laws of Five, then set it down on the desk with a thud.

Frustrated, I press an elegant spyglass to my eye and peer toward the forest’s distant trees, searching for unusual landmarks or obvious signals.

“What excuse did you settle upon?” says a deep voice from behind us, making me drop the eyeglass and leap ten feet off the floor.

“Oh, frog’s turd. It’s you,” says Voreas.

Prince Gadriel smirks before he turns and closes the double doors, locking the three of us in Serain’s room together.

I cross my arms over my chest. “Why do you have to turn up everywhere I go?”

Gade strides forward, his hands clasped behind his back, stopping close enough to peer deep into my soon-to-be lying eyes. “I could ask the same of you.”

I smile to test if he’ll return it. He doesn’t.

“Well?” he says. “What is your answer?”

I swallow, then square my shoulders and tap my chin. “Let me see… if we were discovered by a servant, I’d probably tell them Lord Serain had left his cloak behind and I’d offered to retrieve it since I was on my way to collect a book from my room.”

He grunts. “The servant would likely tell you Serain has fire magic and doesn’t require a cloak because he can generate warmth himself.”

“Oh.”

“Fortunately, I am not a maid,” says the prince. “What excuse would you give me?”

Voreas, the betrayer, stays silent, looking back and forth between Gade and me as if we’re performing solely for his entertainment.

I take a deep breath. “Lately, Voreas has noticed Lord Serain acting strangely, meeting with wild fae in odd places, lurking more frequently in the shadows, as he was during the game of crooked, and spying.”

“Like you two are doing now?” Gade asks.

“Forgive us.” Voreas dips his head in a bow, picks up the eyeglass, fidgets with it, then places it back on the desk. “What we have done is wrong, but I am not the only member of our court who has noticed Serain’s odd behavior.”

Finally, Gade gives us a crooked smile. “Count me as one of them. He has recently made two mysterious trips to Port Neo since I’ve returned, and as yet, my informants haven’t ascertained exactly where he went and precisely who he met with.”

Relieved, I pick up cushions and place them back on the bed. “We came here to see if we could find anything incriminating; letters and the like.”

“Where have you checked already?” Gade asks. “Tell me how I can help.”

I point at the wooden wardrobe built into the curve of the wall. “We haven’t searched that yet.”

Like a common thief, the Prince of Five rustles through fine clothing, opens and shuts drawers, pulling papers out and inspecting them before placing them back with care.

“How did you know we were here?” I ask, smoothing out the bedclothes.

Gade laughs. “I rule all elements, including air. As Elden once told you, nearby whispers are easy to hear.” He cracks a seal from a previously opened letter. “What is this?” Muttering as he reads, he turns toward us. “This is a lover’s note from a member of the Merit Court.”

Footsteps sound in the hallway, and Gade slides the correspondence into his voluminous black shirt. “Someone’s coming.”

“Thank you, Master of Magic,” I hiss out. “Even I can hear that.”

Gade grasps my arm. “I’ll wrap a cloak of invisibility around us, and we can stroll out with our noses in the air. Take care not to knock anything over on the way out. Now come closer.”

“Me?” I ask, pointing at my chest.

“Yes, you.” He tugs me against him, and Voreas huddles close. “Sorry, Holly,” Gade says. “But I need your help again.”

The prince’s mouth comes crashing down on mine. He kisses me quickly but no less thoroughly than the night we danced on the balcony of the Great Hall, the effect just as devastating.

Voreas’s silver eyes widen as lightning flashes, blinding me. When I can see again, Gade whispers, “The spell worked,” as he tugs me and Voreas through the open doors and past a green-skinned goblin carrying a basket of freshly pressed clothes.

We hurry down staircases and corridors, coming out into a council room situated behind the dais in the Great Hall.

Laughing, we lean against the oval meeting table and try to catch our breath.

“So…” Voreas shoves his glittering silver hair from his face and waves his hand between me and the prince. “Call me odd, but I tend not to think of burglaries as particularly romantic occasions. Care to explain the kissing business?”

“No,” Gade and I say at the same time, bursting into laughter again.

“It’s just a… a sort of magic thing,” he says.

“A magical thing?” Voreas raises an eyebrow. “Interesting and perplexing.”

