Page 10 of The Prince or the Bard?
“You must allow me to apologize for the harm I’ve clearly done you," he insists, cutting a fervid glance at me from beneath his lashes. "It was not my intention to cause you distress of any kind. It never is.”
“Please stand, sir.” I practically hiss my request, my eyes roving the hall. Any minute now, someone will come through and see us, undoing everything the last four months have accomplished.
But what did I really achieve? Cillian didn’t love me after all. If he did, why would he leave so abruptly, with nothing but a note? How could he even bear it?
“I’ve kept you too long," the prince says hastily, his body hitching as he straightens at last. For a moment, it looks as though he will say something more.
"Please send the high queen my well-wishes for her swift recovery," he finishes.
Somehow, I don't think that's what he wished to say.
Then, as quickly as he arrived, Prince Ruairí departs, leaving me gripping the tray hard enough to splinter it. Fresh tears dot my eyes.
Fortunately, Queen Fiadh has the curtains drawn when I enter her room and cold stones over her eyes, so she cannot see the mess my emotions have made of my face. I quietly set the tea beside her bed.
The poor queen has barely had anything to eat since this terrible headache began, and very little to drink. She hasn’t kept much down, either, but for the herbal tea I make her. It’s a recipe I learned from the sea fae, with ingredients from the other side of the world.
“You were gone so long,” she manages, her voice faint. When she furrows her brow with concern like this, she reminds me of my sister. Even with those stones balancing on her eyes.
I never used to see the family resemblance between Fiadh and I. Now I notice it constantly.
“Forgive my delay, Your Majesty," I say, offering my cousin a curtsy. "I encountered Prince Ruairí in the hall.”
The edge in my voice must have alerted her. Slowly, High Queen Fiadh removes the ice stones from over her eyes. “What did he say?”
“He wishes you a speedy recovery, ma’am.”
She squints her eyes at me. “Is that all?”
I want to collapse into a miserable heap on the high queen’s carpet and divulge everything as if she were my sister. Instead, I maintain my composure, my hands tightly clasped in front of me. “He said it was he who suggested Cillian Cloudtongue needed many songs for court, and that he did not mean to send the bard away.”
“The bard has left court? When?”
I try not to let my worry show. I told Queen Fiadh this two days ago, when she asked if Cillian performed after supper. She hasn’t eaten in the dining hall since this wretched headache began.
“You poor thing,” Queen Fiadh says, “you must be miserable.”
Miserable is right. Without Cillian, I feel so alone.
“It’s nothing I can’t bear,” I say, raising my chin, “though I thank you for your gracious concern, Fiadh—ma’am.”
She takes the cup of tea I’ve poured for her, blowing on it, though by now it’s surely cool enough. “Jealous,” she murmurs before taking a sip.
My brow wrinkles. “Pardon, ma’am?”
She pauses, taking another pull of the herbal mixture. Her eyes close as the burn hits the back of her throat. “Prince Ruairí is jealous. That must be why he said that to the bard.”
“Jealous? Whatever for?”
“Can’t you see? Prince Ruairí is in love with you.”
It’s a good thing I’ve nothing at hand now, for it would’ve smashed onto the floor. “M-ma’am?”
“The poor dear has been enamoured with you from the time you arrived. I’m sorry, Laoise. I tried to get him to see the danger, for your sake as well as ours.” She sighs, her nostrils flaring as she inhales the sparse steam from the tea cup. “Never fear, cousin, I’ll speak to him the moment this horrid headache abates. I won’t have his interest putting your safety at risk.”
Or yours, I want to say. But I hold my tongue. The high queen has guards and spies to protect her welfare—even if half the court wants her off the throne. I’ve also come to recognize that she hates feeling helpless like this. It wouldn’t do to fret over her.
I do it anyway, in silence. And I wonder: Does Fiadh mean what she says now? How can Prince Ruairí be in love with me? And most troubling of all, how does a maid politely turn down a prince?
