Griffin didn’t notice Maggie or Xavier behind him until Maggie shouted, “Xavier, the divine Ambrosius!”
He slammed his staff into the stone floor and took a dramatic bow.
King Umbert rose from his seat. He pointed at Sir Raleigh, then at Xavier, bellowing, “Bring him to me.”
Raleigh pushed through the throngs until he was at Xavier’s side. Two guards trailing after, he led Xavier back into the Great Hall.
Prince Jori sauntered over to Griffin, wearing a cheeky grin. “I’ll take that.” He pointed to Griffin’s dagger.
“Magic isn’t real, Jori.”
“How did he do it, then?” Jori’s unending smirk grated on Griffin’s last nerve. “Hmm? Come now. You make a bold statement like that, then you must have another explanation.”
“I . . . I don’t know. A powder of some kind.”
“A powder?” Jori took the dagger then. Griffin didn’t protest.
Attendees rushed to get a look at Xavier’s props.
Jori sheathed Griffin’s blade, then padded around Esmera, who had rushed forward with Sybil, to get to Maggie.
“I was worried for a moment,” Jori said to her as Griffin moved beside him. Esmera and Sybil completed the circle around her. “Griffin had him flustered.”
“Flustered,” Maggie repeated, the word and its harsh tone aimed at Griffin. She crossed her arms over her chest. Her sleeve inched up enough for Griffin to see a strange scar on her forearm. It looked as if she had been branded. She caught Griffin staring and pulled the fabric down until it was covered.
“Jori, shall we return to the table?” Esmera hooked her arm through the prince’s.
“Lady Esmera, this is Xavier’s daughter, Maggie,” Jori explained.
“Nice to meet you,” Maggie said to Esmera. Yet her gaze traveled the room, never landing long in any one place. To Griffin, it seemed like she was looking for an escape.
“Are you hungry, Maggie?” Griffin asked.
“Yes, you must be after such a long trip here.” Jori stepped between him and Maggie, waving at the Great Hall. “Come. Have something to eat.”
“No, thank you, Jori.”
“Jori?” Esmera snapped. “You mean, Prince Jori? Or Your Highness, or sire?”
“Whichever you prefer, Lady Esmera.” Maggie turned her back to them. She faced the courtyard, frowning.
Was she frightened? The fortress gates were closed. Guards were placed every few feet. Nothing was getting in. “It’s all right. You’re safe here,” Griffin explained.
She looked over her shoulder at Griffin with an expression that said he patently was wrong.
Sir Raleigh and three guards padded toward them. “Maggie, your room is ready.”
“My room?” She sounded put out. “I’m staying here? In the castle?”
“Yes.” Jori smiled. “As is Xavier, of course. Do you think I’d relegate you to a servant’s quarters?”
“She is a servant,” Esmera insisted.
“She doesn’t have a title, but she’s not a servant,” Jori corrected her.
Esmera shook her head. “Titled or not, all daughters are to their fathers. Told what to do and when to do it.” Her pensive gaze darted from Jori to Maggie. Griffin knew she could see what he had. Jori wanted Maggie close. “Enough. I’m hungry and this conversation is boring.” She turned on her heel, linked arms with Sybil, and retreated into the Great Hall.
“Maggie, you’re tired. Perhaps you should retire. Sir Raleigh will take good care of you. I’ll have a plate sent to your room straight away. Please excuse me,” Jori said, then hurried after Esmera.
Griffin snorted. “Sorry. Lady Esmera is—”
“Not wrong. The prince is a rake,” Maggie blurted.
“I’m—”
“An ass? Oh, I know that quite well. Stay away from me if you know what’s good for you.”
Sir Raleigh chuckled as she walked away. “I would do as she says. Moldark nearly lost a foot to her knife. Deadly accurate strike. Maybe even better than you could’ve done under the circumstances.” He and his guards followed, catching up to her on the stairs, leaving Griffin with a feeling that was pure hatred.
Stay away from me.
Stay away from me.
Griffin heard Maggie’s refrain all the way back to his room, planning to do just that.
Seven
Maggie
I woke up bathed in delicious warm sunlight. It poured through a loophole above the biggest, most comfortable bed I’d ever slept in. My legs wrapped around a soft yellow blanket embroidered with blooming red roses. I had always assumed that the king’s affinity for red came from the color of blood, not flowers. But the blossoms were everywhere. And so was the cloying fragrance.
I unraveled slowly. The effects of the long day before had settled deep in my muscles. They ached, protesting even the slightest move. Testing my legs first, I set my feet on the floor and stood slowly, trying to regain my wits.
I was here, in the Walled City, and so was the draignoch.
Posted guards refused to allow me out of my room last night. Sir Raleigh’s excuse was that it was for my own safety. Someone had tried to poison the king in Raleigh’s absence, and he was taking no chances.
Raleigh expected shock, I suppose, but all I could think to ask was, “Is this the first attempt? The king is so despised, I’d think a great many people had tried before.”
At which point he had shoved me through the door and slammed it shut.
Exhausted and overwhelmed by the long day’s events, I had fallen into bed, fully dressed. I didn’t remember falling asleep. The haze of that kind of deep unconsciousness lingered, fogging my brain as I tried to take in my surroundings.
Coals smoldered in the fireplace. Before it were two chairs with a small table between. An oversized wardrobe and a wide changing screen with dresses draped over the top sat in the far corner of the room. Red, yellow, and blue. They weren’t mine. All at once I wondered if I was somehow in someone else’s room.
I stared at my fingers, the sensation the moonlight cast dulled since last night, but it was still there. More in the pit of my stomach, like a single drifting snowflake waiting for the blizzard to begin.
The door cracked open. Bony, familiar fingers curled over the door. Xavier poked his head in. “Good. You’re awake.”
“Whose clothes are these?” I asked, pointing to the dresses.
“Yours. Gifts from the prince.” He was pleased.
The bones in Xavier’s silver curls had quadrupled overnight, and where there had been one, there were now three red gems on the back of his visible hand.
“Those gifts from Jori as well?”
“Jori. Listen to you, already so informal.” That pleased him too. “No. These are from the king.” Xavier swept into the room wearing a red wool cloak with a black fur collar hung to the floor, dusting the back of smooth black leather trousers. He had no red shirts or cloaks among his things. His clothes must’ve been gifted as well.
With the gems and bones and expensive clothes, his costume made him look the perfect combination of regal and mystical. He was finally the sorcerer he’d always wanted to be. If only he really had magic.