The temperature in the room grew chilly. Sly kept his polite expression fixed and watched the various players, unsure if he was imagining undercurrents.
“I’m pleased to meet you.” Sly stretched out his hand in greeting. Not exactly the truth, but he wanted to create a satisfactory impression, or at least appear normal. Telling everyone that this was the weirdest fuckin’ trip he’d ever had and his memory had taken a turn down AWOL Avenue might raise beware flags.
At least this Calum dude wore a similar suit. His matched his wife’s attire—stark black and white to her dove gray, and he wore his curly blond hair pulled back in a ponytail. Lord Calum stared down his narrow nose, distaste drip-drip-dripping off him.
Sly accepted the hint and dropped his hand. His presence was not welcome.
“Come. Sit. Join me while I break my fast,” King Fionnghall suggested. “As long as you don’t speak of doctors or medicine, we’ll have a fine visit.”
“Where is Liam?” Katrina asked, ignoring her father. “He should be here for this discussion.”
“Only family should be present,” Calum stated coldly.
Ooh, a matched couple. Sly had an urge to shiver theatrically but again—shoddy manners. Castles had dungeons, didn’t they?
“Fine,” the king said. “We will summon Liam and have a discussion.” He reached for a golden bell sitting on the table to his right and picked it up. It rang weakly, hampered by his lack of strength.
Calum stalked over to the table and seized the bell. He rang it vigorously, and the large wooden door at the entrance to the room sprang open.
“You rang, Majesty?” one of the security men asked.
“Summon Liam,” the king ordered.
“This is a family gathering. Why don’t I go for a walk and explore the castle grounds? Would that be acceptable?” Sly asked.
Katrina sent him an approving glance.
“Thank you,” the king said. “That is very understanding of you.”
“Let me guide you in the right direction while we’re waiting for my brother,” Iseabal said, pouting. “I wanted to show you around the castle.”
“You can do that once you’re finished with your meeting,” Sly said. “I’ll wander the grounds.”
Iseabal beamed again, her favorable mood restored. She slipped her arm in his and led him from the salon. “This might take a while,” she added. “It’s just like Katrina and Calum to pull this rubbish and spoil your first day here.”
“I don’t mind.” Sly groped for understanding, for answers. If this was his first day in Seelie, where had he resided before?
Iseabal led him along a wide passage, which opened out to a landing. “Go down these stairs and outside. Turn right and you will come to the gardens. Beyond the gardens is the lake, although I doubt our talk will take that long. I will send a servant to let you know when we are done.”
“That’s fine.” Sly turned, eager to begin his explorations and to answer some of his questions.
“Aren’t you forgetting something?”
Sly turned back to the princess.
“You didn’t kiss me goodbye. As soon as I speak to my father, our betrothal will become official.”
Sly hesitated, feeling critical stares drilling into his back. Eyes. Watching them. Watching him. Judging.
“Sly.” Abrupt impatience simmered in that one word.
Sly closed the distance between them, wrapped his arms around Iseabal and kissed her. He kept the kiss gentle, with his tongue barricaded behind his teeth. Nothing suggestive or sexual, but the exchange appeased Iseabal.
She gave him a quick hug before skipping back to join her family.
The sense of being watched again pushed Sly to motion. He needed to leave the castle to find a quiet place to think.
Outside, workers clipped hedges and deadheaded red flowers, making the gardens a busy place. Too full of people.
“Good morning,” Sly said. “Can you point me in the direction of the lake?”
One of the gardeners ceased the clack, clack, clack of his clippers and straightened. “Follow this path until you come to a red gate. Go through the gate and follow the yellow path. It will take you through the forest and to the lake.”
“Thank you,” Sly said.
After five minutes of walking past white-and-red flowers and formal hedges in straight lines, he came to the red gate. It was set in the middle of yet another freshly trimmed hedge. The entire garden screamed formal and fussy. Not him.
He opened the gate, the contrast between the gardens and the wilderness bringing a low whistle of astonishment.
