The Prince of Secrets

by A J Lancaster

  Right. Sending monsters to kill people was fine, but not while you were having tea with them, so long as they’d invited you. Hetta supposed it was only slightly less ridiculous than some of the social constructs of the upper classes. It helped a bit to think of it like that, although Hetta didn’t have much patience for the social niceties of the aristocracy either.

  And Princess Sunnika was right—of the two courts, DuskRose was the only one that hadn’t tried to hurt anyone here. Yet.

  “Will you promise to abide by guestright?” Hetta said.

  Princess Sunnika’s tail lashed, and Hetta had the feeling she’d offended her by spelling it out. “I will.”

  “You can’t mean to invite her in—” Jack objected. Hetta silenced him with a glare. His eyebrows drew together mutinously.

  “You may come in,” Hetta said to the princess. She turned to Gregory and Alexandra. “Go and tell Cook to send up morning tea to the green drawing room.” Alexandra looked like she was about to object to this summary dismissal, but something in Hetta’s expression stopped her. “Now.”

  26

  Guest Wrangling

  “Do you mean to leave her alone with a shadowcat?” Rakken demanded when Wyn moved to block his exit from Hetta’s study. “You haven’t secured the boundaries against breach?”

  Wyn didn’t appreciate the criticism, especially since he’d thought much the same thing only a few days ago when he’d summoned Lamorkin. “I do not mean to leave you alone here, and I’m not letting you rush off to reignite a war with DuskRose on Stariel’s lands.”

  “I have no intention of doing such a thing.” Rakken had abandoned his languid manner, now tightly coiled with predatory intent, and there was a brief, faint tang of storm in the room, disappearing as Rakken masked his signature. It was worrying that Princess Sunnika hadn’t done the same, her presence blazing along the leylines like a firestorm; it meant she wanted them to know she was here.

  “You don’t think the sight of Prince Orenn’s killer might anger his cousin?” It wasn’t an accident that Wyn was ThousandSpire’s sacrificial lamb on the altar of marriage; there was too much DuskRose blood on his other siblings’ hands to make them acceptable candidates. Well…apart from Irokoi, but he would’ve been just as offensive to DuskRose for entirely different reasons. Rakken and Catsmere held the dubious distinction of ‘most hated’ for their part in the death of DuskRose’s crown prince. That had been the act that had driven the High King to intervene in the war.

  Rakken’s eyes narrowed. “And are you happy to let your beloved play both sides of this game? To negotiate on your behalf? You think DuskRose won’t do everything in its power to stop ThousandSpire from passing its debt to another court?”

  “If you’re so worried about ThousandSpire’s debt, why not give it to Hetta freely?” Wyn snapped.

  “For someone you claim to love, you are very keen to saddle her with a heavy magical burden.”

  “For a faeland you claim to represent, you are very reluctant to unburden it!”

  They’d drawn closer as they argued, but at this Rakken took a step back and said softly, “I am indeed here for ThousandSpire.” Again, there was some deeper meaning there, a subtext Wyn was missing.

  He knew that standing on home ground, Hetta was far more capable of defending herself and Stariel than he was. But the faint trace of Sunnika’s magic made him wish desperately to be out there at Hetta’s side.

  Time crawled. He extended his senses as far as they would go, trying to get some idea of what was happening. There was no point asking Stariel for information; the faeland was far too preoccupied with all these foreign fae within its borders to have time for him. At least its low-level restlessness meant nothing truly terrible had happened yet—because Stariel wouldn’t stop at that if someone threatened Hetta or any other Valstar within its borders.

  Rakken folded his arms and leaned against the wall opposite, an eerie mirroring of Wyn’s position. Deliberate, of course. Rakken always knew exactly how to rile him. “And does she love you as much as you love her, this mortal lord?” he asked as the silence stretched. “You don’t know, do you? And it bothers you.”

  “If you think I am going to give you any information at all about Hetta, you are greatly mistaken.” Wyn stared at the unchanging view of Starwater as if he could will it to tell him what was going on elsewhere on the estate—or where exactly Hetta was. It was hard to read the leylines amidst Stariel’s agitation.

