Yet somehow, Queen Viktoria was aware of their existence. Yes, she was a witch, but what sort of magic did she possess that allowed her to see the unseen? Too many unknowns left Caelian uneasy, slowly filling with a quiet dread. When she met the intense blue of Kjeld’s eyes, saw the cloud of worry shadow them, she knew he felt the same way.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Kjeld hoped for adjoining bedrooms. He prayed to every Northernlands god and goddess who might listen for adjoining bedrooms. Because if he had to share a bed with Caelian, if he had to lienextto her every evening, then that was the most pure and evil form of torture.
The gods despised him.
There was no other excuse.
For why else would they seek to curse him by forcing him to share a room with Caelian?
She paused in the doorway right in front of him, her breath catching, soft enough only for him to hear.
The room was elegant and spacious, nothing at all like the dreary quarters King Marius once kept for guests. On the far wall, a fire roared within a giant stone hearth, and there was a black fur rug spread out before it. No doubt that was where they would keep the dragon eggs. Two leather high-back chairs were seated before it, and thick draperies framed the arching windows to keep out the cold. The walls were papered with slate gray flowers trimmed in metallic gold, and positioned along the opposite side of the room was a decadent four-poster bed. It wasmade of rich cherrywood and piled high with a mound of satin pillows and a gilded downy comforter.
He could collapse onto that bed and sleep forever.
“These are your quarters for however long you wish to stay.” Queen Viktoria offered a smile, but it was slightly off. Secretive almost. It set his nerves on edge, and awareness prickled at the back of his neck. Her uncanny eyes flicked over him. “General Holtstom, your attire is suitable for Evarfest, but I will send a maid with a few options for Lady Caelian.”
Caelian spun around, almost careening right into Kjeld’s chest. She stumbled back a step, dropping into a half-hearted curtsy. “Thank you, Your Majesty. I appreciate your generosity.”
“Think nothing of it.” The queen lifted her chin, maintaining her sense of authority despite her absurdly petite stature. “Take your time to freshen up, and I’ll see you both at the witching hour.”
From the corner of his eye, he caught Caelian slowly entering the bedroom, but he kept his gaze focused on the queen and her entourage of advisors and guards as they rounded the corner at the far end of the corridor. Their heavy footfalls told him they were heading toward the throne room, and since the courtyard was in the same direction, it would make prying into closed-off rooms more manageable. Kjeld knew every inch of Castle Brackroth by heart, which meant he would be able to keep Caelian out of harm’s way. For the most part. Especially since he found Brynhild Falk and Elder Lothaire deeply untrustworthy.
Byrnhild appeared ancient, as though she had walked the earth with the first of men. And Elder Lothaire…well, he looked otherworldly. Unsettling. As though he was something else altogether. And Kjeld vowed right then to make sure he kept the elder as far away from Caelian as possible.
Once he was certain the envoy was out of sight and earshot, he stepped into the bedroom, closed the door soundly behindhim. He glanced over his shoulder to find Caelian running her fingers along the trim lining the golden comforter.
She peered over at him, her lips pursing.
“How is it your attire is appropriate for this ball, whereas mine is not?” Caelian threw her arms out in exasperation, as though making her point. “This is one of the finest traveling gowns I own.”
Kjeld was grateful for the distraction, even if it was mundane talking about the necessity of clothing.
“Because Evarfest is how people of the Northernlands welcome the coming of the summer’s first new moon. It’s held outdoors and is celebrated with dozens of glowing bonfires. There’s food, and music, and drink, and some find it customary to dress in a certain manner. The men usually wear leather and fur, the women wear lace and fur.” He gestured to his riding leathers, to the worn straps whereKaldflamwas bound to his back, to where his cloak of silver fur was pinned to one shoulder. “If anything, my lady, you are overdressed for the occasion.”
“Oh.” She blanched slightly, a line of concern pinching across her brows. Caelian shifted her weight, pulling lightly on the sleeves of her expensive gown. “I see. And what did Queen Viktoria mean by the witching hour?”
Kjeld roughed his knuckles beneath the underside of his jaw, trying to figure out the best way to explain it to her. “The witching hour isn’t an exact time of day, it’s more like a feeling. A sensation of knowing. It’s after twilight but before the dawn, when the veil between worlds and realms is at its thinnest.”
Caelian clasped her hands together and rolled her lips. “Sounds enchanting.”
Kjeld shrugged. “Or terrifying, depending on what you make of it.”
Her gaze snapped to his, eyes round with something like fear. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Only that?—”
A swift knock interrupted their conversation, and a maid with mousy brown hair and nervous eyes scurried into the room. She deposited a heap of leathers, furs, feathers, and silks onto the bed. Then she faced Caelian, keeping her eyes averted, and bobbed a quick curtsy.
“For her ladyship.”
The maid bolted from the bedroom before Caelian even had the opportunity to thank her.
“Well.” Caelian began sifting through the pile of clothing, inspecting the different fabrics. “That was odd behavior.”
“It’s not at all odd for someone who doesn’t know what to expect from a fae.” Kjeld sauntered toward her and leaned against the spiraling post of the bed frame, mildly surprised when it didn’t budge beneath his weight. “I told you before, they weren’t so kind to the fae when your sister was here.”
