Page 30 of A Court of Sugar and Spice
“In one respect, my cousin isn’t so different than the former resident of this house,” says the Prince grimly. “He is a peddler of spells—some of them quite illegal.”
“This is Faerie. Nothing’s illegal, even if your pompous father tried to make it so,” snaps Sugarplum. Here in the house, his wings are relaxed, clinging to his back like a filmy extension of the shoulder cape he wears. He throws himself onto a couch, not seeming to mind that he’s sitting on the wings. “Go on, girls—have a look. Everything’s labeled.”
“Mimicry spells.” Louisa taps her fingernail on one of the jars. “What does that mean?”
“If you look into someone’s eyes while you’re chewing a piece of that candy, it will glamour you to look exactly like them for a short time. This particular mimicry spell is immune to glamour detection. When it starts to weaken, the glamoured form flickers.”
“Interesting.” Louisa reads off more labels. “Beauty spells, sound suppression, tidying spells, lightning storms, deflection, healing, enhanced pleasure—oh, the pleasure ones sound interesting. Can I have a few?” She gives Sugarplum her best smile.
“They were formulated in Faerie, for its inhabitants, and their effects on a mortal could be unpredictable.”
Louisa pulls a disappointed face.
“Ah, don’t look so sad!” he cries. “I can’t bear it when pretty women look sad in my house.” He leaps up, collecting her hand and pressing a kiss to her knuckles. She melts into a smile.
I swallow hard, turning my back to them and pretending to inspect the labels on the jars. Why should I care if Louisa has charmed both of the Fae males we’ve met? I’m used to men liking her better than me.
“We need food, yes?” cries Sugarplum. “I’ll take a dive into the pantry and see what we have. Who wants to help me carry it out?”
I half-turn, ready to volunteer, but Louisa is already scampering after him.
The Nutcracker Prince drops into a chair, extending first one stiff leg, then the other. Since he drank Louisa’s blood, he moves more easily, but it’s obvious he still isn’t quite comfortable. There’s an element of woodenness in the way he moves and speaks.
Keeping my eyes on his face, I plant myself in a chair across from him and wait until he looks up.
“What do you want, Clara?” he says.
“What happened between you and my sister?”
“We were hiding in the trees from the mole-rat. She was panicking, drawing its attention. I kissed her to quiet her.”
“And that’s all? One kiss?”
“Why do you care?”
I consider pointing out the change in her demeanor, but I don’t owe him an explanation, so I merely shrug and settle back into my chair.
My sister and Sugarplum are gone for a long time. Finally they troop back into the room, carrying trays laden with sausages, smoked meat, cheese, bread, and an enticing array of small cakes and cookies. There’s also a big bowl filled with fruits I’ve never seen before.
They return to the pantry for wine, and then we all dive in—except the Prince, who eats nothing and takes only the tiniest sips of wine. I’m not sure what the curse has done to his internal systems, but I can understand him not wanting to consume much.
With my stomach finally full, I’m so weary I can barely keep my eyes open. Louisa and the Sugarplum Faerie are taking bites of all the decadent desserts he brought out, laughing with their mouths full while the Prince slides morosely lower in his chair, glowering at both of them.
I lean on the armrest of my own chair, warm and drowsy. I feel safe here, though I probably shouldn’t.
Sometime later I’m awakened by claw-tipped fingers scraping the hair back from my forehead, sweeping it around my ear.
“You have the loveliest hair, Clara,” murmurs a voice. The scent of warm chocolate and fresh snow whisks over me, and I blink awake, staring blankly at the Sugarplum Faerie. He looks even prettier now than he did when I met him. Maybe it’s the wine I drank.
“You fell asleep,” he says softly. “We let you rest while your sister bathed, but I thought you might want a bath as well. Or rather, I mustinsistyou have a bath, so you don’t smear dirt and blood all over the sheets.”
His eyes dart downward for a second before he pulls them back up to my face. I glance down—and realize that my breasts are practically bulging out of my ruined dress. One nipple is on full display.
But he didn’t touch me, and he doesn’t mention it as I sit up and adjust what remains of my gown.
“I’ve conjured a nightdress for you,” he says. “And the water is hot. Come, and I’ll show you.”
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