Gods and Trickery: A Reverse Harem Fantasy (Unfortunate Magic Book 3)

by Candace Wondrak

  It was about the only welcome change she’d had.

  Morning arrived too soon, sunlight streaming through the tall windows from her balcony. Her room faced the sunrise, so Lena was always up and awake before Anne knocked on her door. For a few minutes, she laid there, silent and pensive, lost in her thoughts as she had been ever since Cailan released her from the dungeon.

  A soft and gentle knock echoed throughout the room, and Anne didn’t even wait to give Lena time to get up before she entered the room with a curtsey, her eyes averted to the floor. The maidservant wore the same old, dirty dress she wore the day before, though her hands and skin were clean.

  Anne went immediately to the blue ball gown crumpled on the floor, picking it up and moving to hang it in the closet. As Lena sat up, her wrist cuffs clanged loudly. How she hated the sound. And even though Anne said nothing, she still felt the need to apologize, “Sorry. I just—”

  “It’s fine, my lady. Don’t fret over it.” Anne’s response came quickly, as if she were used to visiting royals leaving messes. Which, Lena realized, she probably was, and it only made her feel worse. She didn’t want to be just another problem Anne had to deal with.

  Lena slid out of the bed, her bare feet cold on the stone floor. “No, it’s not. I don’t want to cause any more work for you.” She watched as the woman slowly closed the closet doors. “My room back in the College was usually a mess. I only cleaned it if I knew my friend Ingrid was stopping by…” Why in all of Rivaini was she rambling? Anne didn’t care about her time in the College; hearing talk of the place only made the maidservant seem more uncomfortable. “Sorry. I shouldn’t bring it up.”

  Anne forced a smile. “Talk about whatever you wish, my lady. I have a bath ready for you.”

  Great.

  Since she could not deny the woman her entire job, Lena let her take her to the bath, though she drew the line at allowing the woman to scrub her and help her wash her own hair. She was more than capable of doing those things on her own. She had her own mini-washroom in her room in the College, something Anne wouldn’t want to hear, so she kept that tidbit to herself. Anne stood just outside the door, making sure no one barged in while Lena was indecent.

  Within an hour, Lena was dried and back in her room, sitting at the vanity table with Anne to her back, brushing her hair. She spent quite a bit of time applying makeup—eyeliner and shadow, blush on her cheeks, powder everywhere. It was almost too much. Well, any bit of makeup was too much for her. She was a College student. She never paid much attention to makeup before because she didn’t have the time nor the inclination…or even the ability to buy makeup. The only merchants who were authorized to sell their goods to College students were alchemists and the like. Things which could only be used to further their education.

  “Special occasion?” Lena asked, almost afraid of what the answer would be. With Cailan, each day was a special occasion, somehow. There was always something or other requiring her presence at his side, even if he didn’t let her show her face to the public yet. Everyone in the castle had gotten used to seeing them together, though Henrik was the only one who was vocal with his disapproval.

  Disapproval which was often met with a hushed and deadly threat from Cailan.

  “I got word that Cailan has something planned for today, yes,” Anne said, her voice hesitant and light.

  Lena could take it no longer. “You don’t have to be afraid of me, you know,” she whispered. “I might be a mage, but I won’t hurt you. Even if I didn’t have these things on,” she referenced the cuffs on her wrists, “I wouldn’t.”

  Anne was silent for a minute or two, her lips thinning into a frown in the mirror’s reflection.

  “Please,” Lena practically begged, “I cannot take much more of this. If this is to be our relationship, you never looking at me, you never talking to me, I fear I’ll go insane here. Much like Cailan.” The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them. She inhaled a gasp, meeting Anne’s eyes in the mirror.

  For once, Anne didn’t look away.

  She was…smiling?

  “Apologies,” Anne said, “I didn’t realize that you…” Her hand paused with the brush. “I thought you wanted to be here, with him.”

  Lena could not shake her head more furiously. “I may not be in the dungeon anymore, but I am still a prisoner here. Don’t let the gowns fool you.” She moved her wrists in her lap, her anti-magical cuffs sliding down her thin arms. “I would rather be stuck with anyone other than Cailan. I trust you will not divulge this conversation to anyone?”

