Ep 067 | A Warning
Saelah
“A masquerade?” I ask, twisting to look at Mari. She stops braiding, and I realize my mistake, turning forward again so she can continue. “Sorry, go on.”
She just laughs. “Not to worry, my lady. Hasn’t anyone told you royalty doesn’t apologize?”
“Perhaps the world would be a better place if royalty did.”
“No comment, my lady.” She laughs again, her fingers gliding through my hair with practiced ease. I don’t know where she learned to braid this well, but she seems to be in especially good spirits today, and I wonder if something happened.
Maybe she’s excited for the coronation celebrations.
“Tell me more about the masquerade,” I urge, doing my best to sit still as she braids a crown around my head.
“It’s tradition, my lady. Or at least, that’s what I’ve heard: Every coronation since the dawn of the kingdom has begun with a masquerade ball, and every noble in the land will be invited. All the maids are already talking about it.”
“Just how fast does word travel among the servants? It was only last night that Razrael and I made everything official.”
And it’s still nearly impossible for me to believe.
It’s like when I first learned I was a princess, only this time, I’m to be queen of the fae. It hardly seems real.
Mari laughs again. “My lady, I do beg your pardon, but you are the King’s wife. Of course everyone has always expected you to become his queen. In fact, anticipation of the party has been growing since the day he appeared with you in tow.”
“He may have married me, but I’m also a human, Mari.”
“As am I.”
“Yes, but I think having a human as a maid is a little different than as a queen—” I pause, hoping that don’t sound offensive.
Fortunately, Mari doesn’t seem hurt at all when she says, “Of course. You’re right, it’s very different, and I won’t pretend I haven’t heard a few misgivings murmured among the maids, but that doesn’t mean they are correct.”
“Are they not?” I stare out the window into the last slanted orange rays of late evening sun beyond the gossamer curtains.
Mari doesn’t answer—just mumbles something about the braids, and it sounds as if she has at least one or two hairpins between her teeth.
We’re already had dinner, and now I’m freshly bathed. There’s really no reason for Mari to be braiding my hair before bed, but if I can manage to sleep on it without too much discomfort, that means I’ll have a lovely head of soft waves in the morning.
Hopefully.
Or I’ll just have a night of fitful sleep and a mess of knots to show for it.
“There,” she says finally as she places the last pin. “It’s done. I think you look lovely, my lady.”
When she talks like this, she sounds older than me instead of younger, but I suppose it’s only natural that a maid speaks so formally to a princess—soon to be the queen.
Still.
I’d rather she didn’t.
“You don’t have to be so formal with me, Mari. I’d rather you see me as a friend.”
So shakes her head like she can’t. “I’m sorry, my lady, but I can’t possibly speak to you casually. What kind of precedent would that set?”
I thought she’d say as much.
“That’s what you say, but I’m still only a human. This is a kingdom of fae. What right could I possibly have to rule it?”
It’s bad enough that Razrael is only half fae.
If I do officially become queen, I’ll only make his life harder.
Mari takes a few steps back, slowly circling me as she surveys her work, nodding to herself while she pauses, tucking a stray strand.
When she meets my gaze, I’m expecting her to keep denying my worries, but she frowns as she says, “I suppose you are not wrong, my lady.”
Oh.
I laugh, the sound fading into a sigh. “You know, I had hoped you’d tell me all the ways I am wrong. I was hoping you’d comfort me.”
“My apologies.” Mari frowns. “I don’t mean to worry you, but I also do not wish to lie. While I don’t agree with the other servants—I can’t say they sound exactly thrilled at the prospect of a human for their queen—I also can’t ignore that the dissent truly is rising.” Her eyes are full of concern when they meet mine. “I just want to make sure that you are warned.”
A warning.
That’s hardly comforting.
I grimace, looking away. Soon it will be night, and I don’t look forward to sleeping again. I can already feel the nightmares brewing.
“Do you think the other servants would...try anything?”
“Put you in danger?” Mari shakes her head. “No. No, definitely not. At least—” she pauses, as if considering something. “No, I sincerely doubt it. No one here is that foolish.”
