by Leslie Chase
Cursing himself for not being better prepared for this, he raced to the mall. He knew he should slow down, that getting pulled over for speeding would waste far too much time, but he couldn't keep himself from driving as fast as he could. Fiona needed him, and everything else would just have to take a backseat to that for the time being.
It was probably lucky for the police that they didn't try to pull him over on his way to the mall. Cole didn't know what he'd have done if they had, but it probably wouldn't have been good for any of them.
Jumping from his car, he looked for the space where Meallan had vanished. In daylight the whole parking lot looked different, and it took a few minutes to be sure he was in the right place, but eventually he was sure he had it. The trouble was that he couldn't see any sign of a hidden path, or a magical gateway, or anything out of the ordinary.
Growling, he paced backward and forward, turning this way and that. Maybe my bear would help? I have better senses shifted. That would be asking for trouble, though — he was already getting odd looks from the occasional passer-by as he paced. Doing it as a bear would get far too much attention.
What am I missing? He didn't know much about the fae and their hidden worlds, but he did know that people could wander into them by mistake. That was one of the main problems the Agency had to sort out with the fae. Some poor human finding themselves in a magical realm could cause all kinds of headaches to sort out.
So he could get inside if he found the trick. But something was wrong.
I'm going about it wrong, he decided. I don't want to figure this out. I want to get to Fiona. And she's my mate. I should be able to find her. Something's stopping me.
Iron. Fae magic didn't like iron, and the Agency had equipped him too well. Going back to his car, he took out the iron handcuffs and put them in the trunk, along with everything else that might have too much iron in it. Looking down at his Agency-issued equipment, he frowned. For once he wished he could take his pistol and the iron-tipped bullets that were meant for fae, just in case he needed them. But they'd never make it into the fae realm.
Slamming the trunk shut, Cole turned and closed his eyes. Trying to feel the connection between him and Fiona, he walked forward blindly. Trusting his love to guide him, he walked until the feel of the pavement under his feet gave way to wet grass.
A faint drizzle of rain fell, and a strong wind whipped his hair. The smell of flowers filled his nose, and ahead of him somewhere a great bell tolled. Opening his eyes, Cole found himself standing before the gates of the Palace of Wind and Rain.
15
The wedding was prepared around Fiona by servants who didn't seem to care whether she wanted their help or not. Only Skye seemed to share her dislike for the situation, but even she wasn't willing to do anything about it. As she conjured a silver crown for Fiona to wear, she spoke in a voice so quiet even Fiona could barely hear it.
"I'm sorry, Fiona," she said, her eyes darting around to make sure no one else was close enough to listen in. "Lord Meallan isn't someone to cross. Not since your father passed away, anyway. Now, Lord Meallan is the most powerful noble in the Court. But I'm sure that if you do as he says, he'll treat you well."
"He's already not treating me well," Fiona answered just as quietly. She didn't want to know what Meallan would do if he heard that they were discussing him, and surely at least some of the servants were his spies. "You have to help me get out of here."
"I wish I could," Skye whispered, seating the crown in Fiona's hair. "But you have no idea what he would do to me."
"All you have to do is get word to Cole North from the Arcane Affairs Agency," Fiona said, looking her in the eyes and hoping that she was remembering the name of the Agency right. "Let him know I need his help, that's all."
"I don't have any way of doing that," Skye said, and Fiona heard genuine regret. "Even if I did, bringing the Agency into the succession? Everyone would hate me for that."
"And they'll love Meallan stealing the throne?" Fiona was guessing about the politics, but surely if everyone here was on Meallan's side he wouldn't have to resort to this farce of a wedding. She'd have been quite happy to let him make most of the Court's decisions, after all. It wasn't like Fiona knew what she was going to do as Queen.
The look in Skye's eye told her that she'd guessed right. Meallan might be powerful, but he wasn't popular with everyone. Fiona wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not. The less secure he felt, the more likely he was to take action to secure his position. I wish I knew more about this kind of thing, she thought. The only clue she had about court politics was from novels and TV shows.
Who'd have thought it would ever be relevant to her life?
"I will see what I can do," Skye said. It wasn't much of a promise, but it was the only hope Fiona had, so she smiled and thanked the girl, giving her a hug.
Before they could say any more, the doors were flung open and Meallan and his courtiers strode in. Skye stepped out of their way with a nervous glance at Fiona before slipping out of the door unnoticed.
"Isn't it bad luck for you to see me before the wedding?" Fiona said. It wasn't a great line, but at least it would keep his attention on her and not on where Skye was hurrying off to. Assuming she wasn't just escaping the awkwardness of the situation, that was.
"I've no use for your superstitions, beloved wife," Meallan said with heavy irony. "Bad luck, for me, would be you deciding to do something stupid during the ceremony. I'm here to make sure my luck stays good."
"Or what?"
"Or I will find a way to punish you. The worst you can do is embarrass me, my dear. Beyond what I can do to you personally, I know that you have friends amongst the humans. If you do anything to inconvenience me, Janet will die. Your mother, your friends, the man you work for. The storm will sweep them all away, one for each act of defiance. Am I understood?"
