I’d selected a gown with bloodred roses sewn throughout.
We stood in the foyer of our home—the biggest hut in the village—awaiting King Craven’s arrival. “Obey the dictates of a tyrant?” I shook my head. “No.” I wouldn’t allow him to take the only home and family I’d ever known.
Titus heaved a forlorn sigh, acting as if I’d doomed us all. I’d inhabited his daughter for several months, but he still lamented my new “sass.”
Suddenly he stiffened and whisper-yelled, “He’s here.”
“How—” My ears twitched, the whooshing sound of wings registering. Ah. Next came thundering footsteps.
Squeaking hinges sounded, the door to the hut swinging open. Then he was there. Craven the Destroyer strode into the abode as if he owned it, two armed men at his sides. I knew it was him without being told. No male had ever exuded such fierce intensity.
He wasn’t traditionally handsome, I noted. He was even better, his features bold and arresting. And the rest of him... Hello. He was tall and packed with lean muscle. He had dark hair and skin, darker eyes, and soft lips. Stubble covered a strong jaw. His wings were large and cobalt.
My heart raced with—what was that? I’d never felt anything quite so powerful. It almost left like a sense of connection had bloomed. As if I belonged with him.
As if he were mine. Meant for me, and me alone.
I floundered. I marveled. It was wondrous.
He glanced in my direction, only to look away. Just as I curled my hands into fists, he jerked his gaze back to me. “You,” he breathed, angling toward me. He prowled closer.
“Me?” I asked, panting all of a sudden. He smelled like a rainstorm. “You know me?” As some part of me seems to know you?
“I...do not. But I’ve dreamed of you.” He said no more, leaving me confused.
“What kind of dreams?” I asked.
One corner of his mouth rose. “The best kind.”
That almost-grin... My knees quaked. I hadn’t imagined the connection. He had experienced it, too.
I wouldn’t kill him, after all. But I might keep him for a while.
“Tell me your name, lovely. I assume you are Lady Leonora, daughter of Great Lord Titus, ruler of the magic folk?”
I nearly closed my eyes and melted into him. Even his voice appealed to me, low and rough, like smoke and gravel.
I licked my lips, suddenly as nervous as a schoolgirl. “I am.” Now...
He searched my face, as if he were memorizing a treasure map. The way I’d seen other men look at their beloved wives. Or mistresses.
The way I wanted to be looked at for the rest of forever.
As he reached out to shift a lock of my red hair between his fingers, my heart raced faster.
“Y-Your Majesty—” Titus began.
“Silence,” Craven snapped without glancing away from me.
This intensity... I couldn’t get enough of it. He needed taming, though.
“I think you are the one I’ve been searching for, Lady Leonora.” Gentle, tender, Craven caressed two knuckles over my cheekbone. Goose bumps spread over me. When he noticed them, he offered the barest smile, his lids hooding his eyes. “I will allow you to continue ruling your people,” he told my father, still not looking away. “I will even allow your people to remain at the bottom of my mountain. But the girl comes with me.”
* * *
Cheers resounded in the distance, waking me as if I’d been stung with a cattle prod. With a gasp, I jolted upright, dragging a blanket with me. Disoriented... Where was I? Why—
Vestiges of the dream hovered at the edge of my mind, reminding me about what I’d witnessed. Had a dream ever seemed so real? I could almost believe I’d been there.
I moaned. I had not relived one of Leonora’s memories, and that was that. Because I wasn’t her reincarnate. I wasn’t a murderess.
Possessed...refortify the barrier...phantom...
I swallowed. No, I wasn’t a reincarnate. But I might be possessed.
New cheers sounded, drowning out my manic laugh.
Trying to breathe, I cast my gaze about. Bright morning sunlight streamed through little holes in the tent. I lay in Saxon’s tent, atop the pallet of furs, alone, and oh, sweet goodness, I was naked.
The last thing I remembered was stepping into the bath then...what? What!
Had I passed out? Had Saxon carried me to bed and allowed me to sleep all night? Naked? Had I mentioned the fact that I wore only flesh and panic?
