by Terry Spear
“She is trespassing. Do you want me to take her to our dungeon, Sir Reginald?”
“Why are you here?” the knight asked Ritasia, motioning for the monk to be silent.
Her heart thundering, she tried to come up with something that sounded plausible. “I have heard there is a knight so remarkable when he plies his skills in the joust, I had to see for myself if it is true.”
“Did Serena tell you this?” the knight asked, his mouth curving up some.
Serena? So this was the man she must have been seeing.
But then Sir Reginald sneered at her. “You are a dark fae. She would not have had anything to do with you or your kind.”
If Serena had come here to see this man, Ritasia could not understand the draw. Yet she was determined to seek his interest so that Serena would see her folly and marry Ritasia’s cousin Micala instead.
“Since you are dressed as the Black Knight, I assume you accept defeat in this human event. I admire your ability to entertain the humans in that way. It takes courage.”
He looked her over and gave her an evil smile. “This woman is really a lovely creature, despite being a dark fae. If you want her, she is yours. Take her to the dungeon.”
“You would not do this to me!” Ritasia shouted.
“Come, princess,” the monk said, grinning like a fool.
“You are an idiot,” she said to the monk, and motioned to the knight, including him also, “and you are as well.”
At the blink of an eye, she was no longer at the fair, but in a dark, dank prison. Heart pounding, she was momentarily unable to think of what she could do next.
One small barred window let in a little fresh air, but she heard the squeaking of some rodent, rats or mice scurrying about in the place, hopefully not in her cell. A single straw–filled mattress was lying on a metal rack in the chilly unlit room, although the light filtered through the narrow window.
She was definitely not into self–sacrifice and was ready to tell all and then some who she was to spring herself from here.
“What have we here, Tuttle,” a man asked, his tone brusque and dark, startling her.
Thinking she was alone, she felt her heart give a hard thump as she turned to see the burly man standing in the cell’s doorway as he folded his arms, his whiskered face dirty, his blond hair in greasy straggles hanging over his shoulders. Tuttle, the monk, was standing beside him, looking perfectly pleased with himself to have brought a prisoner here, his smile odiously self–important.
The other man, probably the jailer, wore a gray tunic covered in smudges of grime. A set of brass keys dangled off a chain belt at his bulging waistline. She longingly eyed the ring of keys, making him smile. Two front teeth were missing. Knocked out by a prisoner? Or bad hygiene? From the looks of it, he probably never brushed his teeth either. At least not the yellowed and brown ones that were left.
“She is a dark fae who was spying on us at the fair. I am certain the Denkar sent her there since that Count Micala is to wed Princess Serena, and his people are trying to learn what is going on with the princess,” the monk said.
“You must report this to Prince Grotto.”
“After I have my fun with her, Sir Reginald said,” the monk pronounced, leering at Ritasia.
“A monk of some order,” she repeated, trying to remind him of his pretend duty.
The guard shook his head. “Now.”
“Why not report this to the princess?” Tuttle asked, sounding annoyed.
“She has slipped away again and the king is furious. This one is of the Denkar, so the prince will have to question her since the princess is not here to do so.”
“He will want her,” Tuttle grumbled, then stalked out of the cell.
The guard immediately manacled Ritasia to the bed. As she lay down, she wondered whether this was the same cell where her brother had once been held.
“I happen to be Princess Ritasia, Queen Irenis’s daughter, in case you care.”
The man shook his head. “Tell your story to Prince Grotto. Maybe you can convince him of your faery tale.”
So much for her plans to intrigue the Black Knight and steal him away from Serena and show her what a blackguard he was, right before Ritasia dumped him.
***
Six hours later after reclining on the odious moldy mattress in the Morcalon dungeon, Ritasia heard footfall headed in her cell’s direction. She sat up.
Prince Grotto arrived at her cell door, blond hair pulled back in a tail, his bright green eyes measuring her through the bars of the cell in a most inappropriate way.
