The Winged Fae (The World of Fae) (11 page)

She certainly didn’t appreciate the tone of voice he used with her, if his comment was directed toward her.

The long skirts and a vest of velvet, a silken blouse with full sleeves, and knee high suede boots she wore made her appear as though she fit in, so she could have been working at the fair, newly arrived.

But when a hand roughly grabbed her arm, detaining her, she gasped, and she was ready to whip around and take him to task.

What startled her even more was when he spoke, gruffly saying, “Don’t ignore me, dark fae.”

Chapter 9

Princess Ritasia whipped around to see who had so rudely accosted her at the fair, but worse than that, that he realized she was a dark fae.

“Dragon fae,” she said under her breath, in a derogatory way as soon as she saw the bulky man dressed as a monk. He gave her an appreciative smile. A brown woolen cowl cloaked his face partially in shadows, but his blue eyes sparkled with intrigue. She arched a brow, turned to jerk her arm away, but the man held fast.

“If you don’t let go of me this instant,” she said, her voice low with threat, “I promise you’ll regret it.”

He smiled as if he knew something she didn’t. She intended to fae transport him and deposit him in the Denkar dungeon, and then return to the fair. But the monk quickly slipped a steel bracelet on her wrist and manacled it to the other.

“No fae travel, princess,” he said, with a smug smile affixed to his face, dark eyes gazing at her with contempt.

She scowled back at him, the beast, horrified and angry that he would hold her hostage in this way. So he knew she was a lion fae, but did he realize she truly
was
the princess, or was he mocking her?

She tilted her chin up. “Since I’m the princess, it seems you would be careful how you handle me.”

He motioned to people dressed in velvet and brocade gowns who were filling up the fairgrounds before it opened. “Dozens of princesses are here and about. King Henry and his wife are the only ones we need concern ourselves with,” he said coolly.

She snorted. “Human play actors.” But it appeared as if the pretend monk didn’t realize that she truly was the Denkar princess. “What do you plan to do with me?”

“When Sir Reginald arrives, he will decide. This is the dragon fae’s territory and here, he’s in charge. You have no business being here. Perhaps a real stay in our dungeon will suit you.”

At the dragon fae castle of Crislis? Surely not here at this place. They couldn’t have a mock dungeon, could they?

“Is the knight the one who will joust?” she asked, wondering if he was the one Serena was interested in. It couldn’t be
this
guy.

“Aye.”

“I must see this great knight and his jousting prowess.”

“He loses.”

She arched her brows in real surprise. “Really? A dragon fae who purposefully loses in front of a bunch of humans?”

“He prefers being the evil Black Knight.”

“I see.” Ritasia didn’t really. Why would any fae lose the battle on purpose to entertain humans? The humans were meant to amuse the fae.

“When will he be here? I do not wish to be shackled to
you
for the rest of the day.”

“In a couple of hours. He always has a late night of it. His reputation with the ladies must be maintained.”

She shook her head. How was she to pretend interest in such a man?

The monk dragged her to a clothing shop full of ornately embroidered corsets and lace—up bustiers and skirts of velvet or cotton trimmed in gold. “You would look good in one of these sexy red bustiers,” he said, motioning to her cleavage.

She gave him a quick tug and yanked him out of the shop.

“Here
you’re
supposed to be a monk!” She pulled him so hard out of the place that she wasn’t looking where she was going and ran smack dab into a knight dressed all in black—the silver fire–breathing dragon sparkling on his black tunic—the Black Knight, his blond hair in a braid down his back. A dragon fae.

She’d barely caught her breath, staring up into the man’s pale narrowed eyes, his jaw twitching with tension before he spoke, “What do we have here, Tuttle?”

“She is trespassing. Do you want me to take her to our dungeon, Sir Reginald?”

“Why are you here?” the knight asked Ritasia, motioning for the monk to be silent.

Her heart thundering, she tried to come up with something that sounded plausible. “I have heard there is a knight so remarkable when he plies his skills in the joust, I had to see for myself if it is true.”

“Did Serena tell you this?” the knight asked, his mouth curving up some.

Serena? So
this
was the man she must have been seeing.

