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“My darlings!” she caroled as the string orchestra in the corner shrieked to a halt and every conversation broke off in shock. “We’ve finally arrived. Now the party can begin!”
Behind her, she could feel her favorite cousin’s smirk even though she couldn’t see it. “Let’s hope the wine here is better than at the last Imperial party you dragged us to,” Katrin drawled.
“It can’t be worse,” Lorelei’s second lady-in-waiting retorted. “I’d drink sprites’ spit before I tried that one again.”
“Oh, Ilse, that doesn’t count as an insult.” Katrin sighed wearily, still not yet reconciled to the lady-in-waiting who’d joined Lorelei during Katrin’s own time away, two years ago. “You drank sprites’ spit for fun both of the last two times we visited the fae realm. No one believes that that’s a burden for you anymore!”
“Hush, now.” Lorelei beamed ferociously at the wide-eyed, staring mortals all around them and clasped her dimpled hands beneath her chin. “I’m quite certain our hosts have assembled a fabulous feast for such a momentous celebration. What are we all celebrating, again? Oh, wait, now I remember.” She tilted her head, letting her gloriously unbound blonde curls cascade over her gleaming, bare right shoulder. “You just won a little skirmish, didn’t you? So impressive … especially when you consider that it was fought against a perfectly righteous group of dissidents in a separate kingdom, not even part of your empire to legally maintain.” Her upper lip curled with a fury she couldn’t quite hide.
As the ruler of one of the worryingly few kingdoms still clinging to independence on the fringes of their continent, she could not believe the stupidity of the neighboring king who had invited the Empire’s help in settling his own internal issues. Had he paid no attention to the shifting tides of politics? The elderly current emperor, after his own early expansion, had been content to leave the Empire’s borders where they were; his only son, soon to become Otto II, had far more dangerous aims in mind.
No independent kingdom would survive if they gave in to his schemes.
“Your Majesty.” The Archduke of Savelberg was still hanging back, gaping like a particularly unattractive fish, but his wife was clearly a stronger soul. The Archduchess stalked forward now in her bustled and brocaded gown, stiff white lace framing her high neckline and her expression rigid with dislike as she swept a tight, reluctant curtsey. “How kind of you to honor us with your attendance.”
“But of course. I knew you must have intended to invite me, even if you did somehow mislay my invitation.” Lorelei smiled sweetly and felt every human guest around her cringe at the sight. “How could my ladies and I possibly stay away? In fact…” She clapped her hands together in theatrical delight. “Why don’t we liven things up a bit with a party game? I seem to recall that, for some bizarre reason, your husband recently chose to expel every one of your fae citizens from Savelberg’s borders … so why don’t we make up for everything you’ve all been missing since then?”
Glancing over her shoulder, she sent a sparkling grin at her attendants. “Shall we, ladies?”
Katrin shrugged with the same easy grace that made her an excellent swordfighter. “It would make tonight more interesting…”
“… And I have been longing for another treat.” Feral gold flashed in Ilse’s green eyes, and her teeth sharpened in anticipation.
“Wait!” The Archduchess started forward, lifting one lace-bedecked arm as if she actually hoped to stop them.
She should have known better. Mere humans could never act as quickly as a powerful fae queen and her most trusted inner circle. It only took a single wrinkle of Lorelei’s nose and two high, eerie whistles from her attendants before the familiar spell was cast and vibrant green vegetation surged up from the floor of the ballroom. Bejeweled guests started back with cries of raw fear as tall trees and giant, poisonous blooms erupted between them and their companions. Even more greenery fell in long, trailing loops of ivy and carnivorous blossoms from the crystal chandeliers, while tiny sprites shot through the room, darting in and out of elegantly piled hairstyles with gleeful, tangling mischief and sneaking stolen sips of aristocrats’ champagne.
Shadows shifted and elongated in the corners, transforming into tall, spindly creatures made of branches and thorns, with drooping fingernails and sharp teeth that glistened wetly in the candlelight.
The wild, exhilarating scent of Faerie filled the air, and Lorelei smiled with perfect satisfaction.
“General de Moireul!” The Archduchess bleated the name like a prayer, spinning around and searching the vegetation-shielded crowd. Her voice rose above all the other panicked commotion in a screamed demand: “General de Moireul!”
… And there was the real reason Lorelei had chosen to grace this particular gathering with her presence. Her eyes narrowed as she prepared to finally meet the new enemy whose name had been popping up more and more often in worried whispers among the Empire’s neighbors:
The Golden Beacon.
Ever since Lorelei had first claimed the throne of Balravia, spiting her late father’s wishes and all of her male cousins’ hopes, new Imperial generals had been appointed again and again across the border, spilling like brainless salmon from the dreary military schools where would-be officers were sent from across all the Empire’s archduchies. They generally seemed interchangeable to her—but there was something different about the way she’d heard this one discussed.
As Lorelei had learned since her own ascension, there was a magical point where songs and stories tipped into legend and took on a whole new power of their own, overwhelming every detail of the tedious truth with their own irresistible, infectious appeal. Right now, “the Golden Beacon” was still only a name. All too soon, though, it could become a symbol and a rallying cry that spoke doom to every kingdom still clinging to freedom …
Unless someone clever, strategic, and full of magic stepped in just in time to tarnish that golden gleam.
Lorelei’s target stepped through the crowd of panicking aristocrats and greenery, and her smile deepened. Sylvana be praised, he looked like a mountain in a uniform! She couldn’t kill this man without making him a martyr and inspiring a bloody war of retribution—but corrupting him for the sake of her kingdom? That might not be the chore she’d expected, after all, but a genuine pleasure.
“General de Moireul.” The Archduchess sagged with relief as he joined her. “Thank the gods, you’re here to save us all.”
“I beg your pardon, Your Highness, but … from what, exactly, do you require rescue?” The man’s voice was deliciously deep and rumbling. Still, as he turned from the Archduchess to look at her, Lorelei’s chest tightened with sudden, instinctive warning.
Those wolf-like amber eyes were far too keen. They bored into her as if he could see all of her hidden secrets laid bare before him, through every layer of glamour and gossip that functioned as her shields—and his grave, unhurried question showed no hint of the alarm he should have felt.
“Well—but you can see—just look around you, man!” The Archduchess flung out one sweeping arm to indicate the feral, fae wildness that had overwhelmed her ballroom.
Clasping his hands behind his back, the Golden Beacon nodded thoughtfully. “As I understand it, bringing a gift—such as this decoration—to any festivity is a point of courtesy for the fae. They all follow the laws of hospitality without fail. Having publicly announced herself as your guest, I am quite certain that Queen Lorelei would never allow any actual harm to come to you or any of your guests this evening.”
Well … fuck. Lorelei’s smile didn’t lessen, but she purred her next words with sickly sweetness. “A soldier who’s paid attention to his studies! How marvelously unusual.” Sweeping forward, she closed one hand as far as she could around his absurdly over-large, muscular arm and fluttered her eyelashes at him. Colorful sparkles flew free at her command to dust possessively across his uniform coat and medals as she breathed in the pleasant combination of scents created by his soap, shaving cream, and sweat. “Your Highness, you must allow me to claim this man as my escort for tonight. I’m sure he’ll keep all of us wonderfully safe.”
“Oh, very well.” The Archduchess snapped out her fan and wielded it before her flushed cheeks. “I hope you and your ladies will all enjoy your evening as our guests!”
