Jenna Black - Sirensong

Unfortunately, Kimber was right. I hadn’t been lying down more than ten or fifteen minutes before my dad came knocking on the door to let us know that Titania was bestowing another “great honor” on us. We’d been invited to dine with Princess Elaine, who was one of the Queen’s granddaughters. According to my dad, I couldn’t be in the Queen’s presence until I’d been officially presented, but the princess would serve as a proxy because Court etiquette required someone play hostess.

The last thing I wanted to do after the exhausting, too-eventful journey was socialize with anyone, much less a princess of Faerie who might be cut from the same cloth as Henry. I stifled a groan.

“I suppose it would be a horrendous insult if we declined?” I asked.

Dad laughed like that was really funny. “We have ninety minutes to clean up and get dressed. The servants should deliver your bags shortly, and there are bathrooms at the end of the hall. The dress code is casual, which means wear the dressiest clothes you brought.”

Better and better, I thought sourly as I reluctantly abandoned hope of a nap.

We met in the hallway at what my watch said was six thirty. The sun hadn’t gone down yet, but there were torches lit anyway. They must have been fueled by magic, because there was no smoke, and when I got close to one, I realized I could feel no heat coming off of it. Then I caught sight of the ceiling, and my jaw dropped.

When we’d been shown to our rooms, the ceiling mural had been of an azure blue sky, artfully dotted with fluffy white clouds. Now the mural depicted a stunning sunset in tones of peach and pink and purple, and the clouds were thin and wispy.

Kimber followed my gaze and smiled. “Cool,” she said.

“Yeah,” I agreed, but I was more inclined to call it creepy.

My dad had dressed in a charcoal gray suit that looked fantastic on him, especially with the splash of red from his power tie—not that I thought people in Faerie would recognize a power tie when they saw one. Kimber had chosen a light blue sundress paired with cute wedge heels, and I was wearing khakis with a button-down shirt, which was about as dressed up as I ever willingly got. Keane wore his usual all-black, and Ethan had chosen a polo shirt with dress pants. All in all, we were a bit of a motley crew, and we probably looked as silly to the Fae as Prince Henry had looked to me at that state dinner.

I frowned when I realized Finn was nowhere to be seen. I glanced up at my dad, and he read the question on my face before I had a chance to ask it.

“We’re in Faerie,” he reminded me. “Knights do not dine with royalty. And he would not have felt comfortable sitting at table with us anyway.”

I narrowed my eyes at him, though I suppose I should have guessed Finn would be left out. “Then why can Keane come?” I asked.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Keane stiffen, and I realized I’d made it sound like I didn’t want him coming to dinner with us. “You know that’s not what I meant,” I said to him.

Keane’s face said he was less than mollified. “I can come as your guest because I’m not a Knight. And because I was born and raised in Avalon, I don’t give a rat’s ass if someone of my ‘class’ isn’t supposed to eat with royalty.” His lip curled in his trademarked superior sneer.

“Charming,” Ethan muttered. “I’m sure you’ll win us all kinds of new friends with that mouth of yours.”

I groaned. “Don’t you two start!” I warned. “This dinner is going to be long enough already without the rest of us having to play referee.”

They both subsided, but the hard feelings between them hadn’t exactly been softened by the time they’d spent together on this trip.

Dad led the way down to a smallish dining room on the first floor of the palace. Apparently, there were quite a few dining rooms in the palace, some designed for grand dinners, some for more intimate affairs like this one. Of course, “small” in a palace meant big enough for my entire safe house to fit into.

Like every other room I’d seen in the palace so far, the ceiling, walls, and floor were all stone. And like in every other room, the decor was designed to hide that stone. More rugs, more murals, more plants. The walls were lined with liveried servants, and the entire room was lit by the multitude of candles on the dining table. Everything was both ornate and delicate, from the furniture, to the china, to the silverware. And the male servants’ livery included breeches and fluffy white neckcloths, while the women wore ankle-length gowns with bustles.

The princess wasn’t there yet, but one of the servants directed us to our assigned seating, and another hurried around the table filling wine glasses. With a start, I recognized Elizabeth. I hoped that didn’t mean Henry would be dining with us. I smiled at her as she poured my wine, but she wouldn’t meet my eyes. She seemed to be in a perpetual state of fear, and it made me hate Henry just that much more. When I thanked her for the wine, she practically flinched.

“I’m sorry,” she said in the faintest of whispers.

I didn’t know if she was apologizing for being so jumpy, or for me having to take her place in the Green Lady’s embrace. Either way, the apology struck me as a little strange, but she hurried away before I had a chance to respond or ask her what she meant. I guess she was so scared of Henry that she was edgy even when he wasn’t around.

I had been seated next to Keane near the head of the table, and I turned to share an inquiring glance with him. He’d noticed Elizabeth’s skittishness, too, but he shrugged to indicate he was as clueless as me.

Everyone else picked up their glasses and sipped the wine, but I wasn’t much of a drinker, thanks to my mom. And I didn’t like the smell of wine, so I suspected I wouldn’t like the taste much better. No one talked, the room seeming somehow oppressive in its formality.

There was a very definite sense of waiting, like we weren’t allowed to move or even breathe until the princess graced us with her presence. I tried to shake the feeling off, to no avail, and I wished more than ever that I could have a nap, followed by a quiet meal in my room.

The princess kept us waiting for half an hour before sweeping into the room. My dad pushed back his chair and stood when she entered, gesturing for the rest of us to do the same. I was grumpy enough to want to stage a sit-down strike, but I decided that would make this ordeal last even longer.

Stifling a yawn, I appraised our hostess. She looked remarkably like Henry, although the features that looked harsh on him somehow looked lovely on her. Her neck seemed impossibly long, almost swanlike. Her gown of lush green silk glittered with jewels, and despite the bustle—a fashion accessory that looked just plain silly to me—her fashion sense was considerably better than Henry’s. The green of the gown was a perfect complement to her green eyes and strawberry blond hair.

She began making the rounds of the table, greeting each one of us by name without need of an introduction, and though the gesture came off just as formal as the room, she seemed a lot less stuck-up than Henry. She had an easy smile, and there was genuine warmth in her eyes.

When she got to me, she took both my hands in hers. “My uncle has told me so much about you,” she said, and I realized she meant Henry.

“Umm…” I had no idea what to say to that. I seriously doubted Henry had said anything even remotely good.

She patted my hand, laughing lightly. “Never fear, child,” she said. “I have always chosen to form my own opinions rather than rely on others’.”

I hoped that meant she wasn’t a charter member of the Prince Henry fan club. I tried to smile, but the expression felt forced. “Thanks.” I felt once again like there were undercurrents I didn’t understand here, and I figured my best bet was to say as little as possible. What I didn’t say couldn’t hurt me. At least, that was my theory. I wished she would let go of my hands, but I didn’t want to pull away and be rude.