“I’m hungry,” Sly said for lack of anything better to say. His mind spun, his thoughts whirring so fast he could barely make sense of them. He had a home. Family. Now there was a chance he’d manage to return. But Cinnabar… He hated to leave her trapped in the body of an owl.
“I’ll order for you,” Liam said, and proceeded to do so.
“Why does Calvin have horns and you don’t?” Sly asked.
“No one knows for sure,” Calvin answered. “A genetic anomaly. The Unseelie people came from warrior stock while the Seelie toiled the land and kept the peace. Rumor says the horns became weapons and the people encouraged the genetic quirk.”
“The Unseelie mind-speak better than us, too,” Liam said. “Our mental communication isn’t reliable.”
“Interesting.” Sly fell quiet and ate until hunger no longer rumbled his gut.
“Sly!” Liam spoke with an air that told Sly he’d attempted to snag his attention more than once.
“Sorry. What did you say?”
“I’m going to leave you with Calvin. He will protect you. Whatever you do, don’t leave his side and don’t go anywhere with Iseabal. I’m bringing forward the truth ceremony. We’ll do it this afternoon instead. The funeral takes place in an hour. We’ll go for a walk to the lake and discuss our plans. Remember, mention nothing.”
“An intrigue,” Calvin said. “This is proving an interesting visit.”
Iseabal observed the three men sitting with her aunt, her warning antenna vibrating. Liam knows. Somehow, he’d discovered what she’d done, and he was keeping Sly from her control. Sly’s mind had cleared. He was remembering things. His bright green eyes—intelligence lurked there, instead of confusion.
She cracked her knuckles beneath the table, temper sparking her magic. Her dinner plate rattled against her eating fork.
She required answers before she determined her next move.
Perhaps Cinnabar…
She hadn’t seen her recently. Well, she’d hunt her down, and if she phrased her questions carefully, she’d learn at least some of the answers she required.
She was too close to achieving her goal, had conscientiously practiced her magic to boost her chances for a power grab. She refused to misstep now.
Damn and blast, Trevelyan was heading her way. Too late to escape.
“We had an understanding.” The burly blue security guard shot straight for the jugular.
Aware of eavesdroppers, Iseabal rose, took his arm and marched him from the Great Hall. She pulled him into a quiet audience room and shut the door.
“You kissed me.” He planted his hands on his hips, a picture of masculine outrage with his head thrown back, his blue horns making him appear taller. “Why are you betrothed to this no-magic stranger?”
Iseabal hesitated, ignored the pitter-patter of her heart and applied her brain. A clean cut. Best for both of them. She ignored the twinge of pain, the ache of loss. Trevelyan was a handsome man, a respectable man, one who made her laugh, but he bore the dominant gene.
And he was decent. Too honorable to help with her plan.
She was close, so close to seizing power and authority, her birthright.
“Call off the betrothal,” Trevelyan ordered.
And that, right there, was why she’d ignored her attraction to Trevelyan and walked away.
She stared him straight in the eye. “I don’t love you.” Her fingernails dug into her palms but she maintained her implacable gaze.
Deep blue swirled into his cheeks. His nostrils flared and for a second, she thought he might strike her.
He didn’t. Instead, he lifted his chin, disgust layering his even stare. “Have an enjoyable life, Iseabal.” And with one more scathing glower, he walked away.
The door rattled in its frame as he slammed it shut.
Iseabal blinked hard, shoved aside all tender emotions. She didn’t need Trevelyan. She didn’t need any man…at least, she wouldn’t once she seized power and became the ruler of Seelie.
Chapter Eighteen
“A truth ceremony? Ridiculous!” Lord Calum blustered. “The ground hasn’t settled over your father. You’re not even the official king until the crowning ceremony. Tell him, Katrina. Tell your brother this is a preposterous idea.”
Sly stood at the rear of the family salon, his arms crossed over his chest. Calvin, the winter king, leaned against the wall beside Sly.
“Is that guilt or my imagination?” Calvin murmured.
