Shadows and Sorcery: A Collection of Urban Fantasy and Paranormal Romance Novels

by Adkins, Heather Marie

  Jordan tries to stop fidgeting. She fists her hands by her side and stares straight into the mirror. Her noble effort lasts for less than a minute before I see her fingers twitch.

  “I can’t believe you will be able to make this dress by tomorrow,” I say, trying to offer a distraction.

  Patricia keeps her eyes focused on her task. “There are many seamstresses working to assemble the contestants’ gowns for the banquet. Tomorrow we will have all final fittings, and then the gowns will be delivered to the barracks the morning of the banquet, ready to wear.”

  I nod even though she can’t see the gesture. Patricia is the first human, aside from the contestants, I’ve had the chance to interact with in Seelie. She doesn’t seem very friendly, but why would she be? She’s forced to work for Fae, and now they’re making her create gowns so the contestants can attend a fancy banquet. I wonder if other human servants resent me and my fellow contestants as much as I would if the roles were reversed.

  From the outside looking in, it looks like we have it better than other humans in Seelie. Aside from working out constantly, we don’t have to do anything else. For someone like Patricia, whose callused hands are evidence of hard work, our contestant lives might be preferable.

  The door to one of the barrack’s back rooms swings open. A Fae enters. She wears a simple cotton skirt with a light blue blouse tucked into the waistline. Her brown hair is tucked into a bun at the nape of her neck.

  Patricia looks up and immediately stops what she’s doing. She stands and curtsies to the female. This must be Patricia’s boss.

  “Mistress Jinny. How can I help you?”

  “Nothing, dear,” the Fae returns, almost sounding kind. “Nancy informed me you are in here for two fittings. I figured I could help you to speed up the process.”

  Whoa. A Fae who actually offers to help a human? I don’t need to live in Seelie long to know that is not normal.

  “Th-thank you, Mistress,” Patricia stutters. “I’d be honored by your help.”

  I watch the Fae and see her wave away Patricia’s comment. “Don’t be silly, child. I have nothing to do. I might as well help.” Her attention shifts to Jordan. She glides closer with the grace all Fae possess and observes Patricia’s work.

  “Marvelous style, Patricia. One of your own designs?”

  The girl blushes. “Y-yes, Mistress Jinny. I hope you do not mind—”

  “Of course not,” she cuts her off. “Originality is rare in Seelie. I’m sure Her Majesty will be pleased to see a new style introduced to Court.”

  “Thank you, ma’am.”

  Mistress Jinny continues her perusal of Jordan or, more accurately, Jordan’s gown. I catch my friends gaze in the mirror. She raises her eyebrows in a “what the heck” sort of expression. I shrug, not knowing what to make of the unusual interaction either.

  Mistress Jinny steps back and gestures for Patricia to resume her work. Then, she turns around to look at me.

  The Fae gasps. Her hands fly up to cover her mouth, and she stares at me like she’s seen a ghost.

  My body jerks, and my back hits the hard stone behind my stool.

  “Mistress Jinny, are you alright?”

  “Yes, quite.” She answers Patricia, lowering her hands. She still looks at me strangely.

  Then, in a hopeful whisper, she says, “Kristy?”

  I’m more confused than ever. I glance at Jordan, who looks just as confused as I am. I shake my head. “No, ma’am. My name is Sera.”

  The Fae’s hands tremble. She hides them in the folds of her skirt. “Oh, dear. Silly me. My mistake. Apologies. You simply look like an old friend of mine.”

  She’s friends with a human?

  “That’s alright,” I reply cautiously, not knowing what else to say. “It’s nice to meet you.”

  “You, too, Dear.” She grabs another crate and positions it close to the door, away from Jordan’s pedestal. “Come. Let’s get you fitted.”

  I step onto the crate as she goes to the basket full of fabric. She shuffles through the various colors and material, stopping when she lands on a deep red fabric. I cringe. As a red head, I always try to avoid wearing the color, but Mistress Jinny doesn’t share my aversion. She withdraws the fabric with a thoughtful smile. When she looks back at me, I swear she still thinks I’m someone else. There’s obvious affection in her gaze, an emotion I shouldn’t elicit.

