The High Mountain Court by A.K. Mulford

Chapter Nine

The inn outside Ruttmore was nicer than any tavern Remy had ever seen. Swept floors, washed windows, no leaks fell from the roof, no tables tilted at odd angles. Even the courtesans by the bar dressed ornately in expensive jewelry and immaculate makeup. It was clear they entertained a well-off clientele.

The matron bustled into the main room of the inn to receive them. She was a short, round woman with smooth umber skin. She wore a low-cut, floral yellow dress and a corset that heaved up her ample bosom. A long, white feather adorned her brilliantly dyed red hair.

“Your Highness.” She bowed with a flourish of her hand, her golden bangles jingling on her wrist. “It is an honor to have you stay with us.”

“Thank you, your establishment is very pleasing indeed,” Hale said, with all the practiced splendor of a royal.

The matron blushed and bowed again.

“The stable boy said you arrived on a wagon?” She asked. Remy watched the matron, worried that she’d uncover something about their ruse.

“We did,” Hale laughed nonchalantly. He didn’t seem troubled at all.

“Where are your horses?” The matron nosed.

“I’m in the market for some new ones, if you know any good places . . .” The matron lit up at that. Hale made it look easy.

“I have a cousin who can sort you out, Your Highness. The finest horses you’ve ever seen,” she said. Remy was certain the innkeeper would be cut in on this deal if it were to take place. This was the woman who knew a person for every such need.

“Would you care for some food or drink, Your Highness? The chef is just starting a roast but we could set out a platter while it cooks . . .”

“No, that is quite all right,” Hale said, surveying the room with casual indifference.

The four courtesans at the bar tittered to each other as they eyed Hale. Remy imagined they were wagering which one of them would successfully take him to bed. Without a thought, Remy stepped closer to Hale’s side. If she was to be his witch, then these other women had better fear her. She gritted her teeth, staring daggers at them. She decided then and there if she was to pretend to belong to him, then he would equally belong to her. The courtesans’ giggles turned to whispers.

“We have had a long day’s ride, and we wish to rest before we begin our holiday.” Hale slung his arm over Remy’s shoulders, startling her. He must have noticed that small step closer.

She knew what being a royal prince’s red witch implied. She knew magic wasn’t the only service red witches often provided their lords. Remy stood taller, regardless, leaning into Hale with a nonchalant familiarity. It was an act, Remy told herself, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t enjoy it.

Remy heard shuffling behind her as Carys shifted in front of Heather and Fenrin. She knew the fae warrior was hiding the witches’ looks of distaste at Hale’s arm around her. Heather and Fenrin looked to the entire world like the traveling servants they were cast to be, laden with heavy packs.

Talhan thundered down the stairs, followed by Bri, a glass of ale already sloshing in his hands. His shirt was half unbuttoned showing off his huge, muscled chest. He swayed on drunken legs at the landing but as he neared them, Remy saw his eyes were sharp and clear. Talhan was acting too. This ruse perfectly cast him in the part of a fae male on holiday: that easy smile, that air of recklessness.

Talhan fit perfectly into line with the Ruttmore plans. Hale was, after all, the Bastard Prince of the East. Rumors of his drunken philandering had spread throughout the realm. Drinking and bedding his way through the South was what the world thought he would do. It was an excellent cover for obtaining the Shil-de ring . . . if only the brown witches and Remy played their part.

“Come on,” Talhan called merrily to his comrades. His drink splashed as he pointed his glass toward the stairs. “I’ve got us rooms overlooking the river.”

“I can arrange a romantic trip down the river for you and your witch, Your Highness, should you wish it.” The matron offered with a plastered-on smile. No doubt the punter of the boat would be an employee of hers too. The matron was what Remy imagined she would find in the South: overly embellished clothes, dripping in jewelry, a caked-on face of makeup, and a penchant for revelry. She was equal parts innkeeper, actress, and pleasure house madam. So this was how the people of the Southern Court lived . . .

Hale dropped the arm from Remy’s shoulders, wrapping his muscular hand around her stomach. He tugged her back against his broad chest, his hand splayed wide and possessive. Remy schooled her surprise. Letting out a tittering laugh, she rested her head against Hale’s muscled shoulder. She prayed her act was as convincing as Talhan’s. She needed everyone in this town convinced that she was the toy of a powerful and careless prince. No more witch hunters could think she was up for grabs.

“Perhaps another night,” the prince said, smirking at Remy. “Tonight we go into Saxbridge to have a bit of fun.” He winked at the innkeeper and she returned it with a knowing smile.

“If you would care for any recommended establishments,” she said with a flourish of her hand. The way she said establishments told Remy exactly what she meant. “Or any bookings, please let me know how I can be of service, Your Highness. Enjoy your stay.”

She bowed one more time and tottered off to the bar. The courtesans all leaned into the matron to whisper about what had just passed.

They climbed the stairs and out of sight into a narrow and dimly lit hallway. Carys grabbed the pack off Heather. The brown witch sighed as the fae warrior lightened her load. Bri took Hale’s pack from Fenrin. He shook out his sore arms and gave her a begrudging nod of thanks.

Talhan handed Heather a key.

