The High Mountain Court (The Five Crowns of Okrith Book 1)

by AK Mulford

  Remy looked to each fae as, one by one, they turned into humans. They looked the same . . . mostly. They seemed shorter, less muscular. Their skin did not glow with health. The Twin Eagles still seemed otherworldly in the way they moved, but their golden eyes were now an amber brown. They wouldn’t stand out as readily.

  “You two are traveling companions,” Briata said, eyeing Remy and Hale. “Make up whatever story you like but make it believable. Don’t draw suspicion.”

  “Oh, and Bri?” Hale said to the golden eyed warrior. “I owe the witch a new bow.”

  He had remembered. Remy’s lips tugged up at their corners, delighting in the thought of a brand-new bow.

  Fenrin’s eyes darted back and forth between Remy and Hale. “Do we have to stop?”

  “Yes.” All four fae responded in unison.

  “My wife and I are traveling to Newpond,” Hale said more regally than the human he was posing as. “We are in a caravan with four others from the East. We’ll be needing three rooms.”

  The innkeeper standing before them at the inn’s front door impatiently tapped her foot. She was a small, cantankerous woman, wearing a threadbare brown dress and a greasy apron.

  “Newpond, you say?” she asked, glancing between the two of them. She did not step back to grant them entry.

  “Yes, I’ve heard it’s a fine place to raise a family.” Hale smiled. Remy grimaced as he rested a gentle hand on her stomach. Great, not only would she have to pretend to be his wife, but his pregnant wife at that.

  The innkeeper arched a thin brow at Hale. He was terrible at this game, and the woman saw through his act in one look. Her eyes darted to Remy and Remy knew she could see right through her plastered-on smile too. Something shifted in her expression as she assessed Remy, a flicker of recognition seeming to light up the innkeeper’s face.

  “How wonderful,” she drawled sarcastically. “Welcome.” The innkeeper stepped back, allowing them to enter.

  Her eyes roved over them both, and Remy realized she saw it all: his shined boots and new fawn-colored riding coat, Remy’s tattered cape and moth-eaten maroon tunic. Even with the Prince’s glamour, it was obvious that he was more than an average human man and that Remy was not his wife.

  The inside of the inn was inviting, albeit run down. Hardwood beams supported the upper floor, lanterns hanging from them and rows of candles dotted everywhere to boost the low light from the tall windows. Dusty paintings filled the walls.

  The innkeeper guided Remy to a table in the center of the empty room. Hale leaned their packs against the wall in one of the few places without cobwebs and took a seat opposite Remy.

  “I’m supposing you and your wife are hungry? I shall have the cook bring something out,” the innkeeper said, walking halfway to the kitchens and then pausing.

  She caught Remy’s eye from over Hale’s shoulder. The innkeeper lifted her hand and touched the center of her chest. Remy noted the move. It was a signal to other witches, tapping to where their totem bags used to hang around their necks. It was a simple, innocuous move that was only noticeable to those who were looking out for it.

  The fae and humans often called them hex bags, but that was a misnomer. The bag was not for hexes at all. It carried special objects personal to each witch. They used to wear them around their necks before the Siege of Yexshire. Many witches still kept the totem bags anyway, sewn into secret pockets in their cloaks and dresses, just as Remy’s own totem bag was tucked into the lining of her tunic now. The tradition lived on in secret.

  The innkeeper was a witch then. Remy only moved her head in the briefest of nods to acknowledge that yes, she was a witch too. The innkeeper gave a half-smile. Good. She might have seen right through their husband-and-wife ruse, but if she was also a witch, she would keep quiet about them.

  When she had exited the room, Remy snapped her gaze back to Hale.

  “Why would you say I’m your wife?!” Remy hissed across the table in a hushed voice. “Is that really the only thing you could think of?”

  “I thought if you were with child it would be a good excuse for you to not be venturing into the town with the others.” Hale’s brows dropped over his eyes. “Stop biting my head off about it.”

  Remy huffed a laugh.

  “What?” The muscle in Hale’s jaw popped out.

  “Nothing,” Remy said. “At least we bicker like a married couple convincingly enough.”

