A prince who had offended some vain and wicked fairy with his beauty, driven her mad enough with jealousy to try and dull its shine. The silverwhite scar tugged one corner of his lip, extended past jarringly green eyes, and disappeared beneath the dark hair that spilled over his forehead. He swept it absently out of his eyes as he straightened, and it settled in a gentle crest of waves that seemed at odds with his scarred smirk and generally chaotic air.
The man stood between the unmoving lines of Kingsmen for a long moment, seeming to revel in their deference as he took in the tavern around him. It was only when his lips tilted higher, wry and discerning, that it struck me how my little tavern might appear to fresh eyes. Eyes accustomed to the sleek, modern establishments of Kingsborough.
Not cosy, but quaint. Not rich with quiet character, but cluttered and worn down. I didn’t like it at all; the way he looked around like everything aboutThe Mage and Roseamused him, from my mother’s handwoven rugs underfoot, to the fresh garlands strung across my chipped and battered counter. Didn’t like the wild green glint in his eye, or the way he was smirking. Didn’t likehim, I decided.
When I spoke this time my voice did not shiver; it was sharp as a shard of ice.
“Can I help you?”
His gaze slid from a tabletop thick with overlapping water rings, and when our eyes met, his dark brows twitched up with lazy interest.
“At ease,” he said mildly, and the men on either side of him dropped their arms, a few of them huffing with relief. His eyes never left mine. “I’d appreciate that, Miss…?”
“I’m Rosaleen.”
He grinned, incisors flashing wickedly in the candlelight.
“Rosaleen,” he said, and I caught his familiar accent for the first time in the way my name seemed to roll off his tongue before he bit off the end. He was from the Isles, if I had to guess – maybe not the exact same isle as my father, but certainly a close neighbour. He bowed over one arm, shallow enough that he could still hold my eye as he bent. “Captain Caelan, of His Majesty’s Northern Battalion.”
He rose, and seemed to pause a moment, as though allowing for my reaction to this grand introduction. Instead I asked, for the third time now; “What can I do for you?”
The Captain finally dropped my gaze for just a moment to take another assessing look around the room.
“I’ll need to speak to the owner of this… fine establishment.”
“Iamthe owner.”
“Areyou?”
That ‘R’ sound rolled out with delighted abandon. He sounded positivelytickled, like I was a five year old who’d just announced I was the Sugar Plum Saint. My brow twitched, but I managed not raise it at him. Instead, I forced a sweet smile.
“I fear I’m running out of ways to ask what you’re doing here, Captain.”
Over by the bar, Sorcha snorted and quickly hid the sound with a dainty cough. Roy was openly staring, but Tanner still had not moved so much as a finger. The Captain, on the other hand, seemed almost as amused as Sorcha; one wide hand spread across his jaw and dragged over his beard, as though he’d wipe the smile from his own face.
Without turning, he beckoned vaguely over his shoulder with two fingers. “Brennan.”
One of the men nearest the door pushed forward and arrived at the Captain’s side. He beamed at me; a boyishly handsome smile, cheeks smooth and golden brown, tinged pink with the cold. His bronze armour was polished and pristine, the neat line of his close-cropped black curls framing his clean shaven face. Beside him, the Captain looked even larger, his edges even more jagged.
Brennan reached beneath his cloak and pulled out a roll of parchment, which he held out to me. I shifted the star to one hand and took it, then unfurled it to skim the brief, neat words above the crown shaped stamp of gold wax. Shock drained my limbs and my fingers went weak, fumbling the parchment so it almost slipped from my hand. Though I hadn’t heard her move, Sorcha was at my side in an instant, carefully tugging the letter from my hand.
“You can’t be serious,” I breathed.
They couldn’t do this.
They couldn’tdothis. Yule was the busiest time of year, and with travellers filtering through Stormsby for the coronation, we might have seen more than a handful of patrons and guests through our doors, if given half a chance.
Sorcha’s head whipped up from the parchment, and the young soldier reeled back as though she’d struck him.
“You’re commandeeringThe Mage and Rose?”
Brennan’s cheeks flushed deeper still, but he managed to get out; “N-not the tavern. Just the inn.” He turned to me and added kindly; “Temporarily.”
“By order of the King,” said the Captain — notunkindly exactly, but rather indifferently, his overbright eyes already roving the room once more. They slid past silent Roy and petrified Tanner with little interest, and landed on the twinkling little tree in the corner. I hated that the sudden light in his eyes turned them the same deep, crisp green as its beautiful pine needles.
And then he boomed out a laugh.
“What a charming little twig.”
