Alder had said he was trapped. Westrende was quietly losing kingdom officials.
Mireille ran a sweat-slicked palm over her skirt. She had witnessed very much the same sort of events in her own kingdom, at the hands of a fae queen. Perhaps she had misjudged much more than she knew.
A far-off bang echoed through the room, recalling Mireille of the dangers of exploring a fae palace. She backed toward the door, then let herself out, willing her pulse to steady.
Hours later, Mireille sat alone before a wide balcony with a luncheon of pastries worrying her lip. It was unlikely that Lord Cadby’s warning and the information Thomas had discovered were unrelated. But she would have to uncover the missing connections herself. She had decided to attempt the library once more when a slender mink leapt onto the balcony railing. Mireille let out a small, startled sound, certain the creature had not been there before..
It was a great distance to the ground below the balcony. Perhaps it had had been hiding near one of the water features. The mink stared back at her. Mireille sighed. “Never mind me. I feel as if I’m losing my senses, the way the décor seems to shift and creatures appear from nowhere around here.”
The mink gave Mireille the sort of a look that might have been an eye roll from another creature. It raised onto its hindquarters and licked its paw as if it had no further interest in her, but when Mireille made to stand, the air shimmered around the creature. In the next blink, the mink was gone. In its spot stood the prince’s sister.
Mireille sat heavily back into her seat. She lifted a hand, but it sort of hovered there, unsure what action might make the event she just witnessed disappear from existence as Nisha watched her. Mireille wasn’t certain she’d understood such a transformation was possible, even if she knew the immense power of the fae.
The prince’s sister crossed the space, the diaphanous hem of her ivory gown swirling in her wake, then, giving the tray of almond pastries an unimpressed glance, took the seat opposite Mireille. Though she had been a fur-covered only moments before, her fae hair was perfectly coifed, held back from her face by a series of small braids laced with silver wire and tiny gems. There were no twigs or leaves clinging to her as had in their last meeting, nor any sign of the outrage she had expressed toward her brother.
In fact, she seemed entirely at ease. Brushing a bit of fluff from her fingernail, she picked up the slender table knife from the tray and began to tool at the edge of it. “I can see you’re surprised. Not every fae walks through shadows.” She blew a puff of breath on the nail. “That’s more of a Riven Court talent, and my mother was of the Storm Court.”
Mireille attempted composure. “Is every fae of the Storm Court able to shift as you do?”
Nisha’s dark eyes rose to Mireille in an unflattering manner that reminded Mireille far too much of the prince. “Do you know nothing of the fae? Truly?”
“How would I?”
She lowered the utensil. “Are we to believe you are entirely unaware of the fae who glamour their way into Westrende?”
“No,” Mireille said. “Indeed, I was aware of glamour. But those are human forms. Only a trick of the light.” Mireille startled at the bark of laughter that escaped her companion. She took up her cup for a careful sip of tea, and a moment to think, before settling the cup back onto its saucer. “So, fae can alter their forms as well as use glamour.”
Nisha leaned forward, gesturing loosely with the knife while she spoke. “You are from a royal family. You must understand power. Yet, you bargain yourself away to a prince and know nothing of his magic.” She shook her head and speared the knife into a block of cheese.
Mireille’s gaze drifted toward the knife. She found she did not like that it remained within reach. “It is not as if you make it easy. I have done nothing but search for knowledge of that very kind.”
“In books?” Nisha scoffed. “In Rivenwilde’s own library?” She eased back against her chair. “I thought better of you, Princess. Truly.”
“Strange that you would think of me at all.”
The corner of Nisha’s lip rose slightly. “You are a princess, are you not? Perhaps with the aim of becoming a queen.” Her tone made it clear she did not regard Mireille’s title as it was, let alone the absurd notion she might become queen.
“The prince is your brother. Is your situation so dissimilar to mine?”
Nisha took up a pastry and tore it in half, but didn’t eat it. “Fae titles are bestowed by the land, not the people. A prince of Rivenwilde may only ever be prince while his lands are torn apart. The boundary prevents his power from reaching past the walls. Why do you think the Rive was created in the first place? Why do you think we so badly want it down?”
Mireille fought to keep her expression neutral. Nisha had given her more answers in a moment’s conversation than she and Thomas had been able to secure in days. The prince was caged, the Rive keeping his power in check. He could never be king while the boundary still stood, never access the full power of the land. While he had been trapped, the fae queen had been snatching up the surrounding lands, doing her best to steal and conquer. She had only grown in power, all while the prince was confined… and searching for a princess, one he did not seem to want to marry.
Mireille wondered what would happen if he ever got free. She wondered if it was already too late.
Nisha wrinkled her nose and dropped the pastry onto a plate without having taken a bite.
“What will happen when the Rive falls?” Mireille dared to ask.
Nisha’s lips curled coyly. Mireille found she liked the woman much better as a mink. “Now, Princess, fae affairs are not within your purview. I would advise you to think twice before making such inquiries.” As she stood, her gaze swept over Mireille. “I will leave you with one last morsel of advice. Whatever game you are trying to play in the Riven Court, you will lose. I suggest you play no games at all, particularly where my brother is concerned.” Then the air shimmered and Nisha was once again animal. She turned, her sleek body gliding out of sight the way she had come.
Mireille stared at the space the fae had occupied, thoughts swimming. Every conversation since she’d arrived left her with more questions than answers. And answers were the reason she had come.
CHAPTER8
Mireille’s dinners with the prince had not gone as she had hoped. As he sat silent and stony at the far end of the long table, unreceptive to conversation, the time slipping away weighed on Mireille’s every decision. If she could reclaim the moment they’d had in the ballroom, she might have a chance, but it seemed to have only served to fuel his determination to avoid her.
There had been no further mention of the incident in his quarters, though she had noticed when she’d changed for dinner that someone had removed her own paper knife and anything else pointy from her room.