  Hale leaned back in his chair, the anger in his eyes cooling. “You play the role of a pregnant woman well.”

  “Do backhanded compliments just roll off your tongue so naturally?” Remy said.

  A subtle smirk crossed Hale’s face as he asked, “Do you wish to concern yourself with my tongue?”

  Even with his glamour, Hale was gorgeous. Her gaze roved along his sharp jawline and full lips before settling back on those eyes.

  Remy’s heart leapt into her throat. Gods, those gray eyes were the smoke before the flame. They scorched her skin.

  Remy wished Heather and Fenrin were still here. Maybe their constant meddling could be beneficial sometimes. Right now, Remy needed a buffer before she crawled across the table and showed the prince just how concerned she could be with his tongue.

  “Three rooms?” Remy asked instead.

  “What?” Hale arched a thick, brown brow.

  “You told the innkeeper we needed three rooms,” Remy noted.

  “One for the Eagles, one for you and your . . . friends,” he said, careful not to mention witches, “and Carys and I will share one.”

  “Oh,” Remy said, then added, “Good. I mean, it will look strange if you were sharing a room with someone other than the woman you said was your wife . . .”

  “Good point.” Hale grinned. “I’m sure your friends will have feelings about that, though. Do you want to spend the night in a room with me?”

  The sound of his voice made Remy want to chew on her lip, but she refused. A small thrill ran through her that he might have lied about them being married so they could share a bed.

  Remy warred with herself. What did an offer like that mean? What would happen if she said yes? She bounced one leg under the table.

  She remembered what Carys had said in the forest, but something about the fae warrior and Hale sharing a bed still rubbed Remy the wrong way.

  Hale put an elbow on the table and rested his chin in his hand. He was watching her, and from the smug look on his face he knew what she was debating.

  A blush crept up Remy’s face. She instantly felt more aware of her appearance. Her beauty had only ever been a problem for her. She tried to hide it behind her tied-back hair and unwashed face. She had been receiving advances from drunken men in taverns for years. But so rarely had she wanted to encourage a male’s attention. Only one time in fact . . . well, two now.

  Remy’s goal in life was to not draw attention to herself. Yet here she was, thinking about how she wanted to look and dress to draw Hale’s gaze. She wanted the prince to think she was beautiful, and she hated herself for it. These fae royals were not good males. She shouldn’t care about anything other than how quickly she could escape.

  The innkeeper returning with two glasses of water saved Remy from the prince’s penetrating stare. Another small, mousy woman behind her carried two plates of food to the table.

  “That smells delicious,” Remy said, smiling at the cook. The woman’s thin pink lips pulled up at the sides before she turned and walked away. Remy sensed the cook’s magic stirring behind that smile. She was a witch too. Thank the Gods. The more witches around, the better.

  Remy considered Hale as he devoured the meal before him. He did not know he had entered a tavern with at least two more witches.

  Remy took a bite of the roasted potatoes and approvingly hummed as she chewed. The perfectly crisped vegetables had just the right amount of rosemary. Remy had eaten her fair share of roasted potatoes over the years, along with all the usual tavern fare. Judging by the deliciousness of the
meal, Remy assumed the cook was a green witch. Green witches were native to the Southern Court, their magic making mouth-watering food and growing beautiful gardens.

  Remy ate, keeping pace with the prince. It surprised her how fast Hale ate, considering he was a royal. She gobbled her food because she rarely got time off to eat her meals and so she had to shovel them down during kitchen dashes. Remy supposed it was Hale’s warrior side in practice. The stories of The Bastard Prince of the East took place everywhere but the Eastern capital city of Wynreach. He and his soldiers were nomadic, moving from town to town on the orders of King Norwood.

  “Newpond . . .” Remy mused as she looked about the room. There, mounted on the wall, was a dusty map of the continent of Okrith. “We’re nearing Silver Sands Harbor at the Western Court’s border. Are we crossing into the South?”

  The Silver Sands Harbor was a deep inlet separating the Western and Southern Courts. Only one road crossed the border. It wended through the dense forest at the base of the southwestern most reaches of the High Mountains. Remy stuck out her lip as she traced the map with her eyes. They would come so close to the harbor. It seemed a pity to be so close and still not view the ocean.

