The High Mountain Court by A.K. Mulford

Chapter Twelve

Carys came to collect the prince while Remy bathed in the enormous marble tub. Hale had called to her, “See you at the game,” through the bathing chamber door and left. Carys had mumbled something to him, and Remy had heard Hale’s growling, “Shut up,” in reply. They had a strange dynamic, Hale and his warriors—they seemed like his fatal weapons one moment and his bickering siblings the next. Remy had seen nothing like it, that familial bond. It made her ache for the siblings she had lost.

Remy took her time getting dressed. The scarlet, floor-length gown was made of light flowing fabric that billowed at her feet. She couldn’t help the tightening in her chest as she adjusted it. The top of the gown was little more than a V shape of fabric. It had sleeveless straps over her shoulders and a plunging neckline that ended right above her belly button. Remy gulped. People wore more clothing to go swimming.

Bri had left a bag of jewelry for her and another bag of makeup in the bottom of the wardrobe. Remy donned two long gold chains that hung down her chest. They were more beautiful than the thin leather collar she wore and accented the prince’s gold ring. She was grateful for the extra coverage on her skin that the chains provided too. She put on the three gold rings, bangles, and matching gold cuffs for the top of her rounded ears. Then she put on the shimmering red teardrop earrings, the gems inside shining like rubies. A sudden thought seized her: they probably were rubies. The prince had left her in this room with enough wealth to feed an entire village . . . an intrusive voice told her she could grab them and run. She pushed the thought away.

She was sick of rural taverns and keeping quiet, hiding her powers, and living in fear. Hale offered her protection, and she didn’t have to hide who she was to accept it. It felt superb to be allowed to exist for once. Remy wondered how much better her life would be the longer she stayed with him.

She looked at herself in the large mirror next to the armoire and didn’t recognize the woman staring back at her. She looked so much like her mother . . . though her mother would have never worn something so revealing . . . but she carried herself with that same easy, regal air. It was there in her, buried in her soul somewhere. Her mother’s voice whispered in her memories, “Never let anyone else tell you who you are, Remy, even me. No one decides how bright you shine but you.”

Remy realized that the reflection in the mirror had tears in her eyes. She sniffed.

Not now, she scolded herself.

She grabbed the makeup bag, powdering her red nose, rouging her tear-stained cheeks. She lined her eyes in kohl and painted her lips the same red as her dress. It took her a few tries to get it right. She was not very skilled at face painting, but the courtesans had indulged her occasionally, showing her the art of makeup during lulls in business. Heather had always told her to take it off straight away. The brown witch said she didn’t want it to give patrons the wrong impression . . . well, that was the exact impression Remy was trying to make right now.

Remy slipped on the red high heels left in the bottom of the armoire. They already hurt her feet as she bobbled around like a newborn calf for a minute before she got the hang of it. She adjusted her neckline one more time in the mirror, terrified one of her breasts might fall out of the thin fabric. She huffed a frustrated sigh and decided it would have to be good enough. Remy put on her new black cloak, clasping it at the neckline. Luckily, it covered most of her body except for the tiniest peek of red.

She went to the door to find Briata and Talhan leaning against either side of the hallway chatting. They straightened when they saw her. Talhan’s mouth dropped open as he looked at her face, his eyes drifting down that peek of body behind the cloak. Bri pushed off the wall and smacked her twin hard on the shoulder. Talhan coughed and averted his eyes.

“You look good,” Bri said with an approving grin. “Let’s go.”

* * *

They held the game on the upper floor of an exclusive inner city parlor. The establishment arranged the bottom floor in several small seating areas. Large leather armchairs clustered around low wooden tables. Two card tables sat at either end of the space. A crystal chandelier hung from the center of the room. Wisps of cigar smoke circled the dimly lit space. Only a few sconces dotted the forest green walls. This was where high-society fae came to drink and gamble.

Talhan set three glasses of ale on the small side table that Bri and Remy sat around. They had picked a place in the corner where they could survey the room. In a room filled mostly with fae, they were some of the biggest and most brutish looking ones Remy had ever seen. All armed to the teeth, they dressed as if they were about to enter a battlefield and not a gambling hall. She spotted a few witch’s collars in the crowd too. One witch caught her stare and gave her the briefest nod, as though they were sisters and she, too, knew what it was to be owned by a powerful fae.

