Ena hated being summoned to court at Crislis Castle, home of the dragon fae. She hated the pompous courtiers—the women dressed in all their elegant silky fae gowns and the men in their gilt-laden tunics. She had no need of the ostentatious banquets or the gossiping and intrigue. Preferring the mountains and forests, the caves, her own small keep, and her kind to all this, she bit her tongue, held her head high, and stalked straight for the main doors of the castle where the dragon fae ruled. The dragon fae.
She snorted. They were shadows of themselves of a time gone by when they were truly the dragon fae. Like she still was.
Two men dressed in royal tunics identifying them as part of the servant staff, hurried to open the doors for her.
Women gathered in annoying little clusters twittering among themselves in the marble hall stopped speaking to one another when one of them pointed her out. Yes. She was dragon fae. But not one of them.
And she was dangerous. She glanced in their direction, studied each of them in turn, made them visibly pale, and she smiled. An evil, calculating smile. What she wouldn’t give to show them what she was truly capable of. They hated her. Every last one of them. Because she was different.
She hadn’t met the king’s granddaughter yet. Had Princess Alicia already learned about her? Most likely. And would shun her just the same. Which wouldn’t have mattered except she would one day rule. Then Ena would have to bow down to the princess, who would be queen, instead of her grandfather, who now ruled as king. Ena hated to bow down to anyone. Not when she felt these fae were beneath her.
She glanced in a gold gilded mirror, her pale green eyes sharp with annoyance, her mouth thinned into a grim pale line, her hands held loosely at her sides. She flexed her fingers, her nails long, black, and wicked-looking. Heavy smoky gray eye shadow and thick black eyeliner and short fringy jet black hair gave her the appearance of a human Goth. But she wasn’t human. And she looked perfectly lethal.
She’d worn a black velvet vest, the front trimmed in gold braid, brass buttons, almost making it look like one of the royal bodyguard’s uniforms, except that she wore no shirt under it and as form fitting as it was, it looked more like a corset. She wore men’s trewes and black leather boots laced up to the thighs. All she needed was a sword if she had wished to make mincemeat of someone. She had a dagger sheathed at her waist instead.
So what was it that the king wished of her now? He’d asked her to perform odd jobs before, but he usually didn’t summon her to court. Within the past week, he’d sent a missive telling her to collect taxes from a farmer, who wasn’t paying his fair share, and to search for a child missing in her area and return him to the family post-haste. That’s how he handled informing her of new missions.
She reached the top landing and saw the pompous Prince Grotto, Alicia’s cousin once-removed, narrowed green eyes focused on her, his sandy blond hair tied back in a tail, wearing the highest of fae fashions—a gold embossed burgundy brocade tunic and velvet trewes and high-topped brown leather boots. She gave him an annoyed curtsey, hating to have to acknowledge him. He gave her the slightest bow of his head, conceding he accepted her greeting, though from the scowl on his face, he looked like it killed him to do so.
“King Tibero wants to see you right away. What took you so long?” Prince Grotto growled. “He sent the missive two days ago!”
She snarled at him. “The missive didn’t reach me for a day and a half.” She hadn’t wanted to give him a reason, but she knew the prince could be dangerous. Not that the king would have Prince Grotto kill her or anything. But the prince might take it upon himself to try to have her eliminated and blame the deed on someone else. She knew he was sneaky that way.
