SWNOVELS King of Merits: Chapter 18
Merri
sit at the far end of the Merit high table, swallowing my last mouthful of dessert and trying to stop my gaze from flicking toward the king. My eyes, the foolish appendages, do not obey.
Tonight, there is no sign of the weakened fae I helped nurse back to life in my antechamber. Riven’s dark, richly embroidered clothes, towering crown, and strong, sinuous movements are those of an austere and powerful Unseelie king—albeit one who won’t speak to me.
Before dinner, Elas insisted I dine with the royal family on the dais, sparking hope inside me. But when I mounted the steps, Lidwinia brought me to stand before Riven, and he promptly extinguished any burgeoning warm feelings.
Seated on the sun throne, his bored gaze slid from my head to my toes. Then, as he stared somewhere over my left shoulder, he nodded once and resumed his conversation with the High Mage, Draírdon.
At least Meerade greeted me politely from her master’s shoulder, although she did call me queen again, her mistake amusing Elas greatly.
Sipping wine, I survey the Merit Hall, and the surrounding conversations dissolve. Rowdy courtiers gather on either side of the old Blood Sun ritual fountain, a channel of water that runs from a point on the dais around the floor of the room in the shape of a massive triangle, the base forming a moat near the entrance to the hall.
Like the beams of Riven’s sun throne, every burnished surface in the hall flashes with metallic brightness, the effect dark, dramatic, and sometimes blinding. A series of alternating black, red, and gold columns soar upward to meet the grand ceiling, where moonlight shines down in circular rays through domed windows.
Mechanical birds flit through the warm, heavily scented air and swaying palms and copper braziers add to the tropical atmosphere, reminding me of tales of the night markets in the Hidden Realm’s Meedyean Kingdom, where the sun turns the fae’s skin every shade of gold.
Despite the warmth of the Merit climate, the fae are as varied in color as those of my own land—their skin glimmering in hues of silver, brown, black, ivory, green, and some even variegated, like dazzling rainbows.
The wicked king El Fannon and his repulsive son Temnen have been dead many years, and still the air resonates with darkness. Cruelty once reigned supreme in this court, and tormented spirits still haunt the hall, evidence of the lives lost to the Blood Sun ceremony that Isla and Raff had the misfortune to witness in extremely gory detail.
Thankfully, when Riven ascended the Merit throne, he transformed the ritual into a celebration of life, not an end to it for some unlucky fae every moon turn.
Needing a respite from being the center of attention, I rise without a word and sneak down the left side of the dais steps and merge with the crowd.
Courtiers dance in elaborate patterns over the black marble floor while I stand at the back of the assembly and gaze up at the high table, pretending I’m not searching for any fae in particular.
Lidwinia looks resplendent in a gown spiked with gold, a glowing scepter in her hand, and Elas seated beside her with his wings flared dramatically. Behind them, a magnificent backdrop of stars sparkles through a window as wide and tall as the castle itself, a breathtaking sight. I scan the fae seated at the table again, unable to find the person I seek.
The Unseelie king has disappeared.
After scowling his way through the betrothal ceremony and dinner, Riven has vanished in the short time it took me to descend the stairs and walk to the rear of the hall. He must have transferred directly to his bedchamber, so he can grumble privately to Meerade until he falls asleep—no doubt the highlight of his day.
If only for the sake of appearances, why couldn’t he speak civilly to me tonight? Would it have been so difficult a task? His coldness wounds like a knife, hemorrhaging loneliness and homesickness from my heart.
How I wish I could send a message to my family and hear news from them in return. But it’s impossible. A letter from me would break Ether’s enchantment, not only confirm I’m missing but also reveal my location. Then my father would unleash an almighty storm on the Merit City and raze it to the ground.
Not an ideal outcome if I’m determined to save their king, which I am.
My disturbing train of thought and the clove and frankincense-scented smoke curling through the hall make me dizzy. I urgently need a large dose of fresh air.
