As soon as Lorcan pronounces the rooms safe, the handmaids scatter to ready the princess’s clothes. They are scared of the soldier general and do not understand why Croi isn’t. Monca clings to the princess and Lorcan to the king. Tinder is sitting on Croi’s head because she likes the view from there; Croi, having long given up any efforts at dignity, lets her.

Croi expects the Tine King to leave with Lorcan. Instead he sends his attendants ahead to the fifth floor. A sense of disquietude seeps into the atmosphere at the king’s continued presence.

“Monca, I would like to talk to you,” the Tine King says, and the brownie flinches, her face paling.

“What do you need Monca for, Father?” Ceara immediately asks, looking at the king warily.

Not the sentiment a daughter in harmony with her father would evince.

“We all pretend,” Croi thinks to her other self.

“I believe Monca knows very well what I mean to ask her. Don’t you, Monca?” Aodh’s voice is as soft as silk and more lethal for it. Tinder trembles on Croi’s head.

Maybe it’s a good thing we grew up without him. Imagine all the rules he must have in place for his children.

Instead of replying to her other self, Croi angles a look at Lorcan. The Tine general, as if aware of her attention, immediately retreats a step. Heh.

“Monca?” the Fire Princess prompts her brownie mother.

“It’s all right, child,” Monca replies, a look of resignation on her weathered face. “I shall follow your commands, sire.”

The Tine King moves to leave but pauses, glancing at Ceara, Tinder, and Croi. “Be safe. If you leave the pavilion, make sure to take some soldiers with you. Don’t expect friendliness or kindness from either the Caisleán or the kin who live in her. Saraid has given us this day to rest, and all events will start tomorrow.”

“Who is Saraid?” Croi whispers.

“That’s the Robber Queen’s name,” Ceara replies.

“You,” Aodh addresses Croi, “especially. Be careful. If you can help it, stay inside.”

With that, he strides out of the room, followed by Lorcan and a reluctant Monca.

“My father shows an inordinate amount of concern for you,” Ceara says suddenly, eyeing Croi with a definite unfriendliness. “Why?”

TWENTY-NINE

YOU SHOULD ADDRESS THIS QUESTION to your father… unless you are implying that I know the workings of his mind?” Croi answers the Fire Princess, a lazy smile accompanying her words.

Well said.

Ceara’s cheeks flood with color. She flings herself onto a chair in the living room, looking disgruntled with the world.

“Why are you so upset?” Tinder flies over to her and sits on the arm of the chair she has claimed.

Croi follows the pixie and takes a chair opposite the princess, resigned to the conversation that is going to happen whether she wants it to or not.

Ceara is silent for a long while before she sighs. “It is easy to hate people when you don’t know them. When all your thoughts of them have been shaped by rumors and hearsay.” She bites her lip. “The Robber Queen was a fae-shaped monster in my mind. She might not have directly killed my maternal family, but I felt that she was guilty anyway because she has the same blood as those who did.”