Khalistah and McKale were just making their way to the King’s presence where the Princess curtsied low and McKale gave a respectful bow of his head. I lifted the hem of my gown and rushed forward to be at McKale’s side.
Mom and Dad formed steely towers around a cowering Cass who’d linked her arm inside Dad’s. The three of them watched me for some sign that everything had gone as planned. I gave a small nod, and my parents’ faces smoothed as they shed their tension.
I was not relieved in the slightest. I clutched the chain around my neck and closed my eyes.
Please work.
“Father, King.” Khalistah’s musical voice rang out.
“I see you decided to join us after all,” he said. His fingers were linked in front of himself, at ease.
The FFG held her head high. “I have not come to join the festivities, Father. The Leprechaun are holding my pixie captive. I have come to retrieve Paulie from his iron prison.”
Nobody in the entire clearing breathed as we waited for the King’s response. He stared at her for a long while before tipping his head toward Brogan with a frown.
The leader of the Chaun bowed low, his beard sweeping the ground. “My apologies, King of the Summer. We intended to release him to ye this day. I assure ye no iron is touching the creature. His cage is lined with a pelt. ‘Twas the oddest thing, it was. Last evenin’ the pixie attacked our dear Robyn and we had to put a stop to it. We meant no harm to the Princess’s pet.”
In a slow movement the King nodded his head then chuckled. Khalistah’s eyes grew wide. Near the forest and all around the field, brown and gray bunnies came out of hiding and hopped around like a fairy tale.
“Ah, dearest daughter. That pixie of yours has ever been a pesky thing. I cannot condone the torture of a Fae creature; however, you must keep a better watch over your pet.”
Her tiny lips pursed. Brogan cleared his throat and waved a hand at Keefe.
“Release the pixie,” Brogan told him then addressed the King. “He has not been harmed or tortured, King of the Summer. I swear it.”
“Fine, fine.” The King waved off Brogan’s assurances as if bored. “I have wished to cage the scoundrel myself more than a few times.”
He chuckled again, and all the Fae except Khalistah joined his merriment. Colorful songbirds swooped through the sky overhead.
Seconds later Pauli flew in a slow, depressing buzz, landing on the FFG’s shoulder and nuzzling her neck. He lifted his face long enough to send me a vicious show of teeth.
“There, there,” she said to it with no warmth in her voice.
With the pixie returned and the King seeming unfazed, Brogan motioned for his people to continue their dancing and get back to celebrating.
Khalistah stared at me so long it was beyond creepy. I could all but hear the crank in her mind deciding what to do next. Her attention finally turned to the Prince, who was pondering Cassidy from afar as if bewildered by his interest in such an ordinary creature. She clung to Dad’s arm, practically hiding behind him. I wanted to scream at her to run as fast and far as she could.
“See something you like, Prince?” Khalistah asked him.
His eyes slid from the Princess, back to Cassidy. The FFG’s lips turned up in a vile expression of happiness.
“I believe I do,” he answered. “The sister…”
The King and other Fae noted the Prince’s interest and I swallowed hard. McKale cleared his throat next to me as the Prince began to make his way slowly to Cassidy. She moved further behind Dad and his jaw set in a frown at the bronzed Fae. Khalistah gave a wickedly happy laugh.
Just as the Prince neared, causing Dad to walk backward, an angry voice hollered from a distance like a war cry. All heads turned toward the trees where the Clour showed themselves, looking fierce. Rock was sprinting toward us, iron dagger in hand, yelling, “Ye can’t have her!”
McKale and I met each other’s eyes with mutual shocked expressions.
Before Rock could make it the last ten feet to us his feet were suddenly halted and his upper body jolted forward. I watched in horror as grass shot up from the ground, long and wide, winding around his legs and up his torso. He struggled in anguish against it.
“No!” Cass yelled.
Dad held her back. Grass twined, squeezing his arms to his side, and then wound around his face to cover his mouth. His head thrashed, curls everywhere.
“Drop the weapon.” The cool voice came from the Summer King, causing an uproar of delighted bird chatter that contrasted the dismay of everyone in the field.
Rock’s eyes blazed at the Prince and he fought for short breaths through his nose. He had enough good sense to drop the dagger at his side. The other Clourichaun retreated a step back toward the tree line, as if frightened that their approach might make things worse for Rock. Their poor faces were filled with fear.
“The Clourichaun?” Summer King murmured. “How many of their kind remain?”
McKale cleared his throat and said, “Twelve, sir.”
“Only twelve…” He seemed to ponder this with something regret for what could have been, but it only lasted a moment before being replaced by disdain. “A pity.”
Martineth piped up next to him. “They deserve every moment of punishment they have received. Worthless pups. This one should die for coming near us with a weapon.”
The King lifted a hand toward Rock and the blade of grass peeled back from his mouth. “What is the meaning of this outburst, Clour boy?”