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When it became clear which twin would inherit the throne, Cassandra renounced her claim—choosing instead the life of a White Priestess, a life of helping young witches through their Awakening, the ritual that revealed their elemental gifts.
If Amalia hadn’t shown the same powers as her mother, the same gift of all four elements, she wouldn’t be seated here to receive presents either, Fey knew. It had been a relief three years ago when the Princess had gone through her Awakening. And though it was rumored that her strength for Earth was barely more than a pulse of power, it had been enough.
The Queen thanked and dismissed her sister in the same bored way she had spoken to all the others, and the next Lord or Lady or Duke or Goddess-knew-what approached to kneel.
The evening continued in this way until it bled into night. Fey stood still and silent, counting the seconds into minutes into hours. Eventually, the seemingly endless line of those paying homage to the Princess died down, and not long after, the party faded. Just as the guests grew tired and the children became decidedly bored with the games around them, the Queen stood.
“We thank you for your kind words and your gifts,” she stated. She neither shouted nor whispered, simply speaking with the confidence of someone who knew every single person in the room would stop to listen. And, of course, they did, taking in each word she spoke as though it were scripture. “But the hour has grown late, and we wish to retire.”
And with that, they were dismissed. Guests filed out the door, some bowing a final time to either the Queen or the Princess. Fey and Joy stayed until the last guest had left, and the servants slipped into the throne room to start their cleaning. Two of the Princess’s attendants began to remove her presents, one by one, carting them away.
Finally, it was over.
The royal palace is not a small building, by any means. Still, guests and visitors were only ever given access to the center of the building, where the throne room and various ballrooms and entertaining chambers were housed. Most knew little of what lay beyond those rooms, and few had reason to suspect they saw only a quarter of the actual building. Fewer, still, were allowed access to the Western Wing, where the Queen kept her private entertaining parlors and rooms for special guests and friends. Dameon had a room reserved here, Fey knew, though he used it rarely, if ever. He preferred the bedchambers next to the Queen’s suite, in the Northern Wing. He was, after all, head of her guard and spent much of his time in the company of her and the Princess.
The smallest and most secretive wing was the Eastern Wing, the entrance hidden in such a way that it would be nearly impossible for a visitor to stumble upon it by accident. Even if they tried, the hallways that led there were always teeming with members of the Queen’s Guard, carefully monitoring the comings and goings of the palace.
No one entered the Eastern Wing accidentally. And no one, save for the Queen and Dameon, entered the four bedchambers tucked away there.
The Eastern Wing was home to the Queen’s Blades, and it was a secret very few in the realm knew about. Built beneath ground level, there was no reason to suspect it existed at all.
The four bedchambers shared a common living space and a small kitchenette, but each room had an ensuite complete with a shower and bath. There was a training gym filled with equipment and healing elixirs, and various rooms, large and small, to do with as they wished. Fey had yet to claim one as her own, preferring to split her time between her bedchamber and the training gym.
It was late evening by the time Joy and Fey made their way from the main palace floors to the Eastern Wing and back to their rooms, and Fey was ready for a long shower and bed.
Joy didn’t waste a single moment, unclasping her mask and cowl the moment the door shut behind them, shaking her blonde hair out and letting it fall over her shoulders.
“Hello, my darling, did you miss me?” She beamed at the small lump of fur curled in the armchair. Merle made no effort to move, but his ears piqued at the sound of Joy’s voice, and a soft purr gradually filled the room, the only sign he had heard.
No one was sure where the cat had come from, or how he had managed to make his way into the Eastern Wing. But Alice had given him a piece of chicken when she’d found him hiding in their kitchen, cowering in a corner, and since then he’d refused to leave. Why would he, after all, when Joy kept him fat and pampered and loved?
“Took you two long enough,” Lilith remarked. She leaned against the kitchen island, a bowl of instant noodles in one hand, her long dark hair wrapped in a towel and piled on her head. “How was the party?”
Fey snorted. Whatever assignation had kept Lilith from joining them hadn’t taken her long if she had already finished and managed to shower and change into her loungewear.
“The Vampire King made an appearance,” Joy answered. She crouched next to Merle’s armchair, scratching him beneath his furry black chin. Merle stretched lazily and rolled onto his back to better appreciate her attention.
“You’re kidding.” Lilith’s smirk widened.
“She’s not.” Fey unclasped her mask and began the process of removing her weapons when Lilith interrupted her.
“Uh, uh, uh, not so fast there,” Lilith nodded her head toward an envelope on the counter next to her. “Dameon dropped that off for you earlier.”
Fey swore when she saw the black envelope sitting there. A black envelope meant an assignation, and while Fey had been itching for one all week, tonight she was tired, and all she wanted to do was go to bed.
“He couldn’t have dropped it off before the party?”
Lilith smirked. “Guess not. Sorry, sweetie, but your night isn’t over yet.”
“I can take it tonight if you want, sister,” Joy offered, but Fey shook her head.
“It’s my name on the outside, it’s my assignation.”
She plucked the envelope from the table. The paper was thick and heavy, sealed with the Queen’s sigil in golden wax. Fey slid her long nail under the wax seal, breaking it open, and pulled the sheet of paper inside of it out to read.
It was a single name and an address, written in black, and Fey bit back a snarl of frustration. Black meant observe, don’t kill, and don’t engage. A fact-finding mission—usually Joy’s specialty. If the name had been written in red, well… that was a different matter altogether. Names written in red were nothing but walking corpses—people who had already signed their death warrant, but just didn’t know it yet.
Fey would have preferred a quick assassination to this, but when she read the name, she paused, blinking in surprise.