Positioned opposite each other in the middle of the hall are two giant alcoves opening onto long balconies and the star-studded sky. A perfect place to recharge.
As I weave through the crowd, I choose the balcony to my right, the one with the best view of the cliffs and the dark Obsidian Sea.
A warm breeze rustles the sleeves of my gown as I walk to the stone balustrade and lean my elbows against it. I stare across the ocean toward the ebony and white towers that rise from the middle of the water like two needles embroidering a pattern of stars on the fabric of the sky.
Out here, the noise of the fiddles, bodhrán drums, and dancers’ caws and hoots is muted, and I feel calm and sure of myself once more.
Stepping onto the bottom rail, I lean over the balustrade, rough stone grazing my belly as I spread my arms wide.
I call the wind to whip around my body. “Come Zephyr, softest, sweetest queen,” I whisper. “Come bless your wandering child with your comforting caress.”
The wind obeys and twines my limbs, tugging my hair from the complicated style Alina created earlier, and billowing most of it out toward the ocean. I laugh and laugh with joy.
I wish I were a bird, a falcon. Indeed, if I were my father’s son instead of his daughter, I could shift into a griffin, dive from this balcony, soar into the night sky, and then return home.
Home.
What am I doing here in this dark place of metal and magic?
Self-doubt claws again at my insides, but I sweep it away with a harsh sigh, refusing to submit to it. My purpose is sound, my intentions pure. I’m here for two reasons—to save Aodhan from the curse and Riven from himself. My dreams and visions prove the Silver King needs me, that we’re somehow connected—he just doesn’t know it yet.
“Take care or you’ll fall to your death,” comes a deep voice from the shadows—the Merit king himself. “Unless, like your royal male line, halfling Seelie princesses can shift into giant flying creatures. If so, then by all means, Merrin, leap.”
The king leans against the same balcony as me, the distance between us vast. He grips the balustrade tight enough to crumble it to dust, so his bones, not mine, will more likely end up smashed upon the rocks.
“Thanks for mentioning I’m a halfling, Riven,” I grumble. “It’s exactly what I need reminding of while alone in a foreign kingdom, treated like an outcast.”
“Pardon?” he says. “I cannot make meaning from your soft, hurried mutterings.”
“Then come closer.”
Wind rips the circlet of silver feathers from my head. I whip my hand out to catch it, laughing as I miss, and it tumbles down, down, down.
A silver shadow blurs beside me, and then Riven hands back the circlet, his brow twisted in a frown. “You don’t like the diadem our smiths made for you, Princess?”
“No. I mean, yes, of course. But they shouldn’t have gone to any trouble. I rarely wear such finery back home. And if I do, I like to weave circlets from fallen vines and leaves.”
His frown deepens. I’ve angered him. I didn’t mean to sound ungrateful.
Placing the circlet on my head, I arrange my hair around it. “It’s beautiful, Riven. I’m truly honored by this gift. I shall treasure it.”
He makes a huffing-grunt, sounding like an angry bear. “If you really cared for it, when it tumbled, you would’ve commanded the wind to return it.”
“I could have, yes, but Lady Zephyr appreciates pretty gifts, too. I thought she might enjoy playing with it.”
Silent, he turns his gaze toward the towers in the sea, his knuckles standing out white against the balustrade in the moonlight.
“I love the circlet, Riven.”
“How can anyone be sure whether you’re speaking the truth or telling easy lies to flatter and win favor? This halfling skill must make it difficult for your people to trust you.”
“I can’t tell easy lies. And, if possible, I prefer to avoid them at all costs. Lies twist everything into inextricable knots.”
“Some fae prefer their communications complicated,” he replies.
This conversation skirts close to an argument, and a change of subject is in order. With a puff of air, I blow hair from my face. “You don’t seem all that happy to be celebrating your sister’s betrothal. Do you not approve of Elas?”
“Of course I do. I gave Lidwinia permission to wed a fae who’s not of royal lineage gladly and wholeheartedly. And, even if I didn’t like Elas, I still would have done the same. All fae should have the ability to choose their partners.”