  Mistress Jinny returns, holding the bolt of fabric against my torso and nodding. “Yes, this will be perfect.” She withdraws a pair of scissors from a pocket hidden in the folds of her skirt and begins cutting the fabric.

  I wait without saying a word. When she begins to drape and pin the smooth material over my tank top and leggings, I maintain my silence.

  Positioned slightly behind Jordan, I can see the left side of my body in the mirror. Where Jordan’s gown is light a flowy, mine looks tight. The bodice is crunched up into pleated folds and hugs my hips as it wraps around my back, dipping into a sweetheart neckline in the front. The fabric is pinned close to my hips, only flaring a bit when it reaches the middle of my thigh.

  I consider objecting. The banquet will be full of Seelie Fae. The idea of being strapped tight and unable to run puts me on edge.

  Yet, I remain quiet.

  Morty and Frederick have both told me there’s nothing to fear. The banquet will be a cordial event. But should the need arise, I will grab a dinner knife and cut the dress from my body. Running around in my underwear will be better than staying in a dangerous situation.

  I keep my eyes forward. Through the mirror, I see Mistress Jinny glance up on occasion. She still looks like she thinks she knows me. It’s really weird. Then again, all of the contestants are redheads. Maybe I have a doppelganger here that I haven’t met.

  “Lift your arms like this, please.”

  I pull up my biceps, bending my elbows so my arms are spread in a half-T. Mistress Jinny begins folding the fabric at the neckline, making it dip even lower as she pins it in place.

  Having her so near my face, I find it weird not to try and make polite conversation. “You’re a seamstress too, ma’am?”

  She visibly starts, and I’m glad her surprise doesn’t cause her to jab me with the sharp pin. Her eyes widen for a moment before they return to normal and she moves her gaze back to the neckline. “Yes, I am the castle’s head seamstress.”

  “But you’re Fae.”

  She smirks. “Common Fae, my dear. We must make a living just like anyone else.”

  I’d be less surprised if she told me she’s a pixie.

  Why do I think I know a pixie?

  I shake my head, clearing away the distracting thought. “I didn’t know there was such a thing as Common Fae,” I admit.

  “I suspect there is much they don’t tell you girls,” Mistress Jinny says with obvious disapproval.

  “What do you mean?” Jordan’s abandoned her short-lived reservation. She spins around to face Mistress Jinny. Patricia huffs with displeasure.

  I’m worried she will find my friend’s question disrespectful, but Mistress Jinny doesn’t censure her. Instead, she replies, “The way you are all isolated from the rest of the castle, it is no wonder you don’t know much about life here.”

  “You say that like our isolation is intentional.”

  “Yes, dear, because I believe it is.”

  Jordan tilts her head and frowns, “But why? It’s not like anyone else knows the details of the contest. Aside from the sentries and guards, of course, but they wouldn’t tell us anything about it.” In my limited experience, even I know the sentries are loyal to the royal Fae, probably to a fault. Blind loyalty can be dangerous.

  “Knowledge is power, no matter the depth of the information. Her Majesty doesn’t wish for any of you to know anything before she wishes it so.”

  I press my lips together, trying my best to keep my comment to myself, but I fail. “You sound like you don’t trust the queen.”

  I brace myself
for Mistress Jinny’s ire. I’ve accused her of a treasonous thought. The least I can expect is a reprimand.

  When she laughs rather than condemn me, it takes all of my composure to not teeter back and fall off the crate, saving myself from two dozen thin, sharp stabs.

  “Only a fool would trust the illegitimate queen.”

  Jordan, Patricia, and I inhale sharply. I scan the room even though I know no one else is here.

  “What makes you call her illegitimate?” Trust Jordan to keep this traitorous conversation going. I’ve never met the queen, but I have enough sense to be scared of the Fae holding my fate in her hands.

  “Is it because King Uri lives?” Patricia stuns the room when she voices the question. That’s the first I’ve heard about a king.

