The Wicked King thoughtone of themcould kill him? Impossible! Though if any mortal could, Jasper seemed like the best candidate. “He has been doing this to every Fitzwilliam descendant for hundreds of years?”
“Watching, yes. Interfering, no. Not until this generation.”
“Why this generation?”
“It is the thrice third,” he said solemnly, as if that should mean something.
Thrice third? “But Ysmeina lived more than seven hundred years ago! That is far more than nine generations.”
“Thricethird, nottwicethird,” he said primly.
Cerridwen said, “The twenty-seventh generation. Thrice third is a sacred number among the fae.”
“Then why did you want to take Jenny's hair? She is not in that generation.” What was he leaving out?
“I cannot explain why the High King wants what he wants.”
Or he might have guessed that Jenny was remarkable for more than that. She pushed that thought aside. There was still one very important question. “Who is the prophesied one?”
The fae stilled, eyes wide with confusion. “He is the one who will fulfill the prophecy.”
“It is a man, then? Not a woman?”
The fae hesitated. “He spoke of a man. I do not know if that is according to the prophecy, or simply his belief.”
Or perhaps, like so many males, the Wicked King could not conceive of his downfall coming at the hands of a woman. “Does he think Mr. Darcy is the prophesied one?”
“He believed it was one of the Darcy brothers. That is why he wanted to place a changeling here, to keep a closer eye. Once his spell did not work on Mr. Darcy, he thought he had to be the one.”
Elizabeth’s chest tightened. Her William was the target of the Wicked King’s plots. “What spell?”
Mistletoe’s bushy brows drew together in a point. “It was a spell arrow, designed from Mr. Darcy’s hair, but it failed to take.”
The spell arrow Darcy had told her about, the one that hit him the minute he stepped outside the broken wards during the fae attack. Of course it had not worked on him, if it was designed from old Mr. Darcy’s hair. Thank heavens Georgiana had thought to make that substitution!
So one of them, William or Jack, was the prophesied one. William might be one of the best land Talents of their generation, but could that possibly help him destroy the Wicked King? And Jack never developed his Talent until he had bound himself to a dragon. How could they protect themselves from the most powerful High Fae of all?
She shivered. The others looked no better than she felt. Georgiana had gone pale, while Jasper bounced on his toes with a murderous expression.
“That is all for now, but I will have more questions for you later,” she said, and left the nursery before she could lose her composure completely. Georgiana, Jasper, and Cerridwen needed no help from her in managing their prisoner.
Elizabeth sipped a cup of tea in the breakfast room. It was still full dark out, and the clock in the front hall had just chimed three times. Her dressing gown and slippers were cozy, and Jenny was sound asleep in Granny's room, to the old lady's delight. But sleep could not be further from her own mind, not when fear and rage alternated in her. They were safe now, but for how long? If Agate had not awakened when he did, she would still have no idea that a fae spy was creeping through her house, endangering her daughter.
Or that the Wicked King had a lock of her hair.
She set down the teacup with a sigh. She had no appetite for the rolls and butter they had set out for her. Nelly had roused half the household when she left the nursery. Elizabeth had dismissed the yawning maid who brought her the tea, but the under-butler insisted on standing by the front door as if preparing to defend it against incoming enemies. Candles and lamps were lit, and the sounds of servants in the kitchen came distantly through the walls.
At least the staff did not seem to be upset over yet another fae problem. That was something. If only she could slow her own racing thoughts!
An unexpected noise came from the front hall, the sound of the door opening. She jumped to her feet, her nerves aflame and her heart pounding. No one should be opening that door, not in the middle of the night!
Frantic, she was about to call for Cerridwen when she heard a familiar, beloved voice.
“What is happening here?” Darcy's voice echoed in the marble hallway. “I thought to arrive to a dark house, and instead it is lit up like the harvest ball!”
William was back! She raced out through the anteroom and into the hall, where her husband was stripping off his gloves.
She threw herself into his arms and let the joyous relief of his presence race through her.