Sly liked the king, despite their short acquaintance. The blue man emanated the same confidence and authority as his cousin. “Shush, I want to hear Iseabal’s reaction.”
Iseabal sniffed, her pert nose rising to its imperious best. “For once, I agree with Calum. You’ll leave yourself vulnerable if you insist on this idiocy. Calum would love to rule. How do you know we won’t side together and toss you out on your arse?”
“Frightened of the truth, Iseabal?” Liam asked, and his eyes took on that freaky red glow.
Her hand closed to a fist at her side, her only sign of unease.
“She has a guilty conscience,” Calvin murmured.
Sly agreed, but then he knew of Iseabal’s perfidy. “So does Calum.”
“This is ridiculous!” Calum blustered again, seconds after Sly spoke.
“It does seem an extreme way to discover truth,” Katrina agreed in her usual calm demeanor. “And disrespectful to Father’s memory.”
“If I were Liam, I’d ask questions about his father’s death, too,” Calvin said. “He sickened without warning. He wasn’t an old man.”
“I suggested that,” Sly replied in an undertone.
“Who will have your back, Liam?” Calum demanded. “No one in the court will wish to be questioned.”
“Sly and Calvin stand for me,” Liam said calmly. “My men are already assembling the servants.”
“You can’t force us to take the truth questions. Come, Katrina. We will retire to our chambers.” Calum led his wife from the room.
Iseabal lifted her chin in challenge, pupils edging toward red. She paused in the doorway, right foot tap-tap-tapping. “Sly, a word.”
Sly found his feet moving and forced his muscles to hold firm. A prickle akin to a mild electrical shock sizzled over his flesh. He exhaled, winced.
“Sly!” Iseabal barked, and steel rang in the command.
“Take care,” Calvin murmured. “She is using a spell to make you comply.”
No kidding. He’d love to see her on the receiving end of magic for a change. See how she liked it.
“Come with me.”
Sly battled the compulsion. Failed. His steps quickened, puppet-stiff and unwilling. Once Princess Iseabal saw he followed, she strolled away in a swish of skirts, leading him like the Pied Piper. Huh. Who the heck was the Pied Piper? Some random dude from his memory bank.
“Start your questioning,” Calvin said before Sly quick-stepped from the salon. “I’ll handle Iseabal. Sly and I will be there momentarily.”
“Go away.” Iseabal glared red daggers at Calvin. “I wish a private conversation with my betrothed.”
“Liam requires our presence in the throne room,” Calvin said. “Can’t you have your lovers’ chat later? Come, Sly.” Calvin snapped his fingers.
Sly’s legs jerked and twitched. Wooden footsteps sent him right. A sharp tug on his calves directed him back to Iseabal. “Stop it,” he snarled. “Iseabal, I am going with Calvin. Cease this now.”
“Princess Iseabal,” she snapped.
The push and pull halted. He staggered before he regained control of his limbs.
“Thank you, Princess Iseabal.” He struggled to hold his mockery and failed. Too bad. He was a person with rights, and it was time to exert himself. “I will seek you once this is over. Where do you wish to meet?”
“In the gardens, where we can be assured of privacy.”
Sly dipped his head. “Of course, Princess.”
He walked away with Calvin, convi
nced Princess Iseabal would change her mind at the last minute. For once, he was wrong, and thankful for it.
A line of servants snaked outside the throne room. It shuffled forward as Liam’s men checked each new arrival for concealed weapons. A pile of knives, stunners and thin twigs filled a trolley.
Calvin and Sly bypassed the line but paused at the double doors.
“King Liam is expecting you.” The head of security gestured them through.
Calvin nodded and sauntered through the right door, elegant in his navy-blue suit and lace. Wearing a plain black suit, Sly felt like a ragamuffin next to the winter king’s sartorial elegance.
Of all the rooms at the castle, this one screamed royal, with an imposing golden throne toward the rear of the square room. Rich tapestries of hunting scenes hung on the walls, and an arrangement of swords and hunting knives dominated the wall behind the throne. Liam sat on the throne, golden crown atop his head, fur-trimmed cape around his shoulders and a golden, jewel-studded staff in his right hand.
