Page 20 of The High Mountain Court

Remy took a bite of the roasted potatoes and approvingly hummed as she chewed. The perfectly crisped vegetables had just the right amount of rosemary. Remy had eaten her fair share of roasted potatoes over the years, along with all the usual tavern fare. Judging by the deliciousness of the meal, Remy assumed the cook was a green witch. Green witches were native to the Southern Court, their magic making mouth-watering food and growing beautiful gardens.

Remy ate, keeping pace with the prince. It surprised her how fast Hale ate, considering he was a royal. She gobbled her food because she rarely got time off to eat her meals and so she had to shovel them down during kitchen dashes. Remy supposed it was Hale’s warrior side in practice. The stories of The Bastard Prince of the East took place everywhere but the Eastern capital city of Wynreach. He and his soldiers were nomadic, moving from town to town on the orders of King Norwood.

“Newpond . . .” Remy mused as she looked about the room. There, mounted on the wall, was a dusty map of the continent of Okrith. “We’re nearing Silver Sands Harbor at the Western Court’s border. Are we crossing into the South?”

The Silver Sands Harbor was a deep inlet separating the Western and Southern Courts. Only one road crossed the border. It wended through the dense forest at the base of the southwestern most reaches of the High Mountains. Remy stuck out her lip as she traced the map with her eyes. They would come so close to the harbor. It seemed a pity to be so close and still not view the ocean.

The prince frowned at the map. “You know I cannot tell you where we are going. Not yet.”

“What could I possibly do with that information?” Remy said, batting her eyelashes.

“You can keep playing this game, little witch,” Hale spoke in a softly menacing voice. “But I will not underestimate your power. Most of your kind were killed off in the slaughter thirteen years ago for their allegiance to the fallen crown. You are a rarity. And when we stumbled across you in that tavern, I knew we had struck gold. You are our ticket out of this war. So no, you are not some meek, little tavern witch. You can stop pretending.”

Remy snarled at Hale.

“There she is.” He grinned.

“What can you tell me, then?” Remy folded her arms across her chest.

“Nothing.” Hale lifted another spoonful of peas to his mouth.

“Can you tell me your full name or is that not allowed either?” Remy asked.

That threw him off guard.

“My name is Hale.” He pursed his lips to contain his mouthful of food.

“Oh please, all you princes have ten names. Go on, what’s yours?”

Hale chuffed out a laugh as he sipped his water.

“Fine, my name is Hale Bastion Haast Ashby Norwood. And that is only five names, not ten.”

Remy cackled. There was nothing delicate or demure about the way witches laughed. They laughed with their entire bodies, and Hale couldn’t help but laugh along with her.

“I wish I could say that it was a pleasure to make your acquaintance, prince.” Remy laughed again, throwing his title at him like a playful punch. She took a long sip of her water and looked at him through her long lashes. “Perhaps if the circumstances were different.”

She didn’t know why she said it, merely wanted to. But she delighted in the way Hale’s eyes widened. That wanting smile stretched back across his face. He may have been fae, but when it came to women, it didn’t matter: fae males were as simple as human men, it seemed.

“And what is your name, little witch?” Hale’s voice dropped an octave as he spoke. It did wonderfully terrible things to Remy’s insides.

“Remy Singer,” she answered.

“Liar.” The prince smirked.

Maybe he wasn’t a complete fool, then, and he was formidable. His other soldiers were skilled to be sure, but Hale’s power was like a living thing. Remy sensed it, power radiating off him in pulsing waves, her ears ringing with the low hum. She feared for anyone who ended up on the wrong end of his blade.

“How about some wine?” Remy looked forlornly at her empty plate. She had been half-tempted to lick it clean. Too many days she had been eating rabbit and squirrel stew.

“You are with child, wife,” the prince reminded her.

“Ugh, fine. Cake, then.” Remy grinned. Cake was what she wanted anyway, and compared to wine, it was inexpensive too. “I’m sure you can afford it.”

The prince barked out a laugh as he grabbed a gold coin from his pocket. He may have been glamoured as a human but carrying around pieces of gold was a dead giveaway that he was fae. Remy snatched the coin off the table regardless and waved it to the green witch cook, who was talking to the barman in the corner.

“Three slices of cake please,” she called to the witch, waving the prince’s coin.

“Three?” The prince raised his eyebrows.

“Oh, did you want a piece?” Remy asked. Turning back to the green witch, she shouted, “Sorry, four pieces, please.”

The green witch nodded to her with a knowing grin. Whatever kind of cake it was, it would be delicious if a green witch had baked it.

“Well, it is worth the coin to see you eat four whole slices of cake,” Hale chuckled more and more at the thought. Something in Remy loved that he laughed like a witch. It was deep and hearty, making his whole body shake. Entirely different from the begrudging sounds he usually made, this sound was genuine.

“Like you said, husband, I am with child.” Remy rubbed her stomach.

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