Page 14 of The Shadow Path (Shadowlands #2)

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

“ R emember” —Cadell led Carys across the torch-lit drawbridge and into Harold’s castle right next to the river— “this is a party, but this is also a show of strength, a political theater, and an occasion to declare alliances.” The dragon kept his voice low. “Be careful who you are seen talking to, and be very careful who you dance with.”

Dammit, she knew the dancing thing was important. “What does a first dance signal?”

“It depends,” Cadell said. “But in a situation like this, it’s usually a declaration of alliance.”

Alliance, huh? Carys looked over her shoulder to where Duncan was smiling at Laura. Had Carys declared an alliance with Duncan when he claimed the first dance at the welcome banquet?

Laura and Duncan were laughing and joking as they walked into the party. They looked like they were ready for fun, not being lectured by a dragon.

“The participants of a dance can be very significant,” Cadell continued. “Harold will likely not dance at all.”

“Because he doesn’t want to show favoritism?”

“Because of that and because he is the guest of honor.” Cadell looked up, scanned the growing crowd, and nodded to someone in the distance. “The dances are to amuse him. He’s the audience, not the entertainment.”

“Got it.” She scanned the courtyard as they made their way through the heavy military presence and into the main hall. “I don’t see Lachlan.”

“I imagine he’s already inside. Harold was raised for many years in the Alban court. The alliance between Alba and Anglia is as close as it has been in centuries. The seating tonight will reflect that.”

“And Cymru?”

“We have always been separate.” Cadell spoke carefully. “And that is by design. It is not prudent for a small nation as powerful as Cymru to show favoritism. And that extends to social interactions.”

“So I shouldn’t spend too much time with Lachlan is what you’re saying?”

“Seren and Lachlan’s marriage was a turbulent time.” Cadell’s voice was wooden. “I suspect the four royal courts of Briton are looking forward to more tranquility during Harold’s reign.” He glanced at Carys. “You should know that since it might influence decisions that are in your hands, my lady.”

Fine. Message received. Lachlan was a bad romantic bet for lots of reasons, and one of them happened to be world peace.

Cadell navigated them between a row of red-clad sword-bearers, bronze blades raised to form an archway that all guests walked under.

“Two messages,” Cadell said. “In Harold’s house, we are under the protection of the Anglian throne. We are also under its blade.”

“Got it.” Carys’s head was spinning. There was a reason she’d never much cared for political science. It was one thing to dissect hidden meaning in myth and literature. It was a whole other thing to have to parse every word and action so as not to cause a war that could affect thousands of people.

Tell me the truth, Carys said in Cadell’s mind. Does anyone besides Dafydd want me near the throne of Cymru?

“Absolutely not,” Cadell’s voice was low and urgent. But you should not tell anyone that right now.

Carys blinked. “Why not?”

“That’s for your uncle to decide, not you.”

Okay, so maybe she’d been too free speaking to Anwyn. Yet another reason she probably shouldn’t be queen.

Cadell spoke to her mind. Be very conscious of your station tonight, Nêrys. Every movement, every dance or conversation, matters.

“Right.”

So be royal. Or a royal possibility.

But not too royal. Or too interested in being royal.

Fuck, this was complicated.

They entered Harold’s grand hall, and the musicians were already playing, pink-red wine passed by them in blown glass goblets, and the hall was lit with red and white illumination supplied by dancing air sprites fluttering silver-tipped wings.

Above their heads, candles floated among the zipping fairies, and the scent of roasted meat and spices wafted through the air.

Carys breathed out a sigh of pleasure. There were a dozen social and royal traps she might fall into that night, but for a moment, just a quick moment, she wanted to enjoy the magic of the evening.

The newly crowned king sat at the head table with his guests of honor joining him. Harold was a plain man in person, but the crown and the robes did a lot to make him more impressive.

Next to Harold, Carys saw Lachlan and the silver-haired woman, both in royal-blue tunics. Dafydd and her cousin Anwyn were seated next to Lachlan in intricately sewn leather armor and verdant-green robes.

On Harold’s other side, the fae and éiren nobles completed the head table, Orla’s cool beauty glowing like moonlight while Cian’s face appeared lit by an invisible sun.

Immediately in front of the head table, a crowd of gold-clad musicians played before the king and his guests while fae, humans, and unicorns danced in circles under the lights.

Soldiers in bright red with white trim ringed the hall, staring at the revelers with faces frozen in ceremonial rigor.

But despite their solemn presence, bursts of laughter punctuated the feast, and even the solemn-faced wolves in their grey-and-silver uniforms appeared to be having fun.

Floating overhead and through the room were golden ribbons of magic that wound between the candles and zipped around the silver sprites.