“Your room,” he said, nodding to the first door down the hall. Fenrin frowned. All witches knew the first door on the first floor of a tavern was a cursed door. It was the smallest room cut off by the stairs. It was the loudest door of any inn, too, and it would be sure to be a challenging time sleeping in it.

“Be grateful I didn’t throw you in the servant’s lodgings by the stables,” Talhan said, reading the look on Fenrin’s face. “I figured the witches of the prince should have at least some comfort.”

“How generous,” Fenrin groused.

Talhan looked to Carys. “The three of us are at the end of the hall on the left.” The female fae shouldered her bag and took off in that direction with no more prompting. Talhan passed a key to Hale. “And you two are up two more flights in the corner room, naturally.”

“You two?” Remy asked, darting looks between Talhan and Hale.

Talhan scrunched his face at her, waiting for her to catch on. His brows lifted as if to say: you are his red witch, what were you expecting? Remy’s cheeks reddened. She should have assumed as much.

Heather moved to interject as another patron’s footsteps sounded on the stairs. Remy quickly grabbed the key from Talhan and shouted, her voice an octave too high, “Come, Your Highness, let us go see our view.”

“With pleasure.” Hale guffawed, hurrying Remy along as she pretended to shriek in delight.

Remy had seen this flirtatious act play out so many times in so many taverns. She never thought she would be one of those women, yet here she was, pretending to be the lover of a prince.

She glanced over her shoulder, seeing Fenrin stare her down, his cheeks flushed red and something between anger and amusement playing across his face. Fenrin had never thought he would pretend this way either. Remy couldn’t deny the twinge of guilt that hit her as she realized she was the reason they had dragged him into this. Perhaps Bri was right after all. Perhaps it would be kinder to Heather and Fenrin if she cut them loose.

Bri caught Remy’s arm before Remy could move past to the stairwell.

“I left an outfit on the bed for you to wear today. Your other apparel and shoes are in the wardrobe,” she said with a smile.

“How much did you buy?” Remy asked.

Bri shrugged. “Not too much.”

“Did you spend all my money?” Hale laughed.

“You didn’t want us to spend it all?” Bri smirked, passing them and stalking off down the hall.

* * *

The corner suite of the inn was the finest room in the place. The large windows looked over both the turquoise river and the verdant gardens. A giant four-poster bed sat against the far wall, billowing white curtains flowing from each post. A sitting area with a blue velvet couch and two matching armchairs were arranged in one corner. Bookcases framed either side of a fireplace with a fire already burning away. Another door led into a bathing chamber holding a giant marble tub.

Remy gawked, looking around the room. It was fit for a queen. She glanced at Hale as he watched her with a smug expression. She supposed they designed it to fit royalty, since he was, in fact, a prince. His status hadn’t confronted her so much as it had in this moment. They had travelled through the woods and backcountry. There had been no praise or fawning over Hale as they journeyed this far. But now, in fae society, he held himself differently. He acted like he was aware of the deferential stares of the surrounding people. He stood straighter, his chin tilted higher. It made Remy wonder if she knew which face was the mask and which one was real.

A new traveling pack for the prince already sat on a low table next to a grand armoire, open and overflowing with clothes. A red, floor-length gown hung prominently on the hook behind the door.

“You did well,” Hale said, sitting in one of the velvet armchairs. He removed his boots and set them by the fire.

“Thanks . . .” Remy said, still staring at the enormous bed.

“It probably is as comfortable as you’re guessing,” Hale followed her gaze, “but we will be out for most of the night tonight. Tomorrow when we return from the game, successful or not, we will make a hasty exit.”

“Such a waste.” Remy pouted at the luxurious white linen.

“Indeed.” Hale laughed.

Remy sensed him watching her. She wondered if he was trying to capture her gaze. Biting her lip, she doubled her efforts to avoid that magnetizing face.

Hale moved to his old pack against the wall. Fishing something out of the bottom pocket, he handed it to Remy.

“Here,” Hale said, “put this on your necklace.”

Necklace. He said it as if the collar were a piece of jewelry and not a symbol of ownership. Still, Remy held out her hand and accepted the golden ring the prince passed her. She turned it over in her fingers. HN, his initials, engraved the golden surface. Remy untied her collar and threaded the ring through.

“But I am wearing your family’s crest already?” Remy questioned, pursing her lips at the ring on the collar.

“Yes, but that ring says you do not belong to my family . . . you belong to me.” His words dropped into a low rumble. An unknown heat deep in Remy rumbled along with it. You belong to me. “It also says I treat you well and that I trust you not to run off with my gold.”

Remy finished clasping the collar back on her neck. She reached under her tunic and into the hidden pocket sewn into the lining, pulling out her totem bag.

As Remy opened the small pouch, the sound of the ring on her stone tag clinked along her collar. Remy produced a long length of red string from the bag, then closed it and tucked the bag back in her pocket.

“What is that?” Hale asked, looking at the string.

“Give me your wrist,” Remy instructed. The prince narrowed his eyes at her but did as she said. Remy wrapped the string around the prince’s wrist, once, twice, three times and then tied it in a neat knot.

