A Court of Muses Read online

  Prince Elric-Atherius also was the only pure-blooded Fae in the royal family with a child at court. His brothers’ and sisters’ children were all grown adults and lived elsewhere.

  If there was an opportunity when Errol would be able to speak with Princess Steorra or Prince Elric-Atherius privately, it would be during an outing. As it happened, opportunity presented itself with the princess first.

  Two men on white unicorns trotted ahead of the carriage, and two more rode behind. Soldiers sat on top of the carriage, watching for danger as the driver kept his eyes on the road.

  It wasn’t unheard of for a guard to sit inside with one of the royal family, invisible and out of the way, should there be the threat of danger. Errol knew he was bringing risk upon himself by inviting himself into Princess Steorra’s carriage when there was no apparent danger.

  Errol sat to the side, considering how he might best broach the subject of what he needed to ask without sounding too impertinent. A black terrier lounged on a pillow on Princess Steorra’s lap. The princess was dressed in modest traveling attire and would have blended in with any Morty woman of noble birth if it hadn’t been for her silver hair and pointed ears, mostly hidden under her hat.

  Her eyes were closed as she stroked the dog’s head idly. She was very beautiful, and the least showy of her family.

  She sighed, her tone sharp. “Reveal yourself. I can tell you’re there.” She opened her eyes and squinted at the place Errol sat. “I don’t know what you want, but you might as well get it out.”

  Reluctantly, Errol released his hold on his glamour. Her eyes went wide, and she gasped. The dog on her lap sat up and looked at him before plopping back down.

  He bowed his head. “I apologize if I alarmed you, Princess.”

  “I beg your pardon! I thought you were one of my brothers.” She leaned forward. “That truly was remarkable. You’re quite adept at glamour. As good as any member of my family.”

  “I will take that as a compliment, and I shall tell my tutor she has instructed me well.” He bowed his head in thanks, though he didn’t give voice to those words, as he had no intention of owing her a favor later. Already he feared what she might ask of him for giving him advice.

  “You’re Captain Errol, aren’t you?” Steorra asked.

  “Lieutenant Errol. You probably don’t remember me, but I may have caused your younger brother to push you into the bushes accidentally.”

  She grinned. “Oh yes! The day of the lavender. You saved me from showing up looking like a proper and respectable lady to my appointment.”

  “Oh.” He couldn’t tell whether that was sarcasm or she truly was amused. “Happy to be of service, Your Highness.”

  She laughed. “You must understand. Count Leopold was the latest suitor my stepmother arranged for me to see. Ever since my husband died, Queen Anwynn has had her heart set on me finding a rich husband with a title—as my father would like—and who lives in another realm—as she would like.”

  “Oh.” He had heard gossip about the queen’s low opinion of the king’s bastard child, but he didn’t think it was appropriate to comment on it.

  He cleared his throat. “Before we arrive at the theater, I wondered if I might trouble you to hear of a certain situation so that you might give me advice on the matter.”

  “You’re asking advice from me?” She laughed.

  He removed his hat and smoothed a hand over his hair. “You might have noticed my hair.”

  “Indeed.”

  He told her about his ancestry—omitting his drop of Morty blood from the story—and from there, gave a brief description of his military career as dictated by her father the king. He explained how he had been recommended and the extent of his duties and the challenges he’d encountered with his recent discovery of muse magic. He didn’t tell her about the brothel.

  “I have been told by my superior officers that I’m not to take from the artists, as that is a liberty only granted royalty, but they also expect me to keep the other guards from going mad and to recognize when the king’s inspiration has hooked into them and they need a break. I need to learn enough to control myself. I don’t want anyone to get hurt.” He studied his pristine white gloves, thinking of Jezebel.

  He didn’t want to be the reason anyone got hurt.

  “I think you mean you don’t want to be a cruel tyrant like the members of my family.” Her voice turned cool.

