Page 62 of The Fae King's Labyrinth

“What seems to be the problem?” I eyed the tailor. Glosove was a high fae and son of one of my councilors. He had been clothing me for decades and showed a disturbing tendency toward fuss in his recommendations for my own wardrobe.

Glosove sighed dramatically. “Lady Anon is delightfully articulate in her communication, sire, but very provincial in her taste.”

I tightened my expression into a mask of cool indifference. “How so?”

Calypso answered. “I don’t like lace, beading, or ribbons, which he appears to favor overmuch.”

“Much like yourself, she appears to prefer a plainer approach to trimmings.”

“I want no trimming,” Calypso clarified. “No matter how you dress me up and fuss about, it won’t change who I am.”

“My companion?” I asked. The urge to call her my wife burned in my mind, but I resisted it.

A slight flush brightened her cheeks, and she avoided my gaze. “I was referring to my lack of fae beauty.” She gestured toher face. The delightful quirk to her mouth drew my attention. The sight reminded me of the fact I still hadn’t sealed our marriage with a kiss. A curious pressure formed in my chest. With great reluctance, I forced my attention away from her mouth.

Her blush deepened. “No amount of frippery will disguise that I am only a plain human. I would rather dress for comfort and practicality than put on a show of trying to be someone I am not.”

“As my companion, you need to dress the part. Your clothing will reflect how much I value you. I wish for you to wear the best I can provide.” I stated it flatly as I rubbed at the curious twisting sensation in my chest. “Do you object to satin, silk, or velvet?”

“I have no objection to any of the fabrics.” She eyed my hand. “Does something hurt?”

“No.” I dropped my hand awkwardly to my side. “Perhaps if you choose the fabrics and the designs for your gowns, Glosove may suggest one or two trims for you to pick for each gown. Would this be amenable to both of you?”

The tailor and Calypso eyed each other for a moment before agreeing.

“And none of the gowns can be that color.” I indicated the gown in Calypso’s arms.

“Understood.” A mischievous smile teased at Calypso’s lips, drawing my attention there again.

Suppressing a groan, I left the dressing room. It was that or banish the tailor so I could kiss my wife in privacy.

Sixteen

Azulin

A week later, something was seriously wrong. I was due to take Calypso to the winter palace, but as I sat at my desk and surveyed the carnage, my heart despaired at ever reaching the end of the work ahead. Stacks upon piles of paperwork cluttered the surface and drove me to exhaustion. Despite the nonstop work arriving, I’d made no apparent progress in whittling down the overwhelming mess before me. And even worse, the desire to even try had waned to almost nothing.

As Soren stood at my side rattling off the appointments and meetings to attend, reports to approve, and transactions to review, I wanted to scream. This was torture.

Back before the curse, I hadn’t spent my life like this. I clearly recalled training sessions with a master-at-arms multiple times a week, hours spent researching matters of interest. Of course, I also recalled spending hours arguing tenaciously with my brother over how to care for our father, trading ideas with ministers about approaches to problems of state, and spending evenings at official social events being hounded by opportunists who hoped to bend my ear.

“Where did this all come from?” I demanded.

Soren snapped his mouth shut mid-sentence and regarded me warily. “All what, sire?”

“This mess. Contracts, reports, and—” I picked up the nearest page. “Requisition orders.” I tossed the page back on the pile. It gracefully slid off the top and fell to land on the next pile below. “Come to think of it, I don’t recall ever having to approve requisition orders before the curse.”

Soren pursed his mouth. “Grizzlemunch accused the prime councilor of embezzling funds, so the council passed a policy that all requisitions required your signature before being carried out.”

My eyebrows rose. “When was this?”

“Four seasons ago, I think.”

“And the requirement that I read and sign off on every report?”

Soren nodded. “Every department and sub-department of every property in the crown’s possession must submit a quarterly progress report in long form and triplicate.”

“Triplicate? I’m not the only one reading these?”

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