Leocort stood and bowed. “My lord druid,” he said. “How is the princess faring?”
Munro bounced the happy baby in his arms. “She’s well,” he said. “Sit, sit. I didn’t mean to disturb you. Jago was so eager to see her.” When the boy returned, Munro told him, “It’s time for Maiya’s nap, so we can only stay a few minutes.”
“Awww,” Jago whined.
“Babies need a lot of sleep,” Munro told him. “She’ll be here for at least a few days, though. Don’t worry. You’ll get to play with her later.”
Maiya squirmed in her father’s arms, holding her hands out for Jago. Munro crouched down, putting her onto the floor. He looked at Jago. “Play gently. She’s very small,” he said.
Jago shot him an annoyed look. “I know.” He held out a package wrapped in bright paper.
“Here,” Munro said, still squatting beside the two children. “I’ll help her.” He let Maiya take the present, but he pulled the paper back.
She gurgled with delight and grabbed a smooth, polished wooden rattle from inside the paper. It had actually been crafted for her by two of the water druids, Aaron and Rory. They had a talent for shaping wood. Jago had filled it with crushed seashells and asked Lisle to help him put runes of blessing and protection around it. They’d shaped the toy like a doughnut ring, squeezed smaller at either side so her small hands could grab on. Maiya shook the rattle. For a second, Lisle thought the girl’s presence amplified.
Munro frowned, making her wonder if he’d noticed too, but the moment passed quickly. “It’s beautiful, Jago. Thank you.”
Maiya reached out, and Munro let Jago scoot closer to her. The stone druid watched his daughter, but, to his credit, tried not to hover and made no attempt to stop the children from interacting. They behaved as though they had their own silent language, the way they looked at each other and laughed together.
After a few minutes, Munro said, “We need to go now. Thank you again for the present.” He tilted his head toward Lisle.
“Thank you,” she replied. “It was good of you to come. He’s been so eager to see her.”
Maiya yawned, and Munro scooped her up, ignoring Jago’s protests and Maiya’s own whimpers. She always hated to be taken away from him.
On the way out, Munro spoke to Leocort. “I thought you were going to London with Rory and Flùranach tonight.”
“No, my lord druid. They do have two Mistwatchers with them, but I stayed behind to take care of some family matters.”
Munro hesitated as though he wanted to say something. Instead, he nodded and held his tongue. After he said goodbye and left, Leocort stood.
“I must return to my duties, Lisle. I enjoyed your company, as always,” the Mistwatcher said.
“Am I not one of your duties?” she asked.
For the first time, Leocort seemed at a loss for words. After a moment, he replied, “No.” He said goodbye to Jago and nodded to Lisle with an odd expression she couldn’t interpret.
Tràth’s escort used air flows to guide the cart over the impossibly narrow bridge to the Caledonian Hall. The courtyard beyond bustled with activity, but a familiar steward caught sight of him and made a beeline. “Your Highness,” the faerie said and bowed. “How good to see you. I shall send word to Her Majesty and Prince Griogair you’ve arrived.”
“Quite a lot of commotion,” he said, acknowledging her bow with a nod. “I’m afraid my arrival has interrupted some intense preparations. What’s going on?”
She hesitated, her face frozen with fear as though she’d been caught in a lie. “Well, yes. We are quite busy. But never too busy, Your Highness. Your rooms are ready, of course. I’ll be seeing to you myself.”
He waved a hand. “I’ve brought my own personal attendant,” he said. She looked disappointed, but hid it quickly. “Father said I might be needed for a while, so it seemed prudent. Naturally, you always take good care of me, Nala.” It amused him that Eilidh employed people so unsuited for royal service. Nala was such a case, slightly clumsy and awkward. He made a point of making sure she never personally served him if he could avoid it.
“Thank you, Your Highness.” She closed her eyes a moment as though absorbing the compliment. “Her Majesty asked to be informed when you arrived. I must send word.”
She began to turn, but Tràth gently placed a hand on her arm, stopping her in mid-spin. “What’s going on?” he asked. “The queen isn’t usually concerned with my comings and goings.”
Nala bit her lip and lowered her voice. “Prince Griogair told me not to mention the other guests.”
“Other guests?” he asked softly. So this wouldn’t be just any dinner, but a kingdom affair. That in itself wouldn’t be remarkable, although he didn’t often attend those functions. There were too many other kingdoms for him to be certain who might be attending. Nothing to do but take a stab in the dark. “He did mention to me we may see cousin Zdanye.” Griogair’s first cousin was the queen of Tvorskane, so Tvorskane and Caledonia unsurprisingly had close diplomatic ties. If Griogair had another kingdom involved in whatever scheme he had cooked up for Tràth, Tvorskane was a decent bet.