An owl flew overhead and landed in a nearby tree. The russet-colored bird regarded him with soulful blue eyes and hooted a mournful cry. A memory stirred, and then dissipated the instant he tugged it.
“Fuck,” he muttered. And he repeated the pithy word, because it was familiar and fit the situation. “Fuck.”
Wait. How did he know the curse? Yet another mystery.
Sly kicked a stone and ambled along the path. The owl followed with a quiet whoosh of its wings. Leaves rustled as the owl settled on a branch. A stalker bird might freak some people, but Sly didn’t think it meant him ill. Heck, it might be something as simple as him stirring bugs as he walked, which the owl hoped to catch.
Sly glanced over his shoulder, and when he saw nothing but trees and the owl, he let his breath ease out. Something about this place, the castle, raised the hair at the back of his neck.
The trees thinned and the path opened to showcase the lake. Soaring mountains thrust upward into puffy white clouds. A stream spilled over a cliff face, creating a waterfall at the far end of the lake.
Sly wandered across the stony lakeshore and took a seat on one of the large rocks edging the water. A rush of air and flutter of wings had him turning his head. The owl.
“You’re following me,” Sly said.
The russet owl settled on a rock beside him and cocked its large head as if it was listening.
“I don’t remember how I came to be here.” Sly settled more comfortably and picked up a pebble. He tossed it into the lake. “Iseabal…Princess Iseabal said I arrived yesterday. I don’t understand. Did I drive? Did I walk? I should know, right?”
The owl offered a quiet hoot that Sly found comforting.
“The princess seems to think we’re close. We kissed, and it was like kissing my sister. I get the feeling the princess thinks we’ll marry. This isn’t my home. These clothes, the castle… They’re not familiar. And you know the weirdest thing?”
The owl screeched and took flight, disappearing into the trees.
“The weirdest thing is that whenever I think too hard and almost remember something relevant, the memory dissolves. Yeah. Something is off, but I don’t know what it is.”
The crunch of footsteps and loud, wheezing breaths had Sly climbing to his feet.
“The princess is finished and requests your presence,” the liveried servant gasped out between pants. His face was almost the color of his scarlet livery.
“All right,” Sly said, brushing the dust off his backside. “I’ll be along in a few minutes.”
“She be waiting now,” the young man said with a trace of anxiousness. “She don’t like to be kept waiting.”
“I’m coming,” Sly said, holding back his snap with difficulty. He got that Iseabal was a princess, but he was no lackey to order around.
Tamping down his displeasure, Sly followed the servant back to the castle. The young man hustled, yet his breathing came in exhausted gasps.
“Slow down,” Sly said finally. “If you don’t slow your pace, you’ll collapse.”
“You don’t understand. The princess hates to be kept waiting, and the last thing anyone wants to do is stir her anger. A fierce thing, it be. Scarier than a thunder of dragons flying overhead. People tremble when she loses her temper. Her magic is strong. Rumors say even stronger than the king’s. I have none. No means of defense. Please, we must hurry.
I-I need this job.”
“All right,” Sly said. “You go slower and catch your breath. I’ll make sure Princess Iseabal knows I was by the lake and it took you a while to find me.”
“Thank you, Lord Sly. You are kind.”
Why did everyone keep addressing him as lord? “Sly,” he said firmly. “Call me Sly.”
“Oh, no, my lord. I can’t do that. You are the princess’s betrothed. No, I must show you respect or the princess will chastise me.”
Sly frowned. The servant’s tone made him suspect the chastisement would run closer to punishment rather than a verbal set-down. “Thank you for explaining. I’m new here and catching up with the rules.”
“Yes,” the servant said, fervent with his reply. “It’s best to learn the rules to stay safe.”
Sly lifted a hand in farewell and strode ahead, soon reaching the red gate. He stalked through the gate and through the formal gardens.
