Page 15 of The Prince or the Bard?
By the time I reach the lower cliffside way, he’s almost down the convoluted flight of stairs. “Your Highness!” I call again, cupping both hands around my mouth.
He stills, then straightens. Slowly, the prince turns. Even from this distance, his dark brows outline his surprise clearly.
A softer voice carries up from the beach. “Prince Ruairí?”
I squeeze my eyes shut, a mighty wince keeping me from any attempts at composure.Lady Taliana.She and two servants, who are all about to be ankle deep in water, step out from the shadow of the cliffs below.
Something else catches my eye. As I lean over the rocks, gold-colored fringe flutters into view, attached to some kind of awning.
A chill runs through me. What are the odds that Lady Taliana and her servants can swim?
“The tide!” I call out just as Prince Ruairí, confused by my silence, begins to resume his descent to the little beach. “Your Highness, the tide!”
If he hears me, he doesn’t know what I mean. With a huff, I grab the sides of my skirt with both fists and hasten down the steps, cursing the impracticality of these courtly slippers along the coast. The rock is fairly dry from the low tide, but even so, I slip and my heart leaps from my chest.
Taking a deep, steadying breath, I push on.
A word from Lady Taliana—and not a very friendly one, by the looks of it—turns the prince’s attention my way again. I drop my skirts, waving my arms like a fool. “The tide! The tide is coming in!”
Fools.They don’t understand what I mean. Have neither of them ever been to the sea before?
I hurry down the last dozen steps—if they can be called that—just as the servants raise the alarm. And Lady Taliana and Prince Ruairí just stand there, watching the waves creep in.
“The tide is coming in,” I bark at them, dropping all formality. “Get up the stairs, quickly!”
Lady Taliana tears her eyes away from the foaming waves, frowning at me as if it’s my fault. What is the point of the Royal Fae Astronomers if they ignore the tide charts? The position of the sun and moon, combined with the magic of faerie, means the sea arrives voraciously—especially on a narrow beach like this one.
“Please pack this up,” Taliana bids her servants.
As I follow these poor men and women as they begin to scurry, my eyes bulge and I stop dead. A picnic. She thought the time before high tide would be lovely for a beachpicnic.
Or did they both? It wouldn’t surprise me if Prince Ruairí thought it a splendid idea, too. High King Tadhg has a decent enough head on his shoulders, but I cannot say I’ve ever thought the same of the prince.
Not that I think he’s evertriedto be clever. As the second son, I doubt he’s ever had to.
“There’s no time,” I snap at them all. “Can’t you see how quick it’s coming? This’ll all be washed away before you can pack it.”
Lady Taliana narrows her eyes. “And how am I to enjoy the beach without an awning? I didn’t bring it all this way just to leave it for the elements. My people will pack it promptly.”
“My lady, I fear she’s right.” Dismay laces the prince’s voice. I follow his line of sight to the burst of lacey foam, climbing halfway up the secluded beach already.
“Hurry, please,” Lady Taliana bids her servants.
And I don’t know why it shocks me, but my head snaps up as I hear the rustle of skirts: She’s already heading up the stone steps to safety.
“Prince Ruairí,” she says from the third step, pouring every ounce of cultivated charm she possesses into her voice, “I’m dreadfully frightened of slipping on these difficult stairs. I had such trouble with them on the way down! Won’t you escort me?”
I don’t hide the curl of my lip. What I wouldn’t give to be in my púca form and show her the bottoms of my hooves! But alas, these nobles are as protected as they are cossetted.
It simply wouldn’t do for a queen’s maid to kick a noble lady.
Bracing myself for utter disappointment, I watch the prince. At least his eyes dart between the servants and the lady, the high prince experiencing a moment of indecision as the tide creeps ever inward.
At a word from him, the servants could be free to follow their lady. He could order it, promise to find her a new awning and picnic basket and—is that glass dishware?
Yet Prince Ruairí fixes her attentions on Lady Taliana, a smile warming his face. “It would be my pleasure, Lady Taliana.”
My nostrils flare, and I nearly stamp my foot.This is madness.But there’s little I can do besides help the servants’ work go faster. Unlike them, I won’t drown if the tide knocks me down and pulls me out to deeper water.
