by AK Mulford
“The Heir of Saxbridge is holding a game in Ruttmore in six nights’ time,” Hale said, tossing another stick onto the evening’s fire. “The prize, it is rumored, is a very special ring.”
Fenrin rolled his eyes at the title. Remy leaned her shoulder into him in a silent reprimand.
“The heir is in possession of the ring?” Heather narrowed her eyes at Hale from across the campfire. How had the heir to the Southern throne come into ownership of the long-lost High Mountain ring?
“What kind of game are we talking about? I can’t imagine it being a gentleman’s game if it is happening in the South.” Talhan snorted.
The Southern Queen had buried her sorrows over the past thirteen years in bottles of wine and lavish parties. Her child was neither male nor female and preferred the title Heir of Saxbridge, rather than prince or princess.
“It’s a poker game,” Hale said.
“Of course it is,” Carys sighed, swiping her braid over her shoulder.
The South ran rampant with drinking halls and pleasure houses. Something already predisposed the Southern fae to merriment. Their green witches, too, were renowned for enhancing pleasures: love potions, magic ales, and the most decadent and delicious of foods. Remy looked forward to heading into the heart of it. Only half a day’s ride from the Queen’s castle in Saxbridge, Ruttmore was equal parts decadent and seedy. It was where the rich fae went for their debauchery.
Fenrin turned to Hale. “Are you any good at the game?”
“Not particularly,” Hale replied with a grin.
“Wonderful,” Bri ground out.
“But I do not plan on obtaining the Shil-de ring through a betting game,” Hale said, poking at the fire with a stick.
“Then what’s the plan?” Bri asked, bringing the prince back to task. Remy grinned at Bri. Every word she spoke got right to the point.
“First, I want to authenticate that it is truly the Shil-de ring.” Hale’s gaze slid to Remy, shadows dancing across his face. “That’s where you come in. Do you need to touch the ring to know of its power or will getting close enough do?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t been around many magical talismans.” Remy didn’t meet Hale’s gaze. She hadn’t looked him in the eyes since the night of the full moon.
“You are rubbing off on her,” Talhan mumbled to his twin.
Remy had spent her entire life being discouraged from using her magic, and now she was being asked the nuances of its power.
“I will know for certain if I touch it, but I can usually feel power from a distance . . . I don’t think I will be able to do it without revealing I am a witch, though.”
If Remy reached out with her power, others could feel it, sense it too. If she used enough of it, she would glow red and then the game would be up.
She swatted at another bug that landed on her skin. The night was unpleasantly hot with the addition of the fire, but they needed it to cook their meal.
“That is why we reveal who you are up front,” Hale said. Everyone’s eyes turned to him.
“Are you insane?” Fenrin sputtered. “You want to waltz in there and reveal she is a red witch?”
“Not just any red witch,” Hale said with a knowing smile. “My red witch.”
Remy’s heart skipped a beat as Hale reached into his pack and produced a thick leather cord. On it was a stone pendant engraved with the Eastern Court’s crest: a lion’s head over two waves.
“Absolutely not,” Fenrin hissed, staring at the object: a witch’s collar. It was a symbol of ownership that they forced upon witches in the Northern Court. Witches in service to rich and royal fae in other courts wore them too.
“It’s okay, Fen,” Remy murmured to her friend.
“It’s not okay,” Fenrin snapped at her, glaring at the prince. “Remy will never be your slave.”
“It is not real,” Hale said, grabbing two more collars out of his bag. “I had Tal carve these last night . . . they don’t look that good under close inspection, but they will be enough to prove to any naysayers that you are mine.”
“We belong to no one,” Fenrin spat.
“Gods, you are a simple-minded one, aren’t you?” Hale laughed.
“Watch it,” Remy hissed. She could tolerate the prince’s jibes, but no one insulted Fenrin except her.
Fenrin made to stand, but Heather put a hand on his shoulder and nudged him back down. Fighting with a fae prince was a bad idea. Remy wouldn’t have stopped him, though. If he wanted to take a shot at the prince, she would have backed him. She bet it would be very satisfying to punch the prince in that gorgeous face.