  That was one way to put it. Instead he said, “My sister seems to think all I need is to find myself a wife, and I’ll be distracted enough this muse magic won’t trouble me.” He fidgeted uncomfortably. “I think I need to find a tutor so I can learn how to not get to the point that I hunger for an artist without being able to stop myself. I need to not blackout and not become unfit for duty.”

  “I see.” She peeked out the curtained window. “There is a practicality in learning such things, but there also is a cost. It will change you. Once you give in to the muse magic, you’ll never truly be able to stop. Even once you master it, you will always crave the taste of music and poetry.”

  He didn’t like the sound of that. “Is there a way to stop it? Can I turn this talent off completely?”

  She tilted her head to the side, her eyes shifting from silver to orange. “Only if you can get yourself away from the castle and the Silver Court. You didn’t have this problem before coming here, you say. That means you could leave.”

  He could if he were permitted to resign. Certainly he could desert, but if he did, he would be a wanted man. That would cut down on his job prospects. More than that, Errol could not imagine doing something so dishonorable.

  He supposed he could petition the king directly and tell him his situation. But even if he were granted permission, Alma would still be here.

  He knew his sister well enough to know she would refuse to leave. She liked her job, the civil manner in which the staff in the kitchen were treated here, and her freedom to be courted by officers. Errol hadn’t minded her working in Mistress Cadwynn’s house where he knew she would be safe, but he didn’t like her being alone in the castle without kin who would look out for her. He was only half as worried about her getting mixed up with a soldier as he was about her being used by the royal family in some way and going mad as a result.

  “I cannot leave,” he said.

  “Then you will need to learn how to manage this skill you’ve acquired.” She set her terrier on the seat beside her. “You do realize that means you will have to practice, and practicing means you will be imbibing the essence of artists—expressly what your superiors told you not to do. It will displease your supervisors and the royal family if they should learn about this. Is that a risk you are willing to take?”

  Errol didn’t see another way. “Aye, Your Highness. If I find myself a tutor who is willing to teach me, I am willing to take that risk.”

  “You have found yourself a tutor, then.” She grinned. “And what perfect timing for such a lesson. We are on our way to a theater, and we shall use this trip to practice our first lesson.”

  A Fae theater was a very public place. It wasn’t like the privacy of the castle.

  “If we are caught, won’t this cause you to get in trouble?” he asked.

  “Not half as much as you will be in.” She raised an eyebrow. “Though, I trust you will glamour yourself from the public and remain invisible so you don’t draw attention to yourself. I will request for you to be my personal guard on excursions so that you may practice.”

  “That is very generous of you, but will that not draw attention to us and demonstrate that you’ve taken a special interest in me?”

  “All I need say is that I’ve taken a fancy to you on account of your pretty face.” She winked at him. “Being a princess has its privileges, small as they might be for a bastard daughter.”

  He wished he would be granted the same liberties if they were caught.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

&nbs
p; Teacher’s Pet

  Errol started his first lesson that day in the princess’s private booth.

  She first bade him observe her breathing in the creative energies of those around her.

  “Notice how I’m only taking the excess, what leaks out of the artists and won’t be missed. A true muse inspires and consumes what is produced—not what hasn’t yet been created.” She gave Errol many theoretical tips, most of which he didn’t understand.

  Princess Steorra was too far from the stage to inspire the artists directly, as the royal family did in their parlor in privacy.

  “That is another lesson, in any case,” she said.

  The princess instructed him in collecting the ambient energies in the air. If he reached out and snatched up the excess energy, he could, theoretically, pull it toward himself. Even after practicing for hours, he couldn’t draw it to him as she did.

  “Don’t worry. You will do better with practice,” she said.

  After they left the theater, Errol didn’t dare use these skills while he was on guard duty, lest he attract attention. Unfortunately, the mess hall and barracks were absent of creativity, and there wasn’t much he could do to practice in private. Alma again pressured him to find a wife. He could see how it might benefit him, if he found someone creative, but he didn’t want to risk hurting a woman with his unrefined skills. A week passed before he was called upon to escort Princess Steorra to the ballet. She instructed him again.

