“Mireille,” he said, hand still extended.
Her eyes narrowed at the gentle way he said her name, but the fine line above his brow was plain to see. There was no indication that it was not truly the prince. He seemed so very tired.
Fighting the tremble in her fingers, she placed her gloved hand into his, then climbed from her bed, sliding her feet into silk slippers that matched the dress. Whatever was happening, she would soon find out.
Alder led her from the room, and she went with him silently. Had she wanted to question him, she was not certain she could. For the first time, the queen had not come for her. A fae prince had instead.
* * *
“How are you doing this?”
Mireille watched as Alder’s long fingers traced the leaves of a wisteria tree, its trailing blooms quaking in the soft night breeze. He had led her there through a maze of gardens that surely would not be safe for her to journey alone. The unnatural glow of moonlight had followed, allowing her to see more clearly than true night might allow.
Alder brushed a purple blossom with the tip of a finger. “She can only reach you while you are sleeping because your subconscious is unoccupied. Here, however, I may influence you as well.”
“And where is here?”
He didn’t look at her. “In your dreams.”
“Well, that is terrifically unsettling.” She felt her brow furrow. “And while you are with me…”
“She is not.”
So the prince must occupy her dreams to keep the queen at bay.Contained, he had said. She supposed it was preferable to anything else she might have imagined. But she wondered at the broken way she’d drifted at first, and how much of a battle it might have been.
“She cannot reach us here?”
“Not when I am present.”
Mireille nodded, hoping it was true. “Then I must tell you.”
He turned to her.
“It is not just I under the thrall of the queen. It began slowly, with messengers, courtiers, kitchen staff. Every night, citizens of Norcliffe fell under her spell. Every night, someone or something becomes a risk.” She did not add,to me. She swallowed, hating the way the words tasted, hating that she was helpless to stop it. “The queen desires to end me and end my kingdom. I came here to find a way to save myself and to save Norcliffe. The truth of the matter is, we had nowhere else to turn.”
Alder stared at her for a long moment, as if weighing her words. They were sincere, even if she had not told him everything, even if shecouldnot.
He said, “I gave my vow. You are under my protection and will remain so as long as you remain inside these walls.”
He did not offer to extend that protection to her kingdom, but she would take what she could get. She glanced at the surrounding garden, the wisteria tree at its center. If the entire court felt alive, the garden was its beating heart. Every bloom and leaf breathed with magic, their stems seeming to dance, pulsing with the power that was Rivenwilde. The power that lived through its prince. “Why bring me here?”
Transfixed by their surroundings, she again started when Alder gently gripped her wrist. He led her beneath the wisteria tree, only stopping at its base. Alder slid the glove from Mireille’s hand, then guided it to trace the rough patterns of the ancient bark, another maze, but one to be walked with fingertips. Her heart thundered at his gentle touch, so much more real than anything she had felt in a dream before, then his touch was gone, leaving her to continue tracing the aged trunk alone. Warmth seeped into her fingertips, but she could not bring herself to draw them away. It was unquestionably fae magic, but not like she’d ever experienced before. The tree felt, impossibly, like Norcliffe.
Like home.
She released a breath, and the prince said, “The wisteria is a direct connection to one’s kin.” He was so close behind her that his chest brushed her shoulder, his words a feather against her ear. “You said you were worried about your family. All you must do is touch this tree, and you will know that they are well.”
Mireille did not know if the prince was offering her a kindness or simply bowing to the rules of hospitality after she mentioned her unhappiness. But the tree felt so much of home, providing a sensation of comfort that, somehow, she truly believed her kingdom had not yet fallen.
“Does it please you?” He had shifted away from her, his words more distant.
“Yes,” Mireille said, her palm against the tree, heart swelling with warmth. Norcliffe and her father were running out of time, she knew, in danger because of the very fae queen that Alder had believed Mireille had willingly allied with, the one who had followed her to Rivenwilde.
But while he might still be fae, Mireille could not fault him for what the queen had done. She began to turn, getting out only the word, “Thank—” before she gasped, sitting up in bed.
Thomas was stretched out on the floor before the main door, asleep. The doorway to the prince’s chamber was sealed. Mireille swiped a gloveless palm across her forehead, then let out a shaky breath. It had only been a dream; she’d never left the bed at all. And yet, the memory of bark beneath her fingertips and Alder’s whispered words lingered on her skin.
CHAPTER9
