His face pinched. “What?”
“I gave myself toyou.”
He drew back, a fraction of the heat seeming to drain from his posture. His throat moved in a swallow, but his tone did not entirely gentle. “Why was I not told of your connection to her?”
“It is not what you think. I have no bargain with the queen. I am here only to save my people. She wants Norcliffe.” And she wanted Mireille.
His expression darkened. “You expect me to trust you. Knowing you walked through that door and—and—” He glanced at the paper knife in evident disgust. “You brought her into my palace.”
Mireille ran a hand over her arm, then glanced at Thomas, who stood in silent support. “It was my hope that she could not reach me here. And I never suspected a door secured by magic could be opened by my own hands, so I certainly did not expect that she… that we would end up in your suite. She’s never... I didn’t realize her power ran so deep. I believed it was only the other entrances we needed to worry about, ones not sealed by magic. We covered the hidden panel as soon as we discovered it the night before.”
The prince’s reply swift, his words for Mireille but a good deal of his anger aimed unfairly at Thomas. “This has happened before?” When she didn’t answer, he leaned in, voice low. “You are under my protection.”
It was not simply her trespass, but his vow that had him so angry, then. If his guest was not kept safe, he would be breaking an ancient fae tenant. Mireille did not think that could be helped, but if she was able, she would give him an out. “This is my burden. It has nothing to do with you and I will not ask another to bear it.”
He straightened, his manner never so princely as in that moment. “If the burden was truly yours alone, then your man need not sleep at your feet like a dog.”
Mireille flinched.
Thomas moved forward, clearly prepared to defend his position, but Alder raised a hand in warning. The prince said, “This discussion is over. I will oversee these… nighttime wanderings myself.” His fingers flicked a dismissal and, without another word, he turned his back on the pair.
CHAPTER7
The prince’s words had felt like a slap. It hadn’t mattered that Thomas had vowed to protect her of his own free will, that protecting her was a step toward protecting their kingdom. It was that Thomas and every other person who cared for Mireille and for Norcliffe were made to suffer because of what the fae queen was trying to do. It was that nothing could be done to stop it.
Alder did not owe Mireille kindness or understanding. She knew that. She’d entered his bedchamber, kept her secret from him and, though she hadn’t realized it possible, had put him at risk from the queen’s magic. But she could not let go of the fact that Alder, too, was fae. Fae, like the queen who had destroyed everything, mercilessly tearing the future from everyone Mireille loved.
He could not be trusted. No fae could. And yet, she felt ill at her own part in all of it. She tossed and turned, sending Thomas back to his own rooms, and by the time morning came, Mireille was a wretched mess. She had to make it work, had to find a way past their distrust, to melt his defenses. And she had a mere month to do it.
She’d managed only to don a gown and get her hair in decent order when there was a sharp knock at her chamber door. It was not the knock she’d grown accustomed to from Noal, so she crossed to the entrance to open it instead of calling out. When she did, the prince stared back at her.
He did not appear to have weathered the night as poorly. He was just as handsome and put together as always.
Mireille inclined her head. “Your Highness.”
His jaw ticked, presumably at her formality. He bowed, then held forward his arm.
Mireille only looked at the proffered limb.
He cleared his throat. “I am willing to answer at least one of the many concerns you have brought to my attention. If it pleases you.”
His tone made clear he meant something more along the lines ofthat you havebadgered me with incessantly since you arrived, and in fact, on several occasions, used to doubt my characterinstead ofbrought to my attention. Or some such intimation, Mireille wasn’t certain.
She straightened. “It does please me.” In fact, she would have liked answers to all her concerns, but more than that, she needed any time he would give her. Grabbing a shawl Thomas had managed to obtain from a member of the staff, Mireille tucked her hand into the crook of the prince’s arm and closed the door behind them.
At the end of the corridor, he led her down a wide flight of stairs that opened into a massive chamber, then through several more corridors cooled by the shade of endless creeping vines. The walk carried on for so long that she was sure it must be as far as possible from the entrance to the palace. When they finally slowed at a large archway that opened into an atrium, Mireille had the unsettling sensation of realizing her assumptions were in fact very, very wrong.
She stared across the space at a figure that appeared to be dressed in the uniform jacket of Westrende red and gold. The man’s legs were stretched out before him, boots polished to a shine. There was a thick book in his hand, and a glass of amber liquid resting on the small table beside him.
Mireille’s gaze shot to the prince.
“Go on,” he said. “Speak with him.”
The words were plain enough. Mireille was meant to satisfy her concerns so that she might never accuse him again. She swallowed down her reply, stepping forward into the open room.
As she approached, she took in the scene. Sunlight streaming through a tall window was cut by palm leaves, throwing long lines of shadow across the man and the plush golden chair. His hair was golden as well, bright and clean, the trim of his silk suit straight and fine, his flesh appearing not only undamaged but full with health. All of this came as a surprise, not because she’d come across the man in a fine fae palace, but because the man in question washuman. A prisoner.
He was a Westrende official. Mireille had met the man at a long ago function. She stopped before his chair, her breath caught in her chest, and he glanced up distractedly from his book.
