1
MIRTH
Not even twenty-fourhours after I walked away from my own matchmaking event, I’m sliding out of the converted classic Rolls-Royce Phantom that I absconded with from my father’s collection of cars. With a brief stop for some food and to stretch our legs, Roz and I have driven all the way from Waterfell Castle, my father’s seat of power, to Prague.
And yes, this pampered princess can actually drive. Fleeing kidnapping or assassination attempts would be rather difficult if I couldn’t, according to the head of the royal guard. Though Anne, my father’s chosen mate, had seriously freaked out when Raoul got my brother Armin and me both learning to ride motorcycles even while we were technically too young to have our licenses. Raoul and Anne hadn’t been bonded then, as they are now with each other, my father, and Eleanor — the two of them exchanging bites in the shifter way. And Anne had pretty much lost her mind seeing us grapple with bikes far too big for us.
Speaking of disgruntled protectors, my royal guard, Roz, slams the passenger door shut and crosses around to the front of the car to join me. Even while doing more than her share of the driving, my combat mage has had her lips perpetually pressed together in disapproval the whole trip. Ignoring the fact that I could have wandered off without notifying her at all, as I had done countless times before, trailing in Armin’s wake. Granted, he and I didn’t usually drive partway across Europe without letting anyone know where we were.
It’s midmorning. We’ve arrived earlier than I planned. Though the former estate is set on the edge of the city, the sound of the bustling metropolis is muted by the tall walls and the even taller, ancient-looking trees sporadically growing all across the front of the property.
Roz sweeps a dark-eyed gaze around the mostly empty visitor car park, then scans the ostentatious brick building set back on the property.
The Prague Phrontistery. Well, the main building, at least.
“It’s still spring break,” I say, only slightly exasperated as I retrieve my black designer backpack from the back seat. “They have security.” We had to cross through the wards at the gates.
Roz only grunts in response. Her thumbs are already flying over her phone as she sends out updates, most likely to my other personal royal guard, Greg, as well as their supervisor. The cat shifter is still in London at my request. Getting a phone to the children, Tommy and Kitty, whom I’ve inadvertently— and possibly inappropriately— taken under my protection. I should know the name of Greg and Roz’s royal guard supervisor, but I don’t. Though I have a sense that Roz might report directly to Raoul.
“The guard at the gate didn’t even ask you for ID,” Roz says sourly, not looking up from her phone. “And he’s new since we did our last security checks.”
“Well, that’s probably a good thing,” I say casually. “Since I don’t actually have any ID. In the traditional sense.”
Roz throws me a look. I just grin at her, then deliberately point to my thick-framed black designer sunglasses, indicating the purple-hued eyes hidden behind those vintage shades more than the glasses themselves.
She grimaces, her own dark-brown eyes only partially shaded behind sleek aviators. “Sorry. We’ve never traveled like this before.” She sweeps a hand down her body. She’s not in her royal guard uniform. Her casual outfit — dark jeans, leather jacket over a thin sweater, and kick-ass boots — was what she was wearing when I gave her exactly no notice before I stole the car.
In my defense, I was rather … distracted.
Right after I stole Armin’s ashes from my father’s study.
Right after I realized all the ramifications — or at least all the ones I hadn’t already spelled out for myself — of being my father’s only heir. All the reasons that I needed to accept and bond with a well-established bond group. I would need to help my father hold the intersection point. I would need to be grounded and steady enough to hold that point myself when the time comes. Because an imbalanced intersection point has worldwide ramifications. It’s a massive responsibility. One I was born and bred to undertake.
Honestly, giving Roz any notice at all was rather generous of me. Especially given that I took off from Lake Thun Castle without her, forcing her to race after me to Waterfell.
I sling my backpack over both shoulders. It’s comfortingly heavy. Anchoring. Still, it seems as though carrying a marble urn around in a backpack should be disconcerting.
I’m wearing a black cashmere-and-wool duster that falls to my lower calves and comes with a glorious cowl hood, over perfectly stretchy, straight-legged dark-wash jeans. The duster is more of a coat than a sweater, and I’ve layered it over a cobweb-thin, long-sleeved, tight-fitting sweater, then paired the entire outfit with sleek, square-toe ankle boots with a generous heel. I had found the entire outfit in prettily wrapped boxes in my rooms at Waterfell and thrown it on before I left. Clearly, the clothing was another courting gift from Sully, either sent to the castle before or during the matchmaking event so I wouldn’t be overwhelmed by too many gifts from him all at once.
And yes, despite leaving Sully and all my other suitors behind without a more formal goodbye, I greedily accepted the absolutely perfect outfit.
My heirloom pearl necklace lies warm against my skin. Armin’s emerald ring weighs down my right hand. But I already know I’m no longer the princess to whom both were gifted years ago. I’m also not all shiny and new.
I’m floating in thebecomingbetween my recent past and my near present.
And that is … okay. I can slow down — my mind, my heart. I can take the time to … grieve. Hopefully in a healthier way than I’ve been doing so far. If only for the few days I promised my father.
A narrow garden— more a series of interconnected pathways than greenery— separates us from the main building. The huge double entrance doors are situated above a short set of steps, just beyond a low fountain that never freezes thanks to layers of essence-wrought spells. Even now, I’m sure some creature is living within the shallows — an essence-crafted creation from the Phrontistery’s upcoming graduates. The staff plays along with such pranks until summer break.
Not that all the students leave for the summer. Or even spring break, for that matter. Sully never did, not unless he was with Armin or Bolan. And me, of course. His so-called guardians were mostly estate lawyers and extremely distant relatives who pulled allowances from his inherited estate, butwho never bothered visiting. So even though Sully technically owned houses all over the world at the time, he had no home to go to.
The last time I allowed my power free rein had been on these grounds. Not that ‘allowed’ is the most accurate description of that involuntary unleashing, and all the far-reaching ramifications of that extreme manifestation.
The unreciprocated kiss with Bolan … the terror of hurting people … the defense of my brother …
The deaths I caused that still haunt me. So much so that I locked all that power away and refused to deal with the aftermath — for far too long, it now seems.
The entrance doors, carved in an intricate design featuring multiple lynx, fly abruptly open. Tereza Landenberg hustles through them and down the stairs in our direction. The golden-haired lynx shifter is dressed much more formally than either me or Roz.
