Page 40 of Of Curses and Courtship

The rest of the castle sleeps while the workers attend to their duties without anyone to get in the way. It’s easier to clean when there’s no one tracking mud inside.

What could make my independent, hard-working friend yell for help?

I run through the candlelit hallways, and I’m out of breath when I find her standing outside a darkened bedroom. Her wide eyes perfectly match her shrill, terrified voice.

“What?” I ask, laughing breathlessly—nervously. “What could possibly be so urgent?”

“There’s a rat in there. I need you to get it.”

My face falls. “What are you?—”

“Please.” She bounces, her wings flouncing with each movement. “Ophelia, you’ve got to. I have an awful fear of the things, and Lucille is already pissed at me for slacking off from laundry duty last week.”

Even if I’ve been delegated the task of catching mice, this is better than waiting hand and foot on my stepmother.

I shake my head. “Lucky for you, I don’t have the same fear.”

As I stride into the room, the candles flicker on to illuminate the space.

A bedchamber.

I am in someone’s bedchamber.

Gold still lines the furniture and paintings, but that’s the only thing about this room that matches the others. It’s a cluttered chamber, unlike so much of the tidy palace, with books, quills, and crystals littered about. A red duvet covers the vast bed, and matching curtains keep the sunlight out for whoever sleeps here.

In the middle of it all sits a large, tall form—a person. A man. It takes a moment to spot the white hair, hidden behind a thick book. To my surprise, the door clicks shut behind me. I move back and jiggle the cool, golden doorknob once.

Twice.

Then, over and over, desperately.

It doesn’t open.

“My apologies for disturbing you,” I squeak. “I must have been sent to the wrong room.”

The book lowers, and a familiar face comes into view. An angular nose and pale ocean eyes. Slender fingers run over the book cover, and his lips tug up at the corners.

Blast it all. Why is this happening to me?

“I must say,” Emyr murmurs, “I’ve dreamt of you in my bedchamber before, but it was never like this.”

He’s joking—he must be joking.

Waves of laughter fall from my treacherous mouth. I must leave before he embarrasses me further.

No, it’sHelenadoing the embarrassing. This is all her doing. I told her of my meetings with the prince, and she meddled. I would nearly take Raia’s meddling over this.

I wiggle the doorknob, trying to pry it open, to no avail.

“Helena?” I call, whipping around to face the door. “Why can’t I open this bloody thing? There’s no rat in here.”

“Oh no!” Her gasp sounds artificial—too loud and entirely over-the-top. She isn’t such a good actor anymore, is she? “Must be a problem with the lock.”

“Why does it lock from theoutside?”

“No bother.” She continues as if I said nothing at all. “I’ll fetch someone to rescue you. You stay in there with the prince.”

What a little devil. I always knew fae enjoyed their tricks, but I never imagined they played them on each other. It appears that no one is safe from such meddling.