She considered Nisha’s warning about playing games. Such had never been her intention, but she supposed it was not so different than the games of any court. Except Mireille had no idea what the opposing party actually wanted. It was a considerable disadvantage.
Alder’s every action made clear he had no intention of encouraging a wife. At the rate things were going, she suspected he might prefer she choose to break their bargain instead.
It felt impossible, and yet she could not surrender.
“Tell me about the marriage ceremony.”
At her abrupt statement, Alder’s gaze shot up to meet hers. Even across the distance, long table between them, his full attention made Mireille feel exposed. He said, “What matter are the details?”
She lowered her chin. “Should I not be concerned with the potentialities of my future?”
A muscle jumped in his neck beneath his high collar. It seemed she had hit another nerve. The man must be entirely made of nerves. “Any information you require will be provided before the ceremony.” His attention returned to his plate, a clear dismissal.
She pursed her lips. If they were playing a game, she was losing. “About tonight, when I am sleeping?—”
“I will see to it, as I’ve said.”
Given that theithe referred to was her being puppeted by a fae queen’s magic, Mireille found she could not so easily accept its dismissal. “Exactly how do you intendto see to it?”
She managed to keep her tone even, but the prince’s fingers flexed where he held a fork. His dark eyes slowly lifted, pinning her to the spot. “If you wander, I willsee to itthat you are contained.”
Mireille’s lips parted. “Contained?”
He dropped his gaze. Again.
“Is there some part of you that truly believes I will let such a comment go unchallenged?”
“You will be protected.”
“I am asking you how.” She pressed her palms flat on the table, aware that she was not entirely gaining ground in her plans to melt the prince’s heart. “Can you not imagine why I would be concerned with the details, what it is like to have your will stolen, to know that that any moment you might be walked through a window into the open night air and unable to stop it?” She shook her head. “You’ll forgive me if your offer of containment is no great comfort.”
When his gaze lifted again, it tracked her posture, her flushed cheeks, and his expression softened. His words, however, remained a disappointment. “You are protected. I will protect you. There is no further explanation I can offer.”
She let out a light huff of laughter, spurring him where she might since he was not willing to give. “If you want to forgo sleep to watch my every movement, then so be it. At least Thomas will finally be allowed a night’s rest.”
* * *
Mireille layawake in the center of her massive bed, dreading midnight. The queen would come for her, the way she always did, but this time, the prince would be waiting. She told herself it couldn’t be worse than what had happened in the prince’s rooms, her own hand driving a blade toward her heart then the prince knocking her to the ground to hold her there, but she knew it wasn’t true. It could be far, far worse.
Despite those fears and against her will, when the weight of the queen’s magic drifted into the room, Mireille sank into sleep. Her last thoughts were that Thomas, who had refused to leave her room, would keep her safe. There was no need for Alder’s protection. All would be well.
At first, she slept fitfully, hovering on the edge of wakefulness and plagued by scenes she could not quite grasp. Flashes of her mother, her father, memories from when she’d been only a girl. Then she dreamed of walking outside the Rivenwilde palace, in the lane bordered with orange trees. The soft scent tickled her throat, reminding her of the white blossom Alder had gifted her in a rare moment of kindness. But had it truly been kindness? She was trapped in an impossible position, and he seemed intent on keeping his secrets.
Dream Mireille studied the night-darkened blossoms, lamenting her fate, when a low whisper sounded in her ear. “My princess, things are not so unfortunate as you suppose. All you have suffered will be answered for, your every wish gratified.”
She spun to face the source. It was a woman’s voice, softly accented, and somehow an assurance. Nothing like the wicked queen. Then another voice, one like the prince’s, a caress against her skin, though he was nowhere in sight. “Do not try to find me out, no matter how I may be disguised, for what you find will be your undoing.”
In the dream, Mireille shot up in bed, a warning in the woman’s voice echoing in her mind as true as the beat of her heart. “Do not trust your eyes. Do not let yourself be deceived.” The words seemed to beg her to save the prince from cruel misery, shadows woven through every one.
The door to the prince’s room was closed, but midnight was near. He would be listening on the other side, waiting for her to roam. Thomas stretched out on the floor in front of the main door, and furniture was blocking the hidden panel. She was safe, safer than she had been in a long while. So why did the pounding of her heart disagree?
Midnight had come, and Mireille had not risen from her bed.
Something was wrong, though. As the shadows cleared, the room felt suddenly eerie and unfamiliar. The entire space was lit with the dim glow of moonlight, too bright, as if the moon had lowered itself to peer through her window.
Thomas was not in his spot by the door, it was only a lump of fabric. Mireille’s fingers curled into the bedding, only to release when she realized they were clad in soft gloves. She wore a sage gown, one that might have been appropriate in Westrende were she playing the part of a proper princess in search of a husband.
Attention so thoroughly on her state of dress, Mireille startled when she became aware Alder had appeared beside her bed. She flinched back from his proffered hand, unsure if it was some new trick by the fae queen. The unnatural moonlight gilded his sharp features, his expression impassive, more like himself and less of the version that had appeared in her earlier dream.
