Page 32 of Royal Ransom

“I don’t understand.”

He nodded, as if he understood how this was confusing. “Technically, you’re only fifty years old. According to the law of faerie, you shouldn’t look any older than Astrid or Rook.”

Ugh. Teenage proportions again. For including that little mercy, I could have kissed him. I couldn’t imagine trying to raise my boys when they looked physically older than I was. I had several decades before I had to start worrying about that.

“My daughter, your sister,” Basil continued. “She needs family. True family.”

I swallowed hard as I read between the lines. “Are you saying you want me to... what? Take her in? Parent her?”

“That’s exactly what I’m asking,” Basil said with a quick nod. “And it’s the cost for my help. I know you don’t want the throne, but Priss isn’t ready for it either. You need to give her lessons on what being a leader truly looks like.”

I thought about it. I could refuse and try to find another wayin, but... I could also help this girl, my half-sister. I remembered being thrust into a leadership role I hadn’t asked for. The least I could do was take her under my wing and give her some tips and tricks for handling herself as a Queen of Winter.

And it meant I no longer had to take the throne myself. I could remain the Chief of Police. I could remain as myself, as Taliyah.

“Fine. We have a deal.”

Chapter Twenty

Taliyah

Basil guided me from the pantry to the nearby servant quarters.

The maid’s uniform I was now dressed in was nearly as ridiculous as the poofy pants Basil was wearing. The uniform gave off harem vibes, and I would have refused to wear it if I’d still been a perimenopausal police officer with some sag. Even with the near-perfect, immortal body of a young woman, the slit-legged pants and barely there top made me uncomfortable. I would still have refused them if lives weren’t on the line.

“Why the hell are they dressing their servants like sex slaves?” I hissed at him, smoothing down my top as we left the empty quarters. “It’s Winter for Chrissakes, I need a damned parka, not a bikini top.”

Basil grimaced. It wasn’t exactly disagreement, but I could tell he was unhappy. He looked miserable in his vest and poofy pants. Maybe it was a mercy that I’d locked Maverick in a glass coffin. He would have lost the rest of his blood volume ogling me.

“You’re closer to the mark than you’d like,” Basil said with a sigh. “Janara brought back the old uniforms for more than fashion’s sake. Before your father assumed the throne, it was common practice for royalty to take liberties with the servants they found attractive.”

I grimaced. Yet another reason to hate Janara. She wasn’t just a murderous, backstabbing, foul-tempered bitch; she also let the powerful do whatever they pleased without consequences. Fox should have started with that when he was trying to convince me to take my throne. It was the small, everyday cruelties that really struck me.

“My first act as queen,” I muttered. “Change the dress code.Stat.”

Well, Priss’ first act as queen, maybe,I reminded myself, hoping and praying this was really an out for me. Granted, it would be a long-coming out, but it might still prove to be an out, all the same.

Basil’s chuckle was wispy and evaporated as though it had never existed a moment later. He was solemn, staring ahead, taking in everything with all-seeing eyes. I wasn’t convinced he couldn’t create a few more eyes in the back of his head. Astrid had said he was one of the most potent Autumn faeries she’d ever met, and she’d been around their lords for a chunk of the year now.

I listened harder, straining to catch the sound as we walked steadily nearer. I could just hear the slight melodic lilt of a cacophony of instruments. The voices layering over the background instrumentals were so perfectly harmonious they sounded like a single person singing. It was haunting, festive, joyful, and perhaps the most beautiful thing I’d ever heard. The perfection of it was enough to bring tears to my eyes.

Basil took my hand and led me gently forward, giving me a soft, pitying look.

“You’ve never heard a song sung inside Faerie before, have you?” he asked.

I shook my head, scrubbing at my cheeks. It was stupid to cry at a time like this. Basil might believe we were in friendly territory, but the party complicated things. It invited unknown elements into the fortress of safety we’d been promised. Anything could go wrong, especially if I was recognized. We only had Basil’s best guess on how long our ruse would work. After that, I would be stuck at a party with a bunch of hostile winter faeries.

Basil quickened our pace a bit. When we finally reached the end of the corridor, the sounds were almost deafening. Thehallway opened to a courtyard and, beyond that, a sprawling garden of frozen statues. At first, I thought they were frozen faeries and animals, but a closer look revealed multifaceted ice so finely sculpted that it looked almost lifelike. Each statue threw off gorgeous prisms of light as minute frost faeries flitted past them, illuminating the crowd in hues of white, blue, and green.

The festival outside was awash in sparkling silver. The creatures dancing through the vaguely familiar streets glittered in the incandescent moonlight. They looked human, but flawlessly so. I’d never seen so many perfectly stunning faces—impossibly beautiful and graceful. Some fluttered above the ground with transparent wings, others swayed to the music, while still others danced with an energy I’d never seen in humans. One stroked a crystal harp, eyes closed, drifting away to her own song. Only leaf-pointed ears and a few other animal features revealed that I hadn’t stumbled on a supermodel convention.

Basil suddenly took my hand, lacing my fingers through his. His eyes sparkled with joy, and I could hardly stand it. He was so happy to be in faerie and hearing one of their songs, even if it wasn’t the one he’d grown up with. We couldn’t let ourselves act like a pair of giddy schoolkids. As servants in the Fae realm, we had to look like we’d grown up around the song—like it was nice, but not something to cry over.

“I may be new to faerie, but this seems extravagant for a birthday party,” I whispered. “Do they usually go to this much trouble decorating for one rural Sidhe? I mean, that’s what they think Priss is, right?”

“Indeed,” he said quietly. “This is quite a large gathering. Sixty is an important birthday, but it wouldn’t warrant the extra help Priss has hired on. This looks like a Festivus.”

“And what is that?” I asked. “I didn’t grow up here, if yourecall.”

---