“There,” she said. Still holding the prince’s wrist, she refused to look into his smoky gray eyes as she said, “Now you belong to me too.”

Hale’s pulse hammered against her fingertips.

Hale shook his head and said, “Good thinking, Red,” winking.

“My name is Remy.”

“Remy.” He nodded softly, turning to the armoire. The prince took his time scanning her figure and then a wicked smile appeared on his handsome face as he said, “Ready for your acting debut . . . Remy?”

* * *

Remy stood at the first-floor landing and rapped on the door in front of her. Heather opened it on the first knock. Seeing it was Remy, she stepped out into the hallway, shutting the door behind her.

“What’s going on? Are you ready?” Remy asked, shifting back and forth. They were heading into Saxbridge for lunch with the Heir to the Southern Court. Remy could hardly contain her excitement. She had always wanted to see the Southern Court’s capital city, half an hour’s carriage ride from Ruttmore.

Heather’s hazel eyes skimmed over Remy, and she smiled. Remy wore the duck-egg-blue dress that Bri had left laid out on the giant bed. The lightweight fabric had a high boatneck that hid most of her witch’s collar. She wanted to keep it that way, but the point was for it to be seen, so she forced herself to pull it from under her dress and lay it on top in prominent display. Her dress clung around the bust and top ribs, spreading out from her waist into a bell-shaped skirt that landed at her ankles. The dress had short, sheer sleeves slitted so her shoulders peeked through. Remy wore her hair tied in a low ponytail, her hair extra voluminous in the Southern humidity. A few escaping curls framed her face. She wore round, silver stud earrings that matched her flat silver slippers. It was a modest outfit compared to the opulence she had seen others wearing, but it was perfect for a member of a royal’s entourage.

“You look so beautiful,” Heather said. She reached out her hand and tenderly stroked a sheer sleeve between her fingers. “This is a fine dress. You look like a queen. You look like your mother.”

Heather gave Remy a sad smile. Remy had forgotten that Heather had lived in Yexshire for a time. She had known her mother, though they never spoke about her. This is the closest they ever came to speaking of secrets they kept locked tightly away.

“Are you not coming?” Remy asked, looking to the door shut behind Heather.

“Fenrin is still a little under the weather today,” Heather said with an unconcerned shrug. “I will stay back and make some more medicine for him. It will be no problem.”

“But . . . Saxbridge.” Remy’s eyebrows lifted. “Don’t you want to see it?”

“I have been there before, actually.” Heather’s smile was soft. It was then Remy realized how little she knew of who Heather was before the brown witch had taken her in. “Once in my youth. It was beautiful. I’m excited for you to see it.”

Remy clasped her hands in front of her. She didn’t know much about Heather at all. She blamed Heather for their boring, backcountry lives but Heather could have had a much more exciting one were it not for Remy. The brown witch sacrificed her own life to hide Remy’s secrets.

“You don’t mind me going without you?” Remy asked, squinting at her guardian.

“You have told me time and time again that you are not a child.” Heather’s cheeks dimpled. A strand of her copper hair fell free of her bun and she tucked it behind her ear. “These past weeks have shown it to me more clearly. I’m sorry it took me so long to listen.”

Remy swallowed. She never expected Heather to acknowledge her as an adult. She thought if it were up to the brown witch she would go on doting and fussing over Remy forever.

“You don’t need to worry,” Remy said, even though she knew Heather would, because worrying about Remy was what she did best. “I will have four fae warriors around to protect me.”

“I wish there were more, but I’ll accept it.” She chuckled, cupping Remy’s cheek. “You are priceless, Remini.” Remy stilled at her full name. “Do not forget your purpose. Do not forget who you truly are.”

Remy’s heart beat faster as she nodded to Heather. Her purpose had only ever been to stay alive and keep hidden. There had never been a plan beyond that. She wanted to ask Heather what came next. What happened beyond the hiding? But they never talked like this. Now, as she was showing herself in the world, it seemed she needed reminding.

“I won’t forget,” Remy said, looking at her hands.

“Let’s go, Rem!” Talhan called from the floor below. The rest of their fae companions waited at the bar.

“I should go,” Remy said sheepishly. It felt strange to leave Heather behind.

“Have fun,” Heather said. It might have been the first time Heather had said that to her in her entire life. “But be careful with that prince.”

There it was. Remy couldn’t help but chortle at her guardian’s warning.

“Always warning me away from the boys, Heather.” Remy laughed.

“I’m not talking about blushing at some fiddle player, Remy.” Heather pressed her thin lips together. So she had noticed the fiddler player’s looks then. “I see the way you look at that prince. It is something more than flirtation.”

Pulse drumming in her ears, Remy looked away. She hated that Heather could see all that. Her guardian was willing to say the things that Remy wouldn’t, even in her own mind.

Remy opened her mouth to deny it, but Talhan called out again, “Come on! I’m hungry!”

Heather’s lips pulled up at his proclamation, but she kept her eyes fixed on Remy. “Just . . . be careful with him. Remember who you are,” she reminded her ward again.

Remy chewed on her bottom lip and bobbed her chin.

Remember who you are.

It was the one thing she wished she could forget.