by Kyle, Celia
“She said Holly,” her assistant said. “Not new girl.”
“She said Kelly,” the witch retorted. “Not old chick.”
Cora winced, suppressing a smile. No sense encouraging their not-completely-unfriendly office rivalry. Most days it was amusing, though some days it only served to exacerbate her exhaustion.
“Ladies,” she said.
“So not a lady,” Kelly snorted, pushing past Holly to get to Cora’s desk first.
“Which is why you’re currently serving a court-ordered sentence as Cora’s flunky,” Holly teased. “So yeah, I guess that’s working for you.”
Kelly rolled her eyes, then began filing her nails with an invisible emery board. “I was ordered to be her flunky. What’s your excuse?”
“Holly,” Cora interjected, cutting off whatever snappy retort her assistant had. “Here are the resolved files. Kelly, any messages?”
Kelly abandoned her invisible nail file and began pulling crumpled bits of paper from her pockets, tossing them in the air. They floated around her head in a holding pattern until the witch had removed every piece of paper she’d stuffed in whatever pockets she could find. Then she patted herself down, frowning.
“Three, four… missing one. Be right back.” She darted from the room.
Kelly was a maelstrom waiting to happen, which made her far from boring. Cora leaned over to watch the witch, curious in spite of herself. Kelly rushed to the credenza that was acting as her desk and pulled a piece of paper off the stone horn of a gargoyle sitting on it.
Good grief, why had she been saddled with a teenager disguised as an adult? Iris Holloway was the Sentinel who’d sentenced Kelly for the offense of casting a truthspell in open court, yet Cora had been the one Kelly had been assigned to as an unpaid intern as part of her punishment. Under normal circumstances, Iris would have taken on Kelly herself, but she had the whole baby thing happening, so the duty had fallen to Cora.
Not that Kelly was a bad person or even bad at her job, she was just… unique. The witch rocked her own boat, floated her own air bus, sang her own tune. Cora admired her for it, but in the workplace, she expected more professionalism.
“Kelly,” she said when the witch returned with the last message, “why do I have to keep reminding you that the office gargoyles are people, not office furniture? You can’t use them in place of cork boards, for Siren’s sake. If you’re not careful, one day we’ll have to stay late, after the sun sets, and Ronun will not be made of stone anymore. He’ll become one truly pissed off, real-life gargoyle, and then where will you be?”
Kelly opened her mouth to reply but was cut off by a cool, contralto voice. “You can’t expect a witch to behave with any decorum, dear.”
Cora pulled in a breath of air before all of the oxygen was sucked from the room by the devil herself. “Mother.”
Aquaria Murphy—ó Murchadha when she was feeling pretentious, which was pretty much all the time—slid through the doorway, then air-kissed Cora’s cheeks. Taller than her daughter, the fae princess was dressed in a silk wrap blouse and flowing slacks. Her neck, wrist, and ears were dotted with freshwater pearls and blue topazes. A stylist had swept her pale blonde hair up into something that wouldn’t move in a tornado and her makeup was expertly done, not glamoured. She was the epitome of a royal princess, and the woman spent far too much of her time trying to get Cora to emulate her.
“What are you doing here, Mother?”
Aghast, Aquaria reached for her pearls—she actually clutched her pearls!—then slid a haughty glare at Holly.
“Oh, shoot,” Holly said with an apologetic grimace. “I’m sorry, Cora. I forgot to tell you that your mother scheduled lunch with you today.”
Cora imagined a thousand different ways to punish Holly for this oversight. The girl knew Cora needed hours to mentally prepare for Mom-time. She was tempted to beg off, to use her assistant’s screw-up as an excuse to get out of the inevitable nagging, but she didn’t care for the way Kelly glared at her mother. Not that she blamed her, but the last thing she—or Kelly—needed was to anger fae royalty.
“Let’s go, Mother,” Cora jumped up and grabbed her arm.
“Dear, you don’t have to drag me like a commoner,” Aquaria huffed as they left the office. “It’s undignified.”
“You have to stop antagonizing my staff,” Cora hissed, taking her frustration out on the elevator button. “Someone’s going to hex you one of these days.”
Aquaria dismissed her daughter’s concerns with a flick of her baubled hand as the doors opened to them. “If you could manage to hire worthy people, I wouldn’t have to. I really don’t understand why you lower yourself to—”
“I’m not lowering myself, Mother.” She breathed deeply, reciting the names of her ancestors to cool her temper.
“You’re the only daughter of a selkie prince, Coralia. You shouldn’t be mingling with such lackeys. They don’t even show you the proper obeisance.”
Cora cringed. It had taken her weeks to get her co-workers out of the habit of curtsying every time she entered a room. Weeks.
“Mother, I’m part of the judiciary and an arcane public servant. I’m their equal, and they are mine. I don’t want anyone genuflecting in my presence.”
“They will never be your equals, Coralia.” Aquaria’s voice chilled and her blue eyes turned icy. “You honor them by even making the ridiculous suggestion. But then again, I suppose all of this is my doing. I raised a gracious daughter. Perhaps I should congratulate myself. So many royals are elitist these days, out of touch with the rabble.”
