Page 6 of Tasteful Anarchy and Tangled Auras
Chapter 3
Iawake to a pounding headache. What use is it being Fae if I get hangovers? What happened last night?
I struggle out of bed and head for the shower. Large and stone, it’s one of those large walk-in ones with multiple shower heads. Hot water soon envelopes me. Being royal definitely has some upsides,ifyou can avoid the assassination attempts.
Ugh, those coblynau drank me under the damn table. Shit. Rory took me to the Chubby Sheep, our old pub.
The town of Wilsden completely surrounds the Royal Palace. Very much giving off an Old World Bavarian charm—don’t ask me why—this city is the bustling center of the FEC. After I had escaped the ball last night, I went down to the kitchen to see some friends. Maudey, the royal cook, had cried and hugged me, fed me, then shooed me and Rory out of the castle through some secret passage I hadn’t seen before.
“Oh shit,” I say to the showerhead. I blathered on about this throne nonsense, didn’t I? Think! Did I say I was in line to the throne? No, I wouldn’t have, even given how shocked I was.
I let out a strangled gurgle. I definitely said I was able to take consorts to those coblynau. Turning off the water, I pray Rory had kept his wits and done some damage control. I towel off, then throw on some navy leggings and a fluffy cream sweater. A tray of food had appeared while I’d showered and dressed; Goddess bless Maudey. It had been great to catch up a bit lastnight. After inhaling some food and copious amounts of water, I head for the royal library, knowing what I am looking for isn’t in my personal collection.
I WALK DOWN THE STONEhallway, mind wandering. The library left me with more questions than answers. I need to talk to Queen Seren, but it will have to wait until after dinner. Damn, I bet I need a new atelier to dress appropriately for the upcoming balls. I’ll go ask Maudey for a recommendation. My shoulders slump and I find myself counting my steps, as I had as a child, while my thoughts raced ahead.
“Priestess Adelaide.” Shining hazel eyes, a smirk, a mop of rich brown curls. Middling height for a nymph male at maybe five foot eleven. He stays back several steps. I notice a scabbard over his shoulder. Not many carry blades in Court. Not visible ones, anyway.
“No one calls me that unless I’m in trouble.” I haven’t been gonethatlong. Why don’t I recognize him?
He edges closer with a coy look. “Would you like to be in trouble?”
“Planning on throwing me over your knee for a good spanking?”
“Well, I suppose I’m not opposed to that plan.” His eyes twinkle and a dimple appears. “But I was suggesting something entirely different.”
Shit. Why did I say that? Do I have a concussion? What the hell is wrong with me right now?
“Is that so? What’s your name?”
“Bryn ab Bethan. I have three sisters and an older brother. And my mother is the third daughter. I’m a bit superfluous. I spend most of my time away from court. Like you, Priestess.”
Why does this guy keep insisting on calling me “Priestess”? I take a step back, and he freezes. Yeah, that’s right. Don’t piss off a potential heir. I glance over my shoulder, trying to ascertain if we’re alone in the hall. “Will I see you at the ball tonight?”
The dimple deepens as he grins, and his eyes dance. “As much or as little of me as you’d please, Priestess.”
I nod brusquely and hurry away, taking deep breaths. Why did he rile me up so? I’ve been dealing with come-ons for ages. Odd that I completely lost my better senses with a Court male.
I shake my head. I need to get ready for this damn ball.
“GRANDDAUGHTER.”
The queen looks uncomfortable in the beaded ivory gown and headband. Her own damn fault, I think; she’s the one who approved this 1920s theme.
The harried indentured seamstress I’d begged into taking me on as a client had delivered: a black gown that pieced out the shape of a peacock in its black beads, ending with a “tail” of long dangling green beads that circled the dress.