The guard pulled the door open. The prince stalked into the cell, looking superior as he frowned down at her. “What were you doing at the fair?”
“You are Prince Grotto, are you not?” Knowing that he was just from his conceited bearing and richly appointed clothes and because he was supposed to have questioned her hours ago. “Whatever happened to manners in your kingdom? I’m Princess Ritasia, daughter of Queen Irenis and the late King Tolliver. Now that you’ve made me stay in this foul prison for half the day…”
He smiled evilly at her. “Princess Ritasia would never be caught dead at a dragon fae affair.” Then his face darkened. “What were you doing there?”
As Prince Grotto glowered at her, she thought she heard rapid footsteps headed toward them. But they were soft, like a woman’s rather than a man’s. Or maybe a child’s. But why would either a child or a woman be visiting the dungeon unless the individual was bound to be another prisoner. Yet, Ritasia didn’t hear a guard’s heavy footfall in conjunction with the lighter steps. So whoever it was, he or she couldn’t be a prisoner.
As soon as Ritasia saw Princess Alicia, her blond hair pulled into a ponytail, her green eyes focusing on the guard, not on her, Ritasia smiled. The girl was to marry her brother and knew just who Ritasia was, so she would quickly set the pompous Prince Grotto straight.
Alicia immediately addressed the guard, not even Prince Grotto, for whom she had low regard, partly because of his objecting that she was here and now stood first in line for the throne.
“Tuttle said you had a female prisoner here that I needed to speak with,” Alicia said.
“You weren’t available,” Grotto argued, not allowing the guard to answer her first, the prince’s voice heavy with rebuke. “You are never where you say you’ll be, now that you are able to fae transport at will. The king ought to—”
Alicia didn’t allow the prince to finish what he was about to say, but turned to see who the prisoner was instead. Her eyes grew huge and her mouth dropped open. “Ritasia,” she said in a hush as if speaking her name out loud was forbidden.
Ritasia gave her a bright smile, raised her manacled wrists, and said, “Would this be a good time for you to teach me how to improve my archery skills?” She gave Grotto and the monk each a scathing look. “I know just the perfect targets.”
***
Many dragon fae courtiers came out to watch Alicia as she instructed Ritasia in how to improve her skill with the bow at the archery range. The area was surrounded by trees except for a narrow lane free of trees where wooden stakes had been placed at three different distances for the competing archers.
Ritasia had hoped for a private conversation with Alicia, though she wasn’t sure how her future sister would view the situation. Alicia was a dragon fae after all.
The problem was Alicia had hinted that spies watched her every move and even attempted to hear what she said to her ladies–in–waiting in her own chambers. But worse, she didn’t trust any of them either.
“The problem is,” Alicia whispered to Ritasia as she showed her how to hold her bow properly, “everyone here believes they have my best interests at heart. So it is not as if they are working for some tyrannical fae who is trying to keep me in check.”
“You grandfather, the king?”
“Well, of course, yes, to an extent.”
Ritasia quickly added, “And Prince Grotto and his men.
”
Alicia let out her breath, admitting, “Yes, them, too.”
“Are you truly upset with Micala for continuing to see your human friend Cassie?”
“Yes. You know that nothing good will ever come of it.” Ritasia sighed, knocked her arrow, and released it.
“Very good,” Alicia commended. “Next time, aim a little higher and to the left more to compensate for the breeze.”
Ritasia readied another arrow. “Deveron wants to speak to his cousin first and take care of the matter.”
“I know. But it doesn’t seem to be working.”
Ritasia let her arrow go. Thwack!
“Much, much better,” Alicia said, praising her.
Ritasia beamed. “Another.” She readied an arrow again. “He planned to speak to him last night.”
“Well, did he?” Alicia asked.
Ritasia lowered her bow and said quietly for her ears only, “I don’t know.”
Alicia frowned and folded her arms. “You two are like the best of friends, half of the time annoyed with each other, and half of the time inseparable. You almost always know what’s going on with the other.”
“I sort of got myself in a bind and was stuck in your dungeon.”