The worst thing about the threat was the casual way he made it. Meallan didn't posture, didn't shout, didn't even sound particularly interested. He was so matter of fact about the atrocities he promised that Fiona could see he didn't care one way or the other about the lives he'd snuff out.
She nodded quickly, not wanting him to get the idea that she needed a demonstration. It wouldn't have surprised her in the slightest if he killed someone just to make sure that she believed him.
Smiling, Meallan reached out to stroke her cheek. "Good. Then we have the basis for a happy marriage."
Happy for you, you mean, Fiona thought, though she nodded and tried to look agreeable. The feeling of power in his touch was electric, as though she were in the hands of a living lightning bolt. Powerful, beautiful, and casually destructive. The slightest misstep would invite destruction.
He watched her eyes for a moment, and then stepped back. "You do look beautiful, my dear. Not elf-beautiful, but for a half-human, quite passable. I shall commend whoever did your glamour."
Seething, Fiona made herself smile as sweetly as she could and nodded. Meallan smiled back and turned on his heel, striding out of the chamber. Fiona told herself that this wasn't the time to fight him. She wasn't sure if there ever would be a good time for it, but right now, surrounded by Meallan's loyal men? That couldn't go well.
Instead, she let the servants finish pinning flowers to her dress and weaving them into her hair. She did have to admit that it made her look good — she just wished that it made her look good for a better purpose. Smirking, Erion offered her his arm once the servants stepped back.
"I shall escort you to the great hall, Princess," he said. "In the absence of your late father, someone must be at your side."
And you'll want to make sure I can't run off, I suppose. She couldn't exactly blame them for keeping a guard on her: running would be tempting if she thought that she'd have a chance of getting away. But with Erion beside her, there really wasn't any chance. He walked her back through the palace and before she had a chance to think of anything to do or say, they were at the great hall she'd entered the pala
ce through.
This time, there was a crowd of people in it. Not so many as to fill it completely, the room was too big for that, but dozens of fae were there watching. It was intimidating to see them all in their glamoured finery, beautiful and terrible, and it took Fiona a moment to remind herself that she was dressed as fancily as any of them. More so, in fact, with the silver crown on her brow.
The crowd parted, each elf moving with a graceful elegance that few humans could match, and at the far end of the room, standing in front of the empty throne, was Lord Meallan.
He had changed his clothes since visiting her, and now he wore an imposing black outfit highlighted with silver. It looked as though he was wearing the night itself, and it suited his slender figure perfectly. On his brow he wore a crown to match her own, and he smiled to see her.
It wasn't a pleasant smile, but then he wasn't a pleasant man. Fiona swallowed and stepped forward as musicians somewhere began to play. She didn't know how the fae did their weddings — there was no priest in sight, nor anyone else who could administer an oath. But that didn't look like it was going to hold up the ceremony.
As a great bell sounded somewhere above them, Erion took her arm again and started forward, leading her up the aisle.
Somewhere ahead of him, Cole heard a bell sound. Deep and sonorous, it was a powerful enough sound that he felt it as much as heard it, and he wondered what it meant. So far on his way into the realm of the fae he'd seen no one, which seemed strange to him. Did the bell mean that they were gathering for something? Fiona's coronation as Queen was a possibility.
Or perhaps they simply didn't set guards because no one could find their home. That fit the arrogance he'd seen from the fae well enough. It suited him, too. Meeting guards would mean explaining why he was here, and then they'd try to keep him from Fiona. If he could find her without that complication, so much the better.
With that in mind, he didn't head straight for the main entrance of the palace. That would be guarded, he was sure, and there was no guarantee that they'd not lock him away somewhere instead of letting him see his mate. At this point his Agency credentials couldn't help him – he was here against the direct orders of his supervisor.
Circling the building, he looked for a less conspicuous way in. Unfortunately, the paths seemed to twist and turn on each other in ways that didn't make sense, and he quickly lost track of where he was in the palace gardens. Every direction he turned seemed to lead him away from where he wanted to go until he snarled with frustration. Stopping, he looked up at the cloud-filled sky above and tried to clear his head.
Statues of fae kings and queens towered over him. Each seemed to be looking at him with disdain, as though he didn't belong. Okay, I don't, he thought. And I'll be out of this place just as soon as I've reclaimed my mate. So let me get to her and you won't have to worry about me.
As though in response to his thought, the great bell tolled again. Lacking any better ideas, Cole headed towards the sound. It was as good a direction as any, and once he'd taken his first step it felt right. Following the sound, he ignored the paths underfoot and soon he was leaving the garden that had trapped him.
A great door of black wood bound in copper loomed up in front of him, barring his way into the palace itself. Trying the handle, he found it locked. At least I've found a way in, he told himself, trying to control the urge to shift and smash the door down. It looked heavy enough that it wouldn't be a quick task, and it would mean giving up all pretense of stealth. No one could possibly miss a bear beating a door into splinters, after all.
The bell sounded again, and Cole felt his heart race. It was almost as though he could hear Fiona calling out for him, and he was about to give into the temptation to shift when he heard the door's bolt open. Stepping back quickly, he raised his hand ready to strike at whoever came through.