  Anne was fast to say, “I will not, though perhaps I could spread the word to the other servants. They…have prejudices against you as well, because they believe you want to be here. Some think you’ve beguiled Prince Cailan with a spell.”

  Her shoulders shook with a chuckle. If only it were that easy. If Lena beguiled him, she could un-beguile him and be free of this place. Alas, it was not that easy. Persuasion spells were illegal; it wasn’t a wonder they hated her, if they thought she stooped to using one.

  “Trust me,” Lena said, “I would only beguile Cailan to release me. I have friends in the College—” Correction: friend. “—who I need to check on, make sure they’re okay. Being stuck here is…torture.”

  “Apologies,” she said again. “I know what it’s like to be separated from friends and family.”

  “If only we all had the choice,” Lena whispered. And just like that, she felt closer to Anne. Not exactly best friends with the maidservant, but not strangers forced to share time together. It was a good start. She wanted someone she could trust—at least a little—in this large expanse of a castle.

  After a bunch more prepping, Anne helped Lena into a thin slip of a dress. It went up to her collarbone, with white sleeves tight along her arms, its length meeting her ankles. Its color was a dull, periwinkle blue. Her red hair was up in a curled twist, diamonds hanging from her ears and sparkling on her fingers. Her anti-magic cuffs rested above the sleeves, ugly and hideous compared to the rest of the ensemble.

  She slipped on blue heels, standing a few inches taller than her normal height. With the strange, uncomfortable shoes on her feet, Lena would stand nearly as tall as Cailan.

  She was about to ask Anne when Cailan wanted her, where she had to walk to in the damned heels, but at the very same moment, a rhythmic knock bounced off the gilded door. Anne hurried to answer it, opening it to reveal the smiling face of the prince himself. Cailan was dressed in dark grey finery, his undershirt an impressive and vibrant blue. The man certainly liked the color, didn’t he? His yellow hair was slicked back, his dark eyes immediately moving over Anne and landing on Lena.

  “My love,” he said, striding into the room, past Anne, who merely bowed to him and allowed him entry. “You look spectacular.” He went to kiss her chastely on the cheek, only because Anne watched.

  Lena feigned a smile as she thanked him. “You look dashing as well, my Prince.”

  All this my Prince this, my Prince that. It was far too much work addressing him with his title each time. She hated it with her entire being.

  She had to get out of this castle.

  Cailan offered her his arm. “Come.”

  Lena had no choice but to slip her arm around his and walk with him like a trained dog. They headed out of the room, and as they passed Anne, she and the maidservant met eyes. It was as if the woman willed Lena: be strong. She merely grinned at the woman as they left.

  It was a grin that fell off her face immediately when Cailan said, “We’re heading to the east wing.”

  The east wing was where the library was, where the gallery was, and where the royal chambers were. None of which, except perhaps the library, Lena wanted to visit, so she was mostly silent as they walked, her heels echoing as they clicked on the tile below.

  Fortunately for her, Cailan took her to the library. Their date was him showing her around the stacks and bookcases lining the giant walls, floor to ceiling. It wa
sn’t the most awful date she’d had, though Lena was slow to realize it might’ve been the only date she’d ever had. Being with her men in an inn and a farmhouse, well, she couldn’t exactly count those.

  The College library was a mess compared to this one. There were no books stacked in haphazard piles; they were all on the shelves, their spines perfectly lined up. Lena ran a hand along the nearest shelf, breathing in the scent of parchment and ink. A musty scent that made some sneeze, but to her, it was home.

  “Tell me,” she mused, turning to him. They were alone in the giant space, but the books made her feel better. “You didn’t return the Noresh text to this library, did you?” It was the first time she’d brought up the book. And truthfully, she didn’t know why she did. A part of her still longed for the book, for the power that seeped from its blood-soaked pages.

  What an immoral person she was turning out to be.