“Oh my God,” Laura breathed out. “This is so much magic.”

Even Duncan was impressed. “In all my years visiting the Shadowlands, I’ve never seen the like.”

No one could mistake Harold’s coronation party for anything but a massive show of sovereignty, wealth, and supernatural power.

Oblivious to the revelers, Cadell continued his lecture in Carys’s mind. If you’re ever in a tricky situation when it comes to dancing, tell your prospective partner your next dance has been promised to either your cousin Dylan or me.

Cadell was an obvious if reluctant choice, but her cousin? “Why Dylan?” I’m pretty sure that Dylan hates me.

Your cousins may not like your presence here, but they were both raised to think of the Cymric throne above their own self-interest. “Dylan never dances,” Cadell said aloud. “So he’ll always be available. He’s also smart. If you walk up to him and say you’re ready for a promised dance, he will not blink.”

Sounds like someone who might be suitable as a king.

“Hmm.” The dragon made a rumbling sound at the base of his throat.

That’s your “I have thoughts but I’m not sharing them” sound.

Now is not the time.

They got caught in the crowd, and Carys looked back at Laura. “I’m getting the rundown of coronation protocol from the tall one.”

Laura grimaced. “Does anyone think to—I don’t know—have this talk with you a couple of days before the super-important event instead of right as you’re walking in?”

“This is what I’m saying,” Carys said to Cadell. “No preparation time.”

Cadell pursed his lips and said nothing.

“Useless,” Duncan said.

Carys raised her eyebrows. “Preparation is useless?”

“You’d forget half of it because your brain wouldn’t be focused by panic,” Duncan said as his green eyes scanned the crowd. “Then the dragon would have to remind you right before the event anyway.”

Carys glared at him. “I don’t need you to be correct and insulting at the same time.”

Duncan shrugged one massive shoulder. “Am I wrong?”

“Maybe,” she muttered. “Where’s the food?”

Between being sewn into their dresses, hair braiding with numerous extensions, and last-minute dancing-in-heavy-velvet lessons, Carys and Laura hadn’t eaten anything since that afternoon.

“They’ll serve it when we sit down. I see our table.” Cadell came to a halt so quickly he nearly yanked Carys’s shoulder from the socket.

The dragon cursed under his breath in very rapid Cymric.

“What?” Carys’s heart leaped, and she reached for the dagger that usually sat at her waist except she was in a velvet gown and no weapons were allowed at the coronation ball.

Cadell, what it is?

We have been seated directly between Godrik’s wolves and a contingent of fae from éire.

Okay, who did we piss off?

“I have no idea, but we will tread softly,” he said quietly as he ushered Carys toward their table. “Laura?”

“What’s up, dragon butt?”

Cadell blinked and froze before he slowly turned to face Laura.

Carys barely kept from bursting into laughter. Duncan didn’t even try.

“Fuck me.” The blacksmith snorted. “His face, Laura.”

“What?” Laura’s cheeks were red as she stared at Cadell. “You need something?”

“We are…” The dragon seemed to struggle to collect his thoughts. “We’re sitting between traditionally antagonistic parties. Whether by accident or design, I have no idea, but tonight would be an excellent night for you and Carys to play up your foreignness and be intriguing.”

“Keep them too curious about the weird Americans to snipe at each other?” Laura nodded. “Can do.”

“What about me?” Duncan said. “What can I do to help?”

Cadell frowned. “Nothing. You’re a mundane Brightkin. They might question why you’re here, but no one will be interested in you.”

Duncan crossed his arms over his chest. “Say it again when I have steel in my hand.”

“I will.” Cadell started walking again, keeping Carys’s wrist gripped in his massive hand as he weaved them through the crowd.

“That dragon is so damn irritating,” Duncan muttered.

“If it helps,” Carys said. “I don’t think you’re mundane.”

The corner of Duncan’s mouth twitched. “I appreciate that.”

“Except in the magical sense. Then Cadell is actually correct.”

“Mundane?” Duncan pulled Laura’s hand from his arm and deftly switched Laura and Carys’s positions, leaving Cadell gripping Laura’s hand while Duncan pulled them toward the dancers. “Say that again when we’re dancing, Carys Morgan.”

Carys tried to stop it, but before she could say a word, she was pulled into a stately waltz with Duncan holding her close as they moved in time with the music.

“Duncan.” She tried to be stern, but her heart leaped when he wrapped his arm around her and took the lead.

“What?” He winked at her. “The old scaly one giving you that lecture about how dancing makes a statement?”

“Yes, and he’s not wrong.” She tried not to get distracted by the shadow of his beard where it cut along his sharp jawline. “I’m… I mean, we’re not?—”

“We’re not what?” Duncan pulled her close and slid his hand to the small of her back, slowing his steps as the music’s tempo dropped, and the energy around the room went from grand to intimate in a heartbeat.