“What did you learn?” Bri asked Talhan, adjusting the dagger at her hip. Bri and Talhan had come dressed for war too.

“There’s five players and the Heir of Saxbridge, though Neelo isn’t playing,” Talhan said, taking a long drag on the foam of his drink. Remy guessed that he had talked the bartender into sharing some details of this secret game. Talhan looked cautiously to his twin. “Renwick is here.”

“Shit,” Bri cursed.

Remy froze. Renwick Vostemur, the Witchslayer, was the only son of the Northern King, Hennen Vostemur. Renwick had earned the name for all the red witch heads he brought his father over the years. Ruthless, he was equally cunning and cruel. Remy prayed they would not need her for this plan. If Hale could simply win the ring outright, she wouldn’t need to be called up. Remy did not know if she could look into the eyes of the Witchslayer. What if he threatened to take her head once he learned of her red witch powers? Her throat tightened.

Bri’s hand on her arm snapped her out of her panic. “Hey. We won’t let him harm you. You are safe under Hale’s protection.”

Remy swallowed, giving the briefest of nods to Bri.

Talhan pushed the glass of ale to her. “Drink this,” he said, as if it were a magical elixir to fix all her problems. Remy frowned at the ale. She had spent her life in taverns, permanently branding the smell of old spilled ale on her skin. That stench still took hold of her stomach.

“I do not drink ale,” she said with a frown. Talhan shrugged and grabbed Remy’s drink for himself.

“Here,” Bri said, passing Remy a flask. “You need some liquid courage.”

Remy took the flask. The liquid burned hot down her throat and she screwed up her face, trying not to gag on it. The hairs on her arm stood up.

“What is that?” Remy sputtered.

Bri threw a devious smile back at her, “Moonshine.”

“Ugh, it’s awful.” Remy gagged, coughing out the taste on her tongue.

“It grows on you.” Bri winked. She turned to her brother, “Who else is playing?”

“The Western Princess, Abalina. And her cousin, Delta. Both have seats at the table,” Talhan said, averting his eyes from his twin.

“Delta is here?” Bri’s low voice rose an octave as her golden eyes widened. Remy looked at the Eagles and the unspoken conversation between them.

“Easy Bri,” Talhan warned. “We’re not here for fun.”

Bri rolled her eyes. “Right.”

“The last player is Bern,” Talhan said.

“Bern . . . how do I know that name?” Remy looked to the ceiling, pondering its origin. She was certain she had heard it before.

“He’s the one who told Hale about the witches,” Bri said. Remy remembered—Hale had said Bern was tied to the High Mountain Court, though he had never said how. “I remember his name,” Bri continued, looking to her twin, “but I keep forgetting which one he is.”

“He’s that silver-haired courtier, you know, the one with the scar.” Talhan moved his finger down his neck, indicating the line of the scar.

“Oh, that smug bastard from the summer revels?”

“One and the same.” Talhan chuckled.

“What court does he even serve?” Bri took another long sip of her drink.

“I’m not certain. He seems to always be on the move, but judging by his character I would say the South.” An uproar of laughter cut above Talhan’s voice. Someone must have won a big hand gambling in the corner.

“Wonderful,” Bri growled. She looked to Remy. “He’s a harmless party boy, but he fancies the males, so at least you can avoid one male’s shameless flirting.”

“Great,” Remy said tightly. She did not want any male’s shameless flirting . . . well, apart from one. She took another long drink from Bri’s flask, fire scorching her throat.

“Whoa,” Bri snatched her flask out of Remy’s hands. “You keep going like that and you will be unable to stand when you get called upon.”

Talhan guffawed. He looked longingly to the card table where a group of fae males had gathered.

“No,” Bri scolded her twin as if he were an overexcited puppy and then added in a lower tone, “This is not a pleasure visit.”

“Heads up,” Tallhan said, his eyes flicking to a door at the back of the room where Carys stood. The female fae dressed in fighting leathers, her hair back in its usual long braid, but she wore a metal chest piece with the Eastern crest etched into it too. She was an official Eastern Court guard tonight. She tilted her head to the doorway. Talhan chortled, “Bet Hale’s nearly lost already. Looks like you’re up, Rem.”

