Page 19 of The High Mountain Court

She caught Remy’s eye from over Hale’s shoulder. The innkeeper lifted her hand and touched the center of her chest. Remy noted the move. It was a signal to other witches, tapping to where their totem bags used to hang around their necks. It was a simple, innocuous move that was only noticeable to those who were looking out for it.

The fae and humans often called them hex bags, but that was a misnomer. The bag was not for hexes at all. It carried special objects personal to each witch. They used to wear them around their necks before the Siege of Yexshire. Many witches still kept the totem bags anyway, sewn into secret pockets in their cloaks and dresses, just as Remy’s own totem bag was tucked into the lining of her tunic now. The tradition lived on in secret.

The innkeeper was a witch then. Remy only moved her head in the briefest of nods to acknowledge that yes, she was a witch too. The innkeeper gave a half-smile. Good. She might have seen right through their husband-and-wife ruse, but if she was also a witch, she would keep quiet about them.

When she had exited the room, Remy snapped her gaze back to Hale.

“Why would you say I’m your wife?!” Remy hissed across the table in a hushed voice. “Is that really the only thing you could think of?”

“I thought if you were with child it would be a good excuse for you to not be venturing into the town with the others.” Hale’s brows dropped over his eyes. “Stop biting my head off about it.”

Remy huffed a laugh.

“What?” The muscle in Hale’s jaw popped out.

“Nothing,” Remy said. “At least we bicker like a married couple convincingly enough.”

Hale leaned back in his chair, the anger in his eyes cooling. “You play the role of a pregnant woman well.”

“Do backhanded compliments just roll off your tongue so naturally?” Remy said.

A subtle smirk crossed Hale’s face as he asked, “Do you wish to concern yourself with my tongue?”

Even with his glamour, Hale was gorgeous. Her gaze roved along his sharp jawline and full lips before settling back on those eyes.

Remy’s heart leapt into her throat. Gods, those gray eyes were the smoke before the flame. They scorched her skin.

Remy wished Heather and Fenrin were still here. Maybe their constant meddling could be beneficial sometimes. Right now, Remy needed a buffer before she crawled across the table and showed the prince just how concerned she could be with his tongue.

“Three rooms?” Remy asked instead.

“What?” Hale arched a thick, brown brow.

“You told the innkeeper we needed three rooms,” Remy noted.

“One for the Eagles, one for you and your . . . friends,” he said, careful not to mention witches, “and Carys and I will share one.”

“Oh,” Remy said, then added, “Good. I mean, it will look strange if you were sharing a room with someone other than the woman you said was your wife . . .”

“Good point.” Hale grinned. “I’m sure your friends will have feelings about that, though. Do you want to spend the night in a room with me?”

The sound of his voice made Remy want to chew on her lip, but she refused. A small thrill ran through her that he might have lied about them being married so they could share a bed.

Remy warred with herself. What did an offer like that mean? What would happen if she said yes? She bounced one leg under the table.

She remembered what Carys had said in the forest, but something about the fae warrior and Hale sharing a bed still rubbed Remy the wrong way.

Hale put an elbow on the table and rested his chin in his hand. He was watching her, and from the smug look on his face he knew what she was debating.

A blush crept up Remy’s face. She instantly felt more aware of her appearance. Her beauty had only ever been a problem for her. She tried to hide it behind her tied-back hair and unwashed face. She had been receiving advances from drunken men in taverns for years. But so rarely had she wanted to encourage a male’s attention. Only one time in fact . . . well, two now.

Remy’s goal in life was to not draw attention to herself. Yet here she was, thinking about how she wanted to look and dress to draw Hale’s gaze. She wanted the prince to think she was beautiful, and she hated herself for it. These fae royals were not good males. She shouldn’t care about anything other than how quickly she could escape.

The innkeeper returning with two glasses of water saved Remy from the prince’s penetrating stare. Another small, mousy woman behind her carried two plates of food to the table.

“That smells delicious,” Remy said, smiling at the cook. The woman’s thin pink lips pulled up at the sides before she turned and walked away. Remy sensed the cook’s magic stirring behind that smile. She was a witch too. Thank the Gods. The more witches around, the better.

Remy considered Hale as he devoured the meal before him. He did not know he had entered a tavern with at least two more witches.

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