  The prince frowned at the map. “You know I cannot tell you where we are going. Not yet.”

  “What could I possibly do with that information?” Remy said, batting her eyelashes.

  “You can keep playing this game, little witch,” Hale spoke in a softly menacing voice. “But I will not underestimate your power. Most of your kind were killed off in the slaughter thirteen years ago for their allegiance to the fallen crown. You are a rarity. And when we stumbled across you in that tavern, I knew we had struck gold. You are our ticket out of this war. So no, you are not some meek, little tavern witch. You can stop pretending.”

  Remy snarled at Hale.

  “There she is.” He grinned.

  “What can you tell me, then?” Remy folded her arms across her chest.

  “Nothing.” Hale lifted another spoonful of peas to his mouth.

  “Can you tell me your full name or is that not allowed either?” Remy asked.

  That threw him off guard.

  “My name is Hale.” He pursed his lips to contain his mouthful of food.

  “Oh please, all you princes have ten names. Go on, what’s yours?”

  Hale chuffed out a laugh as he sipped his water.

  “Fine, my name is Hale Bastion Haast Ashby Norwood. And that is only five names, not ten.”

  Remy cackled. There was nothing delicate or demure about the way witches laughed. They laughed with their entire bodies, and Hale couldn’t help but laugh along with her.

  “I wish I could say that it was a pleasure to make your acquaintance, prince.” Remy laughed again, throwing his title at him like a playful punch. She took a long sip of her water and looked at him through her long lashes. “Perhaps if the circumstances were different.”

  She didn’t know why she said it, merely wanted to. But she delighted in the way Hale’s eyes widened. That wanting smile stretched back across his face. He may have been fae, but when it came to women, it didn’t matter: fae males were as simple as human men, it seemed.

  “And what is your name, little witch?” Hale’s voice dropped an octave as he spoke. It did wonderfully terrible things to Remy’s insides.

  “Remy Singer,” she answered.

  “Liar.” The prince smirked.

  Maybe he wasn’t a complete fool, then, and he was formidable. His other soldiers were skilled to be sure, but Hale’s power was like a living thing. Remy sensed it, power radiating off him in pulsing waves, her ears ringing with the low hum. She feared for anyone who ended up on the wrong end of his blade.

  “How about some wine?” Remy looked forlornly at her empty plate. She had been half-tempted to lick it clean. Too many days she had been eating rabbit and squirrel stew.

  “You are with child, wife,” the prince reminded her.

  “Ugh, fine. Cake, then.” Remy grinned. Cake was what she wanted anyway, and compared to wine, it was inexpensive too. “I’m sure you can afford it.”

  The prince barked out a laugh as he grabbed a gold coin from his pocket. He may have been glamoured as a human but carrying around pieces of gold was a dead giveaway that he was fae. Remy snatched the coin off the table regardless and waved it to the green witch cook, who was talking to the barman in the corner.

  “Three slices of cake please,” she called to the witch, waving the prince’s coin.

  “Three?” The prince raised his eyebrows.

  “Oh, did you want a piece?” Remy asked. Turning back to the green witch, she shouted, “Sorry, four pieces, please.”

  The green witch nodded to her with a knowing grin. Whatever kind of cake it was, it would be delicious if a green witch had baked it.

  “Well, it is worth the coin to see you eat four whole slices of cake,” Hale chuckled more and more at the thought. Something in Remy loved that he laughed like a witch. It was deep and hearty, making his whole body shake. Entirely different from the begrudging sounds he usually made, this sound was genuine.

  “Like you said, husband, I am with child.” Remy rubbed her stomach.

  Chapter Six

  Remy’s stomach was so full she looked pregnant. Hale had given in and ordered an ale for himself too. The dimple of his right cheek twitched as Remy moved the fourth and final slice of cake in front of herself, determined to finish it.

  The cake of the day was apple spice with maple buttercream frosting, perfect for the autumn weather. The green witch superbly flavored it with aromatic cinnamon, ginger, and cloves. The frosting melted on her tongue.

