Page 14 of Fae-King It (Mystical Matchmakers #5)

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Anger still simmered in Ronan’s blood as he entered the breakfast room, Dominique’s hand curved around the inside of his elbow. Both of their parents and siblings were already seated at the table. Aisling wore her “company” expression, something Ronan was accustomed to. Whenever his parents had visitors, he and his sister had to don masks. They had to behave as if nothing affected them.

Ronan could see that his sister was studying the Proxa women and Jurgen Mueller, looking for weaknesses and assessing their strengths. But his mother…she wore a triumphant smirk as she gazed at Dominique.

He had no doubt she orchestrated this just to fuck with Dominique, and that knowledge pissed him off all the more. He needed to make it clear that her behavior wouldn’t be tolerated. As much as he would have loved to make a show of it in front of Dominique’s family, what he had to do was better handled privately. Between his mother and him.

When Bronwyn saw the way he stared at her, she blanched, her eyes dropping to her plate. His father merely looked bored. Ronan doubted his father knew what his mother planned, though he likely wasn’t surprised. After over sixty years together, Caden knew his wife well. Probably too well.

Dominique shifted next to him, and he felt the fine tension fill her frame. Ronan glanced over at her in time to see the aloof expression slide over her face like a veil. She was erecting her internal fortress to protect herself from the very people who should have loved and cherished her.

It all pissed him off even more than he already was. The Proxa women, his mother, and the indifference of his father—they all infuriated him.

Graciella scowled at Dominique, not bothering to get up from her chair. “So kind of you to join us, daughter.”

Ronan cocked his head at her words and her tone. He realized that the Proxa sisters didn’t call her by her name. Her mother had, but only when she tried to force her way into Dominque’s room. Now, she was using her title of daughter.

Did they do that because they didn’t view her as a person, or was it their way of trying to dehumanize her and make her insecure?

The answer to that question would help him determine the best way to deal with the Proxas. Though it rankled him, he would wait and watch. His patience and willingness to sit back and observe before he acted had given him the upper hand in many situations over the years. He couldn’t let his anger undermine that advantage this time.

Dominique ignored her mother’s harsh words and let Ronan lead her to the chair next to Aisling’s seat. His sister smiled up at them, not her usual wide, happy grin, but a small curve of her lips.

“Good morning, Dominique,” she greeted. “Ronan.”

He nodded to her and took the seat on Dominique’s other side, leaving her sandwiched between the two of them. While he was protective of his sister, her magic rivaled his in strength. If he was being honest, her power was greater than his. Only his age and experience gave him an edge. It wouldn’t be long before Aisling surpassed him. He trusted her to handle anything that might happen.

Ronan sat back as the serving girl scurried into the dining room. He ordered breakfast for Dominique before he decided what he wanted. When she nudged his ankle with her toe, he ignored it. Was he being overbearing? Of course. It was not only in his nature, but it was also trained into him. There was also the added bonus of knowing that she would have plenty of food to eat.

Before he could pour her a cup of tea, Jurgen appeared behind them, a teacup in his hand.

“Dominique, I brought your favorite tea from back home. I know it’s difficult to find in the human realm.”

She smiled graciously, but Ronan saw the twitch in her right eye. This wasn’t the sign of generosity that Jurgen was making it seem. Ronan watched as she carefully took the cup and saucer and set them beside her water glass.

When Jurgen didn’t move, Dominique made a show of picking up the cup and lifting it to her lips. Ronan opened his mouth, unsure of what he was going to say, but her eyes met his. He watched as she pressed the rim to the edge of her lips and pretended to take a sip.

When she reached out to place the cup into the saucer, it slipped from her fingers, clattering on its side. The liquid spilled into the saucer and dripped onto the tablecloth.

“Oh, dear,” she murmured. “I’m so sorry. I’m clumsy today.”

If Ronan hadn’t been watching, he would have missed the subtle way that Jurgen’s jaw flexed as he looked down at Dominique. There was a flash of hatred in his gaze, and Ronan knew that the man was aware that she wasn’t his biological child. And he loathed her for it.

“Quite all right,” Jurgen said, taking a step back. “I have more in our rooms. I’ll bring you another cup this afternoon.”