  Rakken continued as if Wyn hadn’t spoken. “That’s rather tragic, actually. A fae prince willing to give up immortality for a mortal he’s not even sure feels the same depth of affection. Love is for fools and mortals, dear Hollow—it’s not an emotion one can rely on.”

  “You love Catsmere,” Wyn pointed out. “Don’t tell me you don’t rely on that.”

  Rakken shrugged the words off as if a fly had settled on his shoulder. “Far be it from me to judge your relationships, brother, but if Lord Valstar loves you like a sibling, you’re doing something terribly wrong.”

  “A childish misinterpretation, Rake.”

  Before Rakken could answer, a knock sounded at the door. Wyn hastily removed himself from the doorframe as it opened to reveal Marius. He blinked as he absorbed Wyn and Rakken’s adversarial positions.

  “Oh good; you haven’t killed each other then.” Marius’s gaze settled on Wyn, troubled. “Hetta wants you in the green drawing room. Princess Sunnika is here. I’ll babysit him.” He indicated Rakken with a curt gesture.

  Wyn thought this was an incredibly bad idea, but he understood Hetta’s reasoning. Jack might punch Rakken in the face if he irritated him, and whilst Wyn had no issue with that, it would break guestright.

  “I do not actually require babysitting,” Rakken said dryly. “I have sworn to abide by guestright.”

  Wyn and Marius both ignored him.

  “Don’t let him get under your skin,” Wyn advised. He shot Rakken a look before he left. “And do try to control your childish urges.”

  Even without Marius’s warning, Wyn would have known another greater fae was present in the house. Housefae barely made a dent in the currents of magic, but greater fae… Rakken had clearly decided to cease masking his signature, because Wyn could feel his brother in Hetta’s study, hopefully not provoking Marius (a foolish hope), and ahead, in the green drawing room, the princess.

  As he drew closer, that awareness sharpened, a lingering taste of cherries and beeswax in the air. He found her standing outlined in sunlight next to the windows. There was no sign of Hetta. He paused on the threshold. What was going on?

  Princess Sunnika turned in an unhurried motion, so that her hair rippled like water down her back. “Prince Hallowyn,” she murmured. Her dark eyes took in his appearance. “In mortal form.”

  “So are you, Princess,” he said. It was the first time he’d ever seen her so, and it was just as disconcerting as it had been with Rakken. Perhaps more so because Sunnika’s human face and petite stature made her appear almost harmless, and Wyn knew that she was anything but.

  Princess Sunnika smiled but made no move towards him, no move to summon her magic. It didn’t stop every hair on his body from standing on end, the fear of DuskRose’s powers going bone-deep. And this wasn’t a general fear but a specific one, informed by his own recent experience: Princess Sunnika had teleported him and Hetta miles across the country as if it had been no great effort. She could be at his side in an eyeblink and outside Stariel’s bounds in another. He deeply regretted not prioritising anti-translocation wards for the faeland; in hindsight it probably should’ve taken precedence over the lavender bathroom’s plumbing issues.

  “Why are you here alone, Princess?” he challenged, to disguise his unease.

  “Perhaps you are not as deep in Lord Valstar’s confidence as you thought.”

  “Did you ask to speak to me alone?” he said, suddenly confident that must be the reason. “In exchange for the favour you did us?” What did Hetta
think he had to say to Sunnika that he couldn’t say with Hetta present? He narrowed his eyes. “Though I will debate the obligation.”

  “So did she.” Sunnika’s smile cut off abruptly. “Do not mistake my calm for lack of anger, Your Highness. Lord Valstar has been attempting to persuade me that you did not intend your betrayal of our betrothal vows as a personal insult to me, and yet you do not seem pleased to see me.”

  “Ah. My apologies; my concern is for FallingStar’s future. I owe this court a debt.” And I am not at all pleased to see you, he added mentally.

  “You owe a debt to the Court of Dusken Roses.”