Remy’s heart pounded in her ears as she stood. She swayed for a moment on her feet, the liquor coursing stronger through her body at the movement. Bri snorted. Remy’s limbs felt loose and warm. Her brain felt pleasantly fogged over. It was enough that, while she still felt fear, it existed in a place further away from her.

“Leave the cloak,” Bri murmured. Remy looked down to realize she was still wearing it.

She took a deep breath and unclasped the neck, letting the cloak part and fall onto the chair behind her. The room stilled. Many male eyes turned to her and she felt every inch of her exposed skin.

“Remember who you are meant to be,” Bri said, her voice barely above a whisper. Remy straightened, shifting her shoulders back, trying to ignore how it made her chest stick out even more. Her long black curls cascaded down her back and hugged her exposed sides. She lifted her chin and let her emotions fade into the background. Let those wanting males look. She let their gazes slide over her with an air of indifference. She pretended like she knew exactly how beautiful she was, that she was better than all of them.

“Good,” Bri said as Remy stepped confidently through the throng.

Low whistles and whispers erupted around her: “Who is that?” “I haven’t seen her in the South before” “Does she belong to the East or West?” “Gods, what I would give for a taste . . .”

She let them all wash over her, steeling herself. She thought of her mother’s words flickering in that candle on the harvest moon and decided that she would shine as brightly as she could.

As she neared Carys, the female fae smiled mischievously at her. Delight twinkled in her eyes. She said nothing until they exited the back door and moved into the quiet stairwell. Halfway up the stairs, Carys paused and turned to Remy.

She said with a laugh, “I knew you were beautiful but this is . . .” her hands swept over the air in front of Remy with approval, “I think our prince’s heart may stop with one look at you.”

“I . . .” Remy didn’t know what to say to that. Carys’s long, elegant finger lifted Remy’s chin up.

“I may have a sword on my belt, Rem, but you are wielding a weapon too. Do not forget that,” Carys said. Her ocean blue eyes pierced into Remy, and her cheeks dimpled. “Now, let’s go have some fun.”

* * *

Remy followed Carys up the stairs and down the long hallway to where two large fae males stood, guarding the door. Carved Mhenbic witch symbols covered the door: a warding spell. No one could cast magic on the other side of this door.

Remy noted one guard wore the crest of the Northern court: a sword crossed with three arrows and a snake coiled around the point where the weaponry intersected. The other guard wore the crest of the Western court: a horizontal battle axe with a ram’s skull over it. They must be the personal guards of the players inside, just as Carys dressed as Hale’s soldier. Technically, the Twin Eagles and Carys were his personal warriors, but Remy had never considered them as such.

As if noticing her thoughts, Carys whispered to Remy, “Guards and weapons have to stay outside.”

“The prince’s witch,” Carys said to the other guards, tilting her head at Remy. Without missing a stride, she pushed open the door for Remy between the two enormous males.

Remy said a silent prayer to Mother Moon as she lifted her chin and strode into the room like a queen holding court. The room was smaller and cruder than she expected. Wallpaper peeled off the walls. The floorboards were uneven. The heavy scent of cigar smoke and heady floral perfume hung in the air. One single, golden lantern hung high above a large card table that took up the entire room.

Seven sets of eyes stared back at Remy. The action of the room skidded to a halt to assess her. The widest eyes were those of Hale. His mouth opened as he scanned her from head to toe. That look made Remy feel like she was the moon in the sky. A tiny flicker inside her hoped that his yearning expression was more than just an act. Remy held his eyes like it was common to glory in those looks from him.

“You called for me?” she said in that sultry bedroom voice she had heard used through the taverns. A madam had never trained her in the art of seduction, but she had watched many a courtesan hone their craft. It was her turn to try her hand at it.

She sauntered over to Hale, making sure her hips swayed. The prince gave her a pleased, predatory grin. Remy perched herself on his lap, placing her arm around his neck. Hale’s warm hand wrapped around her as she surveyed the table for the first time.

Coins, papers, and even a few precious gems littered the table: bets. And in the very center, beyond the reach of any player, was a simple golden ring with a small ruby embedded into the band. There was nothing special looking about the ring, but even with the wardings, Remy felt the ring’s power shuddering out of it in a low hum only Remy seemed to hear.

The Shil-de ring. It was real. It was here.