The dance wasn’t limited to male-and-female couples as Carys and Duncan were joined by pairs of men who appeared to be taking the opportunity to chat or even conduct business, women who whispered secrets or flirted as they passed from arm to arm, and various magical creatures of every race.

Unicorns and fae. Humans and even a few stoic wolves in uniform.

The sound of a woman’s voice rose in a heartbreaking melody that had violins weeping and Carys melting in Duncan’s arms.

“Carys?” Duncan held her close and leaned his head down to whisper in her ear. “We’re not what?”

She tilted her head, and the scent of fresh pine and whiskey made her head swim. “I don’t remember what I was going to say.”

“Then don’t say anything.” His voice was soft. “Just dance with me, Professor Morgan.”

Professor Morgan. How did the man make a title she’d heard a hundred times from a hundred different plaintive undergrads sound sexy?

She felt her body heat, and she didn’t know if it was from the heavy velvet dress, the exertion from dancing, or the aching need Duncan was stirring in her belly. She should have been concentrating on the complicated political tapestry weaving itself around her, but all she wanted was for Duncan to secret her away to a hidden corner, feed her, and kiss her senseless.

“You look stunning tonight.” Duncan moved effortlessly through the steps, guiding Carys even when she stumbled. “If I didn’t say so when I first saw you, it was because I nearly swallowed my tongue at the sight of you.”

Carys couldn’t stop her smile. “What a truly graphic compliment.”

“It’s true. If I’d tried telling you just then, I’d have squeaked like a twelve-year-old whose balls just dropped.”

A woman in pink who circled next to them gasped at Duncan’s words.

The Scotsman only tipped his head. “Madam.”

“My word,” the woman murmured before her fae partner swung her away.

Carys bit her lip to keep from laughing, but that only made her snort. “You’d better stop or you’ll cause a political incident.”

His eyes twinkled. “Too blunt for you?”

“With lines like that, it’s truly a wonder you’re still single.”

The music changed and Duncan pulled her close, leaning down to whisper into her ear. “Honey may not drip from my lips when I compliment you, but it’ll drip from somewhere else if I can get you alone.”

And now she couldn’t talk. Heat rushed to her face, and her cheeks felt like a dragon was breathing on them.

“Fuck me, but I cannae wait to find out if your tits flush like your cheeks do when you’re excited,” Duncan continued. “Give me a chance to find out, and I promise you won’t be worried about politics tomorrow.”

The orchestra finished the song just as Duncan stretched out his arm and turned her in a circle. The crowd around them clapped politely, and partners bowed to each other, murmuring polite parting words as they drifted to a new partner or away from the dance floor.

Duncan Murray tucked Carys’s arm into his own and guided her off the dance floor as if he hadn’t just planted a dozen sexual fantasies in her mind. “We should find our seats.” He scanned the crowd. “I tried to bring you a lunch tray earlier today, but the ladies’ maids ran me off.”

“I’m starving.” For several things at that moment, but food seemed to be the safest to bring up. “And they do.”

Duncan raised his eyebrows. “Do what? Chase off men trying to feed you?”

“No.” She looked up at him with an innocent expression. “My tits do get flushed when I’m turned on. If you look down, you’ll probably notice even in this light.”

Duncan’s jaw dropped.

And so did his eyes.

Carys saw him discreetly adjust himself as they walked through the crush of the crowd, and she didn’t try to hide her smile.

Good.

At least if Carys was going to be turned on and uncomfortable all through dinner, Duncan would be too.

“That’s why it’s imperative for various shifter factions to police themselves .” The fae woman spoke with an éiren accent and a pointed tongue. She glanced at Cadell, who had positioned himself between her and Godrik, the North Wolf shifter. “Surely you must see the wisdom in that, Lord Dragon.”

“And what of the fae?” Godrik spoke through a clenched jaw. “Do you not need policing of your own?” Godrik glanced at Carys. “Cadell’s lady was not killed by a wolf.” He looked at his mug of ale. “ Former lady, of course. No offense intended, Lady Carys.”

“None taken.” Carys lifted a wine goblet to her lips and reminded herself to sneak in some better wine next time along with her coffee. “I like to think that my Shadowkin’s spirit is still very alive in the world.”

The fae woman, whose name was Ruda, examined Carys as if she were a bug under a microscope. “Surely you are not implying that Princess Seren’s death was anything but a tragic accident.” She glanced at the head table where King Harold was leaning toward Dafydd. “Accidents happen.”

What was she implying? Was King Edgar’s death not an accident after all?

Say nothing.

