The High Mountain Court by A.K. Mulford
Chapter Eleven
If they had been in the West, Remy would be freezing. Her wet dress clinging to her curves would have made her shiver. The slightest breeze would have made her teeth chatter.
But in the Southern Court . . .
The warm air twined around her legs. The evening breeze danced with the floral scent of night-blooming flowers. And the Prince of the Eastern Court radiated heat all along her right-hand side.
The fabric of her dress was light and quick-drying. Remy welcomed the darkening night as she feared her dress might be sheer when wet. The trail of dripping water behind her had long stopped as they crunched their way down the white gravel promenade.
They walked in tense silence for many paces. Remy pretended she was looking at all the unusual tropical plants, but she was aware of those gray eyes upon her. They entered a smaller path that snaked its way through large bushes with waxy leaves and maroon flowers. It was darker on this trail. The umbrella-shaped trees obscured the last light of the setting sun. Tea light lanterns were lit at regular intervals along the path. Remy wondered if there was a servant lighting candles up ahead, even still. How many tiny candles did they have to light every night? These were questions the fae probably never asked themselves.
The parrots nesting in the palm trees were quiet now, only the softest tittering as they settled to sleep. In the silence she heard Hale’s slow, steady breaths. She could hear her own heart beating through her ears. She knew keenly that no other eyes could see them now. They were alone.
“You’ve been avoiding me,” Hale said to the night air. Remy thought it would be a relief for one of them to speak, but now she wished for that awkward silence again.
“That’s ridiculous. I am right here, holding your arm,” she replied, giving too much of her attention to the yellow-leafed shrub illuminated by a lantern.
“You haven’t looked me in the eye since the night of the full moon,” Hale said.
Ah yes. That night.
Four witch hunters had nearly killed Remy. The past weeks of training with Bri and Carys had helped her nerves some. Though she wasn’t planning on dueling with four fae males anytime soon, she felt like at least she knew how to hold a weapon now. Remy knew the attack wasn’t what Hale was talking about. It was what happened after on the trail around Silver Sands Harbor and in that cabin after the full moon had whispered her mother’s words to her. Something had shifted between them, something intangible that the harder Remy tried to grasp, the more it evaded her. She wasn’t sure what that feeling was, but it frightened her to know that Hale felt it too.
“I think we should head back,” Remy said, peeling her arm off Hale’s. She was doing precisely what he had accused her of: avoiding him. But she didn’t care. She made one quick step down the path and Hale caught her hand.
“Remy.” The weight of him wielding that word felt like a boulder on her chest. “Look at me.”
Remy relented, looking up into those smoky gray eyes. She felt her emotions pull in every direction. It was new, thrilling, terrifying and yet also . . . familiar, comforting. Her chest tightened. She wasn’t sure how many disparate feelings she could hold at once. She wondered if anyone else ever felt that way, like they were free falling every time they looked into a person’s eyes.
Not any person. Just this one person.
Remy didn’t know how to look at him. She wasn’t sure how much he saw. She wondered if Hale felt that same pull looking into her brown eyes, if he’d get trapped falling into the flecks of green. She tried to keep her expression determinedly neutral, if not slightly perturbed.
The dimples flashed on Hale’s cheeks, but his voice filled with gravel as he simply said, “Hi.”
How could she feel that one syllable word echoing through her entire body? The things that sound did to her.
“Hi,” she replied breathlessly.
It had to be the Southern Court and the honey wine. The food and drink, the sweet smells, the warm air: it had made her drunk on revelry. She had danced in the twilight, dueled in a fountain, and now she wanted to kiss a prince in a hidden garden. But it was not her doing, it was all the magic of the Southern Court, she reassured herself.
Hale looked down to where their fingers still interlocked.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “For that night and for what I said. I’ve wanted to apologize every day since, but you’ve been keeping away from me.”
“I . . . ,” Remy said, struggling to find the words she wanted to say.
“That day really frightened me,” Hale said. “More than I was willing to admit. And I felt responsible—feel responsible, for your safety.”
“Right.” A long-held breath escaped Remy’s lips. He was feeling guilty about the attack. That’s what he had meant.
“I pulled you into this,” Hale said. “I asked you to come with us. I made you put yourself in danger and I promised I would protect you.”
“You have protected me. You did protect me,” Remy said. Hale shook his head like he wouldn’t believe it was true. “And Bri and Carys are helping me to take care of myself.”
“You don’t give yourself enough credit,” Hale said. “You were brave and powerful before their training too. You fought off those fae. If there had been even one fewer, you would have dispatched them all.”
