Page 23 of The Crowned Fae Queen
Still frowning, I fall into the place where Bear no longer sits, the water, covering my shoulders as I submerge myself. “Don’t worry. I can wash myself.”
“But you shouldn’t have to,” he points out, staring down at me.
I wave him off and shake my head. “I can decompress by myself. Maybe I can help you check stuff off your list by myself.” I trail my hand down the center of my body.
Bear looks out to the bedroom and back down at me, chewing the corner of his lower lip. “You shouldn’t have to do that either.”
“Hmm,” I purr. “Yet it must be done.”
“I’ll hang on your every thought.” He swallows, bows his head, and disappears from the room.
And now I realize how cold the water is without him.
7
Finding Answers
Syren
The halls seem busier now. Not in the swaying or changing of direction but in the unusual traffic of people throughout them. More guards wait at every corner. I take note of doors with the familiar insignia, wondering what sort of magic waits on the other side. How many citizens died in the attempted siege by opening the wrong door?
In passing, I even give Count Jesting Krow and his wife Countess Everly Krow a pleasant wave as they stroll arm in arm. It doesn’t miss me that as soon as I’m past, Everly leans in to whisper to her husband. Whether her comments are good or bad or if they are about me or not, I shrug away the thought.
My lavender skirt brushes along the carpet, the shawl a glittering show of gems cascading behind me that trails the material, too. Maybe people had noticed my swift shift to more refined upscale clothing that suits the taste of this court. Maybe they stare at me now because the guard last night was a gossip, and they all knew King Iri had stopped by to deflower me.
I turn down a plain hall leading to the servant’s entrance of the kitchens. A few trolls mill about, gossiping in their deep baritone voices. Their sentences stutter and stop when they see me. Somehow, they manage to bend at their waists, even though none are defined on their large, square bodies.
With a nod, I look into the bustling kitchens. Food, grown from our very gardens, is being chopped and sautéed. A steady line of dirty dishes being washed in bubbly water. The huff of troll conversations, a dialect I’ve learned far too little of. Cooks wipe their hands across their white aprons leaving them streaked in seasonings and batters.
Gently, I place a hand on the nearest troll’s arm. His skin is leathery, wrinkled with age, and the hair on his head almost glows silver.
“Excuse me, where might I be able to find the food logs?”
He whispers something in his unknown language to his friend before he nods and turns back to me with a polite smile. “My Princess, food logs are kept with the chaplain for review, as he is the one who approves all meal plans. Seeing how Goddess Celeste suggests such a strict diet.”
Yes, I knew by his charge the Chaplain suggests we only eat fine meals of lean meat and fresh produce. Do the servants just forget to include the delicate desserts and excessive cups of wine?
“Thank you.” I pat his arm, grateful for their kind manners. Not everyone has been so accepting of their new water fae Princess, and now unbeknownst to them, Queen.
The trolls tilt their heads in a subtle nod, scurrying into the kitchen without another word. Swinging quietly on the hinges, the open door reveals the continued chaos inside. A blur of red hair and a familiar chuckle. Miranda?
With little effort, I push against the door. Balanced on the edge of a floured countertop, Miranda holds a batter-covered spoon. He licks it like a child with a sucker.
“Is this what you do in your free time?” I call through the noise.
His long eyelashes flutter as he blinks, his gaze drawing to the sound of my voice. “Do you have any better ideas?”
He could be spending his time proactively searching for Aisha, assisting Iri with his responsibilities, training the guards, or even reading a book. I suppose licking the batter off the stirring stick is plenty pleasurable enough.
“I’m just terribly envious. I’m off to find the chaplain and search through the food records.”
“Would you enjoy my company?” Without an answer, he jumps down from the counter, dusting flour from the back of his pants.
I inhale the smell of confections cooking and fresh citrus being cut. This bubble of work feels hidden from the remainder of the world. A safe escape.
“Are you going to make me hurtle over a thousand-foot wall?”
“Not today.” He winks.