Oh. I wasn’t aware he had a heart, let alone a whole one.
“Well, then, what could be causing your ill-tempered mood?”
He sighs. “I have a lot on my mind.”
“A problem shared is a problem halved.”
Blue eyes bore through me. “Which fool ever said that?”
“It’s a human saying. One that is quite true, I believe.”
He snorts. “For princesses perhaps. Not for kings.”
I take deliberate slow breaths, tamping down my anger. “Why haven’t you answered my requests to meet with you?”
“Merrin, I must ask you something,” he begins, completely disregarding my query. “My sister…” He trails off, inspecting the oak tree’s dara knot on his ring—a symbol of power, destiny, leadership, and wisdom engraved on soul-mirroring silver. “Lidwinia insists I ask you to dance,” he states, those startling eyes immobilizing me.
“And you certainly don’t look happy about it,” I reply, hoping he’ll disagree.
Silent, the Silver King stares.
“Fine. Shall we get it over with, then?” I suggest.
“Of course.” With a barely concealed grimace, Riven offers his arm.
I take it and gift him with my brightest fake smile. “Cheer up,” I say as I close my eyes, conjuring a great gust of wind. It blasts Riven’s hair out behind him, then tangles silver strands around his crown and the sharp points of his ears. With a flick of my wrist, I smooth out the mess, restoring his elegant glory.
“A nifty and annoying trick,” he says, looking down his nose at me. “You’re brave to toy with an Unseelie king.”
I laugh. “Other than transferring, I’ve yet to see you perform even a simple conjuring. Perhaps because you can’t.”
“I’m not a trained monkey. Since we no longer participate in the Blood Sun ceremony each dark moon, what do you imagine powers our magic and technologies?”
I shrug. “I’m sure you can’t wait to tell me.”
“My druid’s magic harnessed from my own bloodletting. Without me, this land and all its creatures would crumble into the very sea you look upon. How’s that for a parlor trick?”
“Your own bloodletting? Sounds positively gruesome.” I force a fake shiver and stifle a laugh, pleased to see him grit his teeth at the edges of my vision.
I glance down, finally noticing our arms are still linked and how close we’re standing. He notices, too, his eyes wide as he steps back and tugs me into motion.
We stroll into the Great Hall and join the crowd on the dance floor, my mind and senses already spinning. Moon and flame light the room and enfold me in a sensual ambiance as Merit pendants flash in the darkness, making me squint against their glare.
The king’s pendant lies dark in its gilt frame against his leather and velvet tunic, proof he wears it purely for ceremonial purposes, as he once claimed during our picnic at Emerald Bay.
We pivot and face each other, our reluctance to begin a vibrating wall of dense energy between us. The music is loud, the crush of bodies uncomfortably hot, and I grow warmer as Riven steps closer.
The king takes a breath, his lips parting to speak, but before he utters a word, Meerade swoops from a lofty rafter and lands on his shoulder.
“Where is your rodent, Queen?” she screeches like a petulant toddler. “Where rodent? Where? Where?”
“Cara is at home, and she’s a mire squirrel, not a rat. And, also, I’m not a queen but a princess of the Seelie Court. Don’t you remember visiting us when your master was wounded in the Land of Five?”
The owl ruffles her feathers, the white fluffing up prettily and the black metal ones standing on end like tiny plates of armor. “Silver. Silver. Silver,” she repeats while directing her mechanical eye at me in a strangely accusing fashion.
“Meerade, mind your manners,” says the king. “Princess Merrin is our guest.”
Interesting choice of words. He should take his own advice and be more pleasant, too.
“It’s fine,” I say, adjusting the circlet on my brow. “Direct communication is always better than secrecy and avoidance. Say what you think, Meerade.” I smirk at Riven, hoping he’ll take the hint.
Meerade pecks at my circlet. “Wrong crown!”
