Page 19 of Till Kingdom Come

“Why not?”

“I have no idea. All I know is that her name was odd. It was pronounced like Ashlynn, but spelled differently, I think.”

“It’s a Fae name.”

“A Fae name? Why would she have one of those? Perhaps her parents were fanciful.”

“Or perhaps she was Fae. Your family’s land touches the Liminal. It’s possible.”

His eyes grew wide. “I never heard that about her. No, I’m sure you’re wrong.”

“Why?”

“Why? Because you just are. Fae aren’t human, for God’s sake, and I am. That’s crazy!”

He only shook his head but the men sitting close to us who overheard us arguing looked shocked.

“What?” I said to the man sitting on the other side of me. “Why are you looking like that? What did I say?”

“You speak too familiarly to the royal prince. Prince Bracca is never wrong. It’s unseemly to say so. Even if you are hisa chumann.”

“I’m his what?”

“Never mind,” Prince Bracca said and leaned across me to say something to the soldier in that odd language they spoke which was a little like Gaelic, I thought, but not exactly. Anyway, the soldier looked surprised and then gave me a long, up and down look before he nodded.

The prince stood up then and motioned to me to follow him.

“What was that? The word he used about me. What does it mean?”

“It means something like sweetheart.”

I was shocked and I must have looked it because he laughed out loud. “He said it, not me.”

I wasn’t sure that made it any better. He took me over to the stags, which someone had already saddled. Reaching for me, he tossed me up on the back of the second one in line.

“This is Dandelion. Don’t kick him like most mortals do with horses. Just tell him where you want him to go, and he will.”

Maybe that was true for these Dark Fairies, but they forgot to tell the stag. Dandelion didn’t like me being on his back, and it made him restless. He was reluctant to move and tossed his huge head, making the bells on his rack jingle. He snorted and pawed the snow, letting me know he didn’t approve of me being anywhere near him.

It got so bad that at one point that Bracca came over to check on us before we left. “What are you doing to Dandelion?” he asked.

“I’m not doing anything to him!” I said, feeling indignant. “He’s being difficult for no good reason.”

He gave me a look and shook his head again, before going up to speak softly in the beast’s ear. Dandelion settled down but rolled a blue eye back at me warningly before he turned to follow Bracca’s stag down the trail. Feeling a little guilty—I had actually kicked him several times in his sides to get him moving despite what Bracca had told me—I leaned over and spoke to the beast.

“I’m sorry I kicked you, and I promise never to do it again. It’s the way I was taught to ride, but I can see that it’s rude and mean and might hurt you. I beg your pardon.”

Dandelion snorted and shook his head. I chose to take that as a good sign. Of course, he could have been telling me to go to hell because he didn’t accept my apology.

We rode all that long day, and I was practically falling asleep in the saddle by the time we arrived. Hours had passed since breakfast. When we got down from the stags, someone made a big fire that was instantly hot and blazing from a snap of their fingers. Their mastery of fire was their best trick, in my opinion. They hauled out the pots again and began heating the mulled wine. Another one handed out meat pasties, which were little handheld meat pies. I was starving by then and quickly ate three of them. As I looked around for one to offer Dandelion, Bracca came up beside me.

“What are you doing?”

“Looking for another of these pasties. I thought Dandelion might like one.”

“Stags don’t eat meat.”

“I know. But there’s no grass with all the snow. He might be hungry.”

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