For a moment, I consider throwing myself over the balcony and continuing on despite the pain, but another wave strikes me, stronger than before. I know I won’t make it far if I’m able to climb down at all.
I’m hit with an echo of our bargain. It reverberates through my head, bringing a shooting pain with it.
Until you turn nineteen, you will remain in my care and live under my roof. And you will obey me.
My heart hammers so fast, I fear it will explode. Gasping for breath, I push away from the railing, and my back comes against the balcony doors.I’m obeying, I’m obeying,I think to myself, but the pain doesn’t abate.
Why did I have to think of Mrs. Coleman? It’s obvious why thinking her name triggered the bargain’s punishment; with magic so tightly woven into personal intent, all it took was a flash of guilt on my part. If only I’d been able to make it past the palace grounds before realization dawned. If only I’d gotten somewhere Mrs. Coleman wouldn’t find me.
My mind begins to spin while nausea storms through my stomach. Cold sweat emits from every pore. I sink to the balcony floor, my back still pressed against the door.
I’m obeying. I’m obeying.But it’s no use. I know the words are untrue.
The pain increases and my eyes begin to flutter shut. I can already feel consciousness slipping away. Suddenly, the door behind me opens, and I fall back. The last thing I think before my head hits the ground is,I’m under your roof again, Mrs. Coleman. I’m obeying.
16
FRANCO
My mystery girl has left the ball, I’m sure of it. As has my patience for this night. Music continues to blare into my ears as I lean against the far wall in the throne room, an overfull glass of wine my only companion. My guests appear tireless in their obsession with dancing the same chaste patterns over and over again. Quadrille. Cotillion. Waltz. Gallopade. I recognize them all, for once upon a disastrous social season, I partook in such nonsense. The memory makes my stomach clench…
I swallow the rest of my wine in a single gulp, delighting in the way the liquid warms my chest and buzzes in my mind. What I wouldn’t give for a bottle of euphoric Midnight Blush. Or even Autumn Court’s hallucinogenic honey pyrus wine. I could go for a nice hallucination right about now.
Although I’m loath to admit it, much of my current vexation results from my fruitless hunt for the mystery girl. My inability to find her has brought about my boredom far faster than if I’d never met the charming pianist or heard her haunting song. I can hardly make sense of what has me so fascinated in the first place. Is it simply that she treated me as a regular person? Is it her music? The fact that I have no idea what she looks like?
I know it’s pointless to wonder. It’s been over an hour since I last saw her, and I’ll likely never see her again. If I do, I won’t know it’sher, and she won’t know it’sme.
That is, unless my first theory is correct.
That she’s Princess Maisie.
It’s a wild guess, but it’s worth considering. Maisie is of the sea andcouldbe related to a siren. A sirencouldbe capable of producing such enchanting music. Behind our awkward first impression, the princesscouldbe hiding a glowing personality.
An idea forms in my mind, one requiring further investigation. And—better yet—freedom from this infernal room. I glance at the throne, finding Augie perched upon it and doing his job. Well, not hisactualjob. As an ambassador, he’s meant to act as a liaison between my sister and the Seelie King of Lunar, as well as communicate with our court’s human representative, neither of which he’s doing tonight. His duty as my friend, however, he seems to be performing quite well. Only several hundred times have I caught him staring longingly across the room at Seri. That’s a minor infraction for a male so pathetically and hopelessly in love.
I place my empty glass on a nearby table and leave the throne room. As soon as I turn down the hall toward the Dawnstar wing, a sense of peaceful emptiness comes over me. This far from the flurry of activity, the halls are deserted, giving me a break from sensing others’ emotions. But just as I’m nearing the corridor that leads to Maisie's room, I’m overwhelmed with a sudden shock of pain. Not physical pain, and not my own. It’s grief and agonizing despair, clashing with jaw-clenching determination.
It’s coming from the same direction as Maisie's room.
I start off again, this time at a jog. The emotion grows stronger with every inch of distance I close, convincing me it’s not just coming from the samedirectionas the princess’ room; it’s coming frominsideher room. I reach the door, and the emotions suddenly abate.
Bringing my fist to the door, I rap on it. No answer. I knock again. Harder. Still no answer.
“Princess Maisie,” I say. “Is everything all right?”
I hear a shuffling sound on the other side, followed by whispered voices. Then comes the telltale clack of Podaxis’ claws on the marble floor. “May I ask who’s calling?” he asks.
I throw my hands in the air, for the answer should be obvious. After my many failed attempts to call on the princess, the crustacean should be more than familiar with my voice. “It’s Prince Franco. I need to see Princess Maisie at once.”
More tapping of claws. More inaudible whispers. “Just a moment,” Podaxis says.
I fold my feathered arms across my chest—
Oh shit.
Remembering the glamour I wear, I reach for my black cravat pull it from my neck. Just to be sure I’m properly attired, I glance down at myself, relieved to see I’m dressed in black trousers and a white shirt. Thank the All of All I chose to wear pants beneath my glamour. I stuff the cravat into my trouser pocket and settle into a domineering posture. No, that’s all wrong. I’m not here to interrogate, I’m here to…investigate. I should look kind. Relaxed.
I shift about ten more times while the sound of footsteps approach, followed by the turning of the handle. The door opens a mere six inches to reveal Maisie—or what I can see of her, at least. She blinks into the dim light of the hall, the room behind her dark. Her updo is just as elegant as it was the first time I saw her, so I know I can’t have woken her. Could her pink hair have been hiding beneath the teal glamour of my mystery girl? I glance at the high collar of her blouse, its cream shade not the pale blue I thought I might find. Still, there’s every chance the dress had been glamoured as well.
