Page 42 of The Fae King's Labyrinth

I promptly picked her up. My magic instantly hummed through me with a pleasant buzz, throwing off the claws of the curse in its enthusiasm at Calypso’s return to my arms. I suppressed the urge to roll my eyes at my magic’s response before I settled Calypso against my chest, supported by my left arm. She nestled against my heart as though she belonged there. I ignored the uncanny sensation and focused on my advisors.

Grizzlemunch straightened his shoulders. “I object.”

“To what?” Fletchere asked.

“The cat, of course.” Grizzlemunch sniffed. “One cat is unusual, but two? Outrageous. What will the Unseelies say when they hear our king is keeping multiple cats?”

“They will be profoundly jealous,” Keddle declared. “Cats are such delightful creatures. Surely it is a sign of our king’s nobility that he has attracted two such companions.”

Grizzlemunch snorted. “The sithcat was bad enough. At least that creature was male and magical. That cat is—” He shuddered dramatically. “Ordinary.”

“Far from it,” Ghost muttered.

“What did you say, dragon?” Keddle asked, turning to eye Ghost.

Not willing to discuss my personal choices, I rose from my chair. The trio of fae turned toward me expectantly when Ghost didn’t respond. Ignoring them all, I strode toward my chamber door and began descending the stairs.

The advisors followed, all except for Hubblethin. He engaged one of the gargoyle twins who served as my bodyguards in conversation instead. They were probably discussing the lack of news from the commander.

Neither Calypso nor I had eaten since the night before, and I knew I was hungry. It only made sense she would be too. The best place to find food in the middle of the afternoon was the kitchens. I started out in that direction, the entourage of my advisors following behind.

“I must protest, my king,” Grizzlemunch declared at the sharp turn at the base of the tower stairs.

“You seem to do that frequently,” I observed before striding off down the main corridor toward the front of the castle.

“Sire, must we?” Fletchere protested. “Would not your study suffice as a meeting place?” He paused to gesture toward the west wing where my study was located, but when I didn’t respond except to keep walking, he rushed to catch up. “Surely you don’t wish to discuss our purpose so publicly.”

Servants scattered or moved to the side of the corridor, bowing as we passed.

“You have yet to declare your purpose for disrupting my recovery from the curse’s ordeal.”

Ghost reached the door to the servant stairs before I could and held it open for me. I offered him a nod as I passed and took the steps at a furious pace. Calypso latched her claws into my shirt front and hissed, so I tightened my grip on her. My magic flared with my annoyance, setting off sparks that fell on the wooden steps beneath my heels as I rushed down into the bowels of the castle. Behind me my advisors clamored along with far less care.

“Sire!” Grizzlemunch wheezed as he gained ground behind me. “Surely you see our point. You already have a pet. Adding another is hardly seemly.”

I rolled my eyes and plowed through the door at the base of the stairs. Bursting out into the bustle of the kitchens, I strode through the chaos of the staff preparing the evening meal.

“Always a pleasure, sire,” the undercook said as he moved past me with a big pot of stew. Bread cooled on the sideboard, the air hummed with creation magic, and my irritation calmed slightly.

“A meal or a snack this hour, sire?” the head cook asked from across the room where he was chopping vegetables alongside another undercook.

“A meal, if you please. My new companion and I slept late after a long few days.” I wove through the food preparation to my usual place, the humble table in the corner near the door into the kitchen gardens.

“A companion?” the head cook asked, pausing in his work.

“A cat!” The scullery scrubber, a strapping lad of perhaps twenty, stopped in the middle of the walkway with a massive empty pot in his dripping hands. “His Majesty has a cat, and it’s not that mischievous scamp of a sithcat either.”

Within moments, curious servants surrounded the table all oohing and aahing over Calypso.

“What’s her name?”

“What does she eat?”

The questions came fast and furious as I gazed down at Calypso and debated the risks of setting her down. Unlike in the presence of my councilors, I suspected she would be perfectly safe here. I lowered her onto the tabletop.

“You may call her Callie, but it isn’t her true name,” I informed the fawning audience.

Calypso surveyed the crowd with interest. Sitting prettily again, she began cleaning her paws.

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