Page 3 of The Witch Queen

Three Hundred Years Later

“It’s time to wake up,sweetheart,” a soft feminine voice whispers in my ear. I grunt, not ready to wake. She persists, gently shoving me, and giggles brightly when I throw a pillow blindly at her. “As your betrothed, I must insist that you wake so we can leave these chambers together, Hawthorne Vicant.” Silene’s warm amber eyes stare back at me with absolute mischief dancing in them.

“Why do youinsiston waking mesoearly?” I groan. Silene only grins, then rolls out of the bed and begins taking off her cloak, leather leggings, and soft tunic. I avert my gaze even though she couldn’t care less what I see. Taking a dress from the wardrobe in the corner by the bathing chamber, she laces it up with expert precision.

Glancing down at me still lying in bed, she says, laughter in her voice, “I rise early because I can’t bear to be stuck in these chambers with your stinky arse for even a second longer than necessary.” Then she throws me a damp towel, and I use it to wipe the sleep from my eyes before drawing the water out of it with my magic and shooting it towards Silene. She ducks out of the way.

“I do not smell! My hygiene is excellent, and you know it.” I stand, stretching my arms above me to release the tension from my shoulders and back from another night of poor sleep. “How was your night?”

“Fine. Nothing out of the ordinary,” she says with a shrug of her shoulders that makes my eyes roll involuntarily.

“Are you ever going to tell me what you actuallydowhen you sneak from my room on the nights we’re pretending to be madly in love?” I tease. Silene merely gives me a look that says it’s none of my business. Raising my hands in surrender, I study her closely. The dark circles beginning to form under her eyes tell me she’s clearly exhausted and trying to hide it.

At only forty years old, Silene is very young for a fae. She’s short by both faeandhuman standards, barely reaching my shoulders. Her black hair tumbles down her back to her waist in tight curls, and her deep, golden tan skin reveals muscles from training as a warrior in secret. Females are discouraged from fighting in Velmara, from doing anything that would put their childbearing capability at risk. Those customs chafe at Silene as tightly as the dresses she’s expected to wear.

After dressing quickly, Silene and I exit my bedroom hand in hand. We enter the sitting room attached to my chambers, where servants with watchful eyes prepare a breakfast for us. I squeeze Silene’s hand, then don the mask of doting fiancé and rakish, irresponsible prince.

Lifting her hands to my lips and lavishing kisses atop them, I murmur, loud enough for the servants to hear, “I will miss you today, love.” She flashes me a blushing, demure smile, one so unlike the real Silene. It breaks my heart to see her forced to play this role. Silene is effervescent, a force of nature, with a mind that rivals the King’s best strategists and the warm personality of a beam of sunlight. She doesn’t blush, doesn’t lower her eyes from anything.

“I’ll be waiting for you in the bedroom tonight to help you forget the stuffy meetings you have to attend,” she coos. I pull out a chair for her before sitting in my own, my gaze hungry with lust I do not feel for the female I consider my little sister.

“Leave us,” I command the army of servants my father insists I keep. “I wish to dine with my betrothed in peace.”

The servants hesitate, clearly nervous to disobey what are likely orders to stay and report anything interesting back to my father’s spymaster. I plaster a magnetic grin on my face. “Oh, come on,” I say with a loveable whine. “Give us a little privacy. You can tell Citus that we ate our breakfast quietly. You know Silene is shy. Wouldn’t want her to blush herself to death when I inevitably say dirty things to her. I can’t help myself.” I give them a wink, while Silene plays her part perfectly, her gaze looking down in mock embarrassment. The head servant softens, her own lips quirking even as she pretends to roll her eyes in mock annoyance.

“Come, let’s leave the two lovebirds alone,” she urges the other servants. On her way out, she gives me a knowing look, and I make a point of looking sheepish to cement the ruse. When they’re gone, Silene slumps in her chair, the picture of perfect nobility nowhere to be seen in her posture.

“Thank the aether they’re gone. I would have vomited all over this breakfast table if I had to pretend to be seducing you for another moment,” she jests, filling her plate with eggs, meat, potatoes, and fruit.

“Seducing me? I assure you it takes much more than pretty smiles and insinuation to seduce me.” She murmurs something that sounds likehardlyunder her breath before she stuffs her face with food. “Whatever you did last night,” I start. Silene looks up and scowls. “That you aren’t going to tell me about,” I add, holding up my hands in surrender, “must have been… exhilarating, if you’re that famished.” She only rips another bite of sausage off the link she’s holding, chewing aggressively, then gives me a wink.

