Page 23 of Royal Ransom (Princess Procedural #4)

Taliyah

The lake stretched toward the horizon, flanked on either side by a sweep of evergreens.

Each pine was dusted with snow, giving the whole affair a Christmassy feel. A small army of performers had gone to work on the surface, sculpting it as though it had been made of clay rather than brittle ice. A Sidhe woman with a rather large nose and spiky silver hair was watching the performers intensely, anticipating scene changes with little flicks of her wrist. The sets glided up from the ice gracefully as needed.

“Okay,” I said under my breath. “That’s officially cool.”

“If you embraced Olwen, it wouldn’t seem like such grand magic to you,” Basil responded. “It’s complicated, yes, but not too challenging for a Sidhe of your caliber. You might be happier if you embraced that half of yourself.”

I could have argued the point. I’d be more powerful, yes, but not happier. A world without my boys would be a cold and joyless place. It was why I could never call this place home, no matter how much it might feel that way.

The crowd had spilled out onto the ice, getting as close to the actors and gymnasts as they could without actually touching them. I couldn’t see Janara in the crowd, but I could feel her nearness. The air around her was cold and bitter enough that I could practically taste it.

As we walked nearer, the crowd enveloped us, a perfect semicircle of brilliantly beautiful structures. The twinkling lights from the windows of the castle just beyond the hill lit our way, while silver taper candles floated amidst the trees as if held by invisible lamplighters.

“I think I’m happy where I am,” I said, eventually answering his offhanded comment. “And I don’t need to become someone else to become a badass spellcaster. It’s just going to take longer doing it my way.”

Basil inclined his head with a small smile. “Touché.”

The songs and shouts coming from the surface of the lake mixed with the mood lighting, making the entire thing sparkle with incandescent energy. I wasn’t sure what play they were performing, but a massive icy oak had risen from the center of the lake, an entire village of tiny faeries making a home in its branches. It was as if hundreds of pristine cottages were stacked in the beautiful tree until the facade of a castle appeared.

“So where do you think we’ll find her?” I asked, scooting closer as the crowd pressed in. Almost no one was paying attention to us, and those that were would be too drunk to report on what they saw with any accuracy.

“She’ll turn up for the finale,” Basil said with a hint of disgust. “This isn’t a play; it’s a reenactment.”

“A reenactment?”

He nodded. “It’s meant to show Fennec’s final stand. Janara will blast the tree down and kill a prisoner made up to look like him. The crowd will cheer, and then she’ll probably retire back to her own palace for a nice night of torture.”

I came to a stuttering stop, dragging Basil to a halt beside me. A milling woman with hair the color of a cardinal’s wing and the tail of an Arctic fox actually bumped into his elbow, giving him a pointed shove and a disgusted look when he didn’t immediately bow out of her way. He managed to inch closer to me, allowing her to pass, and only received frosty eyebrows for his trouble.

“You didn’t think to mention that before we came here?”

Basil’s lips thinned into an unhappy line. “If I had imagined our quarry would be so close at hand, I would have. I told you my intelligence was decades out of date, and this is the consequence.”

“I can’t just let Janara torture and then kill someone as entertainment.”

“You have to,” Basil hissed back, using my elbow to guide me closer to the ever-changing set. Streaks of light and cracks of enormous thunder rolled overhead, simulating the magical battle fought and lost all those years before I was born. “Charging in to stop her is guaranteed to get the guard involved. You’re good, Taliyah, but you aren’t a pro at this yet. Stick to the plan, please.”

I wanted to tell him where he could shove his concern. This was wrong. But... he was also right. There was more at stake than one person’s life. Cain’s ring was resting on Janara’s bony finger, his eternal fate left in her cruel hands. She had the citizens of what used to be Misty Hollow in her dungeons. And all of the subjects she oppressed needed me too. Not to mention Fox. Right—I couldn’t barge in.

That didn’t mean I had to like it.

“If I can save the prisoner without blowing our cover, I’m going to,” I hissed back.

“Fine,” Basil said easily.

