FAIRYTALE Read online

  The west entryway led directly to the castle gardens, a massive expanse of winding trails, thick bushes, and endless flowers that encircled the entire castle. Even in the midst of winter their sweet aroma filled the air, heightened by the magic of the royal gardeners. Even so, Killian clenched his teeth against the cold, his skin instantly prickling as he gazed out at the curving paths. He froze.

  There he was, the young man, just at the bottom of the stairway. His black boots crunched heavily atop the perfect white blanket that gently lay atop the earth as he walked further away. Killian tore away from the wall.

  “Excuse me?”

  No response. Killian picked up his pace, trying not to slip down at the steps as he trailed after the young man’s receding form. He was headed deeper into the garden. Killian called out again. “Wait!”

  The young man stopped, and glanced over his shoulder. His eyes were wide, and he looked just as bewildered as before, his cheeks still flushed pink. Killian couldn’t help but grin as he walked down to meet him.

  “I’m sorry to bother you, but I found this inside,” he said, and pulled out the ring from his pocket as he reached the bottom step. It practically glowed in the moonlight. “Is it yours?”

  The young man’s eyes widened the second he saw the ring. “Yes.” He snatched it up so quick Killian almost jumped. “Thank you.”

  Killian nodded. “Of course. It’s quite beautiful, I assumed it was important.”

  They stood in complete silence, and Killian resisted the urge to shift on his feet. Instead he watched the other inspect the ring with furrowed precision, turning it slowly between his fingers, catching every angle. The snow started to fall thicker, and he clenched his teeth, trying not to shiver as he looked back at the warm, inviting glow of the dance floor.

  “So,” he tried again, “are you engaged too?”

  At last the stranger lifted his head, staring at Killian as though he had forgotten he was still there.

  “No,” he answered slowly, as though he were thinking very carefully about his response. Then he shook his head and shoved the ring inside his coat. “No,” he repeated. “This is my brother’s ring. He wanted me to hold on to it for him. You’re engaged?”

  Killian instantly regretted his earlier comment. He bit back a wince and shrugged one shoulder, though he wasn’t entirely sure how exactly to brush off something as unbelievably life-altering as marriage.

  “Yes,” he said, and then added in quickly, “for political reasons.”

  As if that made a difference.

  Still, the young man nodded as though he understood, and he flicked his eyes to the side, staring at the ground. Killian wished he would remove his mask, yearning for just a peek at his face. By the sound of it, he might have been a little bit older than Killian first thought, maybe even older than him. It was honestly impossible to tell; with his short stature and long, tied-up hair, he so easily reminded Killian of the younger teenagers back home.

  Those liquid golden eyes flicked back up to him. “Are you cold?”

  Killian realized he’d started shivering again and he smiled sheepishly. “You aren’t?”

  The young man lifted an eyebrow, but his lips tightened in a suppressed grin. “You know the warlocks deflect most of the cold?”

  Even his tightened smirk was enough to make Killian’s stomach wriggle in excitement. He glanced back up at the shimmering shield, just as an icy fleck of snow landed on his cheek. He shivered again. “It can’t be that blocked out.”

  “Here.”

  The young man shed his heavy, dark coat and in an instant Killian knew he was speaking to no child. His fur-lined shirt clung to broad, stocky shoulders, and as he offered the coat, his thick chest pulled taut against the fabric. A new kind of heat tingled through Killian’s body, and he stared at the offering, trying to remember how to close his mouth.

  “Oh.” His voice sounded stupidly feeble. “I couldn’t.”

  “Just take it. You look cold enough to sprout antlers.”

  Killian hesitated, but as another shiver coursed up his spine, he reached out and grabbed it. “Thank you. It looks like you’re used to this kind of weather. I’m certainly not.” He slipped it on and was instantly enveloped in a heavy warmth that smelled faintly of coal and tangerines. He instinctively burrowed in deeper, tugging the buttons closed, and the young man flashed a smile so bright the warmth seeped straight into Killian’s heart.

  “Keep it,” he said with a nod. “It’s far warmer here than anything back home. Thank you again for returning my ring.”