A year ago, my father, King Mazus of Velmara, and Silene’s parents, some of the wealthiest and most influential Velmaran nobles, announced our betrothal to the kingdom via pamphlets delivered across the realm.AnnouncingPrince Hawthorne, the Shining Prince, and his Kalmeera Bride, the headline read. Receiving our own pamphlet was the first time either of us had heard anything about it. I’d fought hard against the match, insisting Silene was too young for marriage and that I had no interest in the institution. My father and his advisors, including her parents, only conceded that we’d have a long engagement.

Neither of us has any intention of following through. I hate that my father forced me into a betrothal with a female I don’t have those kinds of feelings for, nor does she have them for me. But I’m lucky she’s one of the two people in this entire kingdom I fully trust.

“I have to go,” I tell her as I stand. “Stay here and finish breakfast. No need to rush out on my account.”

“Oh, I plan to stay here all day and have a little nap in yourmassivebed, then I’ll take my time sampling all the fancy soaps you keep in your bathing chamber.”

I smile, happy to give her access to a comfortable space away from her family and the expectations of the noble females of Velmara.

After sitting through several hours of meetings, I finally sneak away.

Fionn, my best friend of the last three hundred years and the second person I wholly trust in this kingdom, waits for me by the gates to the city. Leaning against a wall, his towering frame is instantly recognizable—at nearly seven feet tall, he stands a head above everyone in the courtyard, myself included. Fionn pulls his shoulder-length blonde hair into a knot at the base of his neck and scratches the scruffy beard he tries to keep neat but never quite manages, scowling at the other guards who gape at him. He spots me and prowls over, and everyone lingering near him practically trips over themselves trying to get out of his way.

“Are you ready to go?” he asks, bronze eyes looking down at me.

I clap him on the back, then say, loudly, “Yes, my friend. Thank you for agreeing to escort me through the city to shop for a gift for my fiancé. This close to the Forum meeting, we can’t be too careful.” My father has eyes and ears everywhere, so Fionn acts as myguard.As one of the greatest warriors in Velmaran history, it’s a good guise, but we both know I don’t need his protection.

The gate guards open the side door for us, and we step into the capital of Velmara. The city of Arnia sprawls across the entire southern peninsula. As a seaside capital, the people here are on the water nearly as much as they’re on land. The Floating Market, the city’s largest shopping district, is nestled in a cove and sits atop the water, held up by ancient magic. Fionn and I head there to meet with our contacts for updates on the recent shipments of thayar flower.

As we walk, evidence of my father’s effective propaganda machine is on full display. His eyes stare at me from drawings plastered across walls and buildings, with headlines likeGolden King Heads to Forum of Royalstyped in bold ink. My own image is also present, stories about theShining Princejust as popular as those about the Golden King. Fionn chuckles when we see an advertisement for an exclusive interview with a fae female claiming to be my long-lost mate. The masses will believe anything—especially stories about mythical mates. At least a dozen females a month show up to the palace gates demanding to see me, claiming they suddenly feel a bond with me that hasn’t been seen in our world for millennia, if it ever existed at all. I always send Silene to them with a bag of gold, knowing only the most desperate would attempt anything like that.

Fionn and I continue to duck and weave through the throngs of fae and humans. They notice as I pass by, pointing and whispering, telling their companions whatever recent story or rumor they’ve heard about my exploits. Fionn’s looming presence is all that keeps them from swarming me. The people of Velmara know me as a fun-loving drunk, the Prince who has no interest in ruling and spends his days gambling, drinking, and flirting with women, despite being engaged to the most desired female in the entire kingdom. Of course they want to get close to that version of me. I play it up when I’m in public, the mask a protection from letting anyone, my father included, get too close to the real version of me.

As we pass by an open-air stand selling sweet treats, I lean over to pinch the bottom of the raven-haired shopkeeper, who I visit regularly to trade flirtatious barbs with. She lets out a flirty giggle and slaps me across the arm. I only wink at her as I keep walking, her laughs lost in the noise of the market. We pass another stall, this one selling various tinctures and ointments, run by a widower and his daughter. She’s as tall as I am, her long legs lean and golden. She doesn’t see me approach, wrapped up in restocking a shelf.

I lean in to whisper in her ear. “Hi, Kareena.” She jumps, nearly dropping the jar in her hand.

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