“And you will swear on your most prized possession—your glorious silver hair—never to speak of it to anyone, including me, ever again,” Gade says, his voice low and deep with glamor.

“Keep your gossamer shirt on. There’s no need to attempt to compel me.” Voreas bows deeply. “As always, Gadriel, I am your sworn servant, and I vow never to betray you, not in thought, word, or deed.”

“Good enough,” says Gade. “And one last thing, in case I haven’t mentioned it, touch this girl and pay with your life.”

Voreas swallows obvious laughter. “But surely there are exceptions to your rule.”

“Such as?” Gade pours water from a jug into three goblets, passes one to me, leaves Voreas’s on the table, and takes a sip from his own as he reclines back on the curved divan set against the wall.

Voreas picks his cup up. “Can I move her out of harm’s way?”

“Of course,” answers Gade. “You must help me protect her.”

“May I brush forest debris from her hair? A leaf from her eyes?”

Gade picks up a tiny wand of smoky quartz from the arm of the sofa, rolling it between his fingers. “If absolutely necessary.”

“Can I whisper secrets in her ear?”

“No.” The wand snaps, crystal shards showering the black rug and his boots. “That is absolutely forbidden.”

“Stop,” I say. “You’re both behaving like infants. Gade, what will you do about Serain?”

“I will have his Unseelie lover investigated and Serain followed at all times. I suspect I’ll need to detain him at some point. Before long, most traitors provide ample proof of their schemes. Perhaps now you will wish to stay longer, Holly, and witness the end of the story you’ve set in motion here today. Fae justice served is quite an event and certainly worth observing.”

“No thank you. I’m sure I couldn’t stomach it.”

“Suit yourself,” says the prince.

He dismisses us, explaining he must attend to petitioners who’ve sailed from Port Neo to renew trade routes and defense agreements, crucial to maintaining peace while he lingers in a weak condition without his fated bride.

I don’t know why he informs us of the details of his business, nor why terror ices my veins as I close the door on the sight of him, reclining against the midnight-blue sofa, his knees spread wide, dark hair tumbling around a feral gaze that rakes me from my head to my toes.

Actually, that’s a lie. I do know why. The man—if I can call him that—disturbs and mystifies me, one day calling me his friend and the next, staring hungrily at me as if I’m his prey.

Later that night, Gade, Mern, and their uncle Fyarn are absent from dinner, and I’m left to eat and dance with Elden and Voreas and a band of charming pixies. The music is wild and intoxicating, and I whirl until my bones ache and my arms and calf muscles cramp uncomfortably.

The third time Voreas notices my glazed eyes and thrashing limbs, he pushes me from the middle of a reel, and I spin toward the edge of the dance floor, depleted and exhausted.

“Gade really should forbid you from dancing before something bad happens,” he says.

“But it’s such fun, and as long as my friends—that includes you by the way—make sure I don’t get too carried away, there’s no harm in it.”

“Yes, no harm,” says Elden, “until the sluaghs spin you out on the moors, never to be seen again, and Gade rips the rest of us into tiny pieces for allowing it to happen.”

Voreas and Elden escort me back to my rooms, and we take the long way around, enjoying the moonlit night, while they caper around me singing outrageous songs and telling tales about the darker fae who live in the forest.

When I cover my ears and protest, they insist they’re only trying to help me, so I might recognize these gruesome creatures should I ever come across them when I’m alone, which is quite unhelpful for two reasons.

One: their prince has forbidden me from going anywhere unaccompanied.

And two: it would do me no good to be able to name a creature’s species in the final moments before it ate me.

As we pass through a starlit courtyard, my gaze snags on a tree in the far corner, covered in silver and black crystals that shine like thousands of glowworms, with four cages strung from its highest branches.

Other than the thorn-like protrusions that curl up from the bases and cover the bars, the cages are empty, but they serve as perfect, horrifying examples of the cruel fae justice that Gade mentioned so proudly this morning.

That night, the gilded, wicked devices haunt my dreams, and instead of unknown faces, it’s the wretched eyes of Mern, Voreas, Elden, and I that peer through those unyielding bars.

And Gade stands below us, smiling serenely as we plead for mercy and swing and swing from the tree’s creaking branches.

Each time I wake, I tell myself, tomorrow is the day I will go home.

Tomorrow, I’ll be free of him.

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