Page 65 of The High Mountain Court

Chapter Seventeen

The palace was beautiful in the twilight. Magical shadows danced along the walls of Wynreach castle. Strings of golden-tipped leaves covered the stairs up to the palace’s giant wooden doors. Two pumpkin lanterns framed each step. Carved in intricate details, the pumpkins drew lingering views by courtiers, who stopped to examine them at each step.

Witches celebrated the Autumnal Equinox, too, but nothing like this. They lit candles, feasted on the last of the summer crops, and cast spells of resiliency for the coming winter months. Winding down into the winter, it was a time when they prepared to hibernate along with the rest of the forest creatures. But the fae celebrated differently. Everything was big, loud, and decadent in the fae world.

The Eastern Court preferred to wear deep jewel tones, nothing like the riot of colors in the Southern Court or the neutral earthy colors of the West. Carys looked resplendent in a sleeveless, emerald-green gown. It hugged her body like a glove down to the knee, then fanned out into a mermaid tail. Wearing her hair up in intricate braids, she had taken hours of the afternoon to perfect them. She had to raise her hem at every step so as not to trip herself from her tight dress, but she looked stunning. Standing next to her, Remy was sure she would be invisible.

Remy wore a plum purple gown that matched many of the shades of purple worn by other courtiers. Purple was the patron color of the Eastern Court in honor of their violet witches, though that coven of witches was all gone now. Her dress had a modest scoop neck and three-quarter length sleeves. She wore small hoops under her dress to create a bell-shaped skirt. Wearing all that scaffolding, Remy had no sense how close she could get to things before her skirts would bump into them. She much preferred riding leathers. Her hair cascaded down her left side, pulled back with an elegant silver clip on the right. She had let Carys re-do her makeup, and the female fae did a much better job of making her look elegant rather than garish.

As they took another step, a pair of fine leather boots came into view.

“You look good.” An amused voice came from above them.

They looked into the face of Bri. Bri wore a teal tunic detailed with delicate golden lace and merlot-colored trousers. The golden cuffs at the tips of her fae ears brought out the molten gold in her kohl-lined eyes. She looked incredible and eccentric. Remy smirked. She could never imagine Bri in a dress.

“Thank you.” Carys demurred with a mocking bow. “I am sure I will capture the eye of every male in there.”

“And many of the females too.” Bri winked with a cocky grin. She turned her golden eyes to Remy. “You look good as well,” she said. “Except you need one more thing.”

From behind Bri’s back, she produced a black leather belt. Suspended from it was a steel scabbard and the hilt of a small dagger.

“A gift for you,” she said, handing it to Remy. Painted red lips parting, Remy ran her fingers over the hilt. Swirling constellations and bursting golden stars etched every inch of its silver. On the other side was a shining sun, radiating beams of gold down into the sheath.

Remy grasped the hilt in the way Bri had taught her. It fit the size of her hand perfectly. The blade was the perfect weight and sharpened so finely that even the lightest touch would draw blood. It was lovely and lethal—like this castle, like Hale.

“This is mine?” Remy whispered, running her eyes over the blade again.

“You’ve been training hard,” Bri said. “You deserve your own weapon. Careful with that, though.” She warned. “People will think it’s decorative, but it’s as deadly as anything.”

Remy beamed at the female warrior, her friend. She would treasure this gift forever.

“Thank you.” Remy bit her cheek to keep the emotions from overwhelming her. Bri simply shrugged as if it were nothing.

“Put it on!” Carys urged with an excited squeal.

Remy sheathed the dagger and grabbed the belt. She buckled it to her waist, the scabbard sitting off her body from the hoops of the skirt. It sat at the perfect height, her forearm skimming the hilt at her hip. She felt a lot less exposed wearing the dagger.

“Ready to enter the lion’s den?” Bri asked, crossing her arms as she looked to the belt around Remy’s waist.

Remy looked at the two giant stone lions sitting guard on either side of the massive doorway into the grand hall. The lion was the prominent feature of the Eastern Court crest. She noted more hints of the lion motif: lions’ heads, wild manes, and paw prints carved into the doors in the same style as the carvings on the doors throughout Wynreach.

Remy shifted back and forth, wanting to pace at the sight of the sentinels ahead of her. A steady flow of courtiers kept passing them on the stairs, most of them not even stopping to look at the three of them. It was a good sign that they weren’t interesting enough to be noticed.

“No, not really,” Remy responded. She took a deep breath.

“Me neither,” Carys said, wrapping her arm around Remy’s and pulling her forward. “Let’s go find the wine.”

* * *

Dazzling splashes of burgundy, ginger, and gold decorated the grand hall. Food tables ran the entire right-hand length of the enormous room. A feast lay across it, with cornucopia centerpieces dotted along them. The grand space smelled of spiced meats and warm cider, and a twelve-piece orchestra played on a balcony above the feasting tables. The rest of the space opened out to the horde of guests. Dancers carved out a wide circle in the crowd with dozens of couples twirling to the light music. At the far end of the hall sat the dais where King Norwood presided.

The ruler’s dark mahogany armrests curled into lion’s claws with the giant head of a roaring lion cresting the top. King Gedwin Norwood sat rigidly on his throne. Looking nothing like what Remy had imagined, he had silvery white hair and black, sunken eyes under large bushy eyebrows. He was so lean, he looked sickly. His cheeks hollowed out, his frame drowning in a giant black velvet coat. His long, knobby fingers grasped the arms of his throne. He was the opposite of Hale, wholly grim and devoid of life.

Beside the throne sat a wooden chair with purple upholstered cushions. A plump, blonde-haired woman perched on it, frowning. Remy assumed that was the queen. She looked much younger than Hale’s father, wearing a jaded, morose expression.

She did not smile from her thin-lipped mouth like the two blond-haired young men standing to her left. They had short, blunt noses, plump cheeks, and rounded jaws. Their blond hair was in stark contrast to their black eyes. Those must have been Hale’s younger brothers, Belenus and Augustus. The younger one twirled a purple flower in his hand. Crushing a petal with his thumbnail, he sniffed it in a sinister way that made the hairs on Remy’s arms stand up. Hale did not stand beside his father’s throne. He must have been mingling through the crowded hall.

Remy searched the room, her eyes landing on Hale. His eyes darted away from her gaze as soon as it landed on him. He looked magnificent. He wore a high-necked, cinnamon brown jacket that matched the highlights of his hair. A hint of a white shirt peeked through the intricate wooden clasps of his jacket. The tailored clothes suited him, but it was the way he stood, the pompous way he rested his fist on his hip and waved his glass of wine about as he spoke that made him look like a handsome stranger. His larger-than-life persona was befitting of a crown prince in his home court.

---