Page 5 of Tanglewood Magic (The Three Sisters 2)
What would Rhys say? Would he take one look at her and know she’d lied about only wanting his friendship? Would he be reluctant to go with her once he saw her?
She shook her head. She was being ridiculous. The gown was perfectly appropriate for a royal banquet, and despite what she might think when she looked at him, he couldn’t see inside her soul or read her mind, not even with his enchanted glasses.
A knock came on her bedroom door, and she opened it to find her sister Isis, resplendent in a royal-blue sheath dress. “The carriage is here. The driver picked up the men first. How much do you want to bet that Brody has blood somewhere on his person?”
Circe smiled. Isis had fallen in with a group of hunters early on and, despite being the only female among their ranks, was the most prolific with a bow and arrow. Her date for this event was a wizard and fellow hunter named Brody who’d been trying to woo her for months.
“I thought you mentioned you weren’t interested in Brody?”
“I’m not. He was the only one I could find on short notice. And what about Rhys? Does he know you want to wed him and have his babies?” Isis’s eyes twinkled with laughter.
“Bite your tongue. He made it clear today he only cares to be friends.”
Isis pressed a finger into the crook of her chin. “Has he seen you in that dress?”
Circe shook her head.
Isis’s eyes darkened to midnight blue. “I predict he might change his mind by the end of the night. You’ll gorgonize him with a single wink.”
Cheeks hot, Circe grabbed her bag and pushed through the door. “Don’t be obtuse. I’m perfectly common.”
“If you say so.”
She and Isis made their way out to the carriage, where a royal escort waited to help them inside. Unlike the carriages she’d read about in books that were built atop wheels, this one, like all carriages in Darnuith, was built atop sled skis. Most of Darnuith’s roads were permanently frozen, and the skis were enchanted to slide over all manner of ground, even rough or rocky terrain. Pulled by a team of tall, shaggy dogs with red eyes called vultar hounds, the carriage was a more comfortable way to travel than by broom when an event required formal dress.
As she stepped up into the carriage, the hounds panted at her from their harnesses, buzzing with an overflowing energy and the inborn desire to pull. She slid into the seat next to Isis with her back facing the driver and greeted Rhys and Brody.
“Fates alive, you two are stunning,” Brody said, his eyes darting between them. “Are you sure it’s safe to outshine the queen?”
Circe laughed. “If you think anything about us outshines our sister, you haven’t met Medea.”
Rhys’s eyes flicked over her. He frowned as if her appearance displeased him. Grumpily, he turned his face toward the window. Circe’s heart crushed itself into a tight little ball at the snub.
“You have blood on your sock,” Isis said, pointing to the edge of Brody’s shoe, which did indeed sport a dark splotch.
He shrugged. “Elderbeast.” Unceremoniously, he blotted it with his handkerchief, then returned the bloody square of fabric to his pocket. Isis glanced at Circe and chuckled.
The rest of the ride was ominously quiet. Tension bled off Rhys and seemed to put all four of them in a foul mood. It was hard to be jovial with a dark cloud looming nearby. Whatever offense she’d committed, no matter how unintentional, must have been heinous in his eyes.
She decided to confront him about it once they were alone.
The carriage came to a stop before the golden doors of Maelhaven Palace. The driver opened the carriage and escorted them inside.
“Finally!” Medea rushed Circe in a way that was all about familial bonds and probably completely inappropriate for a royal. She embraced her and then Isis. Behind her, Tavyss, Medea’s husband and mate, smiled. The dragon’s gold eyes shone bright as he watched her sister. Tavyss was happy when Medea was happy, and the three sisters were happiest with their arms wrapped around one another.
“My queen, the Royal Cross board is ready for you in the ballroom,” Zelaria announced. The adviser to the queen wore a roomy deep-purple dress with a feathery shawl that was as wispy as her wild gray hair. When the Fates had chosen Medea, Circe feared Zelaria would be bitter or would abscond herself of her role. But Medea claimed she’d been a remarkable help in establishing her rule.
“Don’t you mean ready for us?” Medea asked. “You and Tamsin still plan to play the fourth quadrant, I hope.”
Zelaria leaned on her staff. “We wouldn’t miss it.”
“Good,” Tavyss said. “Because Medea requires Cook to wait until the game is played before serving the food, and I’m hungry. At least I know with this talented lot, it will be a short game.”
Circe fell behind and sidled up to Rhys as the others filtered into the ballroom. “Is it just me, or do you have the feeling we’re going to lose this game abysmally? I’ve never even played.”
He lowered his voice. “We won’t lose. I’ll show you what to do.” His eyes darted over her again, and the scowl from the carriage snapped back into place.
“Have I done something wrong? Is my dress offensive to you? I’ve only lived in Darnuith a year. I’m not familiar with all of your customs, but the woman in the shop said this would be appropriate.”