She noted the way he said dispatched. He did not want to say kill. But she had killed one of them, and he had killed the rest. It still bothered her, the fact that she had killed that fae. Training with Bri had not lessened that feeling, but it had taught her that the feeling was okay. All warriors carried the ghosts of those they killed with them. Bri made it okay to feel powerful, to know that she would kill again if it came to it.
“You better watch out.” Remy tried to lighten the tone. “I won’t need much protecting after another few sessions with them.”
Hale gave her a half-grin. “I don’t doubt it. They are some of the most skilled fighters I know. Although . . .” He looked at the trees over her shoulder. “Seeing you tackle them into a pool is something I won’t be soon forgetting.”
A flush blanketed Remy’s skin. She had tackled them into a pool with her magic. Her hair was almost dry now and coiled tighter from the water of the reflection pool. A few perfect ringlets framed her face.
“So you accept my apology?” Hale said.
“There’s nothing to apologize for . . .” Remy said. Hale opened his mouth but Remy continued, “You saved me that day and if another day like that happens, though I hope it won’t, you have my permission to save me again.” She tried to add a lighthearted laugh, but it felt strained. “I’m sure you protect all your assets well.”
Hale recoiled, his mouth tightening, forehead crinkling.
“I shouldn’t have said that.” He fiddled with the red string around his wrist. “Yes, I am grateful that we have found a red witch to help us. It would be impossible to acquire those talismans without you, but . . . your life means more to me than that.”
Remy turned those words around in her mind, picking them apart in different ways. Her life meant more to him than what? Than only being a useful tool in their quest for the High Mountain talismans? What did “more” mean? Remy did not know. Ugh, she thought, these bloody fae and their half-truth words.
She looked up at him. His hair fell across his forehead as he bent to look at her. Remy’s fingers twitched with the urge to brush it off his face. Nibbling her lip, she knew she wanted to find an excuse to touch him. When she was pretending to be his red witch, it was the closest to an honest feeling she had. He had caught her in this spider’s web. She did not know how to untangle herself from what was real and what was pretend.
Remy was sick of these cycling thoughts. She wanted to give herself over to the heady music and sweet fragrances and reckless abandon. Enough of wishing to do things and never doing them. She smoothed Hale’s hair off his forehead. That wavy, brown hair was as silky as she had hoped it would be. His ocean air scent mixed with jasmine and evening primrose.
“Your life means more to me too, Hale,” she said, her voice huskier than she intended.
Those dark pupils dilated. It was the first time she had ever called him by his name. The look on his face sent a quiver through her. She moved to take her hand out of his hair, but he reached up and held her hand on the side of his face.
Remy took a shallow breath. Hale’s eyes wandered to her large lips. He unthreaded their other hands and slowly traced his fingers up her arm, leaving bolts of lightning in the echoes of his touch. His hand smoothed up her shoulder and down her neck. His thumb braced her cheek right before her ear as his fingers curled around to the nape of her neck.
She wasn’t sure she was breathing. It only took the slightest pressure on those fingertips to pull her in. The scent of honey wine wafted off his breath. She was so ready for . . .
“Hale!” Bri’s shout came from behind the trees. “We’re heading to the bar. You coming?”
Hale growled, but he released Remy.
“Hale?” Carys shouted in a whining sing-song. “Come on. More wine. Let’s go.”
Remy laughed quietly.
“We should go,” she whispered.
Hale hung his head, resigned. When he lifted it again, that charming princely mask was back on his face. He extended his elbow to Remy again, and she took it. Walking back onto the main promenade, Remy’s whole body still tingled with that one soft touch. Hundreds of glowing lanterns illuminated the promenade, their flickering light dancing across the smooth surface of the reflection pool.
Bri and Carys sat perched on the ledge of the pool. They looked at them with knowing, wicked smiles. Carys winked at Remy. Remy narrowed her eyes back at her, but that only made the female fae smile wider. She wasn’t sure what they had thought had happened between them. Remy blamed it all on the magic of the night. She thought of Heather’s warning. The brown witch would go on a lecturing rampage if she had known what happened this night.
Remy sighed.
She was in so much trouble.
* * *
They had walked most of the way home over the course of the night, stopping in crowded pubs and music halls, drawing as many eyes to them as possible. It was strange being so openly watched. Remy had shied from it at first, but by the end of the night she welcomed the looks. The rush reminded her of when she and Fenrin would go sledding as children: the high speed, the blurring of her periphery, the absolute surrender to the sensations through her body. She had never felt so alive. She didn’t know why such revelry felt like an accomplishment, but as the evening wound down, she thought back on their escapades with a strange sort of pride.
