Mireille opened her mouth to protest but before a word was out, the three of them were transported to a different path entirely. The objection died in her throat. They stood suddenly between an avenue of trees, leaves overhead shifting in the warm afternoon breeze and laying patchy shade over the path. The avenue ended at a splendid palace, but she could not take her eyes off the canopy, made up of orange trees and covered with flowers and fruit.
The prince seemed to notice her gaping, so she explained, “I’ve only ever seen them in illustrations.”
He paused, his gaze flicking between her eyes with something that was not quite so distant before he released her from his arm. He crossed to a low branch at the edge of the path then reached up, and his long, graceful fingers pinched off one of the delicate blossoms. When he returned to offer it to Mireille, their bare skin brushed, and she felt a flutter of his magic once more.
She turned the blossom in her fingers before lifting it to her nose. It smelled sweet and bright over a hint of something bitter, with a trace of other, more familiar fragrances. She quite liked it.
The prince was watching her from where he stood, rather close, Thomas unmistakably looking away from them both.
Mireille tucked the blossom into the collar of her jacket then glanced up at the prince. “Thank you.”
His eyes held a strange hint of warmth in the dappled light as they rose from the blossom to trail over her face, the stillness in his form giving Mireille the impression that he was uncertain how to respond. She took hold of his arm once more so that he didn’t have to.
The three approached the palace under the distrustful gazes of onlookers who appeared to consist of palace staff and members of court, all of them fae. Mireille held her chin high, eyes forward, and wished she’d chosen a slightly richer gown. She had been unsure what to expect but the opulence of the fae court was impressive, even to one who’d seen a fair share of fine and fancy places.
The lawn was lovely, lush with greenery and blooming flowers, alive with birdsong, and formed in such a way as to create a natural path toward the agate steps leading to the imposing palace. In the distance, trees rose impossibly high, their boughs no doubt obscuring the many dwellings of Rivenwilde’s fae. Mireille could not be certain of what lay beyond, though, because illustrations of the kingdom had not been available to anyone outside the wall, and what few sketches Thomas had been able to find were clearly only those of fancy. Fae were secretive, and Rivenwilde fae most of all.
As they reached the top of the steps, the prince’s chest rose in a deep breath, and the sensation of magic seemed to rise with it, like the swell of the sea. His gaze stayed forward as they strode through the door, his arm steady beneath hers.
A massive archway opened into the entrance hall, where they were met by a smartly dressed fae man who appeared to be near the prince’s age. His skin was the same dark olive as Mireille’s, but where her hair was long and light chestnut, his was in short, neat waves of dark mahogany.
“Mireille,” the prince said, as if it pained him to speak her name so casually, “may I introduce Noal?”
The man fell into a deep bow.
“Noal will be at your service for any need. You will have all the food and care you want for, at any hour.”
“Because of the laws of hospitality,” Mireille said.
The prince’s jaw flexed. Again, not with humor. “Not because you are a guest of the prince of Rivenwilde. Because you are his betrothed.”
She met his gaze. Mireille might not be able to find maps of Rivenwilde, but she knew the laws of hospitality would protect his guests, and until she was thrown into a fae prison for breaking their agreement or thrown into the fae court once she’d followed through, she possessed a title that was equal to his own. A princess would require the highest of care or he would be breaking one of the oldest fae tenets.
He said, “You are under my protection.”
“And what of Thomas?” Mireille asked.
“My protection extends to Lord Holden as well.” The prince’s voice was level. “While you are both within these walls.”
“So if we were to leave…”
“Do not leave these walls.”
The words felt sharper than Mireille might have expected, and she glanced at Noal to determine if the man seemed to think the reaction out of the ordinary. Noal, however, was staring wide-eyed at the orange blossom tucked into the collar of Mireille’s jacket. His gaze slid accusingly toward the prince.
An unspoken message passed between Noal and his sovereign.
“What’s this?” Thomas said, edging closer as he gestured between the two. “What’s happening there?”
“I do not know what you mean,” Noal said, just as the prince said, “Nothing.”
The prince did not flick an annoyed glance at his man, but it was clear he wished to. He said, “I must take my leave now.”
Mireille asked, “Why?”
The prince froze mid-bow. “I must attend to…”
She suspected he might have been about to answer something likeimportant prince concernswhen his words dried up.