“Oh, indeed. So elitist.” The sarcasm flew right over her mother’s head.
Cora steeled herself as they entered the cafeteria, a pleasant smile plastered on her face as chose a sandwich she didn’t want and listened to her mother’s sniffs regarding the meal options. Sure, it was cafeteria food, but it wasn’t too bad. Most of it was made in-house with quality ingredients, but it certain wasn’t fancy. Of course, none of it appealed to Cora at the moment, but she wasn’t about to let her mother know that tidbit.
“Really, dear, the sacrifices you make. Honestly, I’m appalled. I’ll have our chef come over and prepare something for you tomorrow. I’m certain the, um, cook here won’t mind ceding him some space in the kitchen.”
Cora sighed as she made a show of unwrapping her sandwich. She wasn’t even sure what was in it, but damned if she wasn’t going to choke down every bite. “No, Mother. No chefs, for Siren’s sake. Was there a reason you wanted to meet—” she mentally groaned. “Oh, my god, will you stop inspecting the lemonade and just drink it already?”
Aquaria sneered at the plastic cup in front of her. “I don’t need crystal, but couldn’t they at least serve it in a real glass? Does OAJ not have the funding it needs? Perhaps I should get your father involved.”
Cora swallowed the dry mouthful of nondescript sandwich and tried not to show her frustration. “Why are you here?”
Aquaria took a sip of her lemonade, grimaced like she’d just drunk battery acid, then pushed it aside. Folding her hands primly on the table in front of her, she looked at her daughter underneath long, fake lashes.
“For a very important reason, Coralia. Your future.”
“My… future.” She put the sandwich down, not even pretending to be hungry anymore. “Poseidon hear me.”
“And may his trident strike true,” Aquaria said, finishing the old saying out of habit. “It’s high time you found a mate, dear. You aren’t getting any younger despite your youthful appearance. For Siren’s sake, Coralia, you’re almost forty.”
“Mother…”
“You know as well as I do that no siren has ever lived past the age of fifty without being bound. Why, just the other day I heard about the daughter of a well-respected family who had to scrape the bottom of the barrel in order to find herself a proper mate. Not even a full-blooded fae, but a half-breed.”
“Oh my god, Mother,” Cora hissed, glancing around
to see if anyone had heard her tone-deaf mom. “That term’s so offensive on so many levels.”
Aquaria ignored her daughter, as she always did. “The poor thing almost died because of the Curse, Coralia, and I refuse to allow that to happen to you. Not to our family.”
“Mother, you know how I feel about—”
“I know, I know,” Aquaria said, adding an eyeroll for effect. “You want a mate who loves you for you and not because he was lured to you by your natural abilities. But dear, you’re a little long in the tooth to be so picky.”
She wasn’t wrong. With every illness Cora’s body struggled to overcome, she recovered with less and less strength, barely able to maintain her glamour enough to live a normal life. To not drive men—and the occasional woman—mad with false lust. How could she trust any man’s feelings for her when the moment she dropped the glamour, their affection for her twisted into obsession?
Aquaria reached across the table and laid a cool, dry hand on Cora’s. “My darling girl, it’s the fate of a siren to never truly know if her lover’s feelings are real. You should know that by now.”
“I do, but that doesn’t mean I can live with it. Honestly, I’d rather die today than grow old with someone who doesn’t actually love me.”
“Don’t you dare say such words, Coralia ó Murchadha!” Cora closed her eyes in resignation, waiting for the inevitable announcement that she’d have to suffer through yet another horror show. “Your father agrees that you need to continue your search, so we’re hosting a gala at our estate to assist you in finding your mate.”
And there it was.
“Mother…”
“This is not optional, Cora.”
“But I suppose my happiness optional,” she snapped. “Who are you inviting anyway?”
“All eligible males with the requisite pedigrees, titles and wealth, of course. There will be a little of everything to choose from all the top families.” Aquaria frowned. “Coralia, you must know I have your best interest at heart. I only invited men I would marry if I were in your position.”
“That’s not at all reassuring, Mother.”
Aquaria sniffed as she stood and looked down on her daughter. Something Cora was used to.
“I guess you’ll just have to trust me, dear.”
That seemed unlikely.
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About the Authors
Celia Kyle
Ex-dance teacher, former accountant and erstwhile collectible doll salesperson, New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Celia Kyle now writes paranormal romances. It goes without saying that there’s always a happily-ever-after for her characters, even if there are a few road bumps along the way. Today she lives in central Florida and writes full-time with the support of her loving husband and two finicky cats.
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Marina Maddix
New York Times & USA Today Bestselling Author Marina Maddix is a romantic at heart, but hates closing the bedroom door on her readers. Her stories are sweet, with just enough spice to make your mother blush. She lives with her husband and cat near the Pacific Ocean, and loves to hear from her fans.
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Copyright © 2020 by Celia Kyle & Marina Maddix
All rights reserved.
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