  “I do.” He didn’t see how acknowledging the debt could make things worse. “Lord Valstar spoke truthfully; my leaving had nothing to do with you personally,” he added, marvelling yet again at his failure to consider how his actions must have looked to everyone else. It was so easy to forget that the fae weren’t omniscient; they did such a good job at pretending to be.

  She made a thoughtful noise and came towards him. It took everything not to step back, the impulse irrational given her powers. The pink tips of her hair swished as she moved. She seemed a lot shorter than he remembered, although perhaps that was merely in comparison to Hetta.

  “Yet it has affected me very personally,” she said, halting a mere arm’s length away. She had to tilt her head back to meet his eyes. “Perhaps I should kill you where you stand, for the insult.”

  “I intended no insult.” He didn’t flinch from her gaze, trying to read her mood. It didn’t seem murderous, despite her obvious anger. That was something. “I ran from my father, not you.”

  She scoffed. “DuskRose has stood fast against all your father’s efforts for centuries, Prince Hallowyn. It was not necessary to hide yourself away in a mortal court to evade his grasp.”

  “And you would have trusted yourself to the care of an enemy court, if the situation was reversed?” It would’ve been fantastically easy for his father to frame DuskRose for his murder, given the degree of antagonism between the courts.

  “The entire point, dear prince, was to change ‘enemy’ into something else.” Even Princess Sunnika wasn’t optimistic enough to use the word ‘friend’. Did she truly care about cementing the peace only the High King’s edict had forced? Perhaps she did. He didn’t know her, couldn’t judge.

  “I’m sorry,” he said.

  Her eyes narrowed. “Yet I hear no words from you to make good on what you promised.”

  Where in the high winds was Hetta? “Will I marry you, you mean? Is that really what you want?”

  “It is not a matter of want. I am not an oathbreaker.”

  He made himself think about it, though everything in him screamed a negative. Perhaps she was right. Perhaps he could evade his father’s wrath by remaining within DuskRose’s bounds. Perhaps his father would even abandon his initial plan to kill Wyn and pin the blame on DuskRose, now that the element of surprise was gone. That would leave Wyn with only the pit of vipers that was the Court of Dusken Roses. It would mean a return to every word carrying an undercurrent of meaning and threat, to watching over his shoulder for those who would betray him without a second thought if they thought it would benefit them. He would be an outsider at DuskRose, one of the hated stormdancers, which would make it even harder to slide beneath the surface, unnoticed. And Princess Sunnika was Queen Tayarenn’s heir; he would not be able to escape the court politics, not as her consort.

  But perhaps Stariel would be safe, if he patched over his broken oath. Perhaps the fae would lose interest in this mortal faeland without him in it. But what if they didn’t? When had the fae ever let go of something if there might be some gain to be had from it? And there was the revocation of the Iron Law to consider; it changed things in ways he couldn’t predict.

  And Hetta would never, ever forgive him.

  “No,” he said, something in him shifting as he made the decision, the hollowness his broken oath had left seeming to reverberate beneath his sternum. “I’m not confident that my reception at DuskRose would be any less hostile than in the Spires. And there remains my debt to FallingStar.” A debt that was emotional rather than magical, now, but there was no need to specify that. “I should like to try to repay at least some of my debts, even if yours remains outstanding. I’m sorry, Your Highness, but you should go.”

  He found Princess Sunnika hard to read, but something that looked like surprise flickered in her eyes—followed swiftly by anger. He replayed his last words. Ah. Perhaps telling his ex-fiancée he placed a mortal’s claim above hers had not been very diplomatic.

  Princess Sunnika tsked. “So dishonest.”

  “The fae cannot lie.”

  She didn’t dignify this with a response. A trace of smugness flickered in her expression. “And why should I go? You assume you are my only business here?” She laughed. “I am here as an ambassador to the Court of Falling Stars.”

  Heaviness filled him at her words; he’d been right. He felt Hetta’s presence and turned to find her watching him and Princess Sunnika with an inscrutable expression.

  “I take it she hasn’t convinced you to become a blissful groom again.” Hetta said it lightly, but he wasn’t an idiot; she was relieved.

