Page 90 of Enslaved

But he has eyes only for me. Across that distance he gazes, the light of love shining in his face. For a moment I can forget what he has done. For a moment I feel nothing but joy that he lives, that he breathes, that he exists still in this same world with me.

Abruptly his face contorts. One hand presses to his side. He staggers. Lifting his eyes to me once more, his brow puckers in something between surprise and . . . pain.

The next moment, he collapses. Right there in the middle of the bridge.

From some faraway place, I hear my own voice screaming out his name.

The crowd in the passage outside the queen’s suite is ten times the size it was before. It seems as though everyone in Aurelis has come to offer congratulations or services or simply to catch a glimpse of the king’s new heir. Or at the very least his corpse.

Castien was carried off the bridge by members of the Aurelis guard. From the viewing box, I couldn’t tell if he was alive or dead. I still don’t know. What happened? Had Ivor done something to him? Hurled a last bolt of magic before plummeting to his doom? Had he dealt the Prince a mortal wound in the thick of the battle, and I’d somehow not seen it? Or was that cut across his ribcage worse than I realized?

These questions and more pound in my head as I push, elbow, duck, sidle, and otherwise force my way through the crowd to the front chamber. The doors are open; it’s even more densely packed inside. Lords and Ladies, servants and Obligates are packed into every possible square inch of space, crowding shoulder-to-shoulder.

There are tears on my face. I scarcely notice them, but they trail hot and fast down my cheeks, dropping onto the front of my gown. “Please,” I beg. “Please, let me through. Please, please.” No one pays any attention. No one notices or cares. What does one demanding human maid matter in the face of all these grand events?

Finally, in a last bid of desperation, pinned between an elf-woman in a violet gown and a fat gnome who positively reeks of onions, I close my eyes and whisper:“Lianthorne.”

Immediately, there’s a ripple of movement through the crowd. The next moment, my heart stops as I hear a familiar voice shouting: “Get out! Get out of my room, you gods-blighted, damnable oglers! If I spy even one of your objectionable faces within twenty feet of me in the next five seconds, I’ll start setting Noswraiths loose, so help me! Now, will you kindly make way for mywife?”

A collective gasp, not unlike those I heard in the arena. I’m not sure how, but every eye in that room suddenly pivots, fixing on me. All those fae gazes, disbelieving, disapproving. Disgusted and dismayed.

A hand drops on my shoulder. Startled, I turn. Look up. Up into the serenely beautiful face of Ilusine. She does not look back but instead sweeps her golden eyes across all those gathered round. “You heard your master,” she says, her voice clear and hard. “Make way for the Princess of Vespre.”

To my utmost surprise, the fae back away, bowing their heads, bending at the waist, sinking into deep curtsies. Ilusine propels me forward, guiding me through the throng all the way to the bedchamber door. There she releases me. I glance up, uncertain if I should thank her. The Soliran princess’s expression is closed. She simply inclines her head before turning and sweeping away, vanishing along with the rest of the dismissed crowd as they file out of the queen’s suite.

A last few stray fae and a couple of human servants sidle past me, murmuring politely as they escape. Then I am alone. Facing the doorway of the queen’s flower-strewn bedchamber and the figure seated upon her great, canopied bed.

Castien is half-naked, a bandage wrapped around his ribcage. He’s not bothered to replace any glamours, and looks unusually tired, sweaty, bruised, and battered. But that triumph has not faded from his eye.

“Darling!” he cries at the sight of me and holds out his arm. “I wondered when you’d get here. Come, give your victorious husband a little peck on the lips, will you?”

I stare at him, immobile. My gaze travels slowly up and down his body, taking him in. There’s something different. Something I can’t explain. Something more than the mere lack of glamour. “What happened?” I asked, still not budging from my place in the doorway. “You . . . you fainted, and I . . .”

“Oh, that.” The Prince smiles drolly. His hair is still tied back, but that stray lock escapes and falls across his forehead. He tosses it back only for it to immediately fall again. “It would seem when Lord Ivor met his sorry end, the curse he’d placed upon me broke as well.”

“The . . . curse?” I echo dully. Then I blink and shake my head. “You mean . . . you mean it wasIvorwho . . . ?” I cannot bring myself to finish.

The Prince lets his arm fall and sits back a little more comfortably on the bed. He sighs, his breath ragged, his skin unusually pale. “I’ve suspected for a long time but never had any proof. Yes—it was Ivor who bargained with the crones and placed that curse upon my human blood. He saw an opportunity to drive a deeper wedge between me and my father, creating a void at Lodírhal’s side. A void he was more than ready to fill. It worked like a charm too, I’ll give the snake that much!” He tips his head to one side, smiling at me yet again. “Never thought I’d live to see the day—but it is my great honor to be able to present a decidedly uncursed husband for your pleasure, Darling.” He raises an eyebrow. “And I do intend to make myself pleasing. Of that you may be certain.”

I can neither move nor speak. His curse.Hiscurse. It’s broken. The curse worked by the crones and inflicted on him, rendering his life painful and treacherous by turns. He’s free now. Free and whole and . . . and . . .

A surge of loathing swells in my heart. “Why did you do it?”

He frowns, lines creasing his brow. Despite his weakness, he pushes to his feet and starts toward me. Hastily, I duck back out into the now-empty front room. Marching to the lounger I grip the back of it, leaning heavily.

“Darling.” The Prince’s voice is gentle behind me. “Darling, what’s the matter? Was it so horrible as all that, watching the rite? I’m sorry for that little tumble I took—I didn’t want you to see that. I didn’t want you to be afraid. I hoped you would know that nothing in all the worlds—not even ridiculous tentacled demons from thequinsatraabyss—could keep me from you.”

Suddenly he’s behind me, gripping my shoulders. Trying to turn me to him. “Please, Darling, look at me. Let me see that lovely face of yours. Let me know that you’re all right, that you’re here. That you’re mine.”

At his urging I spin about, lift my gaze to his. But I cannot see him. I cannot see the Prince, my Prince, my Castien. This man . . . he’s a stranger.

“You must free him.” My voice is cold, hard.

“What?” The Prince’s frown deepens. “You mean Doctor Gale? I gave you the bloodgem. It should be a simple matter to exchange with Estrilde now—”

I shake my head. “Not Danny. Oscar. You must lift the curse you placed on him.”

The Prince’s face goes very still. He blinks once. Then abruptly he lets go of me, backs away several paces. “Ivor told you.”

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