Possessed by the Fallen. Sharon Ashwood
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the princess’s bedroom, as if Amelie had tried on every pair and abandoned them before she had made it all the way down the hall. Which, apparently, was exactly what had happened.
“They’re all uncomfortable!” Princess Amelie complained to her attendant, a harried-looking woman who clearly had no fashion sense of her own. “I will be standing for hours and hours—on international television! The world will be watching and texting as I marry the man I love. It’s all going to be hard enough without obsessing about the pain in my feet.”
Amelie’s attendant glanced around the drawing room, as if searching for answers among the litter of footwear. “Perhaps I can find something else for you to try, Your Highness.”
“I think perhaps you should aim for something under a five-inch heel, Your Highness,” Lark observed.
The attendant jumped and squeaked. “How did you get in here?”
“I’m sneaky.”
The attendant looked alarmed, but a flash of amusement crossed Amelie’s face. The princess knew Lark’s many disguises, and waved an impatient hand. “I need all five inches. Prince Kyle is tall. We look like a comedy act unless I wear the heels.”
She was right, so Lark changed the subject. “Please, may I have a word? There is something private that I must discuss.”
Amelie nodded, and the attendant left, taking the other servants with her. As soon as they were alone, the latest pair of killer shoes were abandoned on the rich burgundy carpet. Lark let her glamour dissolve, resuming her own appearance. Then Lark chanted another spell, stirring the energy in the room enough to bind a cage of static around any listening devices.
Watching with rapt curiosity, the princess waved Lark to a couch. “You are always cloaked in such secrecy and mystery! What can I do for you tonight?”
“We have a problem, Your Highness,” Lark said, feeling a wave of weariness as she sat.
“That is no way to begin a conversation.” Amelie frowned, running a hand through the thick, dark mass of her hair. She sank onto the couch beside her. “What has happened?”
“I found Jack Anderson.” The words opened the door to so much and so little. I found him and...he will never forgive me for what I did to him. “He’s with your father now.”
“Jack Anderson? The leader of the Four Horsemen?” Amelie sat back, her dark eyes wide. “But he was killed!”
“No more than I was. It seems he went undercover for a time.”
Amelie brightened. “That is wonderful news! But how is this a problem?” A puff of white fur appeared over the arm of the couch. “Ah, Lancelot, isn’t this good news?” Amelie picked up the little dog and cuddled it in her lap, stroking it as it wriggled happily.
Lark hesitated. She wanted to leave the princess as she was, not exactly an innocent, but at least less deeply involved in Marcari’s Night World politics. Unfortunately, Lark had no choice. “We came here from the Company headquarters. Your Highness, there’s nothing left of the place. The compound has been destroyed.”
Silvery tears slipped down Amelie’s cheeks. “Destroyed? My loyal vampires? What of the other Horsemen? Sam and Faran and Mark?”
“No doubt there are some who escaped,” Lark said hastily as she felt her own eyes sting again. By Puck’s wings, this is hard! Lark bit her lips to keep them from trembling.
“How did it happen?” the princess asked.
“Dark Fey magic.”
“Dark Fey?” Amelie gasped. The little dog began to whine, sensing her dismay. “They are imprisoned! We stopped the ritual that would have let them out.” Amelie grasped the ring that hung by a chain about her neck. The wedding ring bore the blood rubies of Vidon—a gift from her future husband, Crown Prince Kyle of Vidon, and key to the spell that could set the Dark Queen free.
Lark cleared her throat. “It seems someone’s ready to try again.”
“I thought we caught all the traitors. It seems we were fools.” The princess fell silent, burying her face in the dog’s fur. When Amelie finally spoke again, the words were muffled. “I thought the worst obstacle to marrying Kyle was the hostility between our countries, but now there is this threat.”
Lark’s heart went out to the young woman. “We will deal with the threat, my princess, and Kyle’s people will come to know and love you.”
“The Vidonese who know about the Night World have called Kyle a traitor for marrying me. They hate me just because Marcari welcomes the supernatural within its borders.”
Lark reached across, cupping Amelie’s face in her palm. “Kyle is true-hearted. He won’t pay that any heed.”
But Amelie gave voice to the thing Lark feared most. “What if they knew the truth about me? About the fact my mother was half fey?”
It was true. Amelie’s mother—who had died before becoming queen—had been the daughter of a Light Court noble. “That’s exactly why I’m here. Your mother hid her fey heritage well, but we must be extremely careful.”
Lark spoke softly. Despite her wards, she had to be sure that no one could overhear. There was much she couldn’t explain even to Amelie—not yet. She didn’t want to frighten the princess by telling her the fate of an entire race was in her hands.
The fey were beings made of magic as much as they were of flesh and blood. Very little bound them to a physical form in the earthly realm, especially after isolating themselves for centuries. Now they were dying before their time. Lark had held her own mother’s hand, dry and lifeless as old paper and twigs, as she’d dwindled to nothing. Her eyes had grown dull as the magic within them had dimmed and guttered like a spent candle. Those had been the worst days and nights of Lark’s life.
Only an anchor in the mortal realm would save the Light Fey from fading away, and that anchor would come through the power of royal blood. This was why the royal wedding and the coronation that followed mattered so very much.
The treaty surrounding Amelie’s marriage to Kyle stipulated that within a year of the royal wedding, the kings of Marcari and Vidon would step down. Then Kyle and Amelie would ascend the thrones, unite the kingdoms and rule together in an equal partnership. Amelie would be a queen in her own right.
Like many coronation rituals, the oath of the Marcari monarch would symbolically tie her to the land in a wedding every bit as binding as her marriage to Kyle. Such unions worked in very concrete ways with the fey. Even though the princess had only a little of their blood, it was enough that Amelie’s coronation would bind the Light Fey to the earthly realm and save them from extinction.
The fact that the prince and princess had a love match would make the magic that much stronger.
Amelie’s face was grave. “If I marry Kyle, any children of ours will carry Light Fey blood. There are those among the Vidonese who would think nothing of harming them because of it.”
“True, and that brings me to my business here tonight.”
Lark reached into her coat pocket and withdrew a bottle containing a few ounces of clear liquid. It was small enough that Jack had missed it when he’d frisked her. “It took some time for our spell experts to find the right ingredients—some are incredibly difficult to obtain—but this was what your mother used to keep both her and you safe when you were very young. If you drink this, it hides every trace of fey characteristics in the blood.”
Amelie took the bottle. “Why do I need this? I’m not having a blood test.”
“Perhaps you should. Or perhaps you should cut your finger somewhere public enough to leave traces of your blood behind. Any enemies who suspect your bloodline will test the evidence only to find out their suspicions were unfounded.”
“I would like to say that is an unnecessary precaution, but I know