“You’ve only begun playing and you’ve already lost this much.” Remy laughed in a light, teasing way at Hale. His thumb circled her bare skin in carefree touches. “Looks like you need a witch’s luck.”

“This room is warded against your witch’s luck.”

Remy’s attention snapped to her left. A female fae sat beside them. She had obsidian skin and glowing mahogany eyes. She wore a high-necked gown in a cornflower blue and yellow geometric patterns that showed off her generous curves, ample bosom, and plump belly. She braided her hair up on top of her head, held in place by a golden, diamond-encrusted clip. She dripped in jewelry, every part of her shining with golden light. She must be Abalina Thorne, Princess of the Western Court.

To her left sat a broad-shouldered female with copper brown skin and dark brown eyes. She styled her hair in short corkscrew curls adorned with golden rings, modest but matching Princess Abalina. The female held her cards like a weapon. This was the Princess’ cousin, Delta. The one Bri had been so excited about. Remy understood why. Delta was equally beautiful and handsome. Her strong muscled body could not be hidden under her long-sleeved blue tunic.

Upon a wooden stool wedged into the darkened back corner sat the Heir of Saxbridge. Neelo hunched over a thick book, a different one from the day before. This one had a dragon breathing orange flames on the cover. This was how the Heir of Saxbridge hosted an event. Queen Emberspear was renowned for her lavish parties and revels that lasted days on end. What huge shoes to fill for a quiet, reclusive person. But here Neelo sat, upholding the traditions of the Southern Court, albeit begrudgingly, with a bunch of their royal peers. The Heir looked sideways at Remy, giving her a quick once-over, the only acknowledgement Remy got before Neelo once again pored over the book in their hands.

Remy’s lips twitched at the heir’s response. She looked back at the Western Princess and forced an air of indifference, as though being the Eastern Prince’s witch was equal to being the Princess herself. Remy carefully constructed her mask so they would think her an arrogant, lustful fool: the type of woman who was given the least credit for any sort of crime.

“I am not here for magic,” Remy said, turning her gaze from the princess and back to Hale.

She caressed his neck, threading her fingers through his wavy, brown hair. Pulling his head to hers, she placed a kiss on his neck below his ear. She got a deep whiff of his heady scent that smelled like the salty sea air. It was intoxicating. As she pulled herself away, she found the prince staring at her with a burning, breathless look. His eyes told her he intended to finish what she had started. But he loosed his grip with the hand that had drifted to her hip, allowing her to turn to the princess and say, “I’m only here for moral support.”

A snort came from across the table, “Is that what they’re calling it these days?” Remy looked to a smirking fae male across the table. He took a long swig from his glass, smiling at her over the rim. His hair was white-blond, glinted with streaks of silver, such a stark juxtaposition to his golden sand skin. His eyes were so light blue they almost disappeared into the whites of his eyes. He looked eerily beautiful. She had never seen anyone look like him. An angry scar snaked from under his jaw to beneath his forest green tunic. This must be Bern. For all his strangeness, he had no menace in him, seeming more like a jolly drunk. “I should really get myself a witch if they all look like you, my dear,” he said with a wink.

“Only royals are permitted witches, Bern.” The sharp voice of the fifth player pulled Remy’s gaze to him at last. She had been avoiding his looks.

Renwick Vostemur, Prince of the Northern Court. The Witchslayer.

He had long, ash-blond hair and pale white skin, his face ruddy from drink. A silver circlet haloed his head, matching the silver rings covering his fingers. There was no kindness in those green eyes as he shifted from Bern to Remy. This was the son of the man who had slaughtered her entire family, her entire Court. The smoke still burned her nose even now; the screams still ringing in her ear.

She wanted to hold her breath, but that light squeeze of a hand on her hip reminded her who she was meant to be. As if sensing her fear, Hale shifted his head, brushing his lips up her neck and planting a kiss on the shell of her ear. Remy shuddered, her eyes fluttering closed for a second. All the fear and those haunted memories pushed into the background as every cell in her body tuned into those lips on her ear. Hale’s fiery breath skimmed across her face. When the prince pulled his head away, Remy felt heavy with desire. She wished every player would get out of this room so that she could finish that kiss.

The Northern Prince’s voice brought her back to her body.

“What kind of witch are you?” He asked in a cold, even timbre.