Pain and something undefinable flashes over the king’s face. “Be gone now, Meerade. Merrin and I must dance for my sister’s pleasure.”
He tosses the owl into the air, and she flaps away, screeching what sounds like foolish Riven. She flies toward the dais and lands on the back of Elas’s wing.
Riven holds his hands out toward me. “Shall we?”
I step into his embrace, and his arm snakes around my waist, tugging me close.
I’m about to give the nod to commence our dance, when a blur of movement catches my eye—a girl spinning like a top, surrounded by a group of horned fae cackling and pushing her around each time her speed slows.
“Is that—?”
“A human? Yes.” Riven looks over his shoulder.
Standing frozen in the king’s arms, I watch the girl’s hair fly like tangled black garlands, her arms floppy, reminding me of the dolls Mother used to make from cloth and the protection spells that she sung into them as she watched me play with Balor when I was a child.
“Her name is Summer. Draírdon found her at the Shade Court, near senseless and raving mad. He bargained for her, brought her home, and now she is a favorite of our court.”
Nausea stirs my still-digesting dinner. “I thought your court had given up the despicable hunt for change bringers. Riven, you have to send her home.”
“Of course. I wish to do so, but she won’t leave and insists she’s the bride of Winter, whoever that may be, and that she must wait for him to find her.”
Winter. Could it be…? I think of my raven-haired rogue of a brother, the male version of this beautiful waif, and shake my head at the floor.
“Do not worry, Princess. Lidwinia and I keep watch over her. These days, we don’t promote torture in our court. Now hold on tight.” He spins us into the dance at breakneck speed, and every dream I’ve ever had of him coalesces and moves along with us in my periphery.
Riven by the pond. Riven with snow falling on his shoulders. Silver hair in the snow, trailing through blood. Vacant blue eyes staring at the sky, seeing nothing.
Dead.
With his full lips pressed into a grim line, he whips us around faster, and I grin at his scowl and summon a tiny tornado. I throw my leg out and force us to change direction, dancing widdershins.
I expect him to laugh at my trick or at the very least smile, but he doesn’t. The skin on his palm heats, burning my own, but I don’t allow him to take back control of our dance.
Tonight, I’m in charge.
Harnessing the wind’s power, I slow our movements and speak firmly. “Tell me about the hidden verse of the Black Blood curse, Riven.”
With the flick of his chin, he banishes my air magic and brings us to an abrupt halt. A wild dance continues around us, the human girl, Summer, still spinning and spinning.
Behind us, the Celestial Skyway pulls into the station, visible through the windows at the rear of the throne. Latecomers disembark from the elevated rail car—a group of spindly pixies, their gray skin corrugated like tree bark and black wings spiked with glowing thorns—falling over each other, drunk with laughter and Dana knows what other enchantments.
Riven’s chest labors like bellows, his eyes glowing so intensely they’re a trial to look at. Not once during our dance did he appear breathless. My request has shaken him.
“What do you know about it, Merrin?” he asks in a rumbling growl.
I lift my chin. “Nothing. Only that one exists, and it’s the key to ending the curse. I need to find it and help Aodhan. I don’t want him to suffer as the past Elemental heirs have. I believe it may be concealed somewhere in your city.”
“And I believe the time has come for you to return to yours.” He thrusts me from his arms as if I’m covered in poison ivy, paying no mind to the nearby Merits who gasp in shock. “Now.”
Full of power, the word echoes in my skull like an incantation. But I can’t be swayed, won’t be swayed from my purpose.
Teeth gritted and palm outstretched, he takes a determined step forward as though he’s about to cast me into another dimension.
Could he do that?
I press my heeled leather shoes into the marble. I won’t retreat.
His other arm shoots out, and then, thankfully, Lidwinia slips into the space between us, pressing him backward with her palm on his chest.
“Riven darling,” she purrs, sliding her arm around his waist and smiling up at him.
Of course he would have to be the tallest fae in the room, probably in the kingdom. Right now, I find it a very unlikable attribute—which is entirely nonsensical.
