Enchanted: A Fae Fantasy Romance (Fae Magic Book 3) Page 3

  “Swear and seal it, or I’m not getting the ball.”

  Another long peal of the bell rang out.

  “I have to go!”

  His years at the Winter Court had taught him many hard lessons about waiting for what you wanted. How to manipulate and when. She was young, somehow seeming younger than an adult fae should. He’d put her at two, or maybe two hundred and fifty years—just barely into fae adulthood. But something about her felt more inexperienced.

  For a moment he was reminded of his sister Siobhan, of a time when she was innocent and young. He shoved the memory away. Siobhan was far away. This woman was here and now and a spoiled member of the Black Court. Siobhan’s time would come, but not if he let himself get distracted.

  The last gong of the bell tolled out over the garden and died into the twilight. He turned away.

  “Fine.” Her voice took on the full tones of a magical oath. “I swear I, Cassandra, will get you into the castle, into the party, and find—what’s your name?”

  “Bosco.”

  “I will find Bosco a place at the table.” She left off and he shook his head. If looks were poison, he’d be dead where he was standing. He crossed his arms and planted his bare feet deeper into the mud.

  She blew out an exasperated breath and pushed her hair out of her face. “I also swear I will find him a bed to sleep in. So swear I.” The echo of the vow rolled over the still pond, rippling the surface of the water and pushing the ball farther away.

  She was so sweetly angry he couldn’t resist. He moved in close and laid his lips on hers. As he kissed her, he was swept into the sealing of the oath. His aura touched hers. Golden apricot with an invasive hint of black swirling around the edges, hunting for vulnerabilities in the gold.

  He jerked back.

  She raised her fingers to her mouth, looking shaken, the delicate tips resting on her full lower lip. She lifted a dainty foot and for a moment, he thought she was going to come closer and ask for more. But then her fingers dropped and the vulnerability he’d glimpsed disappeared. In true court lady form, she planted both feet firmly on the ground. Her order came out sure and strong. “Now, go get my ball.”

  He wanted to kiss her again. Wanted to explore the mystery that her aura had exploded in his head. Wanted to take the time to figure her out. But he resisted the urge. He knew women, and with an attraction like this simmering between them this one would make sure she found him later, when they both had time.

  He waded into the water and pulled the ball to him. Inside the clear globe images swirled. Faces and colors mixed in, but unlike his childhood playthings, he couldn’t make one damn thing out. He handed it to her.

  “Thanks.” She snatched it from him, shrank it down to the size of a marble, and slid it into a small purse dangling from her wrist. Gathering her muddy skirts she turned and ran up the hill, without even once looking back.

  He stared for far too long, watching her until she was out of sight. How in the hell could she look so innocent—wide-eyed and gorgeous—and yet have so much darkness circling her aura like a predator?

  Chapter Four

  Cassie stopped just inside the back servants’ entrance and pressed a hand to her stomach to calm the butterflies. She had to get herself together. Her cheeks were flushed, her breathing fast. All because she was late, right?

  Wrong. Yes, she was late. Yes, she’d run up the hill. But it was the jolt of energy from kissing a complete stranger that had her heart pounding long after it should have slowed. She’d done her best to ignore his long, lean, and very naked body, outlined in the setting sun. But when he’d kissed her, she’d nearly lost control.

  She stopped, her eyes drifted closed, and she held still remembering. When she opened her eyes she caught a glimpse of her reflection in a small mirror set up so the maids could check their look before heading upstairs. She barely recognized the dreamy, dropped-lid expression on her face. But she did recognize the collapsing state of her hair. Damn. She was late and everything was a mess.

  She tucked what she could behind her ears and stepped into the chaos of the kitchens preparing dinner for several hundred people. Winding her way through she headed for the back stairs, the quickest way up to her rooms without being seen.

  “You lazy louts, the first course should be on its way by now!” The cook paused. “Your Highness, oh my!” Her round aproned figure bobbed a curtsy.