I rubbed the sleep from my eyes. All right. Forget Saxon and my nakedness. For now. I would get dressed, return to the palace, and research phantoms. If my dream was real, if Leonora was indeed a phantom who’d stolen moments of my life, I’d... I didn’t know.
I just... I wanted to be wrong. I wanted another explanation.
While I did my phantom research, I would also search for an eyewitness account of the day Leonora and Craven met. Perhaps her parents—who had, in fact, borne the names Titus and Hexelle—or maybe a soldier had jotted down a few notes about the meeting in an ancestral journal. What had Milo’s father written about Leonora in his journal? Surely Milo had that journal in his possession. At the very least, a scribe might have an outline of Craven and Leonora’s relationship in the Annals of Enchantia. Or, maybe I could convince Saxon to finally spill all.
Whatever I had to do, I would compare reality to dream. I’d have to be careful, though. No telling how Saxon would react to a possible phantom possession.
No, that wasn’t true. He would kill first and ask questions later.
The fact that the first Leonora might have been part of “The Little Cinder Girl” prophecy, well, that part almost broke my brain.
Did fairy tales truly get worse as they repeated?
So many questions, so few answers.
When another round of cheers rang out, realization struck. The tournament! Eager to check out the weapons, I jumped to unsteady legs, intending to wear whatever clothes I could find.
Thankfully, I didn’t have to search. I spotted a dress neatly folded and stacked beside my pillow, alongside a basket that contained two pieces of bread, two pieces of cheese, a carafe of water, toiletries, hair ribbons, and a note.
Though my stomach churned with anxiety—did I really want to know what Saxon had said?—I stuffed cheese into a bread roll, took a bite, and read the note.
Dress. As promised, I have provided clean clothing. Instead of attending the tournament, you will do your chores. Tidy the tent and prepare a three-course meal for my return. I provided the ingredients for the first course. You are not to visit the market without an escort. You are to buy food and only food. You know what will happen if you fail to obey.
Your king,
S
So, I wasn’t to eat the bread and cheese, I was to use them in addition to the ingredients I was to purchase at the market, with money he hadn’t left me, in order to prepare him a better meal? Him. Not me.
Feeling rebellious, I gobbled up the rest of the cheese roll and regretted nothing. My stomach sang with delight, and the rest of me perked up, surging with energy.
He wanted me to do my chores? Fine. But as soon as I finished, I was going to that tournament.
I cleaned my teeth with the provided paste and donned the offered gown, expecting another sackcloth but finding a finely made garment instead. The softness of the material... I sighed dreamily. But, why would Saxon gift me with such a nice outfit? Unless he knew there was something I would hate about it?
Ah. There it was. A bit too small in the bust, with back buttons I couldn’t latch without breaking my body in half.
I searched the tent for the tunic and leathers he’d offered yesterday, just in case. Alas. The tricky prince had left only the gown.
Well, I would show him. I ripped off those back buttons, the
n dug up one of the golden nails I’d buried, and used it to poke holes in the material, where the buttons had been. I then laced an extra hair ribbon through the bottom hole on one side and a second ribbon through the bottom hole on the other side, tying them together at the end. As I threaded those ribbons up, up, I crisscrossed them. A trick I’d learned when the seams of my sackcloth had come apart at the Temple.
Though I had to do serious contorting, I managed to shimmy into the gown while maintaining a hold on each of the ribbons. Then I pulled them together and tied the other end, closing and securing the back of my gown. The moment I finished, a tingle of warmth raced down my spine, and I laughed. A tingle of victory?
I’d done it! Ashleigh: 2. Saxon: 0.
I brushed my hair and pinned back the sides with the remaining ribbon. All right. Time to tidy.
This morning, I didn’t care enough about presentation to paste on a carefree smile. I grumbled under my breath as I made the bed, then picked up some things Saxon had left behind: polish and rags to shine his armor, a set of sharpeners for his sword. As I put each item away, I searched for my eggs and designs, just in case he’d hid them somewhere nearby.