“She is? Oh, no. No, no, no…the dinner seating will have to be rearranged.” A look of panic spread across her face.
“I’m likely mistaken,” Tràth said quickly. “Yes, he must have meant the dinner next month at Eirlioc Falls.”
She stepped back, and her eyes narrowed with suspicion. “I must go inform Her Majesty that you’re here,” she said.
Tràth reached for the time stream, and she froze. Cool silence fell on the courtyard, letting Tràth breathe. He took a step, pushing through timeless space. Moving outside the time stream took more energy than normal walking, but he wanted to reach Griogair before she did. His father was definitely up to something, and Tràth’s curiosity was piqued. After he made it to the large staircase inside, he released the time stream. He heard her exclaim of surprise as he trotted up to his father’s study.
In the wide corridors around the royal suites, he was careful not to touch the time stream, even though he wanted to search for Griogair. While staying at Canton Dreich once, he’d learned not to appear suddenly in front of the queen’s Watchers. He’d nearly ended up with an elemental sword through his gut.
He trotted up to a pair of Watchers. “Good evening,” he said. “Is my father in his study?”
“Yes, Your Highness,” one of them replied with a thumping salute.
“Thank you.” He paused on his way in. “In about thirty seconds, the attendant Nala is going to come racing up to speak with my father. Please give her my apologies, but don’t let her come in.”
“As you wish,” the Watcher said, and both bowed as the prince passed.
Tràth scooted inside, not wanting to risk catching Nala. She was a sweet but awkward faerie, an unusual trait in their race, and something about her amused him. Perhaps Queen Eilidh felt the same, and that’s why the girl was kept on.
When he stepped within, he saw his father sitting near a low table, which was covered with stacks of documents. The prince-consort had a look of intense concentration on his face that surprised Tràth. Before becoming Eilidh’s mate, Griogair hadn’t taken part in the official role of being a royal. Instead, he’d found his calling in the back-corridor machinations and the stealthier side of political manoeuvrings.
People often remarked how much father and son looked alike. They both had the same dark hair and build, but where Tràth had bright blue eyes, Griogair’s were shimmering violet. In addition to that obvious difference, the mantle of responsibility he wore for Queen Eilidh had changed Griogair’s demeanour. Tràth doubted anyone would mistake the two of them for each other these days, except at a distance.
“Father,” Tràth said when Griogair didn’t look up. “You wanted to see me?”
Griogair looked through his son for a moment before Tràth’s presence registered. The older prince smiled. “Good, you came,” he said, then paused. “Eilidh’s on her way.”
Tràth didn’t bother asking how he knew. Eilidh could project her thoughts to anyone she chose, a rare but useful talent.
“Sit, please,” Griogair said, gesturing to the low lounge chair across from him.
“What did you want to talk to me about?” Tràth took a seat.
“Have you visited Douglas yet?” Griogair asked.
Tràth sat up. “No. Why? Is something wrong?”
“No, not at all.” His father met his eyes. “I was just wondering. You don’t seem to be suffering any of the effects Eilidh and Lord Druid Munro suffer when separated by the portal to the Halls of Mist.”
Tràth didn’t want to talk about his druid. Douglas’ presence had called him like a beacon since stepping through to the Halls of Mist, but Tràth couldn’t face him just yet. He also couldn’t meet his father’s gaze.
Neither of them spoke for a few moments, and Tràth grew uncomfortable, dreading whatever request Eilidh and his father planned to make of him.
Before he could ask, Queen Eilidh swept into the room. As she entered, the heavy atmosphere between father and son vanished. Tràth rose to meet her friendly embrace. “Tràth,” she said warmly. “How good of you to come.”
“How could I refuse?” he asked, careful to keep his tone light.
“Indeed,” she said with a grin. “Still, I’m glad you’re here. I must warn you, though. Quinton is planning to bring Maiya over. Be prepared to be drooled upon. Apparently, she’s growing a tooth.”
Tràth couldn’t help himself. He chuckled at the idea of Quinton Munro, leader of the Druid Lords, playing the role of a nurse. “Congratulations,” he said. “First teeth. Tomorrow she’ll be ruling the Otherworld.”
