“The witch, I presume?” He eyed her askance.
“Gretchen at your service.” She proffered a hand, and he cleared his throat.
“Come along, best get you out of the way before the dinner service finishes.”
Gretchen followed him along narrow corridors and sidled past maids hauling sheets and buckets of water. The footman kept up a fast pace, and Gretchen kept her mouth shut. When he opened the next door, the hallway became wider with plush carpets underfoot. She gawked at paintings and rich textiles on the walls and bumped into her guide who’d stopped in front of a lacquered oak doorway.
“The King will come directly after his meal. This is his private reception quarters as I’m sure you’ll understand.” He waved her in and ushered her toward a pair of velvet sofas. “Now, I don’t have time to watch over you, but know this. We keep meticulous records of the valuables in the castle. If anything were to go missing, we know where to find you.”
Gretchen dropped onto the sofa with a sigh. “Gotcha. You’ll find the place just as you left it. More or less.”
The footman curled his lip before flouncing out and closing the door behind him. Gretchen wriggled further into the soft cushions and leaned her head back relishing the comfort after spending hours bouncing up and down on a horse’s rump. After a few minutes, her thoughts wandered.
Frowning, she stood to inspect the room looking for clues about the man who summoned her. Tapestries, which looked as old as the hills, dressed the walls, and the furniture, though opulent, was sparse. A small desk with writing implements stood by the window, and Gretchen rifled through the drawers to look for something insightful. Finding only blank paper, she sighed and crossed to the mantelpiece where knickknacks took pride of place, mostly delicate porcelain figures aside from a crudely carved soldier. As she picked it up, she caught sight of herself in the mirror hanging behind it and startled.
“Holy smokes. This is bad—even for me.”
Her pointed hat had taken a battering on her flight to The Salt and Bog and a few twigs still tangled in her braid. The ride to the castle left dirt smudged on her cheeks and creases marred her dress after hitching it up to sit astride the horse. She tossed the hat aside and untied the ribbon to re-braid her hair.
She had flipped her locks over her head and was shaking out the remaining debris when she heard the door open and a deep voice barking orders. Gretchen straightened and pushed her hair out of her face, dropping into an awkward curtsy as the King’s eyes fell on her.
“Your majesty. What is your pleasure?”
Chapter 2
The King glanced at the woody litter at Gretchen’s feet. The lithe figure of the Queen squeezed past him.
“Oh, darling, she’s perfect! I told you she would do just nicely.”
Gretchen’s cheeks burned, and she lowered her eyes. “Well, I mean, I’ve drawn the eye of one or two over the years. Not that I’m the boastful type, but—"
“Mandell, what do you think?” The King’s booming voice had drawn closer and Gretchen risked a glance to see another man glide in, all frilly collars and cuffs.
“Absolutely hideous, sire. Disgusting. I couldn’t have done better myself.”
“Hideous?” Gretchen puffed herself up. “Now see here—”
The King held up a silencing hand and sank onto the sofa. “I’m sure you are wondering why I summoned you. It is a matter of absolute discretion, and we require a witch capable of putting on a good show.”
Gretchen hugged her arms and frowned.
“I’m not accustomed to an audience. Now, despite what wild rumors you may have heard—”
“Your only audience will be the Prince himself and the Scribe of the Realm. We need these things documented for the history books, as I’m sure you can appreciate. A momentous occasion, the moment he rescues his damsel in distress.” The King grinned.
Gretchen’s mouth worked, and she looked to the Queen for confirmation. She tipped her wineglass toward her with a wink and Gretchen swallowed.
“Why, your majesty, I couldn’t possibly accept this honor. You expect your son to shack up with some broad he’s never met, with such a colorful history…”
“What are you implying about the Princess Sienna?” The King’s face became mottled with rage, and Gretchen leaned back with a hand over her chest.
“Princess Sienna?”
Mandell took a step forward and cleared his throat. “We should make ourselves plain. Young Prince Jacob must prove himself worthy to the realm by saving poor Princess Sienna who is, regrettably, locked in a tower in the lands beyond the mountains.” He gave a nod to the King and carried on. “With widespread peace there is a lack of suitable foes to vanquish. Our company provides the ultimate gauntlet in these kinds of situations to ensure the people remain in awe of their mighty rulers.”
Gretchen drew her brows together in concentration.
“Your part, madam, will be to put up a struggle for Prince Jacob before he progresses onto the dragon.” Mandell’s smile didn’t meet his eyes.
“Me?” Gretchen scratched at her scalp absently. “A foe? Did I hear the word vanquish? Because struggle and vanquish are two very different things, and if I need to calculate danger money into my fee, I should really know what I’m getting myself into.”
“You will be recompensed accordingly. A handsome sum should you agree to sign a confidentiality agreement.” The King pressed his fingertips together, his face somber.
“A handsome sum, eh?” Gretchen’s hand crept down to scratch her rump. “Well, if I get one thing that’s handsome tonight, may as well be coin.”
“Excellent. So, we’re agreed.” The King reached to grasp the Queen’s hand. “Mandell, take her to the others. I tire of the stench.”
Gretchen opened her mouth in indignation, and Mandell caught her elbow to march her out the door. When they were out of earshot of the guards, Mandell let out a pathetic moan.
“No room for creative license. It’s always the same with that sort. Micromanagement in its direst form. Witches hardly make for an impressive display, most can’t even conjure so much as a dead mouse, and they always tie the bonuses to the performance.” He stopped with his mouth open and clicked his teeth shut.
“Well, I’m glad to be such a valuable acquisition to your… circus, is it?” Gretchen snorted and yanked her elbow from his grip.
“Mandell’s Mythical Ménage. An exclusive troupe, I’ll have you know, of exotic performers catering to every taste.” He glared from the corner of his eye. “A creature of your stature should be humbled at the opportunity to be among our ranks.”
“If us witches are so lowly why would the Queen ask for me then, huh?”
“Pah. Whimsical notions of witches zapping people with lightning out of some bad fairy tale. I’ll bet you’d struggle to stir up so much as a breeze.”
Gretchen harrumphed as she strode past Mandell down a spiral staircase bare of ornamentation. Maybe not lightning, but given enough time she could summon the energy to at least deliver a smarting sizzle. Maybe not on the intended target, but that was splitting hairs. A reinforced door sat between two torch sconces at the bottom of the stairs. Mandell unhooked a keyring from his belt and began trying each one.