He hadn’t.
For Saxon’s meal, I shoved the remaining cheese into the remaining roll and smeared the whole thing with toothpaste. Because herbs.
Three courses...three ingredients...basically the same thing.
There. I’d done everything he’d asked. He’d have no reason to complain.
More cheers.
If he’d truly wanted me to stay put, he would have chained me down. So, because he hadn’t chained me down, he proved he actually wanted me to attend the tournament and watch him battle. If I stayed in the tent, he would probably rage.
My logic tracked, I was sure of it.
Determined to deal with my escort, I marched outside, sunlight and warmth enveloping me, yesterday’s chill already gone. Maybe, if I looked as confident today as I’d sounded yesterday, the escort wouldn’t even attempt to stop me.
All around, servants hustled and bustled to and fro. Some carried logs or buckets of water. Others carried weapons and food. The scent of roasting meat saturated the air, making my stomach rumble as if I hadn’t eaten in years. Hey. Where was my—
“Good morrow, Princess.”
Blood flash-freezing, I jerked my gaze to the speaker. Trio, my three-year tormentor, landed about ten feet away from me, right beside an avian I’d never met. A slender female with pale hair, snow-white skin dotted with a smattering of freckles, and silvery eyes. Lovely ivory wings streaked with black arced over her shoulders.
She wore the clothes and weapons of a warrior: a black leather top, with metal mesh strategically placed around different vital organs, was paired with leather pants and a belt holding a bejeweled dagger on both sides.
She appeared to be the kind of girl I’d always wished I was. Strong, capable, and worthy. How proud her family must be. How proud her people—her soon-to-be king—must be.
New cheers grabbed my attention. I glided my gaze down the mountain, where a massive coliseum loomed in the heart of the bustling market. It was too far away to make out individual details, but I easily spotted the line that stretched around it, countless people eager to get inside.
One voice rose above the cheers, as if by magic. “Next we have... Morgone the Brave!”
Thunderous applause. Ah. The master of ceremonies must be introducing the combatants, one by one.
The next one he introduced—Bambam the Troll—received boos.
Ugh. A troll was fighting for Dior’s hand in marriage? Trolls had towering horns, venomous tusks, and, according to the tales I’d heard, an unquenchable taste for mortal...meat.
Maybe I didn’t envy Princess Dior, after all. What other creatures vied for her hand in marriage? Sorcerers? They had to steal magic from others to survive. Snake-shifters? They brazenly fed on other shifters. Gorgons? If conditions were right, they could turn anyone into stone.
Could Saxon win against such fierce competitors?
If he died, I wouldn’t care. Not more than a little. Probably.
“Come,” Trio demanded, motioning me over. “I’ll take you to the market, as Prince Saxon instructed.”
“There’s no need. I’ve prepared his meal already.” I stood by my cheese loaf. Filling and good for you. Because herbs.
“You lie.”
“How dare you insult my cookery. Even if I planned to slave over a second meal, which I don’t, I wouldn’t go to the market with you.” How many times had this male made me bleed? “I wouldn’t go to an all-you-can-take treasury with you.”
Had Saxon left him behind to punish me further?
Forget caring a little if he died. I would rejoice. In fact, I was already planning the goodbye party.
The pale-haired female said, “Don’t worry. I’ll take her to the meat market. There’s some beefcake I’m dying to inspect up close and personal.” She wiggled her brows.
Beefcake? My stomach forgot breakfast and rumbled an agreement. “I’ve never had beefcake, but I’d like to change that immediately. Please, and thank you.” Then, I would sneak off to the tournament.
She canted her head and blinked at me, as if she’d never encountered such a strange specimen. “I didn’t mean...you know what? Never mind. I’ll get you a freaking beefcake. Well, a vegecake. I don’t do meat. Unless you’re willing to take a chance on squirrel? They’re the chicken of the trees, you know, and the little suckers deserve death by mastication. I said what I said.”