  Speckles of snow fell in his dark hair like a halo. He didn’t shiver. Killian soaked in the smile, but then the young man turned away, back on the path toward the gardens. Killian stiffened, his heartbeat quickening. This was so easy, talking, smiling. Did it have to end already?

  “I wouldn’t go too far in there alone.”

  The young man stopped, glanced again over his shoulder. “Why?”

  “It’s just Thale is known for its earthquakes. Wouldn’t want you to get trapped in there by yourself if one were to hit.” Killian nodded to the shadowy looming hedges. “Especially at night.”

  His gaze flitted back to the gardens and Killian held his breath. But the young man stopped, looking at him again, that twinge of a smile perking up the corner of his lips. He tilted his head and a small flash of something that wasn’t snow flickered in his hair.

  “Oh wait, hold still.” Killian reached out. “There’s something on you.”

  At once the smile vanished. The young man’s eyes snapped wide open. “What is it?”

  “Hold on, let me get it.”

  “Is it…what is it?”

  Killian picked off the tiny leaf, holding back a smirk. He held it out on his palm. “I got it.”

  The young man glanced at it, then burst into laughter. Clear and unleashed, it rang in Killian’s ears like a bell. It was so easy, all of this. Would it be this easy with his fiancé? Wasn’t it supposed to be? He pushed the thought from his mind. He still had a few days left not to think about it.

  “I thought it was a Snow Sprite!” He picked the leaf from Killian’s fingers, blowing it away. Still beaming, he pushed the mask up, at last revealing his face. “I am Duke Fyodor, but you can call me Fedya.”

  Killian stared, and this time he didn’t try to hide it. Fedya. His golden eyes hadn’t betrayed him, the rest of his face every bit as captivating. Loose strands of black hair fell free from his ponytail, tickling his square jaw. When he smiled, a flicker of boyish charm flitted across his features, mischievous and just a little bit too daring.

  Fedya grinned again and brushed a few flecks of snow from his bangs. “Your name is Valor, yes? Prince Valor?”

  Killian’s smile faltered. “Oh.” Damn. Not again. “No, you have me confused with someone else.”

  He quickly pulled his own mask away, smoothing back his hair and hoping the mask didn’t leave imprints on his nose. “Don’t worry, it happens all the time. My name is Killian.”

  All at once, everything shifted. Killian noticed it instantly, a strange glint piercing through Fedya’s eyes, a stiffness on his lips that wasn’t there before.

  “Killian?” Fedya repeated his name slowly.

  “Yes. I’m the prince of Astrocia.”

  Fedya stared at him. Silent. The cold seeped back into Killian’s skin, suddenly twice as sharp as before. The laughter was gone and he instantly missed it, but before he could speak, Fedya reached up and adjusted his mask back on his face and turned back toward the ballroom. “Please excuse me, I lost track of the hour. I must be going.”

  He turned away so quickly a gust of frozen air struck his face. Killian’s eyes widened. “Wait. Did I say something wrong?”

  Fedya kept his head turned away. “No.”

  Killian’s mind raced, trying to think what could have caused Fedya’s sudden change in attitude. “I’ve been told it’s a very easy mistake t
o make. If you’re from Prydell, I wouldn’t worry—”

  “I’m not from Prydell.” Fedya turned to him, hesitated. Then shook his head and glanced back to the stairs. “I am from Tuskidor.”

  Killian hesitated, heart racing. He didn’t know why he cared so much, but that didn’t matter right now. “I’m sorry, I…” He frowned, his thoughts a blur. “Tuskidor? I don’t think I know—”

  “That’s fine. Nobody does.”

  Without another word, Fedya turned and started briskly back toward the castle. Killian watched him leave, unable to ignore the painful squirming in the pit of his stomach. With every step Fedya took, he carried his laughter along with him, that glimmer of comfort and hope for something a little bit better than what the next few days were sure to bring.

  “Thank you again, for the coat,” Killian tried again. “Are you certain you don’t want it returned?”

  “Please keep it. Stay warm.”