  “You sure you don’t want some?” Remy said through a mouthful of moist cake. “Last chance.”

  Hale pressed his lips to the rim of his glass as he shook his head.

  “I want to see if you can do it.” He winked.

  “Don’t bet against me,” Remy said, narrowing her eyes at him as she scooped another heaping mouthful.

  “I wouldn’t dare.” Hale's eyes twinkled.

  His posture had loosened over the hour. She liked this version of Hale. He normally seemed so in control. He unbuttoned the top button of his tunic and rolled up its olive-green sleeves. He looked more like who Remy imagined he was under his princely mask. She wondered if this is how he was with his friends.

  The bell on the front door jangled again. They both turned to look, but it was not their comrades. Among the locals drifting in, a traveling couple took a seat in the far corner, and two scruffy men with leathery faces and brawny muscles dropped their packs against the wall before heading to the bar. At the threshold, a father with his adult son stepped in, sniffing appreciatively at the kitchen’s aromas, and they dropped their packs with everyone else’s before seating themselves at a table behind Remy and Hale.

  Hale sighed as he watched the other traveling couple settle in, rubbing the back of his neck.

  “What’s wrong?” Remy asked, noting his frustration.

  “I’m just ready for the others to be back.” Hale gripped his glass tighter.

  “They had a lot to get. They probably won’t be back for at least another hour.”

  Hale frowned. “Will you just finish that cake so we can go upstairs?”

  Remy arched a brow at his mood shift. His leg bounced under the table with impatience, and then Remy knew what was bothering him.

  “Do you need to use the lavatory?” She snorted. The muscle in Hale’s jaw flickered as he stared at her.

  “Yes, I do,” Hale growled. “So hurry up.”

  “Just go. I’ll be fine.” Remy laughed.

  “I don’t want to leave you here alone.”

  “Gods, how long does it take you to piss?” Remy cackled, the sugary cake going to her head.

  Hale’s lip curled into a sneer. “Fine.” He threw the cloth napkin in his lap on the table and stood. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

  Remy bit her lips to kee
p from laughing as he walked to the back of the inn. She dug into the cake with her fork.

  Cutlery clanged as the father and son behind her stood from their table.

  All at once, Remy’s chair tipped back. She threw out her hands reflexively to catch her fall.

  “Oops, sorry, miss,” the older man behind her said.

  He tilted her chair back forward until all four chair legs were steady on the ground again.

  “No problem,” Remy said, flustered.

  She looked to the bar and met the sharp eyes of the two burly men. Remy’s magic buzzed under her skin. Had her eyes glowed as she was falling? She didn’t think so, but they might have when she was startled.

  Looking away, she let her gaze fall to the cake on her plate as the father and son left the inn. She realized the magic she felt buzzing at her fingertips was not hers, it was coming from the men at the bar. They were not humans: they were glamoured fae. There was only one reason Remy could think of for them to be glamoured . . . they were witch hunters. The barman disappeared behind the kitchen door as the two fae males stood up. Remy fixed her eyes on the table in front of her. Her breathing remained steady. Hale would return any moment now.

  Don’t run. Don’t run.

  She folded her hands into the napkin in her lap in case they glowed with fear. She kept her gaze lowered.

  The door to the kitchen burst open, and the innkeeper called to her, “I found it, love.”

  The two fae males paused, watching as the innkeeper bustled over to Remy. The woman had a bizarre, merry smile plastered on her face as she urged Remy to stand.

  “Here, come,” she said to Remy. “I found that gift for your baby I was telling you about.” They walked past the two fae who exchanged looks between them. “Sam can help you at the bar, boys,” the innkeeper said, dismissing the two males.

  Remy smiled to herself. This is what she loved about witches. They could cut down a man twice their size with one withering stare.

  The innkeeper kept her hand on Remy’s back as she carried on.

  “I’m not as good with the knitting needles as I once was, but I found the sweetest blanket pattern . . .” They passed through the doors to the back kitchen. Most taverns and inns in the Western Court had a similar layout, and this one looked the same as the Rusty Hatchet. The innkeeper placed a bag into Remy’s hands and said, “Go. Mother Moon bless you, sister.”