She glanced across the table at Cadell. I wasn’t going to.

Your eyes are the size of walnuts. Compose yourself.

“Ruda, how did you travel to Anglia?” Laura was quick to jump in and redirect the conversation. “We arrived by fae gate from the Brightlands, but I understand from the Kheta Inwe in my home country that fae often choose other ways of travel even though the gates seem like the quickest way to us.”

Throughout the dinner, Ruda had conducted herself with obvious superiority, condescending to everyone but Cadell. She alternated between subtly insulting the wolves and openly insulting mundane humans in ways that she appeared to think the humans were too dull to perceive.

The fae woman’s smile was indulgent. “We have magic that speeds our travel in much more elegant ways than the old gates. But your naivety is delightful.”

Ruda wore her dark curly hair in a pixie cut that showed off the many richly jeweled rings she wore in each pointed ear. Her clothing reminded Carys of silken armor embroidered in a deep plum that brought out a rose flush in her light brown skin.

She was stunningly beautiful. And so patronizing it made Carys want to puke.

“Oh, that’s great to hear.” Laura’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “I’d hate to think I brought grating sophistication to the party.” Laura turned to Carys. “How embarrassing would that be?”

Ruda wore bright crystals in her hair and an air of glamour shared by the half-dozen fae on her end of the table. She and all the fae seemed oblivious to Laura’s sarcasm.

Cadell cleared his throat and offered Ruda a stiff smile. “Laura is a trained mage in Pauwau Aki. She’s remarkably talented at reading runes and connects with elemental magic.”

Ruda smiled. “Then she’s unusually talented for a Brightkin.”

Carys was starting to see why the wolves hated the fae. The arrogance was on another level. Interacting with Dru and Naida hadn’t prepared her for any of the fae party they’d met that night.

Godrik rose to his feet. “Lady Laura, would you honor me with a dance?”

Laura glanced at Cadell briefly before she smiled at Godrik. “I’d love that, but be aware that I’m not very familiar with many of the dances here in Briton, so I may step on your toes.”

“Fortunately I’m wearing boots.” Godrik held out his arm and Laura joined him.

“And Lady Carys” —Ruda offered Carys a coy smile— “what about you? Would you honor me with a dance?”

Cadell’s eyes locked with hers. Careful, Nêrys.

Carys did a dozen quick calculations in her head, but she couldn’t figure out if she should accept or not. Should I refuse?

She’s a fae noble of equal station to you. You can refuse, but she will be rightfully insulted.

“I would be honored.” Carys smiled brightly. “I’ll offer the same warning though. I’m still learning the Anglian dances.”

Another condescending smile. “I am an excellent leader.”

Ruda held out her hand for Carys’s and led her toward the crowded dance floor. As they walked, Carys glanced up and noticed that Queen Orla’s eyes were fixed on them.

“My queen would like a word with the human indebted to the Crow Mother.” Ruda’s voice dropped to a low murmur as the music started and the dancers began to move. “But as she cannot dance this evening, she has sent me.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Carys said. “I’m not in debt to anyone’s mother.” She didn’t even want to admit she knew who the Crow Mother was to this fae woman whose hand gripped her fingers like cold iron.

“Don’t play the fool.” Ruda turned Carys to guide her backward through a double column of dancers. “We know what you are.”

“I’m nêrys ddraig,” Carys said. “Admittedly, it’s an unusual situation, but the magic does what it wants, I guess.”

“You feign ignorance of your blood? Fine.” Ruda turned her and pulled her close, wrapping a long arm around Carys’s waist as they waited in the middle of the column for the others to pass through. “Your secret is your business and has no bearing on the fae, but the queen must know if the Crow Mother has gained passage into the Brightlands.”

“I honestly have no idea who you’re talking about or where she might be.” Carys’s mind was spinning and she wanted to shout for Cadell, but she didn’t want to miss what Ruda was saying. “Are you talking about someone from Pauwau Aki? Many people from my home country revere crow gods. I can ask Laura if you want?—”

“Your lack of cooperation is not amusing.” Ruda dropped her right arm, turned in a circle, and gripped Carys’s hand again, tugging her close so they were face-to-face. “If you won’t give Queen Orla a direct answer, she has other ways of finding the truth.”

Carys dropped the innocent expression. “Then I suggest you tell your queen to find those other ways. I know about Regan. I know everything. And I have nothing to say to any of you.”

There was a gold glow that lit Ruda’s eyes for a dark moment, and then the music broke, the dancers clapped politely, and Ruda backed away.

“Lady Carys.” She nodded slightly. “It appears that Seren’s spirit is very much alive. I will be sure to let my queen know.”

Carys smiled and felt a curl of anger unfurl in her belly. “You do that.”