  Killian bit his tongue and called out one final time. “Good night!”

  Fedya didn’t look back. His footsteps quickened, before the bright light from inside swallowed him whole. A shallow sigh squeezed out of Killian’s throat, his shoulders sagging, and he shoved his hands deep inside the coat’s fleece-lined pockets.

  He glanced back at the winding gardens. Despite the sprinkling snow, the tall garden hedges glimmered like emeralds as they snaked their way outward before becoming completely overcome by shadow. Large iron statues of beautiful women dotted the pebbled trails, their open mouths turned toward the sky in silent song. He stared at it all and sighed. What a waste.

  Killian shivered again. The music from inside wafted out to him, and he turned back toward the beckoning warmth and jubilant voices. Fedya was already long gone.

  “H

  ighness? I believe you dropped this?”

  A harried voice stopped Killian just outside the ballroom door, and he turned to find one of the servants holding his hand out at him. Resting in his palm was a small, silver round disc, glinting beneath the candlelight. Killian arched a brow as he looked at it. It didn’t look familiar at all.

  “I’m sorry; I don’t believe that’s mine.”

  “I’m certain I saw you drop it just a few minutes ago.” The servant’s cheeks burned fuchsia, as though he’d been running. “I do hope it’s not broken.”

  He plopped it into Killian’s palm before Killian could protest. With a quick bow, he scurried along before Killian could get a word in edgewise. Killian watched him disappear before looking back at the silver object in his hand. It looked like a pocket watch. Its smooth, silver finish glistened from the melted flakes, and it had no discernable design or decoration. He flicked the tab on the side, but it remained jammed shut, refusing to open.

  “Huh.”

  Slowly Killian turned the watch between his fingers, but the latch remained closed no matter how he tried to pry it open. He glanced one more time back at the gardens, but there was nothing else out of the ordinary, and his bare fingers quickly grew numb against the frozen metal.

  A sharp wind picked up, slicing even through his coat, and Killian shoved the watch in his pocket and hurried inside. The gentle, lilting music instantly encased him, though he kept his hands in his coat, fingers still gliding over the smooth metal surface. Maybe one of the gardeners had dropped it.

  “Killian!”

  A familiar voice sailed over the crowd, and Killian looked up to see a hand wave out to him. He grinned and pulled his hands back out from his pockets, waving in return as he made his way over. “Melchior! You finally made it!”

  “A miracle. Couldn’t you have chosen a closer place to announce your engagement?”

  Killian wrinkled his nose. “As if I have a choice in the matter.”

  Melchior looked exactly like his sister—tall, pale, and far too thin. At the moment, his shortly cropped white-blond hair was nearly completely covered by a large, overbearing headpiece adorned in opals and jade, leaving absolutely no room for a mask. Killian’s grin grew wider as he lightly tugged on one of the dangling tendrils of pearls.

  “Careful, wouldn’t want that to tip on someone. This place is prone to earthquakes, you know.”

  “Amusing as ever, Killian,” Melchior muttered as they embraced momentarily. “But you know we’re supposed to wear something traditional from our native land.”

  “I didn’t realize Oshuru considered you a native now. I just assumed you would be wearing your surgeon’s jacket.”

  “I considered it, but my duchess didn’t want me to offend the locals.” Melchior shrugged, though Killian was sure he almost rolled his eyes.

  Instead, Killian rolled his own eyes for him. “Traditionalists.”

  “Still,” Melchior lowered his voice and glanced around before peeling back his coat lapel, “this event is about uniting differences, right?”

  Pinned to the inside of Melchior’s coat was a round, bronze pendant, hardly bigger than his thumb. The pendant was shaped like a bear, a solid round ring encircling it. Directly in the middle was the stamp of the Medical Scientists’ Guild.

  Killian smirked before Melchior quickly straightened his jacket and the pin was concealed again. “You’d best keep an eye on that. Wouldn’t want it to wander off.”

  “You don’t need to tell me twice.”

  A piercing shriek jolted across the room. “Killian!”

