Page 21 of The Stolen Crown

The Illusionist

The palace ballroom was fashioned inside the trunk of the enormous oak with a small crystalline stream carving through the center.

The tree was a mystical sort—smaller on the outside, but once folk entered the mouth of the trunk, the ballroom was truly expansive, allowing room to dance and dine and gather without bumping shoulders. Bubbled glass made up domed ceilings, revealing the constellations and moonlight throughout the corridors.

Inside the Borough, the air held the scent of damp wood and moss, with a sweet scent from burning candles infused with ripened berries.

I leaned against a knobby section of the oak wall in the ballroom, sipping honeysuckle wine from a smooth drinking horn. Along the edges of the marble floor, bursts of foxglove and lavender sprouted through the walls, as though the land craved the revelry as fiercely as its people.

Glamour folk were known for games, tricks, jests, and endless wines that tasted more like custards and cordials than sour currants or grapes. Our people could twist the mind until enemies were lost in illusions and madness, then drink and laugh, regaling every wicked jest as though it were utterly joyous.

It was not to say the isles knew nothing of battles and blades—we did. Violence was no stranger to these courts. Beneath the lush blossoms and boisterous levity was something sinister.

Loyal as our folk were to the crown, it was a challenge for my mother and father to appease the more cunning fae when they began their games of power. Often it was nothing more than feckless manipulations to gain a boon, but in the past, there were a few bolder folk who’d tried to ensnare my father into servitude through shrouded riddles and compulsion glamour.

How brilliant would it be to control the king, after all?

Those who attempted to compel the king garnered his attention to be sure. I’d never forget watching my daj grin and jest with my mother as Borough guards cut out the tongues of tricksters who’d tried in the past.

Afterward, my father clapped the traitors on their backs, laughed, and threatened them through his busy words, then sent them on their way with their bloody tongues tacked to their tunics.

I peered over the rim of my horn, mesmerized with the spinning gowns and glittering doublets of a few dancing couples on the polished stone slabs.

Lady Shelba stood near her husband, Ash, laughing with fae from the Serpent Court. Shelba was a fae with gilded eyes large enough to resemble an owl. Ash was tall and sly as a shadow, a man raised amongst thieves. I had few doubts their son or daughter would become one of the trickiest souls in the kingdoms.

I glimpsed my mother and father speaking to Calista and Silas near the dais. My cousin had kohl painted around her lashes and down the center of her chin as though readying for battle. Silas did not pay heed to the crowd. In truth, I’d not seen the man look away from the tiny infant in my mother’s arms.

I snickered through another drink. Protective, doting fathers were a delightful challenge for a girl to have.

These folk were mine. A family of warriors, of fighters.

I swallowed against the sudden thickness in my throat. What had I done to build upon such vibrant tales of our house?

“By the gods, there is something horrid about this new satin threading.” Tobias approached, adjusting the glimmering tunic collar tucked beneath his smooth jawline.

I crossed one arm around my middle and, with the other, lifted my drinking horn to my lips again. “When will you learn Brynjar’s attire remains too ahead of our time? We’re simply not emotionally ready for it yet.”

Tobias grunted and unclasped the gold snap at the nape of his neck to free his throat. “If you knew how well the man used his mouth, My Aggravating Princess, you would showcase a burlap cloth if he asked.”

I laughed and set my horn on the table at my side.

Tobias settled beside me, his back to the wall. “Why do you stand here when you delight in dancing?”

“I could ask you the same.” I tossed a lock of my hair over my shoulder. “You are one who never leaves the ballroom floor, yet you stand here with me complaining about one of your lover’s bold tunics.”

“I can hardly believe it myself.” His face softened. “But I must say, your absence from the dance floor is causing me to wonder if you were not truthful earlier about your experience in the wood.”

I placed one palm on his arm, desperate to hide the heat in my face. “I’m fine, Tobias. Wholly unharmed, merely mortified I fell for such a spell twice now.”

“Don’t be too mortified. You have a wondrous heart. Who could blame the man for wanting it?”

“Oh, all right. I’ll only be a little mortified.”

“Perhaps a moderate amount of mortification.” Tobias stole a drink from my resting horn. “Now that I’ve established you are not entirely traumatized, tell me what I really want to know. What did Tait look like when he chased off the singer?”

I pinched my lips. “Heartwalker was…”

In the next heartbeat, the Borough doors heaved open. A cool rush of outside air breathed across the polished stones of the ballroom. Thistle leaves and a few colorful petals from the drooping vines and blooms across the rafters fluttered ahead of the newcomers.