That’s what she says, but she sounds like she may be trying to convince herself as much as me.
It’s bad enough I’m a foreigner. To be human on top of that: If I’m honest, I can completely understand why someone would be upset to have me as their queen.
Between Razrael’s half and my whole, we’d be three-quarters human ruling a fae kingdom.
Somehow that feels so much worse than just a half-human king.
Maybe this was a bad idea.
Maybe it’s not too late.
Maybe I can still call this whole thing off. Perhaps Razrael would allow me to live a quiet life at his side while he rules alone.
That might be better for everyone.
“Please, my lady. I’m sorry,” Mari says, latching shut the wooden box holding her collection of hair pins. “I truly didn’t mean to worry you. King Razrael would never allow anything bad to happen to you, I’m certain of it.”
“What if it’s not just me I’m worried about?” I glance in the mirror, surveying my hair. She’s truly skilled. Though we’re both only human, she’s woven a beautiful crown befitting a fae queen. “I’m also worried about him.”
“The other servants will think what they will, but I’m sure if he thought there would be an issue, he wouldn’t have asked you to be his queen.”
I suppose Mari’s right.
Maybe I shouldn’t be questioning the fae king’s judgment.
But I still can’t shake the uneasy feeling that something bad is going to happen.
Maybe that’s just the lingering dark magic, the cause of my nightmares I still haven’t been able to shake.
“Wait,” I call as Mari starts for the door. “Please, don’t go. Would you like some tea, perhaps?”
She stops in her tracks. “Of course, my lady.”
I flinch, suddenly keenly aware that I might as well have ordered her to stay. She probably feels she can’t refuse.
“I ask it as a friend,” I add, hoping she understands how much I mean it when I say, “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to hold you up. It’s just—my stepmother kept me locked away after my father died, and I haven’t had a close friend in years.”
It’s the truth, but I grimace at how pathetic I must sound.
Not that Mari seems to notice.
She’s kind, with warm eyes and a bright, genuine smile.
How did a Halmarian like her come to be working at the fae palace?
“Please.” I gesture to the tea set still waiting on a small table nearby. Thanks to fae magic, the pot is still steaming. “May I pour you a cup?”
“I think I should be the one to pour for you, my lady,” Mari says, but she doesn’t try to stop me. I gesture for her to sit, a steaming stream of herbal-scented tea filling her cup as I hold the pot over it.
“Tell me,” I say as I settle onto the sofa beside her. “You’re from Halmar. How did you come to work at this palace?”
Mari laughs, lifting her teacup carefully and blowing on it gently before taking a sip.
“Oh, that’s quite the long story, my lady.” Fondness sparkles in her eyes as she says, “It involves Oren.”
“Oren?” I ask, genuinely surprised, though perhaps I shouldn’t be. “Did Razrael have him bring you here?”
“No, no. Not like that.” She shakes her head, color rising in her cheeks, and that’s when I see her hands holding her cup and notice—there’s a ring on her left finger!
Married? Is Mari married?
Or perhaps she’s only engaged, as I could swear that ring wasn’t there before. Though perhaps I wasn’t looking—or maybe she was wearing gloves.
A whole host of possibilities races through my mind as I wonder what it means.
Before I can ask about it, something clacks behind us, making me jump so hard, I slosh tea on my dress.
Both Mari and I freeze, turning in unison toward the sound.
And there it is again.
It’s a sort of click-click, then a soft shwip as the window flies open.
A cloaked figure stands silhouetted against the fading glow of sunset outside, hanging from the frame with one hand like it’s easy.
Oren.
He swings inside, mask still over his mouth like he’s been out scouting some sort of secret mission.
And for all I know, he has.
“Hey, ladies,” he says as he steps easily in, shutting the window behind him as nonchalantly as if he does this every day.
And maybe he does.
“So, what are we talking about?”
“Did you hear us say your name?” I ask, even though I’m nearly certain that’s not possible. As far as I know, he’s only human—though he certainly doesn’t act like any other human I’ve met.