“You’re terribly dour on such a happy night and have come quite close to ruining my mood. Is that what good brothers do, ruin their sisters’ special occasions?”
“Lidwinia, you don’t understand…She—”
“She is a guest at our court, and you need to make up for your bad behavior tonight by granting me a special wish.”
“What? Another? I’ve already danced with her at your bidding,” he says as though I’m not standing beside him with fully functioning ears. “What more would you have me suffer to purchase your contentment this night?” He lifts his crown and rakes fingers through his hair, his expression terrible to behold. The crown goes back on, and he sighs. “But of course. Name your price, Sister, and I shall pay it, though not gladly.”
Ouch. My palm goes to my chest, pressing against the holey stone.
Lidwinia tsks. “Stop that. Do you know who you sound like at the moment? Our terrible brother. I was going to ask you to glamor Merri from Draírdon’s notice, since only your power surpasses our mage’s, and he’s been leering at her all night. But after hearing those ungracious words leave your lips, I think I’ll beseech you to perform a different task.”
Silent, Riven squares his shoulders, his iolite gaze hardening.
“Tomorrow, you will take Merri riding and show her one of our favorite picnic places.”
“But I have duties to attend to,” Riven says through gritted teeth.
Probably only a whole lot of scowling and grouching at his courtiers.
“And now you have one more.” Lidwinia twists her fist into the fabric at Riven’s neck, tugging him close. “At breakfast, I’ll give you instructions. Tell me now if you’d prefer to break your sister’s heart on such a memorable night, because if you do, I’ll need a little notice before I see you next, so I can summon the will to speak to you.”
“Fine.” Sweeping his hand before him, Riven bows low, then rises to kiss Lidwinia’s cheek. “It will be as you wish. I shall be your humble servant on the morrow and perform every duty that you set out for me to my best ability.”
Lidwinia smooths a lock of his glossy hair from his cheekbone. “And you’ll perform them with a smile, I hope.”
“Oh, now you ask for the impossible.” He cuts a quick bow in my direction, stares at my fancy boots, and mutters, “Goodnight, Merrin.” Then he turns and departs through the main entrance, brushing off eager courtiers like swarming bees from a branch as he goes.
Halfway to the golden doors, his body wavers and a glamor settles over his regal form, and instead of the Silver King, a blond-haired youth exits the Great Hall in his place.
“Impressive,” I say to Lidwinia. “I had no idea he could change his entire appearance like that.”
“Indeed,” says Elas, sidling up to his betrothed. “Our king has many hidden talents.” He flares his black metallic wings, enfolding Lidwinia’s shoulders. “Shall we dance again?” he asks, sharp fangs poking over his smile.
“As long as you promise not to drink from me if it’s a slow dance, then yes. You know it drives the court mad with blood lust.”
“Of course, my beloved. Anything you wish.”
Lidwinia smiles. “Don’t worry about Riven. He often leaves banquets early because he’s much too serious to have any fun. Perhaps when he marries, he’ll allow himself to be happy again, as he was when our mother was alive.”
Riven married? What fae could ever meet his exacting standards?
Elas slips Lidwinia’s arm through his, and they glide toward the middle of the dance floor. Sliding off the happy couple, my gaze lands on the spinning top in the corner, the mortal girl, Summer, still dancing at breakneck speed and circled by unfriendly looking fae.
With a glare fixed on the court’s High Mage, who’s conducting her movements with high-pitched screeches and twirling fingers, I carve a short path through the crowd toward them.
“What are you doing?” I ask as I come up beside the mage.
“Enjoying ourselves,” Draírdon replies, his focus on the girl. Then his murky brown eyes cut my way, nostrils flaring as if he smells something bad. “Oh, it’s you, the halfling princess.”
Standing this close to the spinning girl, I see the sheen of sweat on her pale skin, her gray dress so damp it’s transparent, and how uncannily similar she is to my brother.
