Page 59 of The Hidden Fae Prince
“Fine, abandon me,” Seren says, amused.
Another concept brushes his mind, the clearest yet.Someone?
Still with the honeysuckles’ bubbly curiosity. But Seren frowns. “Who? Is someone here?”
More unhelpful cheer.
It must be Nevander. Or Mustardseed, who’s stationed outside tonight. Nobody ever bothers Seren this late, but maybe something bad has happened. Or the honeysuckles have a broad range of awareness, and they’re talking about someone in the gardens.
Seren can’t see anyone in the darkness below, even though his eyes are keener than they used to be. Hugging himself, he heads inside. A sheer curtain separates the balcony from his bedroom. Passing the ghostlike material, he jolts at a stranger’s figure.
But it’s only his own reflection in a silver mirror. Blue-haired, in a too-large shirt. Out of place. Everything else in the dimly lit room looks intact, from the canopied bed to the potted trees.
The honeysuckles were probably mistaken, but nervousness ripples down Seren’s spine. The familiar sensation of being watched. He can’t dismiss the feeling. Not when it was true back in Wymond.
A spiral staircase leads him down. The parlor is dimly lit and empty, which doesn’t mean much. The wards on Seren’s private quarters should prevent invisible intruders, but he still doesn’t trust his own eyes. He reaches into his carryhold. A dagger appears in his palm, cold from the pocket space. Not that he has any practice wielding it.
Silence and shadows await him, broken only by the bashful light of the staircase lanterns.
“Hello?” Seren calls. No answer.
He rushes for the door and flings it open.
Mustardseed jumps at his post, hand flying to his chest in salute. “Is something the matter to cause such a clatter?”
Tension vanishes with the rhyme and the brightly lit hall. Seren exhales with relief. Sometimes paranoia isn’t true.
“I don’t know,” Seren says ruefully. “I was talking to the honeysuckles and they—hey!”
Harmony darts past his feet, over Mustardseed’s boots, to an open door.
“Get back here!” Seren scolds, to no avail.
That’s the door to Haelwen’s office. Seren’s office. Whoever’s it is, Seren doesn’t like the thought of a newly emboldened squirrel darting through it.
“Are there other exits from the office?” Seren asks.
Mustardseed shakes his head, locs sliding past his shoulder. “Only to the greenhouse tower, from which there are no exits either.”
Seren pauses in the doorway. “Was that really a rhyme?”
Mustardseed flashes a grin. “It’s close enough to suit the curse. Believe me, Highness, I’ve said worse.”
Seren doesn’t envy Mustardseed’s affliction. “Then you stay here, and fetch me if Harmony sneaks past me.”
Mustardseed salutes in response, which requires no rhyming, forced or otherwise.
Returning to the office alone feels strange. Like Seren is intruding on the memorabilia of Haelwen’s life. The myriad books. The empty memory box. The broken crown. No sign of Harmony or anything out of place. But the door to the greenhouse is cracked open, revealing a staircase leading up.
“Harmony,” Seren calls, and tries to project a sense of calm. Invitation.
No response. Seren sighs and ascends.
He’s been to the tower greenhouse once before, on an early tour of his quarters. In daylight, it’s a chaotic rainbow of greenery and flowers, no two plants alike. In starlight, the greenhouse turns eerie, a delicate weave of shadows.
Seren flinches.
A figure stands before the central pool. No guardian’s armor or servant’s garb. His cloak seems to melt into the darkness, and he doesn’t move at Seren’s approach. Seren doesn’t recognize the pale slice of profile.
