Page 39 of The Beauty and the Griffin

Wide-eyed, we both spoke at once: “Oh! I beg your—” and “I’m sorry. I didn’t—”

Then we stared at each other until he raised one hand, shaking his head. “The fault is entirely mine. I shouldn’t have asked . . .” He turned, paced a few steps away, then returned to me. “No, I dare not risk asking more.”

Confused, I watched as he removed his gloves, stuffed them into his trouser pockets, and pressed his fingers to his eyes. We’d moved only a few steps from the door . . . I glanced back and saw a solid wall where it had been. Questions swirled through my head, but I didn’t dare ask them now. Hoping to lighten the tone, I asked, “Are you done arguing with yourself?”

He lowered his hands and peered at me from under his brows with a contrite smile. “I apologize for rudely leaving you out of the debate.”

“Apology accepted. Now, can you explain any part of your dilemma?”

“I fear explaining too much or learning too much,” he admitted, his voice a soft rumble. “I don’t know the rules for this type of magic. I’ve hunted everywhere, searched through hidden libraries around the world, but the rules regarding Fated Mates are ambiguous.”

A thrill ran through me from head to toe, and I didn’t know why. “Fated Mates?” I managed to echo.

“You don’t recognize me at all?”

“Recognize you? No.” My heart pounded in my chest.

“We met once, years ago.” Somehow, his voice soothed me a little. “Starfire and Comet introduced us. We played in the lake with Bo.”

My mind rolled those words around for what felt like forever before comprehension occurred. “Othniel?” I gasped.

He nodded. “I go by Niel now, for short. Siegfried III is my official name.”

“You told me Othniel means ‘God’s Lion.’”

His expression brightened. “You do remember! It was my maternal grandfather’s name. My mother says I would have a thick gold lion’s mane like his if I let it grow.” Niel held my gaze, his eyes expressing a blend of fear and hope. “If you doubt my word, I could call Starfire.”

“He’s still alive?”

“Oh, yeah.” Niel grinned. “He’s the most powerful cinder sprite in . . . well, nobody knows how long. Those little beasties can live a very long time if they make it through their first few years without flaming out.”

I opened my mouth to tell him about the new magic potion that revives cinder sprites, but he rushed on as if afraid I might try to stop him: “Okay, here’s the deal. I know this sounds crazy, but when I was christened, a seer appeared, announced that I would become a powerful sahir, and prophesied . . .” A frown twitched his brows. “I don’t know the exact wording because my parents immediately hushed it all up due to the law about magic and royalty. To be fair, that statute is ambiguously worded, but no one has bothered to amend it in several hundred years because none of the heirs have had magic in their blood. Until now.”

“The current Queen of Auvers is a carovna-level mage,” I observed. “Not as powerful as a sahira like my aunt, but—”

When he stiffened, eyes wide, I instantly pressed my fingers to my lips, releasing them only long enough to ask, “Was that TMI?”

He quirked a brow. “TMI?”

“Too much information?”

His lips twitched. “A useful initialism. And . . . yes, it was.” He offered his arm. “Walk with me?”

“Certainly.” I laid my hand on his forearm, and we strolled along the path.

After a few steps, he resumed the tale: “The part of the seer’s prophecy my parentsdidtell me was that my magic would cause trouble for Adelboden in the future. According to my maternal grandmother, they concealed from me the part about how I would help save the world from a great evil.”

“But if no magic exists in the royal line, how do you have it?” This conversation seemed so disjointed that I struggled to keep up. Was I allowed to talk about magic or not? And what did Fated Mates have to do with anything?

“When my father chose to marry my mother, whoever researched her bloodlines overlooked a strain of magical blood from several generations back. Soon after the prophecy was made, a cousin of mine from that side of the family, on her seventh birthday, turned one of her party guests into a pig because he ate one of her gifts, a box of sweets, when no one was looking.”

I gasped, then let out a most ungenteel snort.

He chuckled. “Yeah, Arabella is decidedly avant-garde. You can imagine the chaos involved in coveringthatup! Anyway, only a few people in our inner circle know about the prophecy, and I’ve been told since before I can remember to never, ever use magic.”

I nodded. “Except, you do use it.”

“Yes, well . . . when it comes to magic and its use, hypocrisy is rampant. Sure, I was forbidden to use magic . . . but I’ve also been trained in its use. My cousin and I were secretly tutored by a retired member of the Magic Council.”

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