Remy leveled the Witchslayer with a look even as her heart pounded. “You know what kind of witch I am.” She did not know that warm, sultry voice that came out of her. Her eyes would glow red if not for the wardings on the room.

The cold prince’s lips tilted up at her, though the smile did not meet his eyes.

He looked to Hale, “She’s a good one, well-picked.”

Remy didn’t know what to do with that kind of praise. What did it mean to have the approval of an evil man?

“Can we please get back to this game?” Delta said in a raspy, caustic brogue from across the table. “Are you in or out Bern?”

“Err, out,” Bern said, throwing down his cards. A stack of coins tumbled over as he moved.

The last person sitting at the table was a small human man, dressed in a black, button-down shirt and white bowtie. He collected the cards from the table with exceptional speed. Remy had almost missed him entirely. With the richest and most powerful fae at the table, he seemed to fade into the background. Remy knew his silent, timid posturing was as calculated as her dress was.

The dealer gestured an open hand to the Witchslayer. His turn.

“Call,” Renwick said, throwing three more gold coins into the mountain of treasures on the table.

They all looked at Hale. He skimmed his nose across Remy’s temple and bent to nibble the top of her shoulder. They were both enjoying this game too much, it seemed. His rough, calloused hand slowly slid across Remy’s bare side. She bit her lip in response. Heat pooled below her belly button.

“Do you want to play, or do you want to go back to your lodgings and see to your desires?” Delta’s Western accent grew stronger with her anger.

Hale laughed casually. “Sorry, Delta,” he said with a smile that let her know he was not, in fact, sorry in the slightest. He threw three coins into the pot from the dwindling pile by his left hand and said, “Call.”

“By all means,” Bern said to them with a sparkle in his eye, “don’t stop on our account. I do not mind watching.”

“I bet you don’t,” Remy crooned, proud of how easily she volleyed back to these highborn fae.

Bern chuckled into his drink, “Well-picked indeed, Hale.” He turned to her and said with a wink, “But don’t worry darling, it’s not you I’d be watching.”

“I’ve told you, it’s never going to happen between us, Bern.” Hale chuckled, though his eyes remained fixed on Remy.

Bern laughed. “Every boy dreams of finding his prince.” He turned to the Witchslayer to continue his antics, but Renwick shut him down quick with a sharp, “Don’t.”

The way they spoke to each other with such casualness indicated to Remy that these fae knew each other well, probably for all of their lives. They had attended balls and banquets, important weddings and funerals. They all ran in the same important social circles. She wondered what the life of a courtier was like. To her, it had always sounded exceedingly dull. But playing this game, with a prince’s hand drifting down the thin fabric on her thigh . . . this was a game she enjoyed playing.

“Call,” Abalina said, tossing her coins onto the table.

“I’m out.” Delta chucked her cards to the dealer.

“Let’s see them then,” Abalina said to the Witchslayer.

Renwick laid down his cards: a flush. Hale threw down his cards then.

“You had nothing,” Remy said, scrutinizing Hale’s hand.

“I was calling his bluff.” Hale shrugged.

She pressed her lips together to hide her smile, shaking her head at him. “You are truly terrible at this game.”

“And you have a truly terrible mouth, witch,” he taunted. He pulled her closer against him. She felt the word witch rumble through his chest.

“Let me show you how truly terrible I can be,” Remy said, and before she could second-guess herself, she grabbed the prince’s face and pulled it to hers. She enveloped his lips in a light, sensuous kiss. He growled as his arms wrapped around her tighter. Remy smiled against his mouth.

Delta let out a loud, pointed cough.

“Ignore them,” Abalina ordered her cousin.

Remy pulled back lazily from the kiss to meet the prince’s blazing eyes. It was the first time she had looked into those hypnotizing gray eyes since yesterday. He knew the weight of that move. His lips remained parted as he stared back into her eyes.

Abalina laid down her cards: a straight, not enough to beat the Witchslayer. The Northern Prince permitted himself the briefest stony grin as the dealer began moving the winnings toward him, careful to sweep around the Shil-de ring at the center of the table. The ultimate prize.

