Chapter 1
Hungry Fox
Stellon
My heart thumped a little harder than normal, but I wasn’tthatworried about getting caught.
No one in the palace woke early—well, no one but the servants, and they weren’t going to stop me.
They were too afraid to even speak to me, much less question my comings and goings.
A few of the chambermaids cast surreptitious glances as I passed them in the vast hallways. I was in my riding boots and breeches to throw off any suspicion should any of my family defy expectations and rise early.
When I reached the stables, the finely stitched breeches, hand-tooled leather riding coat, pressed linen shirt, and shiny black boots came off.
Reaching behind a loose board at the back of Malo’s stall, I drew out a gunny sack containing a very different set of garments. Ones that would help me blend in.
My nose wrinkled as I hurriedly pulled on the frayed and stained pants and scratchy, loose homespun tunic, topped by a hooded cloak that was too light for the weather, not that I’d notice the cold.
After so many wearings, the clothes were beginning to smell a bit foul.
But that was a good thing where I was going. I didn’t want anyone to get too close. The whole point was to deflect attention, to disguise my identity.
To be left alone as I accomplished my task.
If Malo noticed the ripeness of my attire, he didn’t mention it. Tucking the sack containing my supplies into his saddle bag, I went around to pet his face and give him the carrot I’d brought along.
“Good morning, my friend,” I said, stroking his shiny dark brown cheeks and velvety nose. “Are you ready for an adventure?”
The large thoroughbred stallion just nudged me in a return greeting and finished his treat. He began stamping in eagerness to get going.
I laughed and mounted the saddle. “I know, I know. Me too. Let’s get out of here and have some fun.”
When we left the stables, I didn’t even have to guide him. Malo knew this routine, repeated weekly for the past several months. He trotted briskly to the well worn road leading away from Seaspire Castle then broke into a gallop once we reached bare dirt.
With every stride, I felt lighter in the saddle, and the tightness in my chest loosened. It was as if the air surrounding my family’s palatial home was somehow heavier than it was outside the estate.
By the time we reached the outskirts of the Rough Market, I was practically floating.
Malo liked these excursions as well. He nickered, anticipating the crisp apples he knew were coming his way at the end of my visit to the marketplace. For now, he’d have to wait here, a safe distance away.
If I was going to pass as a poor peasant, it wouldn’t do to be spotted riding one of the finest steeds in the land.
The Rough Market was no place for a prince—at least that was what my father would say.
Full of ruffians and pickpockets, it was the busiest human gathering place in upper Marinus. Probably the most hazardous as well—for themandfor Fae folk.
But it was also full of craftsmen and women selling their wares, food vendors calling out temptations to the browsing shoppers, street musicians playing for coins–generally the widest variety of humanity to be found anywhere near the palace grounds.
It was full oflife. Andthatwas what I sought to capture.
Removing my sketching pencils and drawing paper from the saddlebag, I tied Malo’s reins to a sapling in a stand of trees surrounded by fresh grass, promising to return soon before setting off on foot to the market.
The familiar sounds of the place reached me before I even caught sight of the rough wooden stalls.
Erected side by side, they covered around forty acres and sold nearly any product you could imagine—textiles and ready-made clothing, buttons, hats, boots, tools and kitchenware, spices for cooking, cheese, fresh fish, produce, meat, ale and other spirits, and cheap potions their hawkers claimed could do anything from shine your silver to enhance your libido.
For those with more coin to spend, there were children’s toys and dolls, soap, scented oils, and jewelry.