  By the third outing, he wondered why she was so willing to help him. He had brought her no gift when he’d solicited her advice. He had nothing to pay her if she wanted coin as payment, though she was rich enough he doubted money mattered at all to her.

  “May I inquire why you’ve taken it upon yourself to do this, despite the scandal it might bring upon you to be caught doing something illicit with a royal guard?” he asked in the privacy of her sitting room.

  She laughed at that. “Something illicit? You make it sound as if I’ve invited you into my bed. I do hope I haven’t given you the wrong idea.”

  He blushed at that. “No, Your Highness. I wouldn’t be so presumptuous. I know my place and wouldn’t dare mingle with the upper class.”

  “Except you are mingling, whether you like it or not.”

  “That still doesn’t answer my question. Why are you willing to do this?” Truly, why was she willing to be kind to the world at all?

  “You are my kin, are you not, distant as you are? There’s nothing so important as family.” She smiled sadly.

  “I suppose you must miss your husband.”

  She snorted at that. “No. He was a brute and a tyrant, like most Fae.” Her eyes shifted from silver to blue. “I miss my mother, the king’s mistress. I miss the nursemaids who raised me, my governess, and my half siblings. I would trade it all to be with them again, but it pleases the king for me to be near.”

  “Were you raised . . . common?” he asked.

  She shrugged. “A merchant-class family isn’t common, but it certainly isn’t royalty.”

  It relieved Errol’s worries that Steorra might not feel the need to adhere to the rules of royalty, who would expect something in return.

  Princess Steorra requested him personally more and more often, not just for occasions when she left the castle. He walked behind her, invisible and out of sight as she strolled the grounds with her hand tucked into her brother’s arm. Prince Elric-Atherius was her most frequent companion, though Steorra kept company with Prince Elric-Atherius’ mistresses, despite them being Morties and Witchkin.

  One day Steorra called Errol over as she sat beside her brother on a bench. “Lieutenant Errol, undo your glamour for just a moment. I want my brother to get a good look at you.”

  Prince Elric-Atherius stood when Errol appeared. The other Fae smiled jovially. Errol bowed. The prince stuck out his hand.

  “Oh,” Errol said, realizing too late that the prince had intended to shake hands with him. He extended his hand just as Prince Elric-Atherius drew his back and started to bow.

  Princess Steorra laughed at them. “I believe your timing is a little off.”

  “You’re right about that, my dear. I’m always out of tune,” Prince Elric-Atherius said.

  Errol hoped the princess hadn’t told her brother about tutoring him. He didn’t know whether it was a good idea for Prince Elric-Atherius to know his sister was giving him lessons in muse magic. He hadn’t even told his own sister, fearing how it might put her at risk if she knew. Prince Elric-Atherius was the least cruel of his brothers, but that didn’t mean he could be trusted.

  “Look at his face,” Princess Steorra said. “Do you see the family resemblance? Who do you think his great-great-grandfather might have been? One of our cousins?”

  Prince Elric-Atherius leaned forward, his eyes shifting from brown to green. “Not one of our brothers. None of them would touch a Witchkin woman with a pair of tongs. Though that doesn’t mean they wouldn’t touch one with something else.” He raised an eyebrow, insinuating his family’s lurid nature.

  Errol looked away, embarrassed the prince would say such a thing in his sister’s company.

  “I daresay you could be one of my grandchildren,” Prince Elric-Atherius said. “But I don’t think you’re old enough for that. Besides that, all my children have died, and my illegitimate children are all accounted for.”

  Prince Elric-Atherius being the only one in his family’s line to still have children was fortunate indeed.

  Errol bowed his head in apology, hoping his words weren’t too bold. “Excuse me for saying so, Your Highness, but if you had as many mistresses a hundred years ago as you have now, I’m certain you could have gotten one of them with child, and she might not have told you.” If the kitchen gossip Alma repeated held any truth, the prince might have been able to have children, but he carried a curse that all who loved him died.

