Page 25 of The Crowned Fae Queen
His pen stills. From his papers to my face, his attention drags at an uneager pace.
“That’s a lot of paperwork for a Princess to bother herself with.” His cheeks flush a crimson red. “Why would you want these things?”
“Just doing a little research.”
“Do you have an issue with the Princess’s request?” Miranda steps forward.
“Not at all.” The chaplain straightens himself. “The kingdom needs a water fae and a fire fae to marry, Princess. It’s the will of Goddess Celeste. You should still be planning your wedding.”
It takes all of me not to laugh in his face. Instead, I shake my head with a heavily grim grin. “The kingdom is rioting, Chaplain. They tried to kill their king. Do you really think they want a wedding right now?”
“Yes. I do.” He bustles from his desk, papers lifting in the breeze he creates as he moves by his desk. With an exaggerated sigh, he pulls open a door that creaks in protest as the weight is pulled forward.
“If we do not make right of the curse, if we do not complete the prophecy, this kingdom will go to shit,” he hisses. Four massive books are pulled from the open cabinet and stacked on a small wooden table that may not be able to bear the weight.
“That didn’t seem like a very religious word,” I point out, reaching for a book.
“Let me, Princess.” Miranda grunts, picking up the four logs.
“You can mark my words, religious or not.” His red cape flutters behind him like a dramatic exclamation point on his words. “Your world is going to fall apart if you do not head the commands of Goddess Celeste.”
* * *
Pages pulled from books I’d brought back from the Chaplain’s office are spread across my desk. Heavy in my hand, I hold up my magnifying glass to properly see the tiny script written across its leaves. The sun warms my back. It casts its afternoon light across the floor and over my unorganized workspace.
Thudding in a steady rhythm behind me, Miranda kicks his feet against my footboard and hums a jolly tune. Spread across his lap is another large book. I suspect he hasn’t actually been reading much of it. Though in truth, I’m not sure I have either.
Each ledge is sloppily filled with food and drink served for every meal and occasion hosted by the castle’s kitchen. All of it was written by the trolls. In. Their. Fucking. Language. Every word looks similar when I don’t know what in the living hell they are.
With a growl, I set down the glass. “I just don’t see how she would have access to harm so many people on such a wide scale.” I bite at my nails, wincing as I hit raw skin, then continue biting away. “She had to be working with someone.”
“No,” Miranda whines. “You can’t be suggesting the sweet cooks in the kitchen.”
“A troll revolution.” My eyes widen with playful sarcasm. “No, silly. Maybe a distributor before them, even. Where do we purchase our food from other than what is grown on our grounds?”
“A few dozen farms and a baker that makes bread better than any troll I’ve ever encountered.”
“That's a lot of leads to follow.” I chew on my lip, thumbing between a few pages. “If I look closely, I don’t see any exact words in meals on the days I’m focusing on. Maybe I need to look at the meals around those days, too. Have we ever eaten bison?”
Miranda scoffs, folding his feet underneath him. “The cost of that is so high, even Bear wouldn’t think to cash out the shells for that.”
Pushing away from the desk, the chair scrapes loudly against the floor. I tilt my head up and glare at the smooth ceiling. “And I don’t believe she hurt all of these people out of jealousy,” I add. “I mean, I love your eyeliner, but I wouldn’t kill all the people you’ve ever associated with just to get it from you.”
“Are you comparing me to Miranda’s makeup?” Bear asks, appearing in my doorway.
I pick up a paperweight and throw it across the room at him. Bear catches it easily and tosses it between his two hands with a smirk.
“Tell me that doesn’t sound like a crock of shit,” I say pointedly.
“It does.” Bear frowns and shrugs. “But most anything Aisha says sounds an awful lot like shit.”
“Ain't that the truth.” Miranda nods in agreement. “I’m glad you didn’t befriend her, Syren. She would have made you rotten like her.”
I thumb my fingers against the arm of my chair. “You have so much faith in my strength of character, I see.”
“You wanted to be friends with Aisha?” Bear cocks his head at me, clearly puzzled.
“No.” I shake my head.
