Page 7 of Upon the Riven Throne

The server leaned in to take Mireille’s final plate, then Alder rose, inviting the court to a connecting chamber where music was to be played. When Mireille made to stand with the others, a dark, spiky shadow skittered out from beneath the table.

Before she had an instant to react, the thing launched itself toward her. Mireille rocked backward but the creature leapt at her chest, swinging a shadowy paw. Long claws caught the fabric of Mireille’s gown as she dodged away. The creature was too fast, too unnatural. Mireille stumbled into her chair just as the dark-haired server’s tray tumbled to the floor, sending shards of pottery flying. The woman had hold of the shadowy creature before another blink, and the thing shrieked out a horrible cry.

The cry fell silent just as the world went still. Even the echo of shattering glass abated. The shadow creature dropped from the motionless server’s hands, but it did not run away. The creature did not move, only stared hungrily at Mireille. Beyond the glamour, it was wholly fae, a thing with too many limbs, a wrongness about it that could not be put to rights. It was a child’s drawing of a nightmare, come to life. Mireille’s gaze rose to find the prince at the opposite end of the table. He stood, as still as the world around them. Every fae present had risen to their feet—frozen as if time had stopped. A goblet rested on its side, the droplets of wine suspended mid-spill off the edge of the table. Mireille’s fingers longed to reach for it, to test the drop. But all of it was real. So very, very real.

The prince stared back at her, his gaze for her alone. She managed not to breathe, which was useful, as it likely would have cut through the silence like a horrified gasp. Alder lifted a hand. The room’s occupants remained frozen, but all else seemed to shift. The table, the dishes, every single object that separated the prince from Mireille, slid carelessly aside. A half dozen platters crashed to the ground as the table screeched to a halt, candelabra hit the floor and guttered out, and some of the fae in their fine gowns were splattered with cordial and fruit. The staff at the edge of the room made not a single move. Mireille wasn’t certain they could.

The prince strode forward, lit only by the remaining torchlights on the wall.

In the moment, Mireille hadn’t had time to realize the shadowy creature may have represented a political attack, that someone may have known she was to be his bride. But if the prince’s act in response had been a warning, it was effective. Each fae became unfrozen as their prince moved past, even his sister, and each took a knee, their heads bowed low and eyes downcast, as solemn as death. His slow stride seemed to promise that whoever was responsible for the deed would pay.

Mireille’s stomach swam, both from the shock and from the dizzying way the room had shifted. The prince stopped before her, and everything that was frozen resumed once more with the drip of wine echoing in Mireille’s ears. Without a word, Alder held forward a hand. She took it. They would not be enjoying an evening of music, that much was clear. And though she wasn’t certain she had a choice in the matter, she let him lead her from the room.

CHAPTER3

Noal waited in the corridor outside the dining hall. When they strode past, he followed Mireille and the prince through the adjoining room and into a large, open space scattered with statuary.

The prince released Mireille’s hand as he turned toward her and inclined his head. He seemed to be restraining a great deal of fury. “Noal will return you safely to your rooms.”

“I’d prefer to walk with you. I was hoping for a tour,” she said, mildly ill and shaky, and somewhat proud her voice did not reveal either. What she was truly hoping, was to not lose her chance to stay near him so that she might discover anything at all to help her kingdom out of a mess.

He frowned. “I have important tasks that must be completed?—”

“Of course. The tour can wait. You may complete your tasks as needed and I’ll simply watch while you…” She made a little fluttering gesture with her fingers to indicate his tasks, light and airy, as if they both weren’t aware she’d just watched him destroy a dining hall.

He did not seem pleased by either the gesture or the suggestion that she accompany him. “The information I intend to discuss with my staff is privileged. Though you are a guest here, even your own interkingdom policies would not permit an outside presence, regardless of our agreement. If you will allow Noal to return you to your rooms so that he and I may have a private word?—”

“That is entirely understandable, and I assure you it’s no trouble at all. I’ll just wait over here by the sculpture until you’re finished with the confidential bit with Noal.” She brushed a hand casually over the fabric of her gown, where the lesser fae had left a tear. “I doubt anything will bother me while I wait. If it does, I’ll be sure to scream.”

His expression darkened.

She did not waver.

The prince flicked a gesture—considerably less carefree than her own—toward Noal, effectively ordering the man into a separate room. The door closed behind Noal and the prince as Mireille wandered nearer the statue, then she lifted her feet out of her slippers and rushed across the room. Ear pressed to the door, she held her breath to hear.

“…whoever did this and deliver them to me personally.”

“Of course.”

“She is under my protection. We are betrothed. I do not have to tell you the consequences should she be endangered again.”

“Of course. I shall see to it straightaway.”

“Noal.”

“Highness?”

“You cannot possibly believe I will let you walk out that door without answering for the rest of it.”

“I am unsure of what you’re referring?—”

“You know exactly what I’m referring to. Butby the wall, I cannot understand what you were thinking.”

“Of course. The princess’s attire. It was entirely my mistake. I was working under the impression such was the fashion in Westrende so I believed it fitting. It is our duty to make guests comfortable, after all, so of course only familiar fashions would do.”

“You’ve been to Westrende,” Alder snapped. “Recently. You know their fashion is no such thing. It was clear to me, as well as everyone in attendance, the intent of such a costume.”

“I am unsure what?—”

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