Oh, no he wouldn’t, Ronan decided. But he kept his mouth shut. It was clear that Jurgen and Graciella spent their journey here scheming, exactly as Dominique had predicted.

Ronan wondered exactly what Jurgen’s power was. Being married into the Proxa family, much of the focus was on his wife and daughters. Males couldn’t wield the magic of fairy godmothers, so they often inherited recessive magic that passed from male to male in those family lines.

He realized that he’d never seen Jurgen use his magic, and it caused a chill to run down his spine. He wasn’t sure what the sort of magic the man had. As soon as the meal was over, he would go to his father’s study and find the records Caden kept on every fae male or female who spent more than a passing night in the castle. He needed to know what he was up against.

The kitchen girl brought two plates into the dining room, setting them down in front of Ronan and Dominique. Ronan nodded to her, murmuring a thank-you, but his eyes were fixed on a small circle facing him on the rim of his plate. The staff that handled their meals knew to make sure that little circle faced any member of the royal family when they set it down in front of them.

The dot was a simple spell to determine if the food had been tampered with in any way. Spells, potions, and poisons would cause the circle to turn red. If the food was safe to consume, the circle remained white, outlined by a thin black line.

Ronan noticed that his circle was white, but Dominique’s was red. When she reached for her fork, he made a show of laying his fingers over her hand, lacing them together.

“You should share with me, darling. I believe they brought you the wrong meal,” he stated, loud enough for the rest of the table to hear.

Dominique’s hand tensed beneath his fingers, those arctic blue eyes darting up to meet his. Ronan glanced down at her plate, then at his own, her own gaze following the movement of his stare. He felt the moment she noticed the red circle on her plate because her fingers tightened around his. Her grip was nearly painful.

He heard the serving woman whisper an apology and saw the frantic jumping of her eyes. He hated that he was scaring her, but he had little choice.

“It’s fine,” he said, waving a hand imperiously at Dominique’s food. “You may remove the plate. I have more than enough for both of us.”

The serving woman scooped up the plate and darted out of the dining room. He would find her and apologize when the meal was over. But only after he determined that she wasn’t the culprit.

He doubted she was involved as she’d been working in the kitchens and dining room for nearly a decade, but trust wasn’t something he gave as a matter of course.

Ronan could practically feel the fierce gazes of Dominque’s mother and stepfather as he fed a few bites of his breakfast to his fiancée. Then, he ate a few more bites himself.

He had no doubt that the only reason his plate hadn’t been tampered with was because using magic or potions on a member of the royal family without their permission was an automatic death sentence. No, Graciella and Jurgen were cunning enough to bespell Dominique first and have her administer whatever they intended to give him. That way, their hands stayed clean, and no one would know they were involved unless they examined the situation closely. Even then, it would be nearly impossible to prove what her family had done.

As he shared his plate with Dominique, Ronan made a point to engage her mother, stepfather, and sisters in conversation. He kept his focus on them intently enough that they couldn’t risk another attempt to influence Dominique. It was difficult to maintain his composure when he wanted to yell for the guard to come and arrest them all, but he knew that it was in his, and Dominique’s, best interest not to reveal his suspicions.

His sister picked up on what he was doing, joining in the conversation in order to keep the focus on the Proxa women and Jurgen. With all eyes on them, Dominique’s mother and sisters preened. Jurgen grew more and more sullen until he was barely speaking at all. Ronan was no telepath, but he was confident that the male felt slighted by the way the fae fawned over fairy godmothers and disliked being ignored in favor of the women in his life.

Ronan filed that information away for later as he fed Dominique the last bite of the fried potatoes the chef made him with his breakfast every time he was home. They were salty, crispy, and perfect. Dominique seemed to appreciate them too because she looked disappointed when she saw he’d fed her the last bite.

Ronan leaned down, dropping his voice into the softest whisper he could manage. He felt her shiver when his mouth brushed the shell of her ear. “I’ll ask for a double order tomorrow morning.”

Her mouth quirked with humor, but the aloof expression quickly returned to her face. Understanding why, Ronan didn’t try to make her laugh or smile again. Instead, he swept his napkin off his lap and pushed to his feet. Reaching down, he took Dominique’s hand and tugged her up to stand next to him.