Dancing before me with her shaggy dark hair, black slashes for eyebrows, generous mouth, and luminous green eyes with a feline tilt, is the female twin of Wynter Ashton Fionbharr. Vulnerable and in danger.
“This is cruel,” I say, and the group of pixies surrounding the girl laugh. “I thought torture was history in this court.”
Draírdon scowls. “The past, the present—it is all the same.” He dips his head close to me and growls, “But she’s fine. She loves to entertain, listen.” He waves his gnarled hand, and she comes to a giddy stop, her body heaving as she pants, exhausted. “Are you having fun, Summer, my dear?” the mage asks.
“Oh, yes.” Her eyes are glazed, unfocused. “This is a great party. So much fun.”
“She’s enchanted.” I cross my arms, tapping my toe against hard marble. “At present, she’s incapable of knowing pain from pleasure, Draírdon. But no girl, fae or otherwise, would enjoy such mistreatment.”
“She will come to no lasting harm under my control, I promise you that much.”
I note the words no lasting harm.
“Let me dance with her.”
“You? What for?” he spits out.
“She is pretty and reminds me of my brother. I’m a little homesick this evening.”
He leans in and whispers, “Well, no one is preventing you from leaving our court, Princess Merrin. Run along back to the Land of Five whenever it suits you. The sooner the better.”
“When our king, Rafael, was a guest of your court. He didn’t have the luxury to run along home when he felt like it.”
Draírdon caresses the mottled skin of his throat. “Yes. I remember his visit fondly. In fact, the last time I saw your king, he was barely dressed, iron-cuffed around the neck, and snarling while the blood from his slashed chest streamed into our Blood Sun altar.” Closing his eyes, a gruesome smirk smears his face. “A truly wonderful memory. One of my most precious.”
The reedy lament of pipes and heady swoon of fiddles winds sinuously around my limbs, making me sway. I grin lazily at Draírdon, hoping I appear thoroughly enchanted by the music. With the snap of his fingers, the human girl stops spinning.
“Dance with her, then,” croons the High Mage. “It will amuse me to watch you relate to your human kinfolk.”
Rolling my eyes as I sweep past him, I clasp the girl’s shoulders and say, “Dance with me. I’ll keep you safe.” I take her arm and guide her through the crowd, away from Draírdon and his sycophants. Drawing her close, I begin to dance, slowly and rhythmically.
Her body is limp against mine, humid puffs of breath from her moist lips warm my shoulder. “Are you all right?” I ask. “Do you need food? Water? Anything you require. Please let me know, and I’ll make sure you get it.”
I wait for a reply, but none comes.
“Summer, listen to me. I can help you. Why were you in the Shade Court when Draírdon found you? Did you fall through a portal from the human realm?”
This time she answers with small kitten-like mews.
Curse that mushroom-faced mage and his cruelty. Why has Riven done nothing to stop this? Most likely because he’s too high and mighty to care about the plight of an insignificant human.
Rocking her gently, I whisper soothing words. “Don’t worry. I’ll find a way to help you return home.”
The music stops, and she draws back, her vacant eyes wide. “Why would I want to go home? I’m waiting for someone. Can’t leave until he finds me or he never ever will. We’re from different worlds, you see.”
The enchantment is deep if she believes she’ll meet her beloved in the Merit Court. My heart bleeds for this girl, her dire situation, glamored, alone in a vicious fae court. So unfair. So tragic. It’s true that faeries have always lured and prized human visitors, but in the Bright Court, even Grandmother never treated them so cruelly.
“Who is this fae you expect to make the acquaintance of?” I ask.
“The winter prince. We are fated.”
The winter prince? She couldn’t mean my brother, Wyn. Surely not.
Over Summer’s shoulder, I see Draírdon creeping toward us, a sneer twisting his mouth. “Time to give her back,” he says. “We have need of entertainment. Your plain dancing style amused me, but the human performs better solo.”
“I’ll come find you,” I whisper, my words soft as a feather’s stroke as I kiss her cheek. Summer doesn’t look at me, simply follows the mage like an obedient automaton.