But then Sir Reginald sneered at her. “You are a dark fae. She would not have had anything to do with you or your kind.”

If Serena had come here to see this man, Ritasia could not understand the draw. Yet she was determined to seek his interest so that Serena would see her folly and marry Ritasia’s cousin Micala instead.

“Since you are dressed as the Black Knight, I assume you accept defeat in this human event. I admire your ability to entertain the humans in that way. It takes courage.”

He looked her over and gave her an evil smile. “This woman is really a lovely creature, despite being a dark fae. If you want her, she is yours. Take her to the dungeon.”

“You would not do this to me!” Ritasia shouted.

“Come, princess,” the monk said, grinning like a fool.

“You are an idiot,” she said to the monk, and motioned to the knight, including him also, “and you are as well.”

At the blink of an eye, she was no longer at the fair, but in a dark, dank prison. Heart pounding, she was momentarily unable to think of what she could do next.

One small barred window let in a little fresh air, but she heard the squeaking of some rodent, rats or mice scurrying about in the place, hopefully not in her cell. A single straw–filled mattress was lying on a metal rack in the chilly unlit room, although the light filtered through the narrow window.

She was definitely not into self–sacrifice and was ready to tell all
and then some
who she was to spring herself from here.

“What have we here, Tuttle,” a man asked, his tone brusque and dark, startling her.

Thinking she was alone, she felt her heart give a hard thump as she turned to see the burly man standing in the cell’s doorway as he folded his arms, his whiskered face dirty, his blond hair in greasy straggles hanging over his shoulders. Tuttle, the monk, was standing beside him, looking perfectly pleased with himself to have brought a prisoner here, his smile odiously self–important.

The other man, probably the jailer, wore a gray tunic covered in smudges of grime. A set of brass keys dangled off a chain belt at his bulging waistline. She longingly eyed the ring of keys, making him smile. Two front teeth were missing. Knocked out by a prisoner? Or bad hygiene? From the looks of it, he probably never brushed his teeth either. At least not the yellowed and brown ones that were left.

“She is a dark fae who was spying on us at the fair. I am certain the Denkar sent her there since that Count Micala is to wed Princess Serena, and his people are trying to learn what is going on with the princess,” the monk said.

“You must report this to Prince Grotto.”

“After I have my fun with her, Sir Reginald said,” the monk pronounced, leering at Ritasia.

“A monk of some order,” she repeated, trying to remind him of his pretend duty.

The guard shook his head. “Now.”

“Why not report this to the princess?” Tuttle asked, sounding annoyed.

“She has slipped away again and the king is furious. This one is of the Denkar, so the prince will have to question her since the princess is not here to do so.”

“He will want her,” Tuttle grumbled, then stalked out of the cell.

The guard immediately manacled Ritasia to the bed. As she lay down, she wondered whether this was the same cell where her brother had once been held.

“I happen to be Princess Ritasia, Queen Irenis’s daughter, in case you care.”

The man shook his head. “Tell your story to Prince Grotto. Maybe you can convince him of your faery tale.”

So much for her plans to intrigue the Black Knight and steal him away from Serena and show her what a blackguard he was, right before Ritasia dumped him.

***

Six hours later after reclining on the odious moldy mattress in the Morcalon dungeon, Ritasia heard footfall headed in her cell’s direction. She sat up.

Prince Grotto arrived at her cell door, blond hair pulled back in a tail, his bright green eyes measuring her through the bars of the cell in a most inappropriate way.

The guard pulled the door open. The prince stalked into the cell, looking superior as he frowned down at her. “What were you doing at the fair?”

“You are Prince Grotto, are you not?” Knowing that he was just from his conceited bearing and richly appointed clothes and because he was supposed to have questioned her hours ago. “Whatever happened to manners in your kingdom? I’m Princess Ritasia, daughter of Queen Irenis and the late King Tolliver. Now that you’ve made me stay in this foul prison for half the day…”

He smiled evilly at her. “Princess Ritasia would never be caught dead at a dragon fae affair.” Then his face darkened. “What were you doing there?”