“Please excuse us. We have wedding plans to attend to,” he stated, his gaze moving over the group at the breakfast table.

His fiancée was quiet as they left the dining room, hand-in-hand. Her head tilted down so her eyes remained focused on the ground. He didn’t speak as they made their way through the castle halls. Neither did she.

He wasn’t sure if it was because she understood that listening ears were everywhere or if it was because she was upset about what had transpired over breakfast. Whatever she was thinking about, she didn’t let go of his hand until they reached a narrow spiral staircase at the end of a short hall.

He could hear her steps behind him as they descended, the scent of baking bread and frying meat greeting them when they reached the base of the stairs. Ronan led her down another short hall through a small pantry, the shelves lined with tiny spice shakers, stacks of cloth napkins, and rows upon rows of small jars of condiments, each carefully labeled and sealed with wax.

They emerged into the kitchen, the staff moving quickly and efficiently through the space. Some were cleaning the breakfast dishes and others were eating themselves. Next to the stove was a short, stout woman, her plain blue dress covered by a pristine linen apron. Ronan knew that by the end of the day, the apron would be covered with flour, sauce, and other foods, because Jessel was a messy cook. She must have supervised one of the new kitchen staff in cooking breakfast this morning because the apron was still fairly clean.

As though she heard his footsteps, Jessel’s head came up and her stoic expression cracked into a smile. “Welcome home, Your Highness,” she greeted him.

Ronan put a hand on Dominique’s lower back as he led her forward. “Hello, Jessel.”

Her eyes moved over the two of them, the deep brown depths warm but still sharp. “Let me guess, you’re wanting more breakfast.”

He nodded. “And to chat in private, if you have a moment.”

“Your favorites?” she asked.

Ronan nodded. “Enough for both of us, please.”

“Go into my office, and I’ll bring it to you in a moment.”

He sensed Dominique’s curiosity as he guided her through the maze of countertops, ovens, and sinks. Though the royal family was small, feeding their guests, retainers, and the soldiers that guarded them was a huge endeavor, which meant the kitchens were always busy. Even in the middle of the night.

Ronan didn’t speak again until he shut the door to Jessel’s office behind them. He knew that her space would be free of any prying eyes and ears.

“From now on, we will share a plate at meals,” he stated.

Dominique stepped away from the hand he rested on her lower back and whirled to face him. “Do you really think that will be enough?”

He shook his head. “No, I don’t. But it’s a start.”

She scoffed and threw her hands in the air, marching a few steps away from him. Jessel’s office was small, so she didn’t have far to go. “I told you what would happen. I know you think you’re untouchable because you’re the prince, but I have news for you—my family has been waiting for this opportunity for decades. They will scheme and manipulate in ways you can’t even imagine.” She made a sound of disgust. “I don’t know why I’m bothering to repeat myself. You haven’t listened any other time I’ve tried to convince you to let this foolish idea go.”

Ronan could practically feel her anxiety building as she paced in the small space near the far wall. He closed the distance between them in one large stride, taking her upper arms in his hands and stopping her motion. Dominique wasn’t much shorter than him in her heels, so her arctic blue eyes were clearly visible. She was in full ice princess mode, wearing a wintry demeanor like armor rather than raging with fire.

“You haven’t been listening to me either, Princess,” he argued. “You don’t know me that well, so I’ll explain it to you. As the crown prince and heir to the throne, I’ve had at least one attempt on my life every year since I was born. Even in the human realm, I have to watch my back. I’ve trained with the captain of the guard for decades, as well as studied with renowned fighters and teachers in Magic and among the humans. I can fight, and I’ve learned how to vanish if I need to. If I wanted to watch and listen to your family without being seen, I would. I could stand two feet from them, and they would never know I was there. When I say I can and will protect you from them, I mean it. If that means having them thrown out of the kingdom before the wedding tomorrow, I will do it.” He leaned closer until their faces were only an inch apart. “And if it means sliding a knife between your stepfather’s ribs and stabbing him in the heart, I’ll do that, too. None of them will harm you in any way. I vow it.”

Dominique stared at him, unblinking, as her chest expanded from her rapid breaths. ‘You-you would kill them?”