  The expression on Cailan’s face did little to ease her worries or quench her thirst for knowledge of the tome. His lips curved into a smile, but it was a smile that did not reach his eyes. “That illegal book is sitting in a locked drawer in my personal study. I haven’t quite decided what to do with it.” He moved towards her, tilting his head as if he were truly lost in thought. “Tell me, my love, what do you think should be done with it?”

  Was this some kind of test? Was Cailan baiting her, seeing if she’d bite? With how unstable he was, with his reaction to her confession that she’d killed her parents purposefully, she had no idea how he would take her view on it. If she said not to destroy the book, to keep the book, he’d probably leap for joy.

  It would be a hilarious but bizarre sight.

  The mere thought was almost enough to make Lena want to admit she was curious about the book, she felt safer knowing where it was, but she held back. She shrugged. “I don’t know. It should’ve been burned long ago.”

  “Burning knowledge,” Cailan mused, hands in his pockets, “is not something I could condone.”

  She shot him a questioning glance. “Even if the knowledge was dangerous?”

  “Especially if the knowledge was dangerous. I think there’s nothing more dangerous than an enemy who knows more than you. What better way than to have our own secret power? That book…I will never see it destroyed.”

  Strangely, it was a weight off her shoulders.

  Cailan leaned closer to her, whispering, “Does my answer please you, Lena?”

  She did not like the way he spoke her name, how it sent shivers down her spine—and not in a good way. Not in the way her skin prickled when Tamlen touched her, or how her stomach flipped when Bastian looked at her, or even how her cheeks burned when Vale showered her neck with kisses. Cailan made her feel…dirty. She didn’t like it, didn’t like him.

  Lena knew his intent was to kiss her, knew it was why his eyes lingered far too long on her lips, so she abruptly turned her head, suddenly engrossed in the nearest shelf of books. Her actions caused him to laugh with merriment.

  Gods. The last thing she wished to give Cailan was merriment.

  She spent the next long while searching through the stacks, at the books that were strangers to her. The College didn’t have many political texts, nor did it contain anything involving the history of the College itself. But this particular library did. How she’d love to read through them, to learn about things mages weren’t supposed to.

  She’d probably learn the College was only there for segregation, not tutelage and learning. It was only a tool for whatever royal sat upon the throne and held the crown.

  “Once you’re queen,” Cailan broke the silence of the library, “every single book here will be yours.” A sweet gesture, one that would’ve meant more if she wasn’t a prisoner in this castle. This was no fairy tale.

  Their story would not have a happy ending. If Lena had any money, she’d bed it would be a bittersweet, tragic one.

  She had nothing to say, so she didn’t speak. Whatever Cailan was about to say next was interrupted by the clinking greaves of one of the royal guards. He stood at the door to the library, stating in a deep voice, “It’s ready, my Prince.”

  Ready? She wondered. What was ready?

  When Lena met eyes with Cailan, the prince clapped, his enthusiasm everything but catching. “I was starting to fear the blacksmith and enchanters were lying when they told me it’d be ready today.” He smirked at her, a smirk that was so unlike her men. For about the millionth time, she missed them all dearly.

  They followed the guard out of the library, to the great hall. The throne room. Whatever one called a room nearly as large as the College’s biggest courtyard. A few royal guards lined the walls, their armor a shiny, spotless silver, though beneath their helmets, their beady gazes zeroed in on Lena the very moment she and Cailan entered the grandiose room. Henrik stood off to the side, holding something atop a velvety pillow. The seneschal wore a grim frown, the veins in his face nearly popping with strain. It was more than evident the man didn’t want to be here, holding…whatever that was.

  “Wonderful, wonderful,” Cailan exclaimed, practically skipping to Henrik as if he were nothing more than a schoolboy and not the crowned prince of Rivaini. He stared at the pillow, at the round object laying atop it, motioning for Lena to come near.

  Her footsteps were slow, measuredly drawn-out. Her stomach fell the instant she moved close enough to see the shimmering metal. A lighter silver, polished and pretty and adorned with diamonds and sapphires—but it mattered not how dressed-up the item was.

  It was a collar.

