“What? I would never!”
Sure.
“I’ll see you in an hour or so downstairs,” I call.
Once he’s lost to shadows, I follow the wall closely until I arrive at Hanry’s formal royal suite. At least, that’s where I hope I’ve arrived: like last night, I meet no door-fairy, and there aren’t noises seeping out of the rooms. I don’t know if it’s a good or bad sign. But I want it to mean that Hanry’s in as miserable straits as I imagine: that he’s imprisoned. Waiting for my rescue. Held against his will, awaiting marital enslavement to an unkind and beautiful human trafficker princess fairy.
Any alternative is unimaginable.
He shouted for help, after all. He stared into my eyes and said, “Help!”
Ignoring the rapid beating of my heart, I lift my fist and knock.
The person who answers isn’t a groomsman or a fairy servant.
It’s Hanry’s mom. Who is also Fairyland’s queen, but I have toemphasize: Queen Mab has retreated from the State Room to hang out in her son’s suite on the morning of his wedding. If that’s not a red flag the size of Italy, what is?
“Sam-a-manta!” Queen Mab beams. “Perfect timing. I was just thinking. Nix the purple. We need yellow flowers instead. To glow like sunlight.”
“Or pee,” contributes a treble voice inside the room.
“Yes,” Mab agrees. “Or pollen. Flower pee.”
Another voice chimes in. “Actually, I believe that pollen is flower—”
“Your Highness, we have a problem,” I interject before the group of Hanry’s captors and friends can embarrass themselves further. These tacky fay need to get it together. “We have a capital-P Problem.”
“Go on,” says Mab.
“I’ve discovered that Princess May’s ex is here. Inside the castle.” I stare at Mab, imbuing my warning with all the solemnity I can. “And he’s trying to steal his body back from her.”
“Hisbody?” Mab asks. It figures she’d be intrigued.
“Yes, she’s been holding on to it for a few centuries,” I explain, well aware this is borderline incomprehensible behavior. “Maybe you should look into it.”
“I should say so!”
“Heads-up, though—you might need some of the groomsmen along to investigate. Word is, May’s ex is extremely strong. A warrior king. And if he’s back, body and all… he could do quite a bit of damage.”
I know Bulan doesn’t want his body back. As far as I know, he has no continuing interest romantically in its captor. And for all I know, centuries of atrophy have given him a dad bod.
But Mab doesn’t know that.
The queen snaps her fingers. “You’re talking about Bran!” she says. “I remember Bran! That rascal. Rochester, come here. Boys, we’ve got to intervene.”
The name “Bran” feels like a close miss for Bulan, so I figure we’re on the same page as Mab calls the groomsmen/jailors to her by name. I suspect she’s the world’s only mother-in-law of the bride-to-be who’sexcited about chaos on her son’s wedding day. Oh well, works for me. While she commands the room’s attention and barks orders, I do what I know how to do best: become invisible.
Slipping back against a wall, I aesthetically become one with a lampshade as the whole pack sets off, armed with worrisome, dangerous-looking medieval weapons. At least my hard-practiced skill of seeming bland to the point of invisibility is working. No one seems interested in me any longer.
Until the very last second, when a fairy groomsman brushes against my treacherous tulle while adjusting the sword on his belt.
“Don’t mind me. I’m setting wine out for photos,” I say, shooing him along. “You guys go on ahead. I’ll be right behind you.”
Once the fay departs, I abandon the lampshade and my wine bottle prop.
“Hanry?” I call out into the silence. “Hanry, are you in here somewhere?”
It’s so still in here, so quiet, I’m nearly convinced he isn’t.