An elf lady in a shimmering green dress stepped out and froze as she saw him. Cole stopped his punch just in time and the two of them stared at each other for a moment. Her eyes wide and face pale with fear, the elf clapped her hands to her mouth stifling a cry of alarm, and Cole pulled her out into the garden before she could alert any of the guards.
He recognized the woman who had dragged Fiona into the van during Erion's kidnap attempt. Good, maybe she knows what's going on.
"Don't make a noise," he growled at her. She nodded quickly.
"I won't," she whispered, sounding surprised more than afraid. "But you have to hurry, there isn't much time."
"What the hell are you talking about?" Cole asked, confused. "No tricks."
"No, no tricks." The elf shook her head firmly, taking a deep breath. "Fiona sent me to find you, Agent North. She needs your help."
A jolt of energy shot through Cole at that, mixing anger and fear for her. "What's happened? This morning she wanted me to leave."
The elf paled and shrank back from his anger, raising a hand as if to ward him off. Cole stepped back, opening his hands to show he wasn't about to get violent. At least, not with her — if someone had hurt Fiona, they were in deep trouble.
"She didn't know Lord Meallan's plan then," the woman said hurriedly. "He's going to marry her and claim the throne through her."
Cole felt his face darken, and his vision went red as rage poured through his veins. It felt like he was burning up, and he could feel his bones creaking, stretching, twisting inside him as his bear rose to the surface. Married against her will? Not while I'm breathing.
"When?" He couldn't force out more than the one word, but that was enough.
"Right now! In the great hall. I think he wants it over with in case word got out. But once the marriage is consummated, he's got the throne even if someone snatches his wife away."
Cole fought down the red rage enough to think clearly for a moment. He knew what Eric would advise. Practically, if Meallan didn't care about Fiona, then let him take the throne and rescue her afterward. Meallan would protest, but he wouldn't really care.
But there was no way that he was going to let that scumbag marry his mate, let alone consummate the marriage. Meallan wasn't going to lay a finger on Fiona, not while there was breath in Cole's body.
"Take me there," he said, a snap of command in his voice.
The elf hesitated. "On your own? You'll be killed."
"I'm not letting him touch Fiona," Cole growled. "No matter what it costs."
She looked at him, then nodded and took his arm, guiding him inside.
"Stay close to me," she whispered. "The palace will lead you astray if you don't have a fae guide, and you'll never find your way to her. I'm surprised you found your way through the garden."
"Why are you helping me?" Cole asked as he followed close behind her. "The last time we met you were helping Erion kidnap Fiona."
The elf was quiet long enough that he started to think she wasn't going to answer, but then she sighed. "She was kind to me. Most of the Court here aren't kind to their lessers, Lord Meallan least of all. He's too powerful to need to be friendly to us, he can just take what he wants. when King Keyne was here to rein him in, he wasn't too bad, but since the King's death..."
She shuddered, falling silent for a moment before continuing. "Princess Fiona, though, she's different, better, nobler. She was nice and she confided in me. She deserves a better life than he'll give his wife. So if I can help her escape Meallan, I will."
She glanced back and caught his eye for a moment. "And if it means I get a touch of revenge, is that a bad thing, Agent North?"
Okay, that's a reason I can understand. Cole smiled down at her. It was a predator's smile, all teeth and impending violence, and she answered it in kind.
"I can trust that," he said. "Call me Cole."
"My name is Skye," the elf said after a moment. "And I hope that you kill the bastard."
16
Her heart hammering in her chest, Fiona made her way up the aisle between the two rows of fae nobility. Their alien stares made her shiver with fear, but not nearly
so much as the sight of Meallan's shark-like smile. He might look happy, but it didn't promise any happiness for her.
This was not how she'd imagined getting married.
But there was no escape from it. If she tried to turn and run, then she might manage to embarrass Meallan but that was all. It would be worse than nothing with the vengeance he'd promised her. Fiona felt as though each step she took was one step deeper into a hell she had no way to escape from.
The air was heavy with power, the tingling feeling she was starting to recognize as fae magic hanging around her as she approached the massive throne. The dark stone towered over her, and she wondered what it must have been like for her father to sit there. With a pang of loss it finally seemed real to her. Her father was dead, and she would never see him.
Of course, all of this was still his fault. If only he'd cared enough to see her, to visit her, to tell her about her heritage, she wouldn't be in this mess now. Thanks a lot, Dad, she thought, but there wasn't any point in being angry with him. And being disappointed in him was nothing new.
"You look delightful," Meallan said as she stepped up beside him. Erion stepped backward out of the way, and Meallan took both her hands in his.
"Don't pretend this is more than it is," she said, too quietly to be overheard. "There's no point in lying now."
"Oh, there's every point," he chuckled, equally quiet. "My Lady, these lies are the lifeblood of court. Honesty is the worst possible policy for you. Do you really want a relationship based on our true feelings?"
Put like that, maybe a polite lie was a better idea. Fiona suppressed a shiver at that thought. What I want is to get out of here in one piece, she thought. But that's not looking likely. I'm not going to be able to escape.
The finality of the situation was setting in, and it took an effort to keep a pretense of a smile on her face.