The question was incredulous, as though she couldn’t believe he’d be willing to spill blood for her. Having witnessed the way they spoke to her and hearing her words about not all scars being visible, hell yes, he would kill them all with a smile on his face. Especially if it meant that the awful anxiety that swirled around her moments ago never appeared again.

“I would,” he answered, his tone hard.

“Who are we killing?”

Dominique jumped, but Ronan sighed. He knew when Jessel had entered the room, but he’d hoped she would stay out of sight until this little conversation was over. Apparently, she’d decided to meddle. He shouldn’t be surprised. Jessel often took an instant liking to anyone who tried to keep others at a distance. She was perverse that way.

“Dominique’s family if they try to use a potion or spell to control either one of us. Like they did this morning.”

He released one of Dominique’s arms, using his hold on the other to tuck her into his side, and turned to face the cook and the woman who’d taught him everything he needed to know about being invisible while spying on others. She’d also taught him how to make basic food so he wouldn’t starve when he ran away to the human realm, saying that just because he could afford servants or order takeout every night didn’t mean he should.

The cook placed a tray laden with food on her desk. A large platter held meats, cheeses, dried and fresh fruits, and slices of toast smeared with rich, homemade butter. A pot that surely held tea sat next to two thick white mugs. It was the breakfast of a farmer or peasant and one of his favorite meals when he was in the castle.

Dominique pulled away from him, settling into a low, tufted chair next to the rustic table that served as Jessel’s desk. Ronan took the hard wooden stool next to her, intentionally shoving it closer to her chair and didn’t miss the piercing stare she shot his way.

Biting back a smile, he looked back toward Jessel. She was studying both of them intently. “What do you need from me?” she asked.

This was the real reason that Ronan brought Dominique down to the kitchens.

“Be watchful. Someone here in the kitchens tampered with Dominique’s breakfast. They might attempt to do so again. Or they may decide to skip her and come directly at me.”

“So, this is because of you?” Jessel asked him.

“Yes and no. Dominique’s family has been trying to marry one of their two oldest daughters off to me for years now. Not because they want her to be protected or to achieve royal status, but because they believe they can turn me into their puppet using magic and drugging me with herbs.”

Jessel snorted, rolling her eyes. “Obviously, they have no clue how pig-headed you are. Magic wouldn’t hold you for long, and drugs wouldn’t last more than a few hours, and that’s if they could get past your guard to do it.”

“Both of you talk about this as though it’s nothing more than an inconvenience rather than people who are willing to do horrible things to gain control of this kingdom,” Dominique stated. Her voice was quiet, but frost practically dripped from each word.

Ronan and Jessel looked toward her. Her back was rigid, and her eyes were the same brilliant blue they became when she was upset. Her hands gave her away, though. Dominique twisted her fingers together so tightly that her knuckles turned white.

“Lady Proxa,” Jessel began. “I trained the prince myself. He is nearly impossible to sneak up on.”

“And what training did you have to make you so knowledgeable?”

The words held no sarcasm, only genuine curiosity. Ronan heard the stress in her tone and wondered if she was actually beginning to like him. Otherwise, why would she be so upset?

Jessel must have heard the same because she normally would have ignored a question like that. Or the person asking would have woken up on the floor, wondering if they’d been kicked in the face by a mule. The cook might be aging, but she still packed a powerful punch.

“I’m a founding member of the Brotherhood of the Dagger. I taught Ronan everything I know.”

He heard Dominique swallow hard next to him. The Brotherhood of the Dagger was the covert branch of the King’s Guard. They were spies and assassins, and they were both renowned and feared by the entire fae realm.

Dominique’s eyes shifted to Ronan, who nodded. He watched as some of the tension faded from her expression. It struck him that she truly had been worried for his safety as much as she had been her own. Even after the way he…

He wouldn’t let his mind go down that road. What was done was done. She was officially his fiancée now, and there was no going back as far as he was concerned.

Dominique Proxa was his for the next ten years.

“You two need to eat,” Jessel said. “Then, we’ll figure out how to make sure you both stay safe while you’re here and after you go back to the human realm.” Her eyes moved to Dominique. “Does that sound acceptable to you?”

Dominique nodded.

“Good. Now, how do you take your tea?”