“Lord Cadby.”
“Princess,” he said with a shocked smile. “What a joy it is to see you!” He began to stand, but his expression fell. He glanced anxiously through the room. “No,” he said, “it would not be a joy, would it? Has Norcliffe been taken? Are your people well?”
Mireille knelt at his feet. “Cadby, how long have you been here?”
His bright brown eyes returned to her. “Two years now? I’m afraid it’s hard to say. Things were a bit fuzzy for a while. Got into trouble, made some bad trades.”
“A fae bargain? That’s why you’re here?”
Lord Cadby frowned. “It is, Highness. And there are more of us, still. Lords and ladies of Westrende, officers of the court, anyone of noble blood or with ties to a would-be king. I pray that is not how it happened for you.”
“Something of the sort.” She glanced toward the archway, but Alder’s face was too shadowed to clearly make out. “I have an arrangement with the prince. I must become his bride by the turn of the moon, or break our agreement and join you and the others as a prisoner.”
Lord Cadby breathed out a curse and leaned forward to take her hand. “Oh, Highness.”
“Norcliffe has been under siege from a greater foe than him. And I’m afraid, my lord, that should our venture fail, it will not be my life alone at risk.”
He whispered, “What can I do?”
“I need whatever information you can provide of the workings of fae bargains, any weakness of the prince, how we can use the magic that holds together the Rive in a way that might help protect our own kingdom. We are desperate for any scrap of knowledge that might break the fae’s hold on Norcliffe.”
He squeezed her hand. “I fear it is not so simple. The prince is tied by the Rive, and his kingdom is tied to him. The fae are divided as much as any kingdom. His court trapped, and the queen’s court working to keep them that way.” He shot a glance through the room, then leaned closer. “If the Rive comes down, the court of Rivenwilde will be in danger. It protects them as much as it keeps them caged.”
“But that is what he wants. The prince has claimed to desire nothing more than to be set free.”
“No,” he said. In the archway, Alder stepped from the shadows, and Lord Cadby released Mireille’s hand. “I don’t trust him, Highness, I don’t. But there is more going on than we’ve been told. Something else binds him as well.”
Mireille had the same feeling, because despite their betrothal, the prince did not seem to want her too near. Mireille recalled his words from the night before, how one fool act in one fool court evidently led to him having to entertain offers of marriage. She wondered how many princesses were being held within the palace. She wondered whether they sat in sunshine reading books, or if they had met a fate far worse.
She stood. “Thomas is with me. I will send him to you. We will see what might be done to return you home.”
Lord Cadby shook his head. “It’s too late for that. And, though I don’t deserve your kindness, I hope that you’ll grant me leave to offer my support.”
Mireille drew a steadying breath. “I would count myself lucky to have it.”
* * *
Mireille had,perhaps, discovered the prince was not as ruthless as he seemed, but she did not say so on their return. He was still holding citizens of Westrende captive, bargain or no. He was still fae.
She still had to marry him.
He left to attend court business and Mireille, alone while Thomas did his best to investigate the goings on with the palace staff, wandered through the palace.
She traversed the corridors and climbed the grand stair, feeling turned around and out of sorts by the palace’s layout. It was as if the rooms shifted about her, and she could never quite place where she was meant to be. When she turned the corner into a wide hall scattered with columns, Mireille’s steps faltered.
Across the hall rose a pair of massive doors, seemingly carved out of the same strange stone that made up the filigree wall. Unlike the boundary wall, the doors revealed no glamour, only a pale polished surface carved into scenes from what Mireille could only imagine was very long ago. Their beauty drew her nearer, but with an undeniable sense of unease. There was something terrible about the carved figures; while a marvel of craftsmanship, their subjects were too real, their torment and anger palpable.
A rearing horse rose tall, its foreleg reaching off the surface and its eyes rolled wide. The man on its back was barely visible, but he, at least appeared human, face a rictus, longsword in hand. Fae warriors surrounded him, their magic seeming to tingle over Mireille’s skin. She did not want to touch the doors, exactly, but she could not seem to prevent her hand from lifting, her palm expecting cool stone but finding only warmth.
The door eased open beneath her touch. Mireille swallowed and drew her hand free. Her tingling fingers curled into her palms, and her heart beat a warning in her ears. Still, her feet moved forward, into the darkness waiting on the other side.
A shaft of light cut through the space, leading her onward. The echo of her footfalls sounded far away, and the focus of the room was farther than any palace ballroom or hall Mireille had yet seen.
She did not cross it. Because over the dark stone floor was a fracture that rent the room. Stones rose beside it, jagged and uneven, their edges sharp. Blackness was all that could be seen in the space between, like a chasm despite that, surely, there would be rooms below. On the other side of the room, at the end of the split, was the Riven Court throne. It, too, was jagged and broken, its majestic spires incongruent and off-kilter, the light and shadows only making the scene worse.
A prickle ran down her spine. Very little was known of the magic that had split the kingdom of Westrende from that of the fae. Mireille was a royal, and as such usually afforded more details, but even she had been able to uncover aught else. It was said that the thrones of Westrende and Rivenwilde were tied, and while rumor vowed ill-luck was all that had prevented a new king from rising to power in Westrende, Mireille’s friends seemed to think it was something more.
In Westrende, investigations into the illnesses and accidents that had stalled eligible bloodlines from coming into power had led only to dead ends. Lord Cadby had told her other royals were being held, anyone with bloodlines related to the king, and Thomas had reported hints from the fae that the prince was bound by more than simply bargains.