He heard the shrieking before he reached the steps leading to the massive carved entranceway to the castle. He hastened his pace and burst past the two burly soldiers on guard duty. They seemed relieved, although they remained silent. It was more the loosening of their tight expressions.
Sly spied Princess Iseabal mid-shriek.
“Where is he? I asked a servant to locate him ten minutes ago. Ten minutes! Where is he?”
“Princess Iseabal.” Sly bowed, although the action took him by surprise. He didn’t think he’d ever bowed to anyone. No…
Damn, the notion disappeared before he figured out his regular behavior.
“What took you so long?” Her words held sharp edges, but she reduced her volume. Her face—all fiery, red-tinged angles and flashing red eyes—had him approaching with caution. Red eyes?
“I’d walked as far as the lake.” Sly blinked. Ah. Imagination. Her eyes were blue now. “I headed straight back once the servant found me. Is your father all right? Did your meeting go well?”
Princess Iseabal’s face smoothed out and her golden beauty shone again. “Yes, he seemed better and ate a meal with us. Are you ready for your tour around the castle?”
“Of course. I’m looking forward to it.” Sly took her arm and she dimpled up at him.
“Father liked you,” she said with satisfaction. “He approved of your manner and agrees you’d make me a fine husband. He’s issued an order. The banns will be called on the next holy day. Soon, we can set a date for our wedding.”
Chapter Seven
Cinnabar wept inside, at a loss as to how to prevent this injustice. Dejected, she flew through the evening sky and finally returned to the castle, choosing to perch on a ledge near Sly’s chamber. Princess Iseabal would never release Sly. Even if anyone guessed the truth, no one would dare gainsay her because of her position.
Too quick to anger. Too unpredictable. Too powerful.
The princess had decided she wanted Sly, and no one else would do. Now Sly would forget his loved ones, his previous life and become a broken man. Like…like the Creeper zombie race on the nearby planet of Oucie, referred to most by the colloquial name of Ooze, since the residents tended to seep and trickle into the ground to flee visitors. Cinnabar shuddered and her feathers rustled.
If she met Sly during her hours in her natural form… But no. She’d never gain access to the royal wing. The security men would stop her. And if the princess spotted her inside the castle in owl form when she’d expressly bid her to remain outside… No, that wouldn’t work either.
If only she was brave enough to dispute the banns.
An objection to the marriage would stop the princess, yet no one—least of all Cinnabar—dared refute Princess Iseabal.
As she dithered about her dilemma, the right and wrong and whether she was willing to forfeit her life to correct this debacle, Sly stirred in his chamber. She cocked her head, a thrill of excitement buzzing to life. If he left the castle during the night…
She shifted her weight and stomped her talon against the stone ledge, her eyes closing as resentment pulsed in her feathered breast. This wasn’t fair. None of it was fair.
Although the princess took great care with her private punishments, Cinnabar couldn’t be the only unfortunate one—cursed or killed because of a mistake or a slight to the princess.
Mayhap it was time to take a risk. At present, she lived a half-life. One of servitude and fear. If she helped one person—Sly—and made others aware of the princess’s behavior and abuse of power, her sacrifice might stop the immoral acts. Death would free her, and it might save Sly.
Cinnabar opened her eyes and straightened from her puffball slouch. Her heart beat strong and sure as her muscles tensed. She could do this. Plan. Set her goals. And wham bam! Blow the selfish give-me, give-me princess from her protective bubble. Show her family, her people, exactly how she abused her powers—both magical and hierarchical. How she’d trained and practiced each morning until spells and chants came to her with ease, how she’d mastered pulling energy from the ley lines with precision.
Observe. Plan. Act.
Pleased with her decision, Cinnabar listened to Sly pace the confines of his chamber. Thump. Thump. Curse. Finally, she heard him huff and leave.
Interesting. Where did he intend to go?
Five long minutes later, he exited the castle and entered the gardens. The two security guards on the door inspected him.
“He’s a strange one,” McRobber, the junior guard, commented.