  “Yes, child,” Mistress Jinny maintains her kind tone, unbothered by what we’re discussing. “Queen Aria is not a royal by birth. She married the king, but she has no claim to the throne.”

  I suddenly have the urge to say screw it to the pins and risk escaping this room before any more bombshells detonate.

  My fellow humans are not so skittish. Jordan raises her hand like we are in school. “Why doesn’t the king stop her? Is he sick?”

  “Yes, His Majesty has been indisposed for almost twenty years.” Mistress Jinny gives me a meaningful look, one I can’t even begin to understand.

  “So the queen took over? How does that make her illegitimate? It sounds like she’s covering for her husband.” All pretense of submission has escaped Jordan. Again, Mistress Jinny looks as if she couldn’t care less. Maybe Common Fae are more laid back than the castle Fae.

  “Because the queen holds onto the crown when it is the king’s nephew who should inherit the throne in his place.”

  “Why not the king’s own son?” I ask, thinking of Camden. I’ve spent the last three evenings joining him and Frederick on their nightly run through the Royal Forest. Like any Fae, I don’t entirely trust him, but I can’t deny he is growing on me. Dare I say, he might even be likable, if it weren’t for the whole Fae thing.

  Why wouldn’t Camden be in line to take over for his father?

  “The king doesn’t have a son.”

  “What about Prince Camden?”

  Mistress Jinny raises a brow. “Prince Camden is the nephew I speak of.”

  Oh.

  I had no idea Camden wasn’t the queen’s son.

  Mistress Jinny is right, we really are left in the dark.

  “Regardless of all that, what I say remains true, Her Majesty intentionally keeps much from the contestants, and many of her subjects for that matter. While she reigns, I don’t expect our Court to be the open and free place it was during King Uri’s reign.”

  “Hmmm,” Jordan sounds.

  I simply nod.

  We have no knowledge of Fae politics, but I find myself believing what Mistress Jinny says. I see no reason for her to lie to us.

  I’m wondering what evil the queen plans to put us through when the door opens. Morty stands in the entryway his eyes dart around the room, lingering on Jordan longer than necessary.

  “Can we help you, Sir?” Mistress Jinny continues to fold and pin the fabric around me. There isn’t the slightest hint we’d been discussing anything unfavorable about the Seelie queen.

  Morty finally tears his gaze from Jordan. I glance at my friend and see a slight flush highlighting her cheeks. “When will the fitting be finished?”

  “Whenever it is finished,” the lead seamstress responds.

  It’s official: I like Mistress Jinny.

  Her sassy reply baffles Morty, and I openly grin as I see him flounder for what to say next.

  Mistress Jinny takes pity on him. “We should be done in a quarter turn of the clock. Is that sufficient for whatever tasks you have planned for these young women?”

  “Indeed.” Morty doesn’t leave. His eyes have found their way back to Jordan. The way he looks at her, there’s no denying the sentry has feelings for her.

  Actually, feelings might be too strong a word. It’s probably just attraction. Jordan is gorgeous, and she’s a talented fighter. I’m sure both qualities are esteemed by the sentry.

  I understand his attraction, but I hope Morty is wise enough to keep his distance. If he doesn’t, I’m sure Jordan will stop any advances in their tracks. She has too much to worry about without complicating matters with the romantic attentions of a Fae.

  “Sir, are you planning to stand there while the ladies undress?” Mistress Jinny asks, a hint of a smile pulling the corner of her lip.

  Morty blanches and quickly backs out of the door. “Apologies, ma’am.” With one last look at Jordan, he closes the door. I hear heavy boots stomp as he hurries away.

  Crap. Morty’s got it bad.

  11

  The sun is out, and I lean against the stable door, closing my eyes as I soak in the warm rays while I wait for Frederick to show up. It’s the day of the banquet, and all of us had been ecstatic when we learned training had been cancelled for the day. Zander had looked like he swallowed a sour lemon when he delivered the news at breakfast. Secretly, his irritation was the best part of the news.

  My happiness was short-lived, however, when a note arrived from Frederick, informing me our nightly run would be moved up to noon. It seems I’m too ill-prepared to be gifted a day off.