  Before he could turn, a small yet impossibly strong grip squeezed around his waist. He staggered back at the sudden impact, staring wild-eyed down at the tiny person now latched around him. She squeezed even harder, the air rapidly disappearing from his lungs.

  “Cosette,” he wheezed, “a pleasure.”

  “Why have we not seen you in so long? We miss you so much!”

  The Duchess Cosette wore a matching headpiece to Melchior’s, though hers was so large it nearly concealed her eyes. Her face was flushed, her porcelain skin bright pink, and when she spoke, she sounded out of breath.

  “Yes,” Killian tried not to grunt as the viselike grip tightened, “you look quite well.”

  Melchior only beamed as he watched, pride lighting up in his eyes at Killian’s observation, and he nodded encouragingly. Cosette’s head whipped to the side and her arms flew off Killian as she gasped in horror.

  “Melchior!”

  Killian wheezed as the air rushed back into his throat, his eyes watering as he tried not to choke. But Cosette rounded on Melchior, craning her slender neck up at him as she snatched the front of his coat with both of her fists.

  “You forgot your necklace!”

  “Did I?” Melchior glanced down at his chest. “Oh, I suppose I didn’t think it was really necessary…”

  Cosette gasped and released her hold. While Melchior had managed to skid by with the mere head adornment, the Duchess Cosette was outfitted in every aspect of traditional dress from her homeland, the Island of Oshuru. The sweeping train of her snowy white gown trailed on the floor behind her, and long necklaces and bracelets dripped from her arms and neck.

  Without hesitation she began tearing off dozens of her necklaces, each more intricate and heavy than the last.

  “You said you wanted the pearl one!” She yanked the rings from her fingers. “Or do you like jade better?”

  Her words grew faster until she fell back into her native tongue. Killian couldn’t understand a word, and he was fairly certain Melchior had no idea what she was saying either, but Melchior never once stopped smiling. Instead, his hands slipped tenderly over those of his wife’s as she forced necklace after necklace on him.

  “Cosette,” he muttered, “didn’t you mention you were hungry?”

  “Shrimp cocktails!”

  She tore her hands back and spun around, her eyes wide as she looked around wildly.

  “They said they serve shrimp cocktails!”

  Without another word, she scooped up her overflowing dress and dashed away as suddenly as she had ar
rived. It had been less than five minutes, and Killian felt like he had just run a marathon.

  Melchior watched her twirl around the other guests with a fond smile on his lips, before he glanced back at Killian.

  “That’s an interesting coat.”

  “What?” Killian glanced down, his mind reeling to catch up to where he had been before Cosette had stormed through. “Oh…”

  “It looks a bit short for you, though. Unless, of course, that’s the style nowadays.”

  Killian wrinkled his nose, but before he could answer, Annette’s voice sailed through the crowd.

  “There you are!”

  Her cheeks still looked flushed as she elbowed her way through the crowd, a few curls fallen loose from her once-intricate braid. Killian laughed, and she puffed out her cheeks in exasperation. “Well, I certainly wasn’t expecting that!”

  She kissed Melchior on the cheek before fanning herself with her hand. “You missed out on a lot of excitement. That’ll teach you to show up late.”

  “I’m sure I’ll survive.”

  “Melchior! Melchior!”

  They all turned to look over at Cosette, standing in front of the hors d’oeuvres table. She bobbed on her heels, holding up two pieces of shrimp in each of her hands. “Look! Look!” she nodded, practically waving them. “For Stumpy!”

  Annette snorted as Melchior cleared his throat and called back, “It’s Stella!”

  “Right!” Cosette nodded again. “Stumpy!”

  “God,” Annette muttered as she rolled her eyes. “She never stops, does she?”

  Melchior shot his sister a sharp look, but Killian quickly stepped between them, still trying not to laugh. “So how is ol’ Stumpy anyway?”

  Melchior’s glare lingered on Annette as he answered. “Doing well, slowing down a bit more and she’s finally given up on chasing the mice in the barn. Cosette thinks another cat will help perk her up, but I think it’s time to just give Stella her rest.”