Page 41 of The Fae King's Labyrinth

“Is the curse broken?” a raspy voice asked.

“It does not appear so,” Azulin calmly replied.

I glanced around the dressing room. No one was within the room but me.

“The moon rises full again tonight, sire,” a gruff voice observed. “Will you be drawn back into the curse?”

“Not if I can help it.” Azulin’s voice maintained a monotone that revealed nothing of his feelings.

I sat up on the couch and turned to eye the door to the king’s bedroom. It was only partially closed, which explained why the voices were so clear. Based on the clarity of their voices, I suspected the speakers must have been standing right outside the cracked door.

“Something must have changed, sire,” a third voice protested. “You have never returned while the moon was still full.”

“Gentlefae, I prefer we focus on the issue at hand.” Azulin’s voice chilled. “I have returned. The curse has shifted. That is all you need to know. What business is so desperate and pressing that you could not wait until my recovery to address it?”

Someone cleared their throat and a shuffling sound signaled someone else’s discomfort.

Looking down at my gown, a simple thing I suspected had been originally someone’s undershirt, I knew immediately I couldn’t be seen in it. Judging by the reactions of the servants and especially Soren, Azulin’s secretary, my gender alone caused a sensation. And any state of undress would cause further ruckus, which was less than preferred.

So, instead of rising from the bed, I shifted into my cat form.

∞∞∞

Azulin

“Your father is in a decline,” Senior Grizzlemunch declared as he scratched the end of his pronounced nose. A skinny sprite past his prime, Grizzlemunch had advised my father from the time they were youths.

“My father has been in a decline for the past century and a half.” Exhaustion pulled at my shoulders, but I kept them square as I faced my advisory council. The curse clawed at my back, prickling my skin as it attempted to grab hold, and I pressed my shoulders back into my chair. In counterbalance, the magic of my binding with Calypso warmed my left arm. The coilstightened slightly, and I heard a rustling on the other side of the wall. Calypso was awake.

Grizzlemunch grumbled under his breath, drawing my focus back to the matter at hand.

“I do not see how his continued decline should influence my actions at this point.” There was nothing I could do to help my father.

“The mountain trolls have attacked again,” Hubblethin added. The river troll, a massive creature with craggy features, regarded me intently. As one of my younger advisors, Hubblethin tended to push for decisive action. Of all the fae in my court, I suspected he would be the most flexible regarding the addition of Calypso in our midst. I had met his wife, a practical and competent young troll bent on making a difference for their generation.

“I was informed of the attack upon our arrival. Commander Brinner had already departed to deal with it. Any news as to his success?”

“None,” Hubblethin replied with obvious irritation. “But that doesn’t mean we should wait—”

I shook my head and cut him off. “Actually, that is exactly what we should do. Wait. We don’t know anything yet, and the first step of planning is information gathering.”

Senior Grizzlemunch coughed pointedly. “Are you going to sit there all day, sire? There is a delegation to meet and negotiations to—”

“Merow?”

The company of advisors turned toward the source of the sound: Calypso in her cat form. Elegantly adorable, her gray brindled fur gleamed in the midafternoon sunlight pouring through the windows. She surveyed the lot of them dubiously until she spotted me seated at the table Ghost had dragged over within range.

With a flick of her tail, Calypso crossed the floor toward me.

“That isn’t Herman,” Grizzlemunch muttered in a low tone that was probably supposed to be a whisper.

“Soren mentioned something about a cat.” Keddle, a moss brownie, flicked his wings and hunkered down to Calypso’s level. Flattening himself almost prostrate on the floor, he offered his fingers to be sniffed.

“What are you doing?” Fletchere demanded. As a dryad, he tended to be very pride conscious. Prostrating oneself for a cat was clearly outrageous.

“Offering my friendship.” Keddle madepst pstnoises, which Calypso elegantly ignored with a slow lift of her chin while trotting past the offered fingers to me.

Approaching me, she came to a halt at my feet. She sat prettily, neatly winding her tail around her feet, and gazed up at me. “Merow?”

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