Freaking? Do meat? Did many avian speak as oddly as this one, who reminded me of the witch Ophelia. “I humbly accept the vegecake, but not the squirrel. You’re very kind.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” She rushed over to slap a hand over my mouth, her gaze darting left and right. To all those nearby, she called, “She means I’m super bad. Like, terrible. Awful.” Satisfied she’d made her point, she dropped her hand and said, “Lookit, I can tell you aren’t wanting to grocery shop or prepare some kind of recompense meal. You can barely keep your eyes off the coliseum. So do you want to attend the tournament, or what?”
Truly? Had I finally found a fairy godmother? “You’ll escort me there? Yes, yes, yes.”
“The princess is supposed to go to the market, nowhere else.” Anger frothed in Trio’s eyes as he spread his beautiful wings. Whoosh, whoosh. He rose into the air, gliding toward me. “If I must break your legs and carry you to ensure it happens, Princess, I will.”
I didn’t... I couldn’t...move. I needed to move. But I’d frozen with terror, my limbs locked in place. I remained planted, an unwitting target for my worst nightmare.
The pale-haired girl flung herself at him, kneeing him in the stomach and punching him in the face. “Try to break her legs and see what happens,” she cooed at his wheezing form.
Fairy godmother to the rescue.
Smiling at me, she held out her hand. “I’m Eve, by the way. You’re Ashleigh, and you’re happy to meet me, yada yada.”
I looked at her, then her hand. Eve, the hand. Was I supposed to kiss it? She was Saxon’s second-in-command, and she had helped me with Trio. If it was avian tradition...
Whatever. I did it. I kissed her hand.
She sucked her lips between her teeth, her eyes going wide with...mirth? Ugh. What had I done wrong? And oh, wow. Up close, I noticed a faint blue glow inside her irises. It reminded me of both the Enchantian Forest and Ophelia. I frowned. Was she part witch, or had she been infused with magic as a child?
Usually avian preferred not to partake of magic, or so I’d been told. Still, she wasn’t wearing wrist cuffs to protect her hands, the conduit for magic.
Trio came to his feet with a growl. “Out of my way.” He shoved Eve aside and crushed my forearm in a vise grip, making me yelp. As if I were little more than a rag doll, he ya
nked me against him.
Eve launched into action, kicking his arm, forcing him to loosen his hold. I stumbled backward, and she performed a second kick, nailing him in the stomach. When he hunched over, gasping for breath, she fisted his hair, then double-kneed him, first in the nose, then in the chin. He collapsed, unconscious.
My hero! “How did you do that?”
“Practice.” She brushed her hands together in a job well done. “Now, close your eyes and I’ll, uh, fly you to the coliseum. Because I have wings. You noticed the wings, right?”
Something about her voice... I couldn’t not obey her, my eyelids closing of their own accord. When she wrapped an arm around my waist, I experienced a moment of weightlessness, disorientation, and dizziness. The foundation under my feet vanished, the two of us seeming to hover in the air.
All of a sudden, a new foundation materialized underfoot. I inhaled, taking in an array of perfumes mixed with sweat and soap. The roars of the spectators cranked up to top volume.
Only a couple of seconds had passed since I’d closed my eyes, yet I was certain I was now standing inside the coliseum.
I tried to open my eyes but my lids were stuck. Fighting panic, while panicking, I cried, “Something’s wrong. I can’t open my eyes. What’s wrong? Eve?”
“Oh. Right. Yes, go ahead and open your peepers.”
Just like that, my eyelids popped open. Okay. Much better. I exhaled, now beyond certain she did indeed wield a magical ability. I’d heard whispers that there were people who could compel the actions of others with a spoken word, but I’d never actually met anyone who could do it.
For whatever reason, she must have used her voice magic to make me think so little time had passed since we’d abandoned Trio. And I’d had no idea.
The terrible things this girl could make me do...
“Well, don’t look at me like that,” she said, the note of power replaced by exasperation. “I’m just a girl, standing in front of another girl, wanting her to withhold judgment until she gets to know her better.”
The Glass Queen Page 11
