All that remains of my trepidation, my worry, my anger, my fear, dissolves at once.
Before I can even think to move, I’m already tumbling out of the coach, sprinting the rest of the way to her. My arms wrap around the female fae’s shoulders while hers encircle my middle. She’s shorter than me by at least a head, so I rest my cheek on her hair, my eyes wet with tears. I don’t remember when I started to cry, but my shoulders are racked with sobs.
“My baby,” she says, voice muffled against my shoulder. “My child. My love. It’s you. It’s really you!”
“It’s me,” I say, words strained with emotion. Then I voice the one thing I’ve longed to say. A word I thought I’d never get to utter. “Mother.”
10
BRIONY
Iwipe my eyes as my mother and I finally separate from our embrace. I’ve never considered myself the most sentimental or affectionate of people, but this is the second time I’ve cried during a hug today. My mother takes a step back but doesn’t fully release me. She frames my shoulders with her hands and assesses me with glazed eyes. “You have my hair, my darling. And my blue eyes. Oh, and my physique. Look at those nice wide hips.”
I blush at her words. No one has ever spoken about my hips like their girth is a good thing. Aside from one person, perhaps. The selkie princess I met at the bridal competition last year told me several times how cute myblubberwas while wistfully gazing at my chest. My mother has an even softer form than I do, with plump arms, a curving belly, and pillowy breasts that nearly spill from her low-cut bodice. She’s…beautiful.
Her smile takes on an approving quality. “Oh, but you have your father’s height indeed.”
“Do I?” Mention of my father has my eyes darting over Mother’s shoulder, searching for him. All I see is the male who’d chased her down the stairs. He’s a slender fae with overlarge black eyes, pointed ears, and a wormlike tail. Considering this is the Lunar Court, it makes sense there would be nocturnal rodent fae. The way he wrings his gloved hands, shoulders hunched with clear anxiety, tells me my first impression was correct—he’s a servant. Not the King of Lunar.
“Yes, just wait until you meet him at the party!” Mother says.
“The party?” My eyes flash back to hers. That’s the first I’ve heard mention of a party.
A throat clears behind us. Mother releases my shoulders, and we turn to face the coach.
Thorne now wears the jacket I returned to him. My mind shifts back to its previous musings over the sliver of ink I glimpsed on his arm. Though my shock remains fresh, I must be rational. Ifthat one dreamaccurately depicted his tattoos, then it is simply because my magic picked up on them when I framed him in my hands two years ago. It was too far away for me to catch sight of any designs on his skin, but surely my magic could have been able to. Besides, there’s no way to know if my dream depicted them accurately without seeing him naked in real life. Which I have no intention of doing. Ever.
Thorne bows at the waist. “Queen Divina,” he says, tone respectful but without even a hint of reverence. I suppose that’s because my mother isn’thisqueen. From what I know about the famous Thorne Blackwood, his estate is in the Earthen Court. Assuming the estate is also his primary residence, that must be the court he calls home. It also would explain why he’s such close friends with Monty Phillips, son of the Earthen Court Human Representative.
Then another thought strikes me.
“Oh!” I whirl toward my mother. “Should I have curtsied? Or…or addressed you as—”
“Nonsense,” she says with an indulgent grin. “You’re my daughter and a princess. You must get used to seeing others bow in your honor. Mr. Blackwood, would you care to demonstrate?”
His jaw tightens, but his face remains impassive. I’m about to say there’s no need for him to bow, not after we just spent several hours in a coach together, but I stop myself. My mother is right; I’m a princess now. As false and uncomfortable as that feels, it’s the truth.
He narrows his eyes the slightest bit as he shifts his gaze to me. Then with a slow bow, he says, “Princess Rosaline.”
His voice is as emotionless as it was when he addressed my mother, but I get the strangest sense he’s mocking me.
My mother makes a sound of haughty satisfaction. “See, daughter? That is what you should expect from this point on. Now, Mr. Blackwood, I trust you were as discreet in your travels with my daughter as our bargain required?”
“I wouldn’t be alive were it otherwise. That is the nature of bargains, Majesty.”
Mother whirls toward me and lowers her voice, though not enough to avoid being overheard by Thorne. “He didn’t touch you in an untoward manner or cause you any harm on your journey?”
Were I in a more playful mood, I’d bring up how cold and painful his silences were, just to see if I could make him sweat a little. But her question doesn’t feel trivial. My mother may be a giddy creature, but she is a queen. One who—according to Thorne—has gone to great lengths to keep my father’s throne safe. Who knows what she would do to Thorne if she took my jest too seriously?
“No,” I say, “he kept his proper distance.”
“Good. Normally I wouldn’t trust humans due to their ability to lie, but Mr. Blackwood is a public figure, the face of the most popular bakery on the isle. His reputation demands propriety. Furthermore, in our family, we have more to fear from the fae.”
I’m surprised by the disdain her voice held when she said she didn’t normally trust humans. A seelie monarch’s very duty revolves around aiding and protecting them. But then my mind snags on the last part.We have more to fear from the fae. Is she referring to contenders to the throne, due to my family’s declining reputation? Or…was that about the mysterious danger I’ve been in since birth?
I frown, recalling how I asked Thorne to tell me about it earlier today.
Do you like stories, Miss Rose?