Calvin’s royal guards stood on one side of the throne—a blue wall of muscle—and Sly wondered which one had courted Princess Iseabal. He scanned their faces and met the gaze of the tallest. Ah. The big blue man hated his presence. Sly studied Liam’s guards—a gold wall of determination—who stood on the other side, their eyes watchful. At least Liam would remain safe.
Sly’s skin prickled and buzzed. “What is that?”
“It’s Liam’s magic. He’s divorced his body from the magic and is using his power to discern truth.”
“So anyone could kill him?”
“That is why we’re here. To stop that from happening. Plus, they’re searching for concealed weapons. Don’t worry. Everything will be fine.”
“Do you know who shot Sly?” Liam’s voice emerged a register deeper than normal and his gaze glowed with red. Compulsion—a tangible force—shimmered in the air much like static electricity.
“No, Your Majesty,” a trembling housemaid answered.
“Next,” Liam commanded.
The housemaid curtsied and exited via the left door of the double doors at the entrance.
The next servant approached Liam. He repeated the question and received the same answer. Gradually, the dress of the servants changed as Liam interrogated the stable boys and the palace archers, the security force. While most showed nerves and unease, all answered Liam’s questions in the negative.
The line dwindled and ended.
“That is all the staff, Your Majesty,” the head security guard said.
“Summon the nobility,” Calvin ordered. “My people as well. Might as well do a thorough job.”
The questions changed, and Sly paid close attention, despite the sneers and whispers drifting from those in line.
“Do you know where Cinnabar went?” Liam asked a young woman.
Sly didn’t recall her name but thought she was one of Princess Iseabal’s ladies-in-waiting.
“She ran away with the players from the winter court,” the woman said.
“How do you know this?”
“Princess Iseabal told me,” the woman answered without hesitation.
“Do you know who shot the arrow that hit Sly?”
“No, Your Majesty.”
Calvin frowned. “Cinnabar is the russet-haired lass. One of Iseabal’s ladies-in-waiting, isn’t she?”
“She used to be,” Sly said absently, listening closely to the replies.
Calvin tapped his chin. “Cinnabar isn’t at winter court.”
“No,” Sly said.
“Wait. You know. Liam knows?” At Sly’s curt nod, he straightened. “Then why is Liam asking?”
“He has reasons.”
Nerves skittered through Sly’s belly as the line proceeded and Liam interrogated the members of his court. Calvin’s people.
Lady Jasper arrived. Beatrice. Their answers were the same.
“That is everyone,” the security guard said.
“My sisters? My brother-in-law?” Liam asked in a tight voice. His fingers curved around the carved arms of his throne. The bright lights caught the jeweled stones of his crown and reflected shards of purple and blue and red.
“I am here,” Katrina said from the doorway. “I have nothing to hide.”
“Which implies her husband and her sister do,” Calvin murmured.
“Katrina!” a harsh voice called. “Do not defy me on this. Your brother does not have the right to question us in this manner.” Calum appeared in the doorway.
Sly stared. Calum’s blond hair stuck up in tufts and his cravat had come unfastened, hanging around his neck like a noose.
“Liam is our king. He has the right to rule as he sees fit.” Katrina marched to Liam. “Question me, Your Majesty.”
“Do you know where Cinnabar went?” Liam asked.
Surprise bolted over Katrina’s pretty face. “She ran away with a player from the winter court.”
Liam steepled his fingers under his chin. “When did this happen?”
“A while ago now. I’m not certain. I’m sure it occurred while you were away. Iseabal will recall.”
Sly watched Calum. As Calum listened to Liam’s questioning of his wife, his shoulders relaxed and his expression smoothed out, his panic dispersing.
“Send for Iseabal,” Liam instructed. “Bring her kicking and screaming if you must. You may go, Katrina.”
“He’s taking a risk,” Calvin murmured.
“Why?”
“He can’t question Katrina again,” Calvin replied in an undertone. “The spell only works for one questioning. He will have to regain his power before he can repeat this.”