“You’d rather swagger into Ruttmore with a bunch of drunk, rich, entitled fae and not have the protection of any court?” Carys asked pointedly to Fenrin.
Narrowing his gaze, Fenrin said nothing more.
Remy stood then on her sore legs. The fight training each morning was taking its toll on her overworked body. Still, she was far better now than she was on the first day.
She moved to Hale, grabbing the witch’s collar out of the prince’s hand. It was a simple leather cord with a metal clasp, nothing notable about it apart from the stone tag. How many witches wore these collars? How many felt safer for it? She bet no one.
“So I’m just meant to openly be a red witch?” The lines on Remy’s brow creased as she looked at the collar in her hands. It was the exact opposite of what she’d been trying to do her whole life. Not having to hide her powers, to cast her magic with impunity . . . the idea was thrilling.
“King Vostemur, I am certain, has many more red witches alive in his dungeons than he will admit,” Hale said, his voice on edge.
The prince took the collar out of Remy’s hands and stood. He held it up to her with raised brows and waited for her to agree.
“But he extended his grace to the three remaining courts: he entitled each royal to one red witch,” he said. Remy knew Vostemur didn’t have the authority to be telling the other Courts of Okrith what to do . . . he also didn’t have the authority to raze her homeland either. The Western, Southern, and Eastern Courts would only push back so much against the threat to the North. Following his rules about red witches seemed to be not worth the battle.
Lifting her hair, Remy dipped her head so that he could fasten the necklace to her.
“And you will be mine.” His voice was a low rumble across the shell of her ear. His calloused fingers brushed her neck as he fastened the collar. Remy prayed Hale couldn’t hear her heart pounding in her chest.
As she toyed with the stone pendant, Heather groaned. Her guardian’s tight grip on self-control waned as she looked at the witch’s collar encircling Remy’s neck.
“It is only for a few days, Heather,” Remy reassured her. “How else do you plan on getting us close enough to the ring? Think of what it could do in High Mountain fae hands?”
Heather’s lips remained puckered, but she said no more.
“The brown witches shouldn’t be coming with us,” Bri cut in.
“We—“ Fenrin scowled.
“Fae travel with witch servants all the time,” Carys interjected.
“We are not your servants.” Fenrin clenched his fists.
“Though much less mouthy ones,” Talhan laughed. “A few balms and potions on the road are a welcome service. I’ve seen brown witches in fae entourages before.”
“I still think we should cut them loose,” Bri said, flipping her knife mindlessly in her hands.
“No!” Heather panicked at that, leaning closer to Remy. “We can act the part.” Heather glanced at the prince. “We can do it. It will be fine.”
“And what about him?” Bri waved her knife at Fenrin. “I’m sorry Fen, but you’re clearly unwell.”
The past few days, Fenrin’s face had grown more flushed, his voice congested. His cough grew progressively worse. Heather grabbed a vial from her pocket and passed it to Fenrin. Remy noted the move and wondered how long Heather had been secretly caring for Fenr
in. She chewed on the inside of her cheek. She hadn’t been paying close enough attention to them.
“There are only so many potions,” Bri said.
Surprise crossed Remy’s face at the apologetic look Bri gave Fenrin. It was rare to see the fae warrior showing that kind of emotion.
“He needs rest,” Bri continued, “not magic. You should stay here and we can double back for you.”
“I’m fine.” Fenrin coughed. “It’s just a cold. It will be gone by tomorrow.”
Remy knew Heather would never willingly leave her side, but she wondered if Bri was right. The Twin Eagles had taken a liking to Fenrin’s company, but the warrior spoke the truth.
Hale bobbed his chin, “Fine. You can come.” He passed the two witch’s collars to Heather and Fenrin and reached back into his pack. “Tal, Bri,” Hale said, throwing Bri a bag of coins.
Remy gaped. How much money did the prince travel with? No wonder his pack sounded like a boulder when it landed on the ground.