  A bejeweled, anti-magic collar. And while it might’ve been prettier than the two ugly and thick cuffs on her wrists, Lena didn’t want to trade them. At least with the cuffs, it was more than obvious she was a prisoner here, even if she wasn’t locked up. But with that around her neck—gods, it looked like a piece of jewelry. It was a lie fashioned just for her.

  “Doesn’t it look lovely?” Cailan’s voice broke into her thoughts. “Not nearly as lovely as you, but much better than those hideous things on your arms.” His hands went to grab the collar off the pillow, and as he unlatched the collar, the necklace, whatever one wished to call it, Lena flinched at the sound of grating metal.

  She met eyes with Henrik. Behind his annoyance, the seneschal had the thin traces of smugness drawn across his wrinkled face, as if he enjoyed this. He may very well have been the one to come up with the idea, considering how happy the old man seemed.

  “As soon as this is on, we can free those wrists of yours,” Cailan said. “You will never be mistaken for a commoner again, Lena, not while you are beside me.” He walked around her, carefully and gently laying it along her collarbone. Though pretty, it burdened her chest instantly, making it difficult to breathe.

  The symbolism was not lost on Lena. She was a mage. Even if she was queen—which she did not want to be—she wouldn’t be free. She would never be free. She was freest when she was out of Rivaini, in the abandoned farmhouse with Tamlen, Vale, and Bastian. Gods, and even then she wasn’t free, for she had Zyssept breathing down her neck.

  Her life was over one way or another.

  Lena closed her eyes as Cailan inserted a key into the back of the collar, locking it in place before stepping back and ogling his work, along with her body. It was his favorite pastime. He said something, commented on the jewels gracing the front of the collar, but she couldn’t hear him. All she could focus on was the weight on her chest, how tight it felt around her neck, even though she could slide a finger or two between the metal and her throat.

  She wanted to cry, as foolish and childish as it was, but she refused to let herself break down while in front of Henrik, Cailan, and the numerous guards lining the walls of the great hall. Lena blinked back her tears, swallowed her emotions, and gave the prince a small smile she hoped with all her heart seemed genuine. She pretended not to notice how Cailan dropped the key into his trousers’ pocket.

  Somehow she needed that key.

  “C
all the jailor,” Cailan ordered Henrik. “I want those cuffs on her off before dinner.”

  Henrik gave a slight bow before walking off, leaving Cailan and her alone. Or as alone as they could be, considering who they both were. A murderous king-to-be and his mage bride. Neither of them could be trusted. Ironic, given how much of a goody-goody Lena always thought she was. Who knew she could be as conniving and bad as the rest of them?

  Before Cailan could make any more small talk about the collar, someone came up to him with a letter. He took a moment to unscroll the document, pursing his mouth before muttering, “I must be off. I shall see you at mealtime.”

  Lena didn’t know whether she should be thankful for the scroll or not, for at least it was important enough to merit some time away from Cailan.

  The jailor appeared within the next half hour, taking his time to uncuff her. The giant iron key fit into each cuff and made a loud noise as he unlocked it, dropping the metal to the ground, not bothering to catch it. The jarring sound made Henrik sneer behind him.

  “If you so much as scratch this floor,” Henrik said, no longer holding the velvet pillow, his hands behind his back, “I will have your head.” His threat got the jailor to hurriedly pick up the cuffs and scurry away like a mouse.

  An overweight, metal-clad mouse who nearly knocked Lena over as he scuttled along.

  Lena glared at his back as he went, stopping only when Henrik’s haughty voice said, “I would not get used to such jewels if I were you.” The seneschal stepped closer to her, squinting his eyes as he scrutinized her. She was not fit to be royalty; that she knew. It did not take intelligence to realize it.

  She was not made for the excessive and extravagant gowns, for the grand gestures involving more riches than she’d ever seen prior to her stay in the castle, for shoes with heels which killed the pads of her feet each time she walked. Lena did not feel at home in a bed large enough to fit half a dozen people on, nor did she feel like herself with all the makeup Anne caked onto her skin. She might’ve looked the part, but she did not feel it. She was not royal, not brought up to think she was better than everyone else.