Page 28 of The Hidden Fae Prince
Dread colors Nevander’s sympathy. Seren’s scuffed boots look out of place on the woven floral rugs. His patched shirt looks shabby beside the carved goldwood pillars. Ifhe carried himself with a high fae’s grace, that would be one thing. Nevander has a wardrobe prepared for him. But Seren nearly cried just now. Two decades in a human village have left him unprepared for his destiny. Nevander must forge Seren into something stronger before he shatters.
At least Nevander’s contingency plans have held together so far. He returned to controlled chaos, not an opportunistic coup.
“Where is Tansy?” Nevander asks quietly.
“I’m not sure,” Idalia answers.
“Ensure he doesn’t leave the palace,” Nevander says. The order is redundant. Nobody can leave until the ritekeepers loosen the wards. But Seren cares about returning Tansy to Wymond.
Idalia doesn’t question the redundancy. “Yes, my lord. Anything else?”
“Send Valerian to me as soon as he arrives,” Nevander says. “And tell the seneschal I’ll be moving my quarters to the Irisal Suite.”
Idalia leaves without questioning that either. The Irisal Suite is adjacent to the queen’s quarters—Seren’s quarters, now. It’s been empty since Prince Zavriel’s disappearance. It would have been Seren’s quarters, had he grown up in Elladar.
The move will spark rumors. Courtiers will say Nevander is taking advantage of the transition to grasp for power.
It will spark fewer rumors than what Nevander wishes he could do: move into this parlor, even closer to his prince.
Despite the turmoil, this is the best Nevander’s felt in years.
Nevander turns to find Seren at the fireplace. Light makes a halo of his soft blue hair. He’s transfixed by the portrait above the mantel.
Haelwen’s painted face is serene beneath her gemstone crown. She sits upon the goldwood throne, flanked by her children. The eldest, Zavriel, stands with a book in one hand and distance in his eyes. A circlet binds his dark blue hair. He’s younger in the painting than Seren is now.
Briar appears even younger, pale blue hair streaming in an unseen wind. He beams at the tidingbird perched on his finger.
The portrait was painted before Seren’s birth. In another life, it should have been moved to a side room. Haelwen’s office, or the Irisal Suite. A new painting with all three princes should hang above this mantel, where Haelwen could see it every day.
Weakness ripples through Nevander. He counts heartbeats to reinforce his shields. He wouldn’t dare call Haelwen a friend, and he’s spent the past two decades resenting her.
But she was his queen. She embodied home for every creature in Elladar. In all his contingency plans, Nevander never imagined his own grief.
His hand is on Seren’s shoulder again. This time, Seren leans into the touch.
“Where is she?” Seren asks.
“The Garden of Rites,” Nevander answers.
Seren pulls away, and his bright gold eyes mirror his mother’s. “Take me to her.”
And Haelwen’s parting words echo, stern as iron in Nevander’s mind.
I too have no regrets.
10
Garden of Rites
PartofSerenwishesNevander would guide him bodily forward, the way he dragged him through Elsewhere yesterday. But Nevander walks in front of him now. Sir Idalia—the guard with green skin and twigs in her hair—walks behind.
Hopefully Seren hasn’t stared too rudely. He’s just never seen someone with patches of skin like bark. Plus, Idalia won’t stop juggling.
Traveling through the palace is a lengthy ritual. Lush greenery accents the maze of marble hallways. Each twist and turn locks Seren’s emotions deeper inside him.
He even grows to savor the surprise, fear, joy of each fae he passes. Better to feel their emotions than his own. By the time they reach the open archway, Seren is calm. Or numb. That’s just as good.
A fae awaits them, wearing a flowing patchwork robe. Thin strips of blues, greens, golds ripple like water with every movement. No wayward emotions. This fae is firmly in control, blue-black features serene.