The hours bled together until fires dwindled to nothing but embers. They stumbled back to the inn, the sky perking with fresh morning light. Sounds of the night still echoed through her body as they stepped into their quiet corner suite. A high-pitched ringing filled her ears at the sudden quiet. Happy, satisfied tiredness filled her body. A sore ring of red had worn its way onto the tops of her feet as they swelled from all the drinking and walking, chafed by the ribbons of her silver slippers. But Remy didn’t care. It was a soreness that felt like a victory, like after a hard morning’s training with Bri.
Hale kicked his soft leather boots off by the door and collapsed into a heap on the blue velvet sofa.
“You can use the bathing chamber first if you like,” he said, slinging his arm over his eyes. “I think I could fall asleep right this second.”
Remy looked between Hale and the gigantic bed. Maids had turned down the bed, the sheer, white gauzy curtains pulled around its edges. Four giant, plump white pillows rested against the wooden headboard. It looked more enticing than chocolate cake.
Remy looked back at Hale.
“You’re not sleeping on the bed?” She asked.
“No,” he said resolutely, his voice tinged with sleep. “This couch is perfectly comfortable.”
“But that bed is . . . ,” Remy said, looking over the bed again. Somehow she knew it would feel amazing to slip her tired body beneath those smooth sheets and rest on the soft pillows. Surely Hale would want the same.
“Do you want me to join you in bed?” He peeked out from under his arm at her.
“Oh, um . . .” Remy stumbled, and Hale laughed.
“You take the bed, Remy,” he said, chuckling. “I get to sleep on beds like that all of the time.”
She had forgotten that. This wasn’t a big deal to him. She frowned at her feet. For a moment it slipped her mind that he was a prince and used to all the creature comforts of the world. When hiking through the woods, he had simply been Hale to her. Even tonight in the capital, even with a princely mask, she had forgotten who he was and the weight of his title. She couldn’t forget who she was too.
Remy made her way over to the armoire and pulled out a basket of clothing Bri had left in the bottom. In it were three chemises, satin scarves, and a week’s worth of undergarments. Remy couldn’t believe how much clothing Bri had purchased for her. It was going to be hell to carry it all when they left the following night. But she refused to complain when Bri had outfitted her with a decadent new wardrobe.
She selected the black satin garment with short sleeves and a hem that dropped below the knee. It was lighter weight than the other two, but she hoped with the black color it would be less revealing than the white ones. Her eyes snagged on a matching black satin robe hanging over the armoire. Gods, Bri had thought of everything.
She grabbed the chemise, a black-and-purple satin scarf, and the robe. As she tiptoed to the bathing chamber, she heard Hale’s loud, slow breaths. If he wasn’t asleep already, he would be soon.
Remy was too tired to enjoy the giant bathtub. That would be her mission for tomorrow. She hastily readied for bed: tying up her hair, washing her face, and brushing her teeth. Tying the robe around her, she took a quick, appraising glance at herself in the mirror. She looked . . . happy. Remy and her reflection exchanged conspiratorial smirks at the night they had. It was the most they had ever lived.
She sneaked back into the bedroom, blowing out all the candles except for the one on the bedside as she went. In the darkness, she removed her robe and slid into the giant bed. The feeling made a pleasurable hum escape her lips. The bed was so soft it made her feel like she was floating, cocooned in fluffy pillows and eiderdown blankets. She blew out the bedside candle and lay back down. The sensation was just as overwhelming the second time.
A chuckle sounded from the couch. She only saw Hale’s outline in the darkness. He had removed his arm from over his eyes, and even though Remy couldn’t see them, she sensed him watching her. She wondered if his fae eyes could see her face.
“It’s that good, is it?” His laugh was gravelly with sleep.
“It is . . .” Remy didn’t have any words to describe how it felt. The warm way it cradled her body made her drowsy. She was sure they would all sleep through most of the day, only waking for dinner before heading to the parlor that night. “Tonight was fun,” she said to the darkness.
“Yes, you put on quite the show today.” Remy beamed at that amused voice. It had been a crazy, exciting act . . . but it had been an act and that part still stung. What she would give for this to be their lives. For the fae to want to be her friend. For the prince to want to kiss her in the moonlit gardens.
“Yes, we certainly did.” We. She threw it out there like a shield. We had been putting on a show. It wasn’t real.
Hale didn’t respond. What else was there to say? It had been fun . . . fake, but fun. And tomorrow they’d have to act some more. Tomorrow they would go after the Shil-de ring, and they’d be one step further to finishing this quest.
“Goodnight, Remy,” Hale said. The sound of her name on his lips still made her tingle from the crown of her head to her toes. She wondered if it would always feel that way.
“Goodnight, Hale,” she replied, wondering if his pulse increased too when she spoke his name.
This was a game, she reminded herself. It was a game with no happy ending. But she wanted to keep playing it anyway, consequences be damned, because to be in his orbit felt so good. She needed to wise up if she was going to survive this.