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“I promised Fehr I’d pass on a message from Evie,” he says, tone brimming with apology. “The queen would like to have a word. She says it’s urgent.”
2
My stomach is a ball of knots as I walk through the woods toward my sister’s palace. It isn’t a far walk, as my cottage is located in the forest just outside the royal grounds, but each step feels too long. Or too short, perhaps. All I know is I dread what this meeting will bring. I know it’s about the scandal, but…what about it is so urgent?
Evie won’t be upset. She’ll be supportive, I’m sure. She always is. To be honest, I have no reason to be nervous around my sister at all. There was a short time, decades ago, when our relationship was wrought with mistrust and anger, but things changed. She forgave me for my mistakes, and I forgave her for hers. Nonetheless, I hate causing trouble for her. It reminds me too much of the greatest trouble I ever caused. Trouble that led to war.
I almost wish Foxglove had come with me, but he mumbled something about needing to return to the studio and then bid me a hasty farewell. His sudden fretfulness told me he might have more insight into my imminent conversation than he let on.
The bright fall trees begin to thin, giving me my first glimpse of Maplehearth Palace. It’s always a breathtaking sight, with half the sprawling structure nestled in the Autumn Court woods, the other half perched before sandy dunes and rolling golden mountains. The palace was built on the border between the Autumn and Fire Courts, to provide my sister and her husband—King Aspen, the Unseelie King of Autumn—a shared residence where they could rule over their respective courts side by side. Visually, the transition from one court to the other is seamless. The leaves of the trees on this side of the border glow brighter the closer they are to the Fire Court, making their red leaves reminiscent of flames. The dunes on the opposite side shift from gold to a more muted brown, resembling tree trunks and soil before giving way to Autumn entirely. The weather too shifts incrementally. Every step I take toward the palace gate brings warmer air. I know if I cross over to the Fire Court side it will feel stifling.
Despite being of fire fae blood like my sister, I don’t have nearly the same tolerance for heat. Which is why I chose to locate my cottage in Autumn, a court that suits the element of fire well enough with its red, orange, and gold leaves. During sunset, the sky lights up like a glowing inferno.
I approach the palace gate on the Autumn Court side, and the weather warms to a mild summer climate. Despite the growing heat, I resist removing my coat, knowing it will be much cooler once I step inside the palace. Plus, it’s my favorite coat, one made of chartreuse brocade. Not only is it stunning, but I like to think it brings out the green of my eyes. The thought sends my gut roiling, reminding me of what Mr. Vance had said before he embraced me.
Your eyes are so beautiful, Miss Fairfield. They’re swimming with love. I can see you feel the same as I do.
What a fool! My eyes haven’t swum with love in over twenty years, and if they were ever to do so again, it would be over a fine garment, not a man.
I march the remaining few steps to the palace gate, each stomp expressing my rage. When I tell the guard I’m expected by my sister, my tone comes out far more demanding than I intend. At least anger feels better than dread.
* * *
I’m escortedto what my sister and I have lovingly deemed herugly parlor. It’s the one Foxglove designed for her. The floor is covered with old-fashioned rugs, while every inch of wall space is crammed with landscape paintings, tapestries, and mismatched wallpaper. Thankfully, there is a proper sitting area with a couch, a tea table, and a couple of cozy chairs, but the rest of the furniture is crowded together and draped in doilies, shawls, and an assortment of strange knickknacks. Despite how relentlessly Evie and I teased Foxglove over his first attempt at replicating a human interior style, I must admit there is a sense of comfort here. Being surrounded by so much human junk provides a link to my childhood. To the days before the war when Evie and I thought we were human.
I plant myself on the couch, not bothering to adopt any sort of ladylike posture, and instead slump against the cushions. A few moments later, Evie enters the room. As soon as I see what she’s wearing, I release a groan.
My sister closes the door behind her and pauses. Her cheeks redden when she sees me frowning at her. “What?”
I gesture at the dress she wears, although the termdressis generous. It’s nothing more than a long swath of red chiffon draped and secured with lazy ties and sad stitches. “Please tell me this is the only gown you’ve kept of the old ones I made for you.”
She rolls her blue eyes and settles onto the couch next to me. “I kept them all, and I don’t see why that should offend you.”
“No, Evie, they’re so ugly. I hardly knew what I was doing back then. Just look! Your hem is fraying.”
She kicks off her low-heeled satin shoes and removes pins from her hair until her dark auburn strands fall around her shoulders. Then she mirrors my posture, slouching into the pillows at the other end of the couch, and throws her legs over mine. It’s how we used to sit when we were little. The older we get and the less we age, the more we seek comfort in the past. Even though Evie stopped aging at the same time I did, she’ll always be my little sister.
“I think these old dresses are comfortable,” she says, smoothing out her crooked skirts.
“Yes, well, don’t you dare wear those hideous old things where anyone important can see you.”
She gives me a pointed look. “I practically came to power outfitted in thesehideous old things.”
She’s right. When she first became Unseelie Queen of Fire—the very first part-human monarch to rule over a fae court—she did so in my designs, flaunting them as if they were the finest fashions the world had ever seen. I might have thought so too, back then. But now…
“Let me alter them at least,” I say, tone pleading. “I’ll return them to you far prettier than they are now.”
With a laugh, she nudges me in the hip with her bare toe. “No, you’re not taking my cozies. Besides, you’re your harshest critic, Amelie. To your fans, these old things are probably worth a fortune.”
My heart sinks at the mention of my fans. I can’t help but be reminded of the handful of human clients who no longer consider themselves as such.
Evie must read the shift on my face, for her lips pull into a grimace. Angling her body to face me head on, she says, “We should talk about the scandal.”
“Scandal?” comes an airy voice. A tiny feminine form encased in deep red flame floats over to the couch and perches on the backrest. It’s Breeda, a fire sprite and one of my sister’s most loyal companions. She props her chin in her dainty hands and pins me with a longing look. “I do so very much enjoy a good scandal. Please tell me it was a love scandal, Most Beautiful and Talented Amelie.”
I snort a laugh at her version of a royal title. She often refers to my sister as Her Most Beautiful and Glorious Majesty, or something along those lines. “Hardly. There wasn’t an ounce of love involved in this scandal.”
“How did it happen, anyway?” Evie asks.