  “No.” Anger spiked, shocking in its intensity. How could she doubt him? Didn’t she know how much she meant to him? But the emotion collapsed just as quickly. How could she not doubt him, when he’d never fully committed to staying? He closed the distance between them and linked his arm with hers, not caring what Princess Sunnika might think.

  He turned back to the princess. “What will it take?” he asked. “For you to release me from my oath?”

  Princess Sunnika’s gaze rested on where Wyn’s hand intertwined with Hetta’s. “Lord Valstar has granted me guestright that I may better ponder that very question.”

  “And how long, exactly, do you plan to ponder it for?” Hetta said. “I may have invited you in, but I’m not at all inclined to let you stay long.”

  Wyn squeezed Hetta’s hand, overwhelmed with sudden fondness.

  Princess Sunnika looked the opposite of fond. “I do not know,” she said evenly. “How long is ThousandSpire’s emissary intending to be here?”

  27

  Rumours

  They beat a tactical retreat to the map room to discuss the situation, leaving Jack and Caroline with Princess Sunnika in the drawing room and Marius with Rakken in Hetta’s study. Wyn had never been more conscious of the house’s occupants as they made their way up. He could not avoid overhearing snippets of conversation in which his name was mentioned.

  “Did you hear? Lord Featherstone called him his brother! In front of half the Valstars!”

  “—he’s always had a certain manner about him. Like he wasn’t raised one of us, you know?”

  “Do you think he’ll go back to Featherstone?”

  Wyn knew he couldn’t hide from the questions or the stares for long, but he hadn’t yet decided how to handle them. The larger questions of his brother and ex-fiancée loomed over that smaller uncertainty.

  Hetta closed the door behind her and raised her eyebrows. Before he could think too much, he pulled her into a crushing embrace. She let out a soft sound of surprise as he pressed her into the door. Desperation lent a pure cutting edge to sensation, and he buried himself in physicality, ignoring the flaring leylines in the house. Some wild part of him thrashed its wings, trying to escape the collapsing house of cards. He kissed her until they were both breathless and shaking.

  “Wyn,” Hetta complained up at him. She was so close that he could see the ring of darker grey close to her pupils.

  “Ah, yes. Possibly not the time. Sorry.” At some point in the earlier interplay he’d captured her hands and pinned them above her head. He released them now and tried to step back, but she held on to his shoulders, stopping him.

  “Well, it’s not as though I weren’t willing.” Her eyes sparkled; he nearly kissed her again. “Are you all right?”


  “No,” he said, surprising them both. “No, I am very far from all right.” He wrapped his arms around her and tucked her head against his neck. “They are here, Hetta. At Stariel. In this house.”

  “Yes, I noticed.” Her words were muffled, but their dry tone was unmistakable.

  “One of my worst fears is playing out as we speak, and you are not taking it seriously enough.”

  She wriggled so that she could look up at him. He didn’t like allowing her even this space, though it was irrational to think that if he just held her tightly enough he could protect her.

  “One of your worst fears is two fae taking tea with us?” She paused as they both contemplated the mental image of Aunt Sybil seated next to Rakken on the chesterfield. “This is me taking it seriously. You don’t think I’ve invited them in for the sheer entertainment value? You said you’d let us try to negotiate with them. Are you going to back out of that?”

  “Don’t you see? There’s no way to extricate you neatly from this now, even if I were to leave Stariel this very moment and swear never to return. Stormcrows, even if I were to marry Sunnika tomorrow, I could not make them leave Stariel be. You’ve intrigued them, and they’ll never stop pushing for an advantage now, even if I were out of the picture. I’m a fool. I should have left the second they found me. I should never have come here in the first place!”

  Hetta stilled, and an entirely different fear kindled in his chest—a fear that he had said something unforgivable.

  “And what about us?” she said, her voice low and dangerous. “Do you wish you’d never met me? Do you wish you didn’t love me?”

  The word reverberated through the bond between them, old friendship and new romance, and Wyn feared that the wrong words could shatter it. Yet he couldn’t stop himself from saying with cold, clipped precision, “I imagine it would make things considerably easier for both of us if I did not.” What was he doing? What was he trying to achieve? What was wrong with him?