  “A hundred years ago? I’m not that old. Do I look that old?” Prince Elric-Atherius asked. “It’s the hair, isn’t it? It makes it difficult to tell my age.”

  Steorra rolled her eyes. “I don’t suppose you know anything at all about your ancestry, do you? Your grandmother’s name?”

  Errol shook his head.

  The prince appeared to lose interest in him and picked a flower that he tucked into the buttonhole of his jacket.

  “Are there any old neighbors you could call upon? You might be able to ask them in order to retrace your family tree. It might tell us how distant a relation you are. You might be entitled to more than a soldier’s life.”

  “That’s quite all right, Princess. I’m satisfied with my life.” He would rather be common and honest than rubbing elbows with royalty and stealing from others, whether it was through draining them of magic or taxing them to excess.

  “Oh look, a butterfly,” Prince Elric-Atherius said from behind Errol.

  “How diverting.” Princess Steorra’s gaze flickered from her brother and fixed on Errol. “You do realize being able to prove your royal blood would be helpful, if you are caught using the magic of the elite—”

  “It’s so pretty!” Elric-Atherius said loudly, prancing over and planting the butterfly on Errol’s shoulder. “There now. That compliments the colors of your uniform quite well.”

  The orange butterfly on the silver of Errol’s jacket didn’t look like it went particularly well together. Then again, those of the Silver Court weren’t known for their own artistic talents—only inspiring that quality in others.

  Steorra’s gaze shifted from Errol’s shoulder to the distance. A quick staccato of footsteps approached. Errol stepped away from the prince and princess.

  Steorra sighed. “This is unfortunate timing.” She straightened and spoke loudly. “It was quite kind of you to offer assistance, soldier, but I assure you, we can manage from here.”

  Errol bowed, knowing that was his signal to fall back and glamour himself once again. Princess Quenylda barreled
down the path, nearly knocking Errol over.

  “How dare you keep me waiting!” She smacked a closed fan against Elric-Atherius’ face.

  He stumbled back. “What was that for?”

  Quenylda wore a swan on her head today. It honked loudly as she spoke, almost masking her words. “You don’t learn, do you? How shall I punish you for your insolence this time?” She shoved him. “I would beat you if I thought it might help. No. . . . I have a better idea. Shall I beat your mistress and make you watch?”

  “What have I done to deserve such threats?” Elric-Atherius shrank back from his wife.

  From the way Quenylda glowed, Errol was certain she had feasted on an artist recently. Magic overflowed from her, and with that magic came power. “You were supposed to meet me for lunch with our guests. You made a complete fool of me because my husband would apparently rather spend his time with his bastard sister than his wife.”

  Errol shifted from foot to foot uneasily overhearing the royal rift. The longer he worked in the castle, the more he despised Quenylda.

  She grabbed Prince Elric-Atherius by his pointed ear and pulled him along the path.

  “I wasn’t trying to vex you, love. I just got distracted by the beauty of the butterflies.” He set a monarch on her hair.

  She snatched it up and crushed it. “No, you got distracted by that little tramp. She’s trying to steal you from me.”

  Steorra rolled her eyes. “Am I the only one in this court who would prefer not to have a family member for a lover or husband?”

  “No, I wouldn’t mind not being married to one of my sisters,” Prince Elric-Atherius said.

  Errol retreated into the shadows of the bushes. It was one thing to defend the royal family against outside attackers. It was something else to have to defend them against each other. He couldn’t imagine how awkward it would be if he were forced to take sides.

  * * *

  Errol progressed in his lessons, though it was easier to practice outside the castle, he learned. One day as Steorra entertained her human guest, San Juan de la Cruz, she instructed Errol in how to absorb energy without being detected by other Fae. Try as he might, he couldn’t help glowing brighter. He would need to learn to glamour himself.