But I don’t think there’s a better option…is there?
My phone rang—its Lord of the Rings ringtone slightly muffled in my clutch.
I hurriedly ripped it out and picked up the call when I saw it was from Chase. “What did you find out?”
“He didn’t do it,” Chase said, sounding disgusted. “We found the ball—it was bespelled. The fae that actually hit the ball never knew about it.”
“And you can’t track whoever placed the spell.”
“Correct. We do know it was a fae spell, though.Unfortunately, we can’t confirm if it came from within your Court or a different one.”
“Yeah, that’s expected.” The kind of supernatural you were affected how the magic felt or tasted, but that was it. You didn’t leave a particular signature on it or anything, and it couldn’t be traced back to individuals. “I’m betting it’s someone from my Court—though I’d love to know how they’re getting around the magic.”
“Even without proof I still have suspicions. Since they were present, we questioned both Lord Myron and Lady Chrysanthe. Both were able to say they didn’t try to kill you.”
“And as fae they can’t lie.”
“In theory. But I’m almost certain it’s one of them.”
“Lady Chrysanthe, probably. She seems to take the greatest offense to me,” I sighed. “She was in the group I saw at the restaurant, too.”
“It’s quite probable.”
I sighed.
“Your orders?”
Lord Dion was almost on me, now. Hurriedly, I turned my back to him and rushed to say, “Keep investigating. But we can’t make any formal charges yet.”
“As queen, you don’t need to formally charge anyone.”
“Maybe, but as little as I like my Court I don’t want to be a tyrant. Thank you for your work, Chase.”
“Of course, Queen Leila.”
I made myself drop my grim look as I turned around to smile at the charming fae lord.
Even though I felt defeated, I was determined.
I don’t care what Lord Rigel says. I’m going to end this pointless game.
* * *
Days passed,and the end of July was nearly upon us.
I had three events I had to survive: picking who I was going to marry and surviving that marriage, the annual Magiford Midsummer Derby—which was for fae only and I was supposed to choose representatives who raced on behalf of my Court—and my crowning.
I intended to enter the race myself, and I had been training the night mares for months, so that was probably the least worrisome event, even though—according to Skye—the outcome of the race would greatly impact the standing of the Night Court.
No, what kept me up at night was picking my future hubby.
The week of the race, I was up late, going over the detailed rules to the race while cuddled up with Kevin, Steve, and Whiskers out in the stables. Our pile up was apparently too hot for Muffin, who was snoozing in front of Nebula’s stall.
I smiled and watched the mare lower her head over the door of her stall and lip the cat’s head. I sucked in a breath and tried to focus on the documents, but my eyes were tired, and everything was turning squiggly.
To think, I once thought the greatest tragedy in my life was that I couldn’t get a job and launch my Responsible Adult plan. Hah!
“Queen Leila?”
