Page 6 of Ellie and the Prince
“The Zeidan children found them outside and sneaked them into the royal suite.”
The girls looked at each other and sputtered with laughter. “Those adorable rascals,” Gillian said in a syrupy tone. “Good thing we have pest control available.” Her mocking gaze swept Ellie from head to toe.
“I don’t suppose you could tell us if the rumor about Prince Omar is true,” Raquel said, her vivid blue eyes eager.
“What rumor is that, my lady?” Ellie inquired, striving to sound pleasant. One of her arms began to cramp up, so she shifted the cages in her grasp.
Sensing her distress, one of the sprites whistled, and a chorus of squeals followed. “It’s all right, babies,” Ellie said, trying to calm herself as well as the little creatures. “I’ll get you home soon.”
“Can’t you keep those beasts quiet while we talk?” Raquel complained. “We heard that Prince Omar arrived during the night. Did you see him?”
Ellie paused, but there was no avoiding such a direct question. “I did.”
The girls gave little shrieks, giddy with excitement, and began to formulate plans to claim his time and attention. They were still talking when Ellie walked away, unwilling to hear more.
No matter how she tried to view Prince Omar as just another resort guest, even the thought of his marrying one of those two harpies made her want to throw something, hard. Preferably at their heads. Or maybe a kick in the shin would be more satisfying.
The cages in her arms seemed heavier by the moment, yet she walked quickly along the path leading to the staff cabins. “If I don’t stop thinking about—” cutting off sharply, she glanced around, saw no one near, then continued in a half-whisper “—Omar, I’ll either get myself fired or go stark, raving crazy.”
The mother sprite muttered irritably.
“I’m sorry,” Ellie sighed. “I’m upsetting you. It’s okay, little sprites, my angst isn’t about you. You’re going to be fine. I’ve got to stop thinking about . . . him.”
Omar wasn’t the crown prince. With two older brothers, he was third in line for the throne—primogeniture in Khenifra being through the male line—but he was still considered a hot marital catch. Probably because he was the handsomest of the older three brothers and wealthy in his own right.
“Girls like Gillian and Raquel can’t begin to appreciate his best qualities,” Ellie told the sprites. “He doesn’t think of himself as anything special. This morning he almost seemed worried about offending me.” After a pause, she huffed a laugh. She must have imagined the puppy-dog hopefulness in his eyes.
“Almost there now,” she said, striving to keep a cheery tone.
Ellie’s cottage was set amid other staff lodgings, comfortable one-bedroom homes offering no view but decent privacy. All were of weathered stone with crisp white trim, green shutters, and a red door. She released the magical lock with a verbal request, and the door swung open before her. A chorus of whistles and one shrill shout greeted her from the cages of captured creatures lining one corner of her tiny living room. “Yes, I’m back and will feed you all shortly. Have a little patience, please. I brought new friends.”
With a relieved sigh, she lowered her fresh stack of cages to the floor. “Whew!” She was a strong girl, but so many cages at once had made an unwieldy load. She’d almost dropped one on the stairs—the memory now made her cringe.
“Should I have let Omar help me carry them?” The thought escaped in a whisper. Briefly she imagined walking across the resort beside him, their arms full of cages, chatting easily about cinder sprites and . . . whatever princes talk about. Maybe he would have come in and stayed for a cup of tea.
The mind picture of him standing in her little cottage made her heart do crazy things. “My imagination will be the death of me,” she sighed.
The resident sprites now exchanged gentle squeaks of greeting with the newcomers, but the imp, a tiny green humanoid who’d been caught destroying cabbages in the kitchen garden, continued to berate Ellie in its shrill voice and unknown language. The glass cage insulated all forms of magic, so its curses were harmless. She gave it a smile, then opened the first cage and gently lifted out a solid-black baby sprite, the one from Omar’s bedroom.
He was still groggy, blinking his big eyes and twitching his ears. His little clawed feet tickled her hand. “You are simply the cutest thing ever,” Ellie murmured, then opened the mother’s cage and set the baby down beside her. Making comforting little chirps, the mother sprite checked him over with her busy tongue.
One by one Ellie moved the other four, and the mother’s cage grew to accommodate them all. Ellie cleaned out the empty cages, filled them with fresh hay, then gently squeezed them back into one-inch cubes before returning them to her pack. “I hope I never need that many at once again, but it’s best to be prepared.” She added several more to the pack, just in case. They were almost weightless at this size, after all.
Finished, she sat back on her heels and heaved a deep sigh. Focusing on the sprites, she spoke in her most encouraging tone. “You’ll all be happy at the Gamekeeper’s sprite refuge. Plenty to eat always, safe places to raise a family, and good company.”
Next she served carrots, kale, and endive to her furry guests—fresh greens helped to quench their fiery spirits. The gardeners kept her supplied with beetle larvae for the imp, which crouched over its food and stuffed its mouth, still muttering between bites. The sprites tucked in, puffing softly.
Her living room was feeling crowded with a dozen cages stacked against the wall. It would soon be time to send for the Gamekeeper to collect her little captives. The other sprites had been quite patient about their wait, content to gossip among themselves and eat good food, but they would all welcome open spaces and freedom.
Ellie poured tea to brew then flopped into a chair and tipped her head back. She was missing the noon meal at the castle, but she wasn’t hungry, just thirsty. And emotionally drained.
A picture popped into her head of Prince Omar seated cross-legged on his bed with Rita’s little arms around his neck, his hair standing on end, and shy excitement in his beautiful dark eyes. She didn’t mean to remember his pajama pants and white bathrobe, let alone the smooth brown skin of his neck and chest, but every detail seemed imprinted on her mind.
Shaking her head to banish the image, she leaped to her feet and rushed into her bedroom, where she stared into the small mirror hanging over her chest of drawers . . . and groaned. Soot and dust streaked her cheeks and chin. Her blonde hair was straggly and looked grayish and faded, like ashes. Even her eyes were gray. Her coverall, though neatly fitted to her figure, was smudged and dusty and made her look like a tall, skinny boy. She was colorless and dirty and couldn’t begin to compete with the glamour of Raquel or Gillian, one a sultry brunette, the other a golden-haired china doll.
“I sat there like a lump on his floor,” she whispered at her reflection, “and stared at him. So rude! But he tried to talk with me. He really tried! And then he hurried to catch up with me on the stairs.” Yet she would be a fool to imagine that he genuinely returned her interest.
While she showered and combed out her hair, Ellie thought back to her first real interaction with Omar three years ago, the night of a wedding celebration for some important people whose names she had long since forgotten. Ellie was assigned to serve drinks to the guests and keep their glasses filled. The meal had ended without mishap, but later, while Elliewalked among the tables with an overfilled pitcher of lemonade, she had noticed that Omar’s glass was empty.