Alicia studied her for a while, not saying a word, then she arched her brows. “Not last night. I was informed you were picked up at the Texas Renaissance fair this morning and brought straight here.”
“I was at the fairgrounds all night.” Ritasia aimed her arrow and released it. This time it struck the stake several yards past the second one.
“Why? You knew it was dragon fae territory, right? I’ve heard Sir Reginald believed you were spying on my people.”
“Not on your people,” Ritasia said indignantly. “Rather trying to learn what a Mabara winged fae was doing there instead.”
Alicia didn’t say anything for a moment, and Ritasia wondered if she thought she was lying. But then Alicia threw up her hands in exasperation. “What on earth is a Mabara winged fae?”
It was Ritasia’s turn to stare at Alicia in disbelief. Then she reigned in her skepticism, realizing that Alicia hadn’t lived with the fae all that long. “Sorry. I thought your Morcalon scholars would have taught you all about the different fae kingdoms by now.”
“Are you tired yet?” Alicia asked. “Do you want to get something to eat?”
Ritasia hadn’t eaten anything since yesterday afternoon, and it was nearly time for the evening meal. “I’m starving.”
“Good.” Alicia motioned for a servant to take the bow and arrows, then grabbed Ritasia’s hand and stalked toward the garden path that led to the keep.
Courtiers followed them at a respectable distance, and Alicia kept her voice low. “I have learned about the major kingdoms, the rulers, the important history, and some of the languages. I feel that I’m so stuffed full of fae knowledge I will burst if they feed me anymore. I can’t keep everything and everyone straight. So what is the winged fae’s story?”
“Princess Serena is daughter of the queen of the Mabara. The only daughter of Queen Verbenia. And Serena is betrothed to Micala.”
“I knew the part about her betrothal. I just didn’t know the Mabara were winged fae.” Alicia made an annoyed face, her mouth and brows pinched. Then she gave a small smile. “That could be good—if Micala must wed the Mabara. Then maybe that will stop his interest in Cassie.”
“The problem is that Serena is interested in marrying the dragon fae, Sir Reginald.”
Alicia didn’t say anything as she led Ritasia in through the servants’ passageway to the kitchen. The rest of the courtiers paused at the doorway as if not sure if they could stoop so low as to walk down the servant’s corridor.
“Well, that presents a problem,” Alicia finally said. “As a dragon fae, I have to support my fellow fae, who seek alliances with another kingdom, right?”
Alicia was so new to all of this business, Ritasia had to smile at her. Then she sighed. “Yes, but you see it causes other problems. Micala is betrothed to her. Queen Irenis will not feel kindly about losing the princess to a knight of the dragon fae court, not when the queen had already drawn up an agreement with the Mabara. Serena’s mother will be put on the spot also.”
“And since I’m hoping to be Deveron’s bride, if his mother is angry enough with the Morcalon, she may say we can’t marry. Hmm. So what were you trying to do today at the Renaissance fair—exactly?
Ritasia truly didn’t wish to explain her failure but she did anyway, reminding herself that Alicia would be her sister once she married Deveron. “I was trying to encourage Sir Reginald to take an interest in me instead.” Ritasia smiled when she saw the look of shock on Alicia’s face. “Just for pretend. I have no interest in the knight. I must not have as much appeal as the winged fae.”
Alicia shook her head and squeezed Ritasia’s hand in a comforting way. “He was wary of your intentions most likely realizing you had no desire to truly pay him any mind.”
“True. Do you know what Tuttle said to me?”
“I’m afraid to ask.”
“He said the knight always has a late night of it. His reputation with the ladies must be maintained.”
Alicia cocked one brow heavenward. “Perhaps the knight doesn’t have enough duties to perform. I will personally check into it.”
Ritasia smiled.
They heard clanking of pots in the kitchen, cooks’ voices, and smelled the aroma of freshly roasted game hens. Which reminded Ritasia just how hungry she was.