“I checked with the princess. She said he had freedom to wander at will within the kingdom, but he couldn’t leave Seelie without her,” McGuiness, the senior guard, replied.
McRobber knit his brow and tugged on his right ear. “What if he intends to leave?”
“Och, don’t fash.” McGuiness watched Sly until he disappeared. “The guards on the main gates will hold him, should he decide to flee.”
McRobber tugged his ear again to the point of redness. “Why would he want to leave? I understand the first of the banns will be called on the next holy day. The princess is pretty and holds a position of power.”
“Shush, lad, ’tis not for us to ponder. All we do is follow the princess’s orders.” McGuiness stepped back into the warmth of the castle. “I think it is time for a warming drink.”
With the guards’ retreat, Cinnabar winged after Sly. On the plus side, at least the princess hadn’t insisted on sharing Sly’s bed. She wasn’t brave enough to upset her father when patience achieved the same result.
Sly strode through the formal gardens yet didn’t stop. He opened the red gate and continued his determined journey through the darkness. His night vision seemed extraordinary, since he never hesitated or stumbled on rocks or tree roots on the path.
Cinnabar followed him to the lake and settled on top of a large rock to watch. Strong. Handsome. Not a pushover. But something bothered the man. He mumbled as he paced, periodically stopping to pick up pebbles and toss them into the dark waters of the lake.
After a long time, he ceased stalking up and down the lakeshore and plonked his muscled backside on a rock not far from where Cinnabar perched.
To her surprise, he turned to her and snapped, “Why are you following me?”
She blinked. He’d noticed her presence when everyone else ignored her or forgot her after a quick glimpse. She issued a low hoot and eyed him warily, prepared to take off if he lashed out or attacked.
“This place is weird,” he said. “I feel as if I don’t belong here, but I have no idea of my life before today. I feel as if I came from a cabbage patch and a stork delivered me here.”
Cabbage patch? Stork? Gibberish words to Cinnabar, but his mental turmoil emerged clearly. The princess had ripped him from everything he knew, stealing his memories, his family, his world. She stared into his mesmerizing green eyes and wished she possessed the ability to speak. That power might be denied her, but she would find a way to help. Even if it was little more than creating a disturbance at the last reading of the banns. Objecting wit
h every screech she could summon before Princess Iseabal killed her for disobedience.
The time passed and even Sly’s mumbles ceased. Cinnabar wondered if he was asleep, but she heard his sudden intake of breath when a white stag emerged from the trees and walked to the water to drink.
“Beautiful,” Sly whispered.
Cinnabar’s insides fluttered with the same breathless awe. She’d not seen or heard of a recent white stag sighting. Normally, it was an omen of death. A shiver rippled through her body, setting her feathers on edge. Her belly tingled and the vibration spread as she watched the stag lift its regal head to observe them. Long seconds passed before the stag trotted away into the trees.
The tickle continued to plague her and a distressed hoot escaped as the truth swept over her in a magical rush. With all that had happened, all that was on her mind, she’d lost track of time. An instant later, she toppled from her stony perch onto her well-padded arse. Her white skirts flipped up, covering her face but revealing her lower limbs.
She froze, terror flooding her mind.
The princess had promised—threatened—that if she ever told anyone of the spell, she’d die, and she’d suffer a far worse fate if she informed Sly of the truth.
“Cinnabar?” Sly jerked his head back, his body going rigid.
A thrill rushed through her as she righted her skirts and attempted to stand. He was beside her in seconds, aiding her to rise. He remembered her name. How was this possible?
“Cinnabar. It is you!” His warm arms slipped around her waist, and he gave her a quick hug before pushing her back to search her face. “Why didn’t you shift before and speak to me?”
Cinnabar blinked, her mouth opening, closing, opening. “I transform at midnight for three hours. The rest of the time, I’m an owl.”
He frowned. “You’re not a shifter?”
“No.”
Spellbound with Sly (Middlemarch Capture Book 4) Page 7