“Find horses and ride ahead,” Hale said. “Secure lodgings at an inn outside Ruttmore. I don’t want us staying in town in case we must make a hasty retreat. We’ll arrive the day before the game to not arouse suspicion. We are on a quick holiday of drinking and debauchery, understood?” Carys’s lips pulled up, a wicked gleam in her eye. “We leave as soon as the game’s over. Oh,” The prince added as the Twin Eagles stood. He tipped his head toward Remy. “And get some appropriate clothes.”
Remy crinkled her nose at Hale.
Bri looked at the heavy bag in her hands and then looked to Remy. The warrior’s golden eyes scanned Remy up and down, taking her measurements by sight alone. The fae female’s face held a glimmer of twisted delight. Remy shook her head to Bri in silent protest.
Don’t buy me anything stupid, she demanded with a stabbing look.
“Keep up your training with Carys,” Bri said with a nefarious grin, winking.
Hauling up his pack, Talhan turned with no other parting, as though he had not been walking all day to get there, only to be sent off again. The Eagles would ride through the night, no questions asked.
Chapter Nine
The inn outside Ruttmore was nicer than any tavern Remy had ever seen. Swept floors, washed windows, no leaks fell from the roof, no tables tilted at odd angles. Even the courtesans by the bar dressed ornately in expensive jewelry and immaculate makeup. It was clear they entertained a well-off clientele.
The matron bustled into the main room of the inn to receive them. She was a short, round woman with smooth umber skin. She wore a low-cut, floral yellow dress and a corset that heaved up her ample bosom. A long, white feather adorned her brilliantly dyed red hair.
“Your Highness.” She bowed with a flourish of her hand, her golden bangles jingling on her wrist. “It is an honor to have you stay with us.”
“Thank you, your establishment is very pleasing indeed,” Hale said, with all the practiced splendor of a royal.
The matron blushed and bowed again.
“The stable boy said you arrived on a wagon?” She asked. Remy watched the matron, worried that she’d uncover something about their ruse.
“We did,” Hale laughed nonchalantly. He didn’t seem troubled at all.
“Where are your horses?” The matron nosed.
“I’m in the market for some new ones, if you know any good places . . .” The matron lit up at that. Hale made it look easy.
“I have a cousin who can sort you out, Your Highness. The finest horses you’ve ever seen,” she said. Remy was certain the innkeeper would be cut in on this deal if it were to take place. This was the woman who knew a person for every such need.
“Would you care for some food or drink, Your Highness? The chef is just starting a roast but we could set out a platter while it cooks . . .”
“No, that is quite all right,” Hale said, surveying the room with casual indifference.
The four courtesans at the bar tittered to each other as they eyed Hale. Remy imagined they were wagering which one of them would successfully take him to bed. Without a thought, Remy stepped closer to Hale’s side. If she was to be his witch, then these other women had better fear her. She gritted her teeth, staring daggers at them. She decided then and there if she was to pretend to belong to him, then he would equally belong to her. The courtesans’ giggles turned to whispers.
“We have had a long day’s ride, and we wish to rest before we begin our holiday.” Hale slung his arm over Remy’s shoulders, startling her. He must have noticed that small step closer.
She knew what being a royal prince’s red witch implied. She knew magic wasn’t the only service red witches often provided their lords. Remy stood taller, regardless, leaning into Hale with a nonchalant familiarity. It was an act, Remy told herself, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t enjoy it.
Remy heard shuffling behind her as Carys shifted in front of Heather and Fenrin. She knew the fae warrior was hiding the witches’ looks of distaste at Hale’s arm around her. Heather and Fenrin looked to the entire world like the traveling servants they were cast to be, laden with heavy packs.
Talhan thundered down the stairs, followed by Bri, a glass of ale already sloshing in his hands. His shirt was half unbuttoned showing off his huge, muscled chest. He swayed on drunken legs at the landing but as he neared them, Remy saw his eyes were sharp and clear. Talhan was acting too. This ruse perfectly cast him in the part of a fae male on holiday: that easy smile, that air of recklessness.