As Prince Grotto glowered at her, she thought she heard rapid footsteps headed toward them. But they were soft, like a woman’s rather than a man’s. Or maybe a child’s. But why would either a child or a woman be visiting the dungeon unless the individual was bound to be another prisoner. Yet, Ritasia didn’t hear a guard’s heavy footfall in conjunction with the lighter steps. So whoever it was, he or she couldn’t be a prisoner.

As soon as Ritasia saw Princess Alicia, her blond hair pulled into a ponytail, her green eyes focusing on the guard, not on her, Ritasia smiled. The girl was to marry her brother and knew just who Ritasia was, so she would quickly set the pompous Prince Grotto straight.

Alicia immediately addressed the guard, not even Prince Grotto, for whom she had low regard, partly because of his objecting that she was here and now stood first in line for the throne.

“Tuttle said you had a female prisoner here that I needed to speak with,” Alicia said.

“You weren’t available,” Grotto argued, not allowing the guard to answer her first, the prince’s voice heavy with rebuke. “You are never where you say you’ll be, now that you are able to fae transport at will. The king ought to—”

Alicia didn’t allow the prince to finish what he was about to say, but turned to see who the prisoner was instead. Her eyes grew huge and her mouth dropped open. “Ritasia,” she said in a hush as if speaking her name out loud was forbidden.

Ritasia gave her a bright smile, raised her manacled wrists, and said, “Would this be a good time for you to teach me how to improve my archery skills?” She gave Grotto and the monk each a scathing look. “I know
just
the perfect targets.”

***

Many dragon fae courtiers came out to watch Alicia as she instructed Ritasia in how to improve her skill with the bow at the archery range. The area was surrounded by trees except for a narrow lane free of trees where wooden stakes had been placed at three different distances for the competing archers.

Ritasia had hoped for a private conversation with Alicia, though she wasn’t sure how her future sister would view the situation. Alicia
was
a dragon fae after all.

The problem was Alicia had hinted that spies watched her every move and even attempted to hear what she said to her ladies–in–waiting in her own chambers. But worse, she didn’t trust any of them either.

“The problem is,” Alicia whispered to Ritasia as she showed her how to hold her bow properly, “everyone here believes they have my best interests at heart. So it is not as if they are working for some tyrannical fae who is trying to keep me in check.”

“You grandfather, the king?”

“Well, of course, yes, to an extent.”

Ritasia quickly added, “And Prince Grotto and his men.”

Alicia let out her breath, admitting, “Yes, them, too.”

“Are you truly upset with Micala for continuing to see your human friend Cassie?”

“Yes. You know that nothing good will ever come of it.” Ritasia sighed, knocked her arrow, and released it.

“Very good,” Alicia commended. “Next time, aim a little higher and to the left more to compensate for the breeze.”

Ritasia readied another arrow. “Deveron wants to speak to his cousin first and take care of the matter.”

“I know. But it doesn’t seem to be working.”

Ritasia let her arrow go.
Thwack!

“Much, much better,” Alicia said, praising her.

Ritasia beamed. “Another.” She readied an arrow again. “He planned to speak to him last night.”

“Well, did he?” Alicia asked.

Ritasia lowered her bow and said quietly for her ears only, “I don’t know.”

Alicia frowned and folded her arms. “You two are like the best of friends, half of the time annoyed with each other, and half of the time inseparable. You almost always know what’s going on with the other.”

“I sort of got myself in a bind and was stuck in your dungeon.”

Alicia studied her for a while, not saying a word, then she arched her brows. “Not last night. I was informed you were picked up at the Texas Renaissance fair this morning and brought straight here.”

“I was at the fairgrounds all night.” Ritasia aimed her arrow and released it. This time it struck the stake several yards past the second one.

“Why? You knew it was dragon fae territory, right? I’ve heard Sir Reginald believed you were spying on my people.”

“Not on your people,” Ritasia said indignantly. “Rather trying to learn what a Mabara winged fae was doing there instead.”

Alicia didn’t say anything for a moment, and Ritasia wondered if she thought she was lying. But then Alicia threw up her hands in exasperation. “What on earth is a Mabara winged fae?”