  So, here I am, waiting for the pushy guard to arrive so I can get this run over with. I’m already salivating to take a long, hot bath once I’m done. The queen is being overly gracious with our preparations for this evening. Normally, contestants are forced to bathe in frigid water, or wash with a cloth and a lukewarm bucket.

  “Sera? Are you ready?”

  My eyes fly open. Prince Camden stands before me. A quick glance around confirms he’s come alone.

  That makes this so much worse.

  “What are you doing here?” Without thinking, I grab his arm and pull him to the other side of the stables, concealing us in the building’s shadows.

  His eyebrows are raised in amusement as he looks down at my hand grasping his arm. I quickly pull away.

  “What are you doing here?” I repeat, looking around, waiting for someone to turn the corner and see me alone with the prince. Just what I need, another reason for the other contestants to hate me.

  “I’m here for our run,” he says in an obvious tone. I can sense him watching me, but I keep my eyes on our surroundings. “Why are you on edge?”

  “Seriously?” I finally look his way. He wears an amused smile, and damn if it doesn’t make him look cute.

  Stupid Fae and their stupid good looks.

  “Yes, seriously,” he continues to grin. “What’s happened to make you so… jumpy?”

  I stop bouncing on the balls of my feet. I hadn’t even realized I was doing that.

  I throw my hands in the air and sigh. Then, I say, “You’re the prince.”

  “Yes,” he nods. “And?”

  Is he messing with me? I can’t tell. His smile is throwing me off.

  “You’re the prince, and you’re meeting me in broad daylight.”

  “So?”

  “So, this looks like collusion. Or favoritism. Take your pick. We can’t let anyone see us together.”

  “I’m the prince. I can be seen with whomever I want.”

  Does he really not get it?

  “Look, I know you must be used to doing whatever you want with little to no repercussions, but I have to live in the barracks with two dozen women, all of whom are going to be my competitors in whatever contest your aunt throws us in. I’d really like not to make any more enemies.”

  He turns his head to the side, giving me an odd look. “You’ve been asking about me.”

  Why do his words make me blush?

  “No, I haven’t asked about you.”

  “Then how did you know the queen is my aunt?”

  I wave a hand in the air. “People talk.”

  “Uh huh.” He doesn’t believe me,
and I don’t understand why. I, also, don’t understand why it’s a big deal.

  “Am I not supposed to ask about you?”

  He shrugs. “I got the impression you didn’t care about me being the prince.”

  What does that have to do with anything?

  “I don’t care,” I confirm.

  “Then why don’t you want to be seen with me?”

  “Because you’re the prince.”

  He lifts a finger. “Aha. See? You do care.”

  Seriously? He can’t be that unaware, but who knows? I decide to spell it out for him, if only so we can end this conversation and move to a place where we are less likely to be seen.

  “Look, I’m getting extra training with Morty, and Frederick shows up every day to assess and comment on my training. The other girls think I’m getting special treatment, and it annoys them. I don’t want them to think I’m somehow your favorite.”

  His stare is unrelenting, and I can’t read his expression. Seconds pass, then he asks, “What if you are?”

  I blink, not sure I understand what he means. “What if… I’m your favorite?”

  “Yes.” He tucks his hands into his front pockets, looking the picture of ease while I’m stunned by the suggestion.

  “Why would I be your favorite? I’m the least impressive candidate, and its not like you know me personally. I can’t possibly be your favorite.” As the words pass my lips, I realize they’re not entirely true. I am the contestant the prince spends the most time around. We aren’t exactly friends, but we aren’t strangers. He knows I’m clumsy, and I know he’s in great running shape. That’s more than the other contestants can claim.

  He interrupts my thoughts. “For argument’s sake, let’s say you are my favorite. What would the other women do about it?”

  “Oh, I don’t know, mark me as enemy number one?” I put my hands on my hips, frustrated. Does he really not get it?

  Understanding dawns. “You are concerned what the other women think of you.”

  “Yes,” I exhale. That’s what I’ve been saying!