Not with the way he came swinging through my second-story window.
He ignores Mari’s stern look, helping himself to a cup of tea and pocketing a handful of small cookies from the tray as he plops down on the sofa between us.
Wrapping an arm around each of our shoulders, he tugs us closer and asks, “So. What’s the latest gossip?”
Just then, the door swings open...and there stands Razrael.
“Razzy!” Oren calls, beaming. “Welcome to the party!”
Razrael freezes.
His mouth draws into a thin line as he takes in the scene, gaze lingering on Oren’s arm around me.
Now that I know he can feel emotions, I wonder what he knows that I don’t.
Can he feel my embarrassment?
My awkwardness?
Somehow that only makes it even more mortifying, and I find myself blushing.
“Oren,” King Razrael growls, his voice a low rumble, but I can’t be certain he’s actually angry. He’s been wearing his mask all day, so it’s not like I can see his eyes to tell what color they are.
He’s had it on since I woke up. It’s like he wants to go right back to how things were.
Oddly, I can’t quite bring myself to be disappointed. Now that I know he’s my green-eyed boy, I feel strangely at peace.
If anything, I feel honored: I might be the only one in this room who has seen him without his mask.
And he looks especially mysterious and handsome with it back on.
Dangerous, even.
And right now he’s got that dark and deadly aura I’d assumed all fae had before I met him.
Or maybe that’s just the way the static of his glare sharpens as he frowns at Oren from across the room.
“Are you trying to test me, Oren?” He asks, taking a step toward us. One second he’s across the room—the next he’s at my side.
He appears between me and Oren so quickly, it’s like he didn’t even move. And maybe he didn’t. He must have actually teleported.
This is a sofa meant for two, but somehow it’s now holding all four of us. Poor Mari and I are squeezed up against the armrests, with Razrael and Oren smooshed in between us.
Razrael’s leg is pressed to mine, and even through his pants and my dress, heat flames through my skin where we touch.
“Razzy!” Oren slings his suddenly-free arm around the fae king’s shoulder. “I didn’t know you missed me that much. Now, now, no need to fight. There’s plenty of me to go around.”
“It’s not you I’m fighting over,” Razrael growls.
He shrugs out from under Oren’s arm, wrapping his own around my shoulders.
There’s something protective about that movement. Something that makes my heart skip a beat.
“I’m just trying to prepare you for the ball, Razzy.” Oren says, taking Mari’s hand and pulling her to her feet before she can protest. He smirks at her, and I swear I see her blush as he asks, “Shall we dance?”
“Dance?” she asks, gazing up into his eyes.
I feel like I’m watching a romantic play, the way she’s looking at him. Blushing.
I can’t help but think of what she said earlier—that Oren is part of how she ended-up here.
Could this have something to do with her ring?
“Explain,” Razrael orders, but Oren is already leading Mari away.
“Hmm?” He asks, spinning poor Mari in a circle so fast, she nearly falls. She yelps, gasping as he catches her again. “Oh,” he says casually, as if this dance takes so little effort, he barely needs to focus. “Just that loads of other men will be vying for a chance to dance with Princess Saelah. Isn’t that a custom or something? All the nobles have to dance with the queen.”
“Yes.” Razrael shifts over slightly to give me more room on the sofa, letting out a low sigh like he wishes that wasn’t a tradition. Turning to face me, he says, “In fact, that’s why I came here tonight. You’ll need to prepare. I think it’s time I teach you to see through glamour.”
Dravien
A masquerade ball?
I shake my head, crumpling the messenger’s letter into a ball before throwing it in the fire, watching as the flames slowly consume it, shriveling the paper into blackened ash.
That fool.
That utter fool.
He knows the danger he’s in, and yet he still chooses to follow tradition. All the nobles in the land will be there.
With that many people, my cousin can’t possibly maintain any semblance of palace security.
I laugh, letting the low rumble of my voice echo through my room.
He might as well have handed me a golden invitation himself.
It’s the perfect opportunity.
