Page 7 of The Crowned Fae Queen
“Oh, I assumed she fled for some foreign love affair,” Everly murmured quietly.
“She’ll be given a fair trial, if that helps.” There isn’t an ounce of sympathy in my gaze as I look down at this rude little man. “We just need to find her first.”
The Adam’s apple in Bartley’s throat bobs.
So I repeat. “I want her history. Tell me more about her and where you think she would go.”
Together, the group begins to nod reluctantly, watching Bartley as he shrinks further into his seat.
“I, uh, yes. I don’t know. I'll have to think about it. She didn’t leave the castle often.”
“Very well.” I wave my hand in dismissal, pointing toward the door.
Bartley wastes no more time as he jumps up and darts out of the room. The others stand exchanging wary looks.
Jesting Krow offers a hand to his young wife. She stands, and he trails his thumb down her cheek, whispering in a soothing tone as he watches others shuffle away before he, too, guides her out the door.
I let loose a long uneven breath when the room clears. Miranda looks between the two of us. “You’re not having a silent conversation now, are you?”
“No,” Bear says, pushing himself away from the wall. “Is it rude of me to ask why you called everyone in just to grill Sir Bartley?” Thick, soft locks of hair topple over his shoulder as he cocks his head to watch me with humor twinkling inside his eyes.
I love it when he looks at me like I’ll be his undoing. Though the only thing I plan on undoing is the button on his trousers.
A knowing grin spreads across my face, easy as butter on a hot day. “Witnesses,” I whisper, hoping all listening ears had made their way far enough down the hallway not to hear the conversation unfolding.
Miranda huffs a small laugh, rubbing his palms together like a greedy merchant. “You certainly succeeded in making Sir Bartley turn redder than a ripe tomato. That man can’t even think when he is aroundwitnesses.”
“No, but it certainly got them thinking.”
Miranda nods. He gives his friend a small smile, tucking his unruly curls back behind his ears, and heads for the door.
Bear follows his friend, slapping him on the back.
“And Bear,” I call after him before he can get swept up into trouble with Miranda.
He swivels on his heels smoothly to pause and look at me. Miranda’s steps stutter behind him.
“I want a meeting with your witch as well. Tonight.”
3
Witches and Mothers
Syren
Miranda backpedals into the room, nearly knocking Iri over as he does. Bear rights himself with a sigh as he watches his friend. A nervous smile flitters over Miranda’s features.
“Why do you want to talk to that witch, again?” His tone wavers as he speaks.
Ellowin. Daphne.
Two names both given to me along with the title of mother. I have to know. My whole life, I thought my mother was a nobody. A faceless person without importance to my father or my life.
Or so he said.
Aisha is a liar, but what if she isn’t lying about this? And there is so much happening here, so much magic that this witch has her hands in. Is it really my long-lost mother who created this goddessawful rumor that’s tearing apart Nalerpera?
Maybe having a dead mother is better.