A guard rushed into the hall behind them and Ritasia was sure he was coming to place her back in the dungeon. Although now that she was no longer shackled, she’d just fae transport out of here.
“Princess,” he said quickly to Alicia, “Prince Deveron is at the castle gates, shouting that if Princess Ritasia isn’t released at once, he will call in his army to storm the castle.”
“My brother to the rescue,” Ritasia said, seizing Alicia’s hand and hurrying her into the kitchen. She was starving and wanted a bite of all that smelled so good in here. “Can you invite him to share a meal with us?” she asked Alicia, not about to give up a well–deserved meal for anything short of going to war.
Chapter 10
Niall caught his breath as Serena rested atop him in the faery meadow where she’d taken him when they’d fallen from the tower at her castle. “You could have warned me.” She’d nearly given him a heart attack when she’d thrown herself at him and knocked him from the bars he’d been holding onto for dear life as tired as he’d been. Before he’d fallen to the ground, they had landed in the meadow, cushioned by a bed of fragrant flowers that he remembered so well the last time he was here.
She smiled down at him, so wickedly innocent, pinning him to the ground. “You rescued me.” But he noticed then, her eyes shimmered with tears that she quickly blinked back.
He combed his fingers through her silky golden hair, thinking how very lucky his cousin would be when he wed the girl.
“We must return to my hut in the meadow for the potion I was preparing. I was almost finished with it when they caught me. But as soon as my mother’s advisor warns everyone I’ve disappeared again, the alarm will sound, and they will search for me everywhere. Probably here first since this is where they found me the last time.”
He was too tired to move. But more than anything, he just wanted to lie here with her, breathing in the fragrance of the flowers, feeling the warmth of the sunny breeze, feeling the warmth of her body pressed against his.
She sighed as if she was thinking the very same thing. Then she rested her head against his chest, and he continued to stroke her hair. “You are beautiful,” he whispered.
But she was betrothed to his cousin, he reminded himself.
She finally placed her chin on his chest and looked him in the eye. “As much as I hate to leave this place, we must.”
She reached for his hand, grasped hold, and before he could say a word, she transported him to he
r hut in the meadow, filled with drying herbs and flowers he recognized seeing before. He stared at the mural on the wall. The same one he had admired before with the brilliant blue sky and the birds flying high above or half–hidden in the meadow flowers below.
Before he could ask her anything to clear up his confusion, she made him lie down on a mattress stuffed with feathers. As he sank into the comfortable bed, he tried his darnedest to stay awake—waiting for her to finish making the antidote as she moved to a collection of bowls and began to add flower petals to one of them. But he worried also that she’d be whisked away again and abandon him if he closed his eyes. Unable to prevent sleep from taking possession of his every thought, he finally closed his eyes in defeat.
Serena hastily mixed crushed herbs into a pot of boiling water and cooked it for a few minutes. Then she added it to the mixture that she had already made, worried someone would come here looking for her soon. Glancing over at his sleeping form, she hated to wake Niall as sound asleep as he was, but as soon as he drank the concoction, he would feel revitalized enough to stave off the need for sleep for hours, just like he normally would do.
She crossed the floor to the bed and touched his shoulder, then gently shook him. He didn’t respond. She said, “Niall, the antidote is ready.”
He didn’t twitch.
She knew it wouldn’t work, but she wanted to anyway and leaned over to give him a kiss. As soon as her lips touched his, his mouth curved up in a small smile. Before she could punch him for being awake and pretending he was not, he reached up and grabbed her shoulders, pulling her down to embrace her…and kiss her.
She melted against him, feeling a surge of something deeper for him, a feeling of connectedness that she had never felt with anyone else. She enjoyed being with him, even if she was annoyed with him. And when she was in the tower, all she could think of was reuniting with him. Not just to keep him safe from her people, or cure him of his sleeping sickness, but just to be with him.
When he lightened his grip on her, he said, “Waking me in that manner is preferred to any other.” A hint of a smile played in his eyes, but he seemed serious, too.