The easy acquiescence immediately put me on edge. He was patronizing me, telling me what I wanted to hear. The chances I could rescue the prisoner and kill my traitorous aunt without revealing who and what I was were so slim that they might as well not have existed.

Basil and I reached a break in the crowd, brushing past a pair of stone-faced Sidhe guards in dark armor as we went. And then, without warning, I found myself standing only a few feet away from the inner circle.

A bald Sidhe lord with a beak-like nose had taken up a position at the rear of the throng. Standing a little apart from him was one of the most charming little girls you’d ever seen... outside of a Child’s Play film. Wren looked like all the cutest parts of a doll Frankensteined onto a winged harpy. There was too much cruelty in her wide doe eyes to ever make her appear harmless. The staff she clutched tightly in her little hands had nicks and odd stains in places, evidence of combat. Her eyes kept flitting around her warily, not as relaxed as her lanky counterpart. Her ear was bandaged beneath the small circlet she’d donned for the party. Did it make me a bad person that I liked it that I’d ruined her doll-like looks?

“Relax, my dove,” Janara said, running a hand through Wren’s hair, as though she were a beloved cat instead of the spiteful little sorceress she was. “It’s a party. The real fun is due to start any moment. You won’t be in any fit state to participate if you sulk.”

“The energy is wrong here,” Wren said, more to herself than to Janara. “I can feel a change. Can’t you?”

“What I feel is annoyed,” Janara said, tightening her hold on Wren’s locks. The smaller faerie leaned close, trying to keep the temperamental queen from yanking her hair out by the roots. “Olwen got those pesky hunters involved. It’s going to be a headache. And on my birthday, too. Are you truly going to spoil my mood with your ill portents, Wren? During my birth week?”

“No, my queen,” Wren said, ducking her chin just a fraction. I might have felt bad for her if she hadn’t been instrumental in more than one kidnapping plot in my town.

Janara glanced away from the fistful of hair she held, swiveling to face back toward the oak tree. The “battle” was taking on a more fevered pitch. I heard screams in the distance, and some of them sounded distressingly real. I’d been in enough scrapes to know genuine pain and terror when I heard it.

Basil and I exchanged a glance. While I knew my rattled nerves were showing, Basil kept his new face completely blank. I tried to mirror his aloofness but felt like I was failing miserably. He was trying not to let any apprehension show as Janara’s gaze fixed on us and she took a few steps forward.

“Good tidings, Majesty,” Basil said with a bow. “I am—”

“I don’t care to know your name,” she said dismissively. “You don’t matter. Introduce your lady.”

“Lady Aprecity, this is Her Highness, Queen Janara.”

I cleared my throat and tried to speak normally. I bobbed into a graceless curtsy, cursing myself for not brushing up on the etiquette Jonathan’s parents had always been on about. It might have come in handy at a time like this.

“Ah, the Lady of the house. I hadn’t got a chance to meet you upon our arrival. You retire quite early.”

I forced a shaky smile. “Rest is important, especially while one is still learning her duties.”

Janara’s face was as open and genial as I’d ever seen it, glowing with the certainty of the truly mad. The glassy mirror shards that made up her eyes were unfathomable, and I couldn’t meet them for more than a second or two. She tickled me just beneath the skin, as if I were the most precious thing on earth.

“Indeed. If my guard were half as wise as you appear to grow, the matter of succession would be settled by now.”

My heart threw itself violently against my ribs. Beside me, Basil stiffened, probably reading more into the phrase than she meant. No one knew who Aprecity was in relation to the queen. She’d been kept a secret for that very reason. But...

“I don’t know what you mean,” I said, trying to sound innocent.

“This matter with Olwen. She’s still evaded my guard. Slippery little brat.”

My breath came out in a slightly hysterical giggle. If Janara noticed, she didn’t let it show. She was in an especially good mood tonight, which had me on edge. Anything my aunt enjoyed was certain to be repugnant.

Another scream split the air, making me jump. Janara’s lips curled into a smile.