Talhan fit perfectly into line with the Ruttmore plans. Hale was, after all, the Bastard Prince of the East. Rumors of his drunken philandering had spread throughout the realm. Drinking and bedding his way through the South was what the world thought he would do. It was an excellent cover for obtaining the Shil-de ring . . . if only the brown witches and Remy played their part.
“Come on,” Talhan called merrily to his comrades. His drink splashed as he pointed his glass toward the stairs. “I’ve got us rooms overlooking the river.”
“I can arrange a romantic trip down the river for you and your witch, Your Highness, should you wish it.” The matron offered with a plastered-on smile. No doubt the punter of the boat would be an employee of hers too. The matron was what Remy imagined she would find in the South: overly embellished clothes, dripping in jewelry, a caked-on face of makeup, and a penchant for revelry. She was equal parts innkeeper, actress, and pleasure house madam. So this was how the people of the Southern Court lived . . .
Hale dropped the arm from Remy’s shoulders, wrapping his muscular hand around her stomach. He tugged her back against his broad chest, his hand splayed wide and possessive. Remy schooled her surprise. Letting out a tittering laugh, she rested her head against Hale’s muscled shoulder. She prayed her act was as convincing as Talhan’s. She needed everyone in this town convinced that she was the toy of a powerful and careless prince. No more witch hunters could think she was up for grabs.
“Perhaps another night,” the prince said, smirking at Remy. “Tonight we go into Saxbridge to have a bit of fun.” He winked at the innkeeper and she returned it with a knowing smile.
“If you would care for any recommended establishments,” she said with a flourish of her hand. The way she said establishments told Remy exactly what she meant. “Or any bookings, please let me know how I can be of service, Your Highness. Enjoy your stay.”
She bowed one more time and tottered off to the bar. The courtesans all leaned into the matron to whisper about what had just passed.
They climbed the stairs and out of sight into a narrow and dimly lit hallway. Carys grabbed the pack off Heather. The brown witch sighed as the fae warrior lightened her load. Bri took Hale’s pack from Fenrin. He shook out his sore arms and gave her a begrudging nod of thanks.
Talhan handed Heather a key.
“Your room,” he said, nodding to the first door down the hall. Fenrin frowned. All witches knew the first door on the first floor of a tavern was a cursed door. It was the s
mallest room cut off by the stairs. It was the loudest door of any inn, too, and it would be sure to be a challenging time sleeping in it.
“Be grateful I didn’t throw you in the servant’s lodgings by the stables,” Talhan said, reading the look on Fenrin’s face. “I figured the witches of the prince should have at least some comfort.”
“How generous,” Fenrin groused.
Talhan looked to Carys. “The three of us are at the end of the hall on the left.” The female fae shouldered her bag and took off in that direction with no more prompting. Talhan passed a key to Hale. “And you two are up two more flights in the corner room, naturally.”
“You two?” Remy asked, darting looks between Talhan and Hale.
Talhan scrunched his face at her, waiting for her to catch on. His brows lifted as if to say: you are his red witch, what were you expecting? Remy’s cheeks reddened. She should have assumed as much.
Heather moved to interject as another patron’s footsteps sounded on the stairs. Remy quickly grabbed the key from Talhan and shouted, her voice an octave too high, “Come, Your Highness, let us go see our view.”
“With pleasure.” Hale guffawed, hurrying Remy along as she pretended to shriek in delight.
Remy had seen this flirtatious act play out so many times in so many taverns. She never thought she would be one of those women, yet here she was, pretending to be the lover of a prince.
She glanced over her shoulder, seeing Fenrin stare her down, his cheeks flushed red and something between anger and amusement playing across his face. Fenrin had never thought he would pretend this way either. Remy couldn’t deny the twinge of guilt that hit her as she realized she was the reason they had dragged him into this. Perhaps Bri was right after all. Perhaps it would be kinder to Heather and Fenrin if she cut them loose.
Bri caught Remy’s arm before Remy could move past to the stairwell.
“I left an outfit on the bed for you to wear today. Your other apparel and shoes are in the wardrobe,” she said with a smile.