  “Smells good in here,” Cassie said, barely noticing the woman’s lips rounding into an O of surprise. She skirted the ovens and moved past a row of sweating under-cooks, nodding absently at the ripple of bows. A girl dropped a bowl of current sauce and it splattered dark maroon drops across the hem of Cassie’s already mud spattered dress. Horrified silence broke out, and another time she might have paid attention, but the absence of noise didn’t penetrate her distraction. Broken dishes, bruised elbows, dropped food, none of it made an impression on her as she crossed the kitchen floor. The only thing on her mind was getting to a place where she could be alone and remember how it felt to have his lips touch hers, his hands touch her skin, and dream about what if...

  She scooted around a scullery maid, ducked the basket of toppling vegetables, and exited into a back passage. Behind her, the kitchen burst into cacophony. She shook her head, wondering what the noise was all about, and pulled aside a liveried footman.

  She didn’t know why her mystery man had sneaked into the castle, but she was going to find out. “Please set an extra place beside me at the table. I have a guest.” She’d sworn she’d find a seat for him, and she would. The best seat in the house. One where she could wheedle out everything she wanted to know.

  “Yes, Your Highness.” The footman bowed and she moved on. Time was getting short.

  She ducked past a group of guest valets and headed up the back stairs. And realized she’d left her slippers next to the pond with the sexy stranger who’d rescued her ball.

  “Damn.”

  “Something the matter, My lady?” Her very own lady-in-waiting stood on the landing above, her fingers tapping the bones of her hips in that rhythm of anger Cassie knew so well. Perfectly coiffed and perfectly beautiful in a deep blue satin gown slashed high in the front, nearly to the tops of her bare thighs, Gertrude was the epitome of a Black Court Lady. Fair on the outside—but on the inside, completely wicked.

  Great, just great. It would be Gertrude. Not only did Cassie suspect, no, she knew Lord Haddon had assigned the Tuathan courtier to be her watchdog, but the lady-in-waiting also had the irritating habit of always wearing the right gown, the right hair style, and the right expression. She was never caught off guard by someone’s too flirtatious remark. She had comebacks oozing out her fingertips and she flicked them out without conscience.

  And men loved Gertrude. She made sure of it.

  Whereas Cassie was always two steps behind, with the wrong dress, the wrong moves, the wrong everything. And always, always, always with her foot stuffed in her mouth.

  She took the last few steps at a funeral pace, conscious of Gertrude’s basilisk stare taking in her bare mud-spattered feet and her toppling up-do. “No thank you, Lady Gertrude. I just realized I needed to run back up to my room before the feast begins.”

  Gertrude took in her condition from the heated flush in her cheeks down to the mud drying between her bare toes. The woman’s spidery blond eyebrows raised. Inside, Cassie squirmed.

  “You’re no longer a country mouse in a country house, my dear. You are a princess. You have a responsibility to the queen to be on time.”

  “I’ll be back before they sit down.”

  “I won’t make excuses for you this time.”

  “You won’t have to.” Cassie slipped around the barrier of Gertrude’s slim body. “I’ll be there.” She scooped her skirts into her hands and ran double-time up to her tower apartment, slamming the door and leaning against it so she could take a moment to review what had happened down at the pond.

  What had happened?


  She’d met someone. Someone new. Someone who wasn’t controlled by Haddon or the queen. Or the spell everyone who came into the castle was under. The spell they thought she had no clue about.

  She’d met someone dangerous.

  Shockingly short white hair, toned abs she’d love to run her fingers over and count: two, four, six. Hmm, maybe eight?

  She went weak, desire shooting through her at the thought of stroking her hands along his body.

  Why him? She was crazy, that’s why. Here she’d been at the summer castle three months now and the number of advances she’d turned down would make anyone jaded, but you’d have thought one of them would have stimulated her interest. Oh no. She couldn’t be attracted to someone the queen and Haddon would approve of. No, she had to be attracted to the dangerous man who snuck under the wall. He could be here to kill her and she’d fall into his arms and ask him for more kisses.

