The skirt flows like a waterfall, trailing petals and dew-kissed lace that glows faintly as if enchanted. It will be covered by a mantle of translucent wings, feather-light and iridescent, giving the impression that the dress itself might take flight. Jewels like captured starlight adorn the neckline. A sash of braided vines and gems resembling crystal droplets completes the ethereal ensemble. That, along with the headdress and the jewelry, is the most significant expenditure of magic I’ve made in a while.
I need somewhere to refresh myself that has a lot of nature. The only place really available is the Royal Garden. The walk back from the Old Mint is brisk. The air has that metallic tang that promises snow, and the gravel of the palace paths crunches satisfyingly under my shoes. I am feeling exceptionally accomplished. The Candlemakers are pacified, the Bank’s vault is securing its first deposits from the merchant wives, and the Potters have promised the "Oskar Blue" glaze will be ready by the end of the week.
I decide to cut through the Queen’s Rose Garden to reach our guest wing. It is a shortcut, and in the dead of winter, it is usually deserted. The rosebushes are wrapped in burlap sacks like lumpy ghosts, and the fountains are drained to prevent cracking. Nearly everything here is waiting for spring. There is enough nature here to help my recovery, but I can sense that something is wrong.
It is quiet. Too quiet. Inaba and my honor guard move closer as I slow my steps, becoming cautious.
I pause near a statue of a weeping nymph. My ears twitch, and then the breeze shifts. I smell it before I see it. This is not the scent of winter decay, but the heavy, cloying aroma of musk and ambergris. Oskar.
"You walk fast for a woman with such short legs," a voice says from behind the statue.
I do not jump. I stop and turn.
King Oskar steps out from behind the stone nymph. He is wrapped in a heavy velvet cloak trimmed with fox fur, his nose red from the cold. He looks like a man who has been standing there for quite some time, waiting for a specific prey to walk into his trap.
"Your Majesty," I say, dipping my head but not bending my knee. "I was not aware the King enjoyed gardening in freezing temperatures."
"I enjoy the view," Oskar says, stepping onto the path to block my way. He smiles, a practiced expression meant to be disarming. "And I enjoy the chase. You have been avoiding me, Víl?."
"I have been working, Your Majesty," I correct him. "Building your economy. You should try it sometime."
Oskar chuckles, moving closer. He spreads his arms, effectively blocking the narrow path between the hedges. "Always the sharp tongue. I like that. But tell me, do the Fey not believe in leisure? In... pleasure?"
"We believe in efficiency," I say, gauging the distance between us. "And standing in the cold to have a discussion seems remarkably inefficient."
"Then come inside," Oskar offers, gesturing toward a side door of the palace that leads to his private solarium. "I have a fire. I have wine. I have... privacy."
His eyes gleam with the desperation of the wager. He thinks he has me. The path is narrow, the hedges are thick, and he is the King.
"I have a husband," I remind him. "One who is likely wondering where I am."
"Kenric is busy," Oskar waves a hand dismissively. "I sent him to inspect the granaries. He won't be back for hours."
"You sent a Viscount to count grain?" I ask, raising an eyebrow. "How creative."
"I am a creative man," Oskar purrs. He takes a step forward, reaching for my hand. "Come, Víl?. Just a drink. One drink. To celebrate your success with the Bank."
He lunges slightly, trying to close the gap.
I sigh. "I really do not have time for this."
I do not run. Running is for prey. Instead, I reach for the light.
The winter sun is weak, filtering through the bare branches of the elms, but it is enough. I twist the shadows stretching across the gravel. I pull a thread of glamour from the air and wrap it around the space just to my left.
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"You are persistent, Oskar," I say.
"I am the King," he grins, his fingers inches from my sleeve.
"Then learn to hunt," I whisper.
I step sideways, moving with Fey speed, in a blur of motion that the human eye cannot track. At the exact moment, I push the glamour forward.
Oskar grabs. His hands close around the fabric of a blue silk dress. He pulls the woman into his arms, a triumphant grin on his face.
"Got you!" he crows.
The woman in his arms, my doppelganger, giggles. It is a hollow, chiming sound. Then, she dissolves into a cloud of sparkling mist and dead leaves.
Oskar stumbles forward, clutching a handful of mulch. He coughs, waving the magic dust away from his face.
"What in the...?" he sputters.
"Over here, Your Majesty," I call out.
He spins around. I am standing ten paces down the path, near the exit to the courtyard.
"How did you...?" he gapes, looking from me to the pile of leaves in his hand.
"A trick of the light," I say, dusting off my gloves. "You really should be more careful what you grab in the garden, Oskar. Some flowers have thorns. Others are just... smoke."
"Wait!" he shouts, starting to run after me, his heavy boots slipping on the frosty gravel. "Víl?! Wait!"
"Melina is holding dinner!" I call back, quickening my pace. "Good day, Your Majesty!"