Eilidh rolled her eyes, a very un-royal gesture. She slid into the seat beside Griogair and laid her head on her first mate’s shoulder. “She’s already ruling
his
world. I’ve never seen a man so smitten.” She sighed. “Enough talk of babies. You didn’t travel for two hours to hear about my daughter’s tooth.”
Tràth inclined his head. He suspected talk of baby teeth would be preferable to whatever topic Eilidh had in mind. Still, as no blood relation of Eilidh’s, he was always cautious how he treated her. She could be as casual as she liked, but his entire existence as a Prince of Caledonia was at her pleasure. He gained the designation
Prince of Tvorskane
by his father’s bloodline, but his only claim to Caledonia was that his mother had been a fallen queen. Not a particularly secure entitlement.
Eilidh sat up and glanced at Griogair, then back at Tràth. “As I said in my letter, we are hosting a dinner tomorrow night that we hoped you’d attend.”
“Of course,” Tràth said. “I’m delighted by the invitation.” He paused. “I assume from the commotion below there will be other guests?”
“Yes,” Eilidh said. “We’re very fortunate indeed. Princess Imena of Zalia will be gracing our table as well.”
Tràth froze but didn’t have the wits to actually stop time. He sat, his mind racing. Zalia? It was the last kingdom he’d expected. They were notoriously independent from the other fae kingdoms, rarely even visiting the Halls of Mist or exchanging diplomatic pleasantries. “Princess Imena?” He knew the name of course, but when he tried to remember if he’d ever met her, he couldn’t conjure a face. Her mother was a formidable queen. He recalled seeing her on rare occasions in the Halls of Mist, but not in a long time.
“Of course, some members of the joint conclave will be attending, along with a few other Caledonian dignitaries, and Prince Koen, naturally. However, we thought perhaps she might enjoy the company of someone…younger.”
Tràth suppressed a smile. “Your Majesty, I’m fifty years older than you.”
“Tràth,” Griogair said, warning lacing his tone.
Eilidh brushed the exchange aside. “Yes, but I have to be so careful. I can’t chatter as one would otherwise.”
“You invited me to chatter? With Princess Imena?”
Eilidh smiled. “No doubt you’ll have many common interests.”
Irritation bristled at him, although he tried to mask his discomfort. “Like what?”
Griogair stiffened, and Tràth realised he hadn’t disguised his annoyance as cleverly as he’d hoped.
“Why, if nothing else, you’re the only temporal faerie in the world. She’ll no doubt find you fascinating,” Eilidh said.
Tràth decided the direct approach would be more comfortable. For him, at least. “Is this an attempt to initiate a courtship between myself at the princess?” The time stream roared at him as his focus faltered.
“Yes,” Griogair said, his tone flat.
“No,” Eilidh said, putting her hand on Griogair’s leg. “Nothing so formal. Consider the evening an introduction. You might like her.” She shrugged. “On the other hand, you might detest her. I’d never ask you to do anything that made you uneasy. I only wish you to dine with us.”
Tràth met his father’s violet eyes. “What aren’t you telling me?”
Eilidh answered before her mate had the chance. “Queen Naima is celebrating her 924th year and, by all reports, has begun to slow down. They say she passes more of her duties to Imena of late. Also, she may have expressed to her attendants that she wishes to see her daughter choose a mate before she dies.”
“And you thought you’d throw me into the pot with the other minor royals clamouring for her hand?”
“You’re no minor royal,” Eilidh said gently.
“I’m the son of your predecessor, Your Majesty,” Tràth said, unable to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. “A woman you had killed.” Eilidh sucked in her breath as though he’d slapped her, and Tràth regretted the careless statement. “I’m sorry,” he said.
“No,” Eilidh said, rising from her chair. “Don’t be. You’re right, of course. I…I think of you as a member of my family, Tràth. I don’t have much family. Sometimes, I forget.” She straightened her dress as she talked, refusing to meet his gaze.
The words stung Tràth. He started to apologise again, but she tilted her head and her eyes glazed over. “Quinton is coming up,” she said. “He’ll probably have Maiya with him. I’m sorry. He’ll try to make you hold her.” She muttered something and left the room, fumbling like an awkward adolescent.
The moment she’d left, Griogair shot out of his seat. “What is wrong with you?” he shouted. The overt display of emotion startled Tràth. “She’s never asked you to take on any duties. She supports your ridiculously frivolous lifestyle. Do you forget that when you were missing, lost without hope of return, only Eilidh’s efforts brought you back?”