  She moved away from the door, heading for the bathroom and the tub. Absentmindedly she took off her mud-spattered dress and laid it aside. Who was he?

  He was Tuathan slim and Tuathan tall, but his attitude was nothing like the bowing and scraping courtiers who came week after week walking through the spell at the castle gate to petition the queen for favors. He’d snuck in under the wall, and that was as shocking as the color of his eyes.

  Black. Black as diamond mines. And his attitude...his attitude had her burning.

  He’d challenged her and taunted her. He’d told her no and bargained with her like an equal. As if he had no clue about her station. Or—a thrill ran through her—as if he didn’t care. As if he wasn’t under the control of Lord Haddon and the queen.

  She sat on the side of the tub and rinsed her muddy legs off under the spigot. Reaching for a towel she caught sight of herself in the mirror. Her hand rose to touch her lips. He’d tasted sweet and smelled clean, like the scent of fresh lemons. She wondered if she’d ever been kissed before. Surely she’d remember something as intimate as a kiss? Her body had responded as if it knew what to do. That man had taken a liberty no one had dared since she’d been here. He’d kissed her. And something had rocketed through her, shaking her up like nothing had in the three months she’d been taking refuge in her aunt’s court.

  If Haddon found out, he’d be dead. And if her aunt, the queen, found out...

  She shuddered.

  No, he wasn’t like the others. He’d risked his neck to seal their deal the traditional way, and he hadn’t had to do that. And when he had, she’d known he was different.

  He knew who he was and he wasn’t afraid of the queen. Maybe he knew why she couldn’t remember anything before coming to live here. Maybe he could help her figure out why she dreamed of humans and witches and the mundane world. Why she was sure, somewhere deep inside, that something was wrong with her. Why, even though she looked and looked, she couldn’t make out her own past with her own Gift.

  Maybe he could help her figure out what was wrong with her magic.

  She wondered if he even knew that when they’d kissed, her Gift had kicked in, with a strength it hadn’t had since she’d been here. She’d seen through his aura to his true self underneath. The tall man, with the ice white skin of the north and the sharp short hair of a rebel. The man with the broken heart who she knew had snuck into the castle to attend the party—and thereby risked his death.

  BOSCO PUZZLED ON THE mystery woman, half expecting her to race back down the hill to claim her abandoned slippers. But she didn’t show. Another bell sang out and he startled. By his count, dinner would be seated in five minutes. He didn’t have time to figure her out. Hell, he had a party to get to. He couldn’t even take the time to let his balls dry.

  He struggled getting the tuxedo over his damp skin, pulling on his boots before sprinting up the hill. Slipping out of the bushes and onto the terrace he headed into the castle hall with the tail end of the crowd. He needed to keep a low profile and not let anyone with any power realize he wasn’t affected by the spell. That meant avoiding both the queen and her number one man, Lord Haddon. There was a huge possibility the reason he hadn’t been invited in the first place was Haddon’s jealousy of his being a one-time favorite of the queen’s.

  The line edged a few feet forward. The tiny bright yellow fae in front of him fluttered her wings, blowing air back into his face and chattering excitedly to her neighbor. “I can’t believe we were here last week and I can’t remember any of it. I must have drank too much nectar.”

  The elderly lion next to her nodded his maned head. “I didn’t even have any nectar, and I was here the entire week. But it’s not a problem,” he purred. “It’s a party.”

  This was exactly what his contacts had told him. The spell everyone passed through as they entered the castle was messing with their minds. Thank Fate he’d avoided it when he’d swum under the castle walls. He’d remember everything that happened here. He almost touched his still-buzzing lips.

  Everything.

  He stepped into the castle and gawked with the other new guests. The elegance of the interior rivaled the rustic natural setting of the Black Court.

  Traffic headed into the great hall, each person stepping into a circle inscribed on the floor and telling the guard their name. The yellow fairy stepped into the circle.

  “Marigold of the Unicorn Flutter.” The sound of her name came out of her mouth and formed brightly lit letters in the air. The guard with the bored look on his face waved a wand over the words. A column of sparkling dust twirled from the surface and rose into the air, forming the queen’s seal of a black gryphon.