I slip through the archway and into the safety of the main courtyard, leaving the King of Centis standing alone in the cold, holding a handful of dead leaves and looking thoroughly confused.
He is not going to stop, I realize as I head for the stairs. I need to end this.
I slow down a bit, waiting for Inaba and the others to catch up to me. Perhaps the bear skin will do the trick. It’s nearly midwinter, after all, and that’s when the court gifts are presented. Repairing the bear’s hide has been a great deal of work, but that was work I was able to do in Torsten’s hunting lodge.
I open the doors to our rooms, and Kenric is there. I launch myself at him.
Kenric eyes Inaba, “What happened?”
“Oskar caught her cutting through the gardens,” Inaba replies.
“She used a trick to get away from him,” Oshida adds.
I bury my face in Kenric’s chest. I shouldn’t have used magic. My one saving grace is that Oskar refuses to believe in magic. Telling Kenric I used a trick is Oshida’s way of telling him I used magic in front of Oskar.
Kenric sighs, and his arms tighten around me, “Hush, love. It will be fine. That’s what we do. We make things all right.”
Chuckling, he looks down at me, “Dumplings or dinner?”
As much I want some more of Rekke’s dumplings, I need to show Oskar that he hasn’t rattled me. “We have to go to dinner. He can’t see how much he’s upset me.”
I sit at the dinner table, eyeing Oskar between bites and fuming. The roast duck tastes like sawdust, mostly because I am too busy chewing on my own rage to taste it. I sit at the high table, stabbing a potato with unnecessary force, eyeing Oskar. He is currently ignoring me, chatting with Duke Keimpe about hound breeding, thinking he has won the round because he cornered me in the garden.
He hasn’t won. He’s only inspired me. To make myself feel better, I start plotting my revenge for this most recent insult. With Centis Blue as a the hub of my color scheme, I’ve decided on burnt orange, mossy green, a muddy brownish red, a dark golden color and a creamy white. With that in mind, I start planning the new entry way carpets.
The carpet shall be a masterpiece of contradiction that will use all the colors of the pallette I’ve chosen. In the center it will have Oskar’s crest, stitched in solemn dignity. The border will be a riot of fey nonsense. Vines of impossible colors will twine around the perimeter, acting as a playground for a woven menagerie.
This forest will be inhabited by noble centaurs annoyed by squat, sulking frogs dressed in clothes. There will be dusk foxes, pixies, nixies, kelpies, phookas, tree octopuses, echo lynx, dandy lions, and grinning cats cavorting with fauns, brownies, dryads, wampuses, selkies and mermaids in my woven woolen forest.
Given how satyrs behave, it’s probably best to leave them out. No need to throw more wood on Oskar’s trash fire. I’ll add a few nicorns to stand guard over the whole thing. These are not the happy, rainbow sprouting creatures of human fairy tales. These are the heavy, armored, dangerous beasts of the Fey highlands. These are the beasts that will kill a dragon. If the grinning cats are done right, they'll seem to vanish into the rug depending on where you stand in the room.
I can visualize it and it makes me smile. This will be the border for every carpet in the palace if he makes me stay here long enough. It will be organic, druidic, and ultimately, very, very Fey. We’ll see how he reacts to it. I’ll have to sketch out these creatures for them, because I doubt they’ll have ever seen any of them. They tend not to exist outside of Fey lands.
Kenric eyes me, “You’re in a better mood now. What are you planning?”
I wave a hand at the front of the castle, “The main entrance is a bit threadbare and boring. I thought I’d redecorate it a bit.”
Kenric chuckles, “How much is Oskar going to hate it?”
I shrug, “He seems pleased enough with most things. He’s just unhappy about the labels. If I have to pay for things, I’m putting my name on them. That’s what upsets him. There are other ways to sign things, so we’ll try that and see if he fusses about it.”
“Fusses about it?” Kenric snorts, “You make him sound like a colicky baby.”
“Isn’t he?” I reply.
“He’s a colicky baby with an army,” Kenric says.
“And I’m a Fey Princess with a bank,” I reply.
Kenric has only the barest understanding of what I’m capable of. So far, I’ve been quite gentle with Oskar. If things keep going, I’ll likely end up having to deal with him properly. I’m hoping that the bear skin makes that plain to him. Patching it back together so that the fur maintains its direction hasn’t been easy, but the outside of it is pleasing enough. The inside of it is map of the brutal fight I had with the bear. Well, brutal for the bear, in any event.
We head back to our rooms and I unroll a huge sheet of paper. I start sketching. I sketch the center first. The Royal Seal of Centis. The shield with the bear on it. I draw it perfectly, solemn and dignified, sitting on a field of blue. It is exactly what Oskar wants. It will lull him into a false sense of safety. I begin to sketch out the border. I must be precise because they will not know what these creatures are.
Your turn:
- Do you think Oskar will figure it out?
Let me know your answer in the comments.