Renwick’s hoard was three times the size of the others. He was a skilled card player, it seemed. It would only be a few more rounds before he surely won. And then he would have the Shil-de ring, a talisman so powerful it could protect the wearer from any harm. If that ring passed into the hands of Renwick’s father, King Vostemur, he would become unstoppable in any coming war, especially if he figured out how to wield the Immortal Blade too.

Hale’s mind must have been thinking the same.

“If I don’t win this next one, let it be the last hand,” his deep voice murmured.

The last hand: it was their agreed upon code phrase. Remy prepared herself for what was to come next.

“Thank the Gods,” Delta rolled her eyes.

The prince wasn’t finished though as his lips swept up Remy’s neck again, “and then we can finally go see what else that terrible mouth can do.”

As he spoke, his hand dipped under the fabric of Remy’s dress, across her belly. His thumb skimmed the exposed skin as he pulled her more tightly into him. Remy moaned softly.

Bern choked on his drink.

“Damn. Maybe you should throw your witch in the pot.” He chortled. “She’d be worth a few more hands.”

“The ring is a good prize, but if the choice was between her and immortality, I’d choose her every time.” Hale’s voice shook from his chest, making every hair on Remy’s arm stand on end.

“Wow, she must be some—” Delta started and Abalina shot her a look. “. . . witch,” she finished.

He’d choose her. Every time. Even if it was all a ruse, the thought made Remy’s whole body shudder.

Hale’s hands idly slid up and down Remy’s thigh. Her skin tingled, radiating heat. Her entire body felt like it was shimmering. Remy shifted on Hale’s lap again. His arousal hardened against her thigh. He wanted her. At least some of this act was real. Warmth pooled between her thighs as Hale’s nostrils flared, smelling her excitement. Remy kept her eyes lowered from Hale’s gaze, knowing that one more look promised to set her aflame.

The human had already dealt out the next hand, but Remy had barely noticed. She swam in thick desire for the Eastern Prince. She shifted herself further against Hale, moving against his hard length. He groaned, his hand splaying further across her abdomen to hold her still. Remy couldn’t help but smile as she bent her head back and trailed kisses along the prince’s collarbone. This is what she had lain awake at night longing for. She had wanted it for longer than she would admit, and this ruse permitted her to do whatever she pleased. She let her arms casually rove his body, feeling the hard muscles of his arms, shoulders, chest in slow sweeps.

The rest of the fae darted uncomfortable glances at them as they touched each other, distracted by their wanton affections. Good. They each passed in cards to the dealer, getting new cards to finish their hand. Remy watched over hooded eyes as Delta and Bern smiled at their new cards. An easy giveaway. The only one too distracted to change cards was Hale as he continued his ministrations against Remy’s ear. She was breathing so heavily now it was indecent. The prince’s hand roamed dangerously close to the underside of her breast again as his other hand squeezed her hip once, twice: the signal. It was time.

Remy refused to overthink it as she turned to Hale. Eyes flaming with desire, she leaned up to his ear and whispered in a voice loud enough for all fae to hear, “I need you inside me now.”

Her words snapped the leash on Hale’s restraint. He lifted Remy by her backside and splayed her across the table. Coins and papers went flying. He pounced on top of her. His mouth collided with her own as he consumed her in a scalding kiss.

She moaned louder as their hands moved in a frenzy across each other’s bodies. Remy scrambled for the prince’s belt buckle before a razor-sharp voice shouted, “ENOUGH!”

Renwick yanked Hale by the neck of his tunic with enough force that his feet left the ground. The sizable evidence of Hale’s desire strained at the seam of his trousers as he gave the room a boyish, cocky grin. Remy giggled drunkenly as she adjusted her neckline.

“Seriously, Hale? I expected this sort of shit when we were boys, but I thought you had grown up at least an infinitesimal amount,” the Witchslayer hissed at him. “Now get out of here.”

Everyone stared at the two of them except for Neelo. They kept their eyes fixed on the words of their book, but an amused smirk pulled up one side of their lips.

“Keep the coins.” Hale laughed. “Just pittance anyway, right?” he said as if the mountain of gold coins he had lost was nothing.

Remy sauntered over to him, still laughing uncontrollably as if she had finally lost her senses to the drinks. Hale slung his arm over her shoulder and they stumbled to the door.

“Have fun you two.” Bern called out to them from the table.

“Shut up, Bern,” Renwick growled, returning to the table that the dealer was frantically tidying.