Page 38 of Within the Hollow Heart

The prince looked up at her mid-bow, glanced at Nickolas, then straightened. “My lady, it is—”

“Release. Him.”

The prince cleared his throat.

Jules did not flinch. “It is not as if you should be concerned for his escape. Not when you might move from here to there and snatch him back in an instant. What could you possibly be afraid of? You’re the prince of the Riven Court.”

The prince’s mouth went into a hard line. He flicked a hand, and the roots snapped around Nickolas, falling to the ground in broken bits. His tone was level. “Is that all, or do you wish to lay additional demands upon a prince of the Riven Court?”

She appeared to swallow. She still did not look toward Nickolas or Frederick. “For now, that is all.”

The prince’s jaw flexed. He turned, proffering his arm so that she might be led to the trellis. Nickolas knew this, because the cursed illustration from Etta’s fae book had been reminding him of the scene every few seconds. Frederick made a miserable little sound, but Nickolas could not seem to make a sound at all. Magic prevented him from saying aloud that as the cage around him had broken, thin fingers of vine rose behind the cover of grass to wrap themselves tightly over and around the ankles of Nickolas’s borrowed boots.

The prince had not lied. It did not mean he was worthy of trust.

The prince led Jules beneath a radiant moon to stand framed by the trellis. Ian moved toward Nickolas as if merely finding an inconspicuous spot from which to watch. He sat the valise on the ground at his side, without glancing at Nickolas even once. A thin gold chain glinted at the bag’s clasp. Two of the fae standing near the wall had never taken their eyes off of Ian, and three more had a solid watch on Nickolas.

The prince withdrew the folded parchment from his vest and laid it on the altar. He picked up the quill and handed it first to Jules. She took it carefully, glancing first at the prince then at the wall. The quill shifted in her hand. She lifted the parchment to read.

“It is accurate,” the prince said quietly. “To the letter.”

“I’ll just… I need to read it first.”

The prince gestured that she should proceed but gave a significant glance at the moon. Time was running out.

Jules adjusted the parchment. Shifted the quill. Glanced once more at the wall.

Frederick began to cough.

Jules’s gaze shot to the bird. It was nearly time. The moon was high, and Frederick’s curse would soon be enduring. The only way to save him was to sign the contract and marry the prince.

“Here,” Ian said. “Let me take him.” He stepped closer, kicking the valise over as he took Frederick from Nickolas’s determined grip.

Jules’s gaze brushed Nickolas for one heartbeat, then it was gone. Head down, she pressed quill to paper.

Nickolas went hot. He knelt automatically, unwilling to let a single soul see his face, and made a production of righting the valise. His fingers caught on the chain of the necklace, and a strange sensation rolled through him. He froze, in fear that one of the fae guards might have seen. Then he wrapped his finger twice around the delicate chain and pulled before slipping the ring that hung from it into his palm. Face still hot, he rose to stand, not daring to move his feet.

Because his boots, his voice, and the magic’s hold on him was free. The fisted hand at his side held Jules’s magic ring.

CHAPTER18

Eyes on Jules and the prince, Nickolas was gripped by both the intense desire to stop the ceremony and to let it go ahead. Stop it because it was madness to let her marry a fae prince. Let it go ahead because, beside him, Ian held Jules’s brother, who would be stuck in the form of a bird forever.

It was just as Etta had said. Neither choice was tenable. They had failed to find a way to break the curse.

A wind picked up in the clearing, whispering through the leaves as if warning of time running out. If Nickolas chose incorrectly, he might condemn Jules and her brother to a lifetime of misery, but it was clear Jules was delaying. Ian had made certain Nickolas had possession of the ring for a reason, and his mistress’s hand could not quite seem to make the final stroke on her contract.

Nickolas drew a breath, crushed the ring in his palm, then pulled the sword from the scabbard at Ian’s hip in one swift movement. The prince did not even turn around, only flicked his hand in a gesture Nickolas was sure the move was meant to still him. It did not. He was half the distance to the altar when six of the fae guards came off their positions near the wall. He was two strides farther by the time they reached him, and when the prince finally did turn, Jules dipped in a move not unlike a curtsy then rose again with a dagger she’d evidently pulled from beneath her skirts—pressed firmly to the prince’s side. Well placed, in fact, to drive upward beneath his ribs.

A sword clashed against Nickolas’s—the fae guard not as easily managed as Jules’s coachman or his mother’s henchmen—and Nickolas was pushed a step backward. He swung again, pivoted, and was nearly struck with a blow that might have severed his arm.

“Stop them,” Jules commanded the prince just as Nickolas swung again.

The prince’s gaze rolled skyward. Nickolas had the sense that he was not checking the state of the moon.

The prince called, “Halt,” and the fae guard drew back but kept Nickolas surrounded. The prince glanced over his shoulder then corrected his gaze lower, at Jules. He said, “No harm may come to the prince of the Riven Court.”

Jules stared at him in earnest. “Oh, that warning applies only to citizens of Westrende. As you’re aware, I am not a citizen of Westrende.”

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