“The final act is starting,” she said. “Would you like to participate, Lady Aprecity? You just turned sixty, did you not? It’s high time you wore the blood of a first hunt.”

I looked around desperately, hoping she was going to drag in the wounded stag that Basil had promised. Instead, I found her looking at me expectantly, one hand out as though she expected me to take it. I balked when I realized what she actually meant for Priss to do.

“You want me to kill the prisoner?” I asked, my voice coming out as a squeak.

I could kill animals. My father had taken his kids and a boatload of cousins out fishing every spring. He’d taken me hunting for turkey and deer in the Midwest when he had the time and money for travel. I’d learned how to temper my reaction to taking human life at the Academy. But in those scenarios, it was me or the person with a gun. I shot them to preserve my own life or the life of their victim. This... this was cold-blooded murder of an innocent person.

Janara’s grin was sharklike—sharp and full of teeth. She folded my arm around hers like we were best friends out for a shopping trip. I couldn’t tug my arm back, though every part of my body rebelled at the thought of touching her so familiarly. If I raised winter to fight her, she might sense who I was beneath the charm.

I glanced helplessly over my shoulder as Basil released me. He urged me forward with a nod, mouthing, “Go.”

It wasn’t what I wanted him to say. I was not going to stab a prisoner for Janara’s amusement or to maintain my cover. I would embarrass Priss if I had to. Better she be thought a coward than a cold-blooded murderer.

Janara and I navigated the surface of the icy lake as if it were solid, unmovable ground. Here, in the heart of Winter, I could feel the enchantments woven into every part of the set dressing. The sets looked even larger when I came alongside them. Icy recreations of aspen leaves littered the ground like confetti, crunching beneath our feet as we waltzed toward the sculpted recreation of an enormous tree tipped onto its side. Actors dressed as Winter soldiers were dragging a flailing prisoner toward our position.

The man looked terrible. He’d been hit so often that his skin looked mottled with bruises. His lip had been split, and his nose was hanging crooked. The way he favored his leg convinced me someone had broken it at some point. If it had fused wrong, he’d have to suffer even more when the doctors rebroke it.

Assuming I could get him away from this crowd and to a doctor in time to do him any good. Which was a substantial if at this point.

They’d draped him with the royal trappings of an Autumn general, mocking him with the prop weapons strapped to his person. It was more degradation on top of whatever else he’d been made to endure. I couldn’t stop myself from whispering his name as they dropped him at my feet.

“Prince Reynard.”

I barely remembered to call him by his princely name, not the pseudonym that he’d come to me with first. He glanced up at the sound of his name, peering through hanks of matted hair to get a good look at me. His eyes were glazed with pain, but I could still see furious thoughts behind them. He’d squared his shoulders for one last futile fight.

“Indeed,” Janara said, still smiling at me. She reached for a belt nestled amongst the silver and white of her foamy gown. The bone dagger made a soft whisper of sound when it cleared the holster. She offered it to me. “It’s your sixtieth. Make your first kill memorable, Lady Aprecity. Kill this traitor in the name of Winter.”

I reached for the bone dagger, shivering when its weight settled in my palm. I could sense magic carved into it. If this was what I thought it was, it had been fashioned from the leg of Fox’s slain brother. And now she wanted me to kill him with it while she mocked his brother’s last stand. She wanted me to curse his entire line through his death. To hurt Astrid. Sybil. Maverick.

No. I couldn’t do it. I wouldn’t.

“Kill the traitor?” I echoed. “Are you sure?”

Janara tsked. “Don’t make me repeat myself, Lady Aprecity.”

“Of course not, Your Majesty,” I whispered.

Then I spun on one heel, lifting the dagger high. The world slowed around me, sound dulling to a whisper as I committed to the strike. Moonlight caught the blade, a silver flash in the darkness. It made a sickening squelch when it entered the side of her throat, parting flesh with terrifying ease. Warm crimson spilled over my knuckles, the metallic scent of blood filling the air.