I close my eyes, power trickling into my fingertips. “Vengeful tempest come,” I bid. “Greet the putrid-colored mage in the manner he deserves.”
Wind whooshes from my right hand. It lashes toward Draírdon, then slams into his back, tumbling him face first into a towering plate of candied puddings on a nearby dessert table. He goes down hard, then jackknifes upright again, thick, sticky sauce covering his face.
As he curses and splutters, his blackened gaze finds me surrounded by a circle of fae who stifle their laughter behind claws and folded wings.
The human stands frozen between the fae and the mage, her eyes fixed on the floor glittering in the light of the brazier’s flames.
“Don’t move,” I say, willing her not to flinch a muscle, so she’ll avoid Draírdon’s notice.
Energy vibrates around the mage’s body. It buckles and an invisible wall of power detonates, blasting toward me. I send up a shield of air magic, no match for Draírdon’s strength, but I refuse to be an easy target. A moment before the magic hits me, he grins and yanks the force back into himself, playing a cruel game.
Inclining his head in a pretend bow, he points at me like a scolding tutor, then pivots and scurries away to clean himself up. I may have made an enemy of Draírdon this evening, but at least I’m keeping him away from the human for the time being.
With quick steps, I close the distance between me and the girl and link her arm with mine. “Come with me, Summer. We’ll say goodnight to Lidwinia and get you tucked up somewhere safe.”
“But the dancing—”
“Can wait until tomorrow. You’re in Faery. It’s really not that hard to find a party to attend.”
I take her hand and tug her limp-limbed body up the stairs to the dais, coming to a halt in front of Lidwinia and Elas who have given up dancing in favor of gazing into each other’s eyes while they share wine from a single goblet. A sickeningly sweet spectacle.
“I see you’ve befriended our human visitor,” says Lidwinia, smiling as though there’s nothing wrong with the girl slouched beside me.
“It’s hard to make friends with a thrall,” I say.
With a thud, Elas drops his goblet on the table before him. “No permission was given to enthrall the girl.”
“Then your High Mage assumes he doesn’t need it. I’m going to bed. Can I leave Summer safely in your care?”
“Of course,” replies Lidwinia. “We’ll make sure her room is guarded and that no one can enter this evening.”
Emphasis on this evening. I suppose that’ll have to do for tonight. I’m too tired to argue, but I won’t be tomorrow.
“Thank you.” I smile. “And congratulations on your betrothal. I wish you eternal happiness. The banquet was delicious.” Except for the soup garnished with the crunchy black spiders’ legs.
“Did you have fun?” asks the princess. “Our courtiers enjoyed meeting you.”
I think she means ogling me, because although not many Merits dared to speak to me, I certainly felt their eyes on me, their magic reaching out, grazing my skin with invisible tendrils. It wouldn’t surprise me if Riven had warned them against talking to me, which would be petty of him. And typical.
I curve my lips in a smile and say, “Yes, thank you. It was an entertaining evening.” But not in a wholly good way.
I squeeze Summer’s hand—more for my comfort than hers, because, in her current state, the human is beyond both fear or care. “Goodnight, Lidwinia, Elas. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Yes. You’ll need a good night’s sleep to bear your outing with Riven. He’s been in a tiresome mood of late.”
Truer words have never been spoken.
Departing via the stairs next to the dais that sweep toward the west wing of the castle, I wonder how I’ll survive more than a single hour in the company of the Silver King without pushing him off his horse with a swift gust of wind.
No matter what happens tomorrow, I need him to reveal what he knows about the Black Blood curse. Or at least give me clues to where the final verse might be stored.
I enter my chambers and flop backward on the bed, my thoughts whirling.
When I first arrived in the Merit Kingdom, I was optimistic and believed I could face the challenge of Riven’s prickliness with ease. Now, I’m not so sure.
And my problems are three—the curse, the king, and the bewitched human girl.