  He was next and he didn’t have an invitation. This might have been a mistake but he couldn’t pull out now. He’d trusted the girl on instinct and she’d made the bargain. If she could keep it, he’d be set. But what if she couldn’t? What if she had no power here to add a guest? He ran a finger around his collar and swallowed. It felt tight, too tight.

  The fairy fluttered over to her lion companion and they headed into the party. There was no time left to come up with a plan.

  “Name?” The guard barely looked at Bosco as he waited for him to speak.

  Bosco’s stomach jolted.

  There were guards behind him at the wide double doors leading outside and more at the stairs. He was sure all it would take was one call and a hundred more would pour out of the woodwork.

  “Sir, your name?” The guard had lost his disinterested expression and was examining him a little more closely.

  The situation became crystal clear. Either his gut had been right, and she’d come through for him, or his luck would finally fail him and taking this job would be the worst decision he’d ever made.

  “Bosco Ni Maigh.” The name he’d gone by for years now tumbled out easily. Not a lie, oh no, it was one of his many names. Just not his original. Nor one he held too closely. His words forming in the air the bright letters of light. But no dust formed the queen’s silver gryphon.

  He pretended calm, but he was thinking five steps ahead.

  Step one: grab the elvatian lady nearly stepping on his heels and push her forward into the guard. Step two: reach for her already drunk companion lord and push him into the other guard. Step three: run like hell. And step four? Well, he’d see how step three went.

  The guard called over with a wide drooping moustache, purple skin the color of a ripe plum, and a superior self-satisfied smirk. The majordomo peered over his round reading glasses and cast a critical look over Bosco from from top to toe.

  Bosco held still under his examination, but it brought him back to his school room days and his instructors always knowing when he’d been bad.

  The man’s brow lifted. “Hmm, let me check my list.”

  Two pageboys eyed the whole process, their eyes wide with curiosity. A group of green Tuathans he didn’t recognize and a bearded man in purple tutu, moved up next to him and leaned closer, their expressions avid. The woman behind him, let out a shocked whisper, “He’s not on the list!�
� The room grew suddenly hot and he fought the urge to squirm like a school boy.

  At court he’d made sure he knew all the servants. You never knew when they’d come in useful. But the queen had left them all behind and found new ones for the summer. He had no friends here. No one to bail him out. Just strange warriors and guests who had no clue. He truly was on his own.

  The thrumming through his blood was strangely exciting. He hadn’t realized he’d gotten bored with the game of spying. He reached down inside, preparing his magic. He was sure he could take out both men, but not the rest of the hall.

  But then the man nodded. “Ah, here you are, Lord Bosco.” Cassandra had given him a title. He should have given her his entire name. He’d been distracted by her unusual almond-shaped eyes and the glimpse of her body under her gauzy dress. And maybe, just maybe, a little bit by her temper.

  He kept his grin to himself. She was intriguing, a mix of innocence and courtly superiority, and he hoped he had time to get to know her better while he searched for the queen’s new mirror.

  The majordomo’s mustache quivered. He called the pages to attention and pointed at his clipboard. The boys gave Bosco a startled look.

  The majordomo straightened up, put his shoulders back, and took a large breath. Bosco’s house of cards collapsed. She’d either forgotten or she couldn’t pull it off. He got ready again, covering the surge of power with his glamour, ready to run in case it failed.

  “You’ll be seated there.” The man pointed across the room, over all the guests, straight to the high table. “Next to the queen’s niece.”

  Bosco tried to swallow past the sudden lump in his throat.

  “Excuse me?”

  The man gave Bosco a furious frown. “Up there. Next to the princess. Do you see the empty chair?”

  Bosco could see it, he just didn’t want to. Up on the raised dais sat the Black Queen. Her brilliant cherry red hair snaking gently into the air. To her left was Lord Haddon, the queen’s chief advisor. On the queen’s right, lighter red-blond curls shining, sat his beauty from the pond. And beside her, an empty place.