A furious scream echoed down the passage, growing louder as guards dragged Iseabal into the throne room.
“You can’t do this!” she spat, defiant as the guards hauled her to stand in front of her brother. Her eyes blazed red, but Liam appeared unfazed.
“Sly, I will question you next.”
Princess Iseabal gasped. “You can’t question him!”
“I can question whomever I wish,” Liam said, his manner haughty.
Sly hesitated until Calvin shoved him in the middle of the back. He staggered forward.
“Where does Cinnabar live?” Liam asked.
“Seelie,” Sly said after a hesitation. Nimble fingers filed through his brain, bringing the answer to mind. Compulsion. A desire to help the king.
“Iseabal, your turn,” Liam said without warning. “Did you place a spell on Cinnabar?”
Iseabal’s face contorted, fury battling with what Sly suspected was a touch of fear. She opened her mouth, snapped it shut. Her entire body shuddered.
“Did you place a spell on Cinnabar?”
“Yes,” Princess Iseabal gritted out.
“Why?”
“She—” Iseabal broke off, her teeth clacking. She jerked and twitched like a marionette controlled by an amateur.
“Iseabal, answer my question. Why did you place a spell on Cinnabar?”
“S-sh-she spilled a drink on my favorite gown.”
Silence fell, and even though Cinnabar had already told him the truth, Sly gaped at Iseabal. She held not a smidge of shame. Instead, angry color bloomed in her cheeks, echoed in her red gaze. Fury at having her actions under a spotlight.
“Most people would slap their servants. Chastise them. Buy a new gown,” Calvin commented.
“No one asked you,” Iseabal snapped and lifted her chin.
“Did you kidnap Sly from his home and family and force him to become your betrothed?” Liam demanded.
“N-n-nooo.” Every muscle in Iseabal’s body spasmed and pain etched into her features.
“Iseabal!” Her name was a whiplash of fury.
“All right!” Iseabal snarled. “I did it.”
“Did you bespell him so he wouldn’t regain his memory?”
Iseabal shot a glower of loathing at her brother and it ricocheted to Sly. “Yes,” she spat, her anger a waver
ing, palpable mass.
“You will undo both spells. Immediately!” Liam thundered, his flashing eyes so red, Sly took a step backward.
“No.”
“Now,” Liam reiterated. “Then the guards will take you to your chamber while I decide on your punishment.”
The siblings exchanged glowers until finally, Iseabal slumped.
“Very well.”
“Do it now.”
Iseabal nodded and murmured under her breath.
Suddenly, Sly’s mind was crystal clear. With wonder, with excitement, he recalled his family, his brothers, his sister, his mother. How he’d come from Earth with other shapeshifters. His feline side…
Sly felt for his cat, the leopard that slithered through his thoughts, bunched beneath his muscles, rumbled and purred. Snarled complaints.
Nothing.
Panic unfurled like a seed pushing toward the light. Something Iseabal had done? Or something else?
“How did you get Sly into Seelie with no one else noticing?” Liam asked.
“A private portal,” Iseabal said.
She seemed tired, dispirited, and didn’t attempt to battle the truth spell now.
“Did you try to kill me?”
“No.”
Torn from his feline concerns, Sly caught the way Calum stiffened, and Sly nudged Calvin to alert him to the behavior. The winter king gave an imperceptible nod.
“Did you order someone else to do it?”
“No.”
“Thank you, Iseabal. Wait there.”
Iseabal studied the floor, her imperious manner cut off at the knees.
“Calum, did you order someone to shoot me with an arrow?”
“No,” Calum answered.
Liam frowned. “Calum, did you poison my father?”
“Yes.”
The throne room became a cavern of silence, yet the very air pulsed with energy. Sly’s hair lifted with the oomph of the magic at work. He curled his lip, disgusted. Poison. A coward’s way.
“Calum, do you want to kill me?”
Calum lifted his chin, appeared to struggle. A drop of blood ran from his nose. “Y-yes.”
Spellbound with Sly (Middlemarch Capture Book 4) Page 19