Janara’s eyes went wide—not with fear, but with fury—her pupils dilating until almost no iris remained. She lifted her arms, trembling but deliberate, a spell gathering in her palms. The ancient words tumbled from her lips despite the wound, her voice gurgling yet determined. Blue-white energy crackled between her fingers, dashing the gems on her hands to pieces. The shattered remnants of sapphire and diamond scattered across the stone floor like fallen stars, each fragment still pulsing with residual magic as she channeled her final, desperate counterattack.

But it was too late. Janara died, but she took Cain with her. Her final breath escaped in a rattling hiss as a spell erupted from her fingertips—not aimed at me, but at the ring now hanging from her finger. I could only watch in horror as the ring cracked under the weight of her spell, fracturing with a sound like breaking ice. Crimson light spilled from the gold and I felt Cain’s soul brush my cheek as he snapped back to wherever he should have been—a fleeting caress, gentle as moth wings, cold as winter frost. I was overcome with the feeling of him reaching for me, the feelings of love and desperation mingling within me. The sensation lingered like the echo of a forgotten melody, both familiar and foreign.

The silence that followed swallowed everything—my breath, my heartbeat, even the soft drip of blood from my still-raised dagger.

I wanted to laugh and sob at the same time. She’d died as she lived—being a spiteful bitch.

A hush fell over the crowd when the red began to spread at my feet. There was even a nervous titter from someone near the back, as though this had been an awkward hiccup in their play, not an assassination. No one seemed to get it until I opened the locket dangling from my ear and tossed the strands of pink into the gathering pool of blood.

“In the name of Winter,” I said in a voice that carried as I turned to face everyone who was currently staring at me. “I end the Usurper, Janara and her loyalists.” My voice rose until I was yelling out the rest. “I am Taliyah Fucking Morgan, but most of you will know me as Princess Olwen. Queen Olwen to you, now.”

No one but Wren moved in the crowd. She stared from me to her downed mistress and back in dawning horror before disappearing into a puff of snow, off to wherever cowardly little pixies hid from justice. No one else seemed to realize the gravity of what had just happened. Time to enlighten them.

I leaned forward. All of them recoiled, as though I’d taken a swing in their direction. A nervous mutter began now.

“And since I’m in charge, I’m ordering you all out. Now. Any traitors who want to take a swing are welcome to do so. You’ll violate our treaty with Autumn over my cooling corpse. Or Janara’s, in this case. If you don’t have the backbone for a fight, then flee. I don’t need faithless idiots in my administration anyway.”

No one moved. I raised the bloody knife and gestured toward the doors. “In plain English? Move your asses or lose them. And send someone to the dungeons to free the Misty Hollow prisoners.”

It’s astonishing how quickly a little political violence clears a room. It took twenty minutes, but the castle emptied, leaving only family, allies, and a very nervous elf trying to curry favor with me by being my communications director regarding the prisoners in Janara’s castle.

I didn’t move from my position on the ice until I was sure it was over. Only then did I sag next to Janara’s cooling corpse and I let the tears come, let them grasp me completely until I felt like I might vomit.

It was over.

A firm, feverishly warm arm curled around my waist. I glanced up sharply, ready to send a blast of Winter into the face of the eavesdropper. I only found Fox staring down at me, eyes clouded with concern.

“Thank you,” he whispered. “That was nothing short of—“

I held up a hand. “No. I don’t want to hear it.”

He swallowed hard. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” I asked, rubbing my nose with my sleeve. I felt bad for ruining one of Priss’s gowns with blood and snot, but I couldn’t bring myself to do anything else. I felt tired. Empty. Even in the face of victory, I didn’t exactly feel victorious.

Maybe I was still in shock.

Fox’s smile was small and sad. “I’m sorry for… well, everything leading up to this point sounds too general.” He took a breath and I could tell it hurt him to speak. Janara really had done a number on him. But his smile was real and if it took him all night, he was going to say what he wanted to say. “Perhaps I should be eloquent and apologize for your pain? No matter how fraught our relationship, I care about you, Olwen.”

I elbowed him in the ribs gently. It still made him wince.

“That’s Chief Morgan to you, Fox.”