The Prisoner's Throne (The Stolen Heir Duology, #2)(71)

You’ve always been clever, she told him when she asked him to break things off. Be clever now.

Does she think that if she is the one to dump him, Elfhame will take her crown for breaking his heart?

And yet, he can’t shed the feeling there is a greater wrongness she was trying to communicate. Could someone be leveraging something against her in order to stop their marriage? Was it one of her retinue? One of his family? He didn’t think it could be Bogdana, who was so vocal in support of their union.

Or perhaps it was the storm hag—maybe Bogdana threatened Wren if she strayed from that path? And yet, if that was the case, why not tell Oak outright?

A knock comes on the door. A moment later, it opens and Tatterfell enters. She frowns at him, her inkdrop eyes taking in the wreckage of the table.

“Leave it,” he tells her. “And leave off lecturing me about it, too.”

She presses her thin lips together. She’s been a servant in Madoc’s household, paying off some debt, and then moved to the castle with Jude, possibly as a spy for their father. He’s never much liked her. She’s impatient and prone to pinching.

“The hunt is today,” she says. “And then that farce on Insear right after. There are tents for you to change in, but we still need to select what garb to send over.”

“I don’t need your help with that,” he tells her. Her words that farce on Insear echo in his head.

The little faerie looks up at him with her shining black eyes. “You ought to clothe yourself as though you expect to exchange vows, even if there’s little chance of that.”

He frowns at Tatterfell. “Why do you think so?”

She snorts, going to his wardrobe and taking down a tunic of deep burgundy cloth embroidered with golden leaves and pants of a deep brown. “Oh, it’s not my place to speculate on the plans of my betters.”

“And yet,” Oak says.

“And yet, were I Jude,” Tatterfell says, pulling out riding clothes of mouse gray, “I might want to marry you to the new queen of the Undersea. It would be a better alliance, and if you don’t marry her, the alliance goes to someone else.”

The prince thinks of the contest he was told of for Nicasia’s hand. The one that Cirien-Cròin was attempting to prevent with the attack. “Cardan courted her, didn’t he?”

Tatterfell is quiet for a moment. “Another good reason for your sister to marry you to her. Besides, I hear she threw over the High King for Locke. You look something like him.”

Oak scowls as she urges him out of his nightshirt. “Jude doesn’t usually expect much from me.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Tatterfell says. “I hear you’re widely considered to be a rake.”

Oak wants to object, but he has to consider that maybe Jude does think a marriage of Oak to Nicasia would be possible and useful. Maybe it did seem like a good solution to Cardan, who’s heard rumors of Oak’s treachery.

And if Jude wanted him to compete to be King of the Undersea, would that lead Jude to move against Wren? Would Jude push her to break off the betrothal while pretending to allow it? Push Wren to hide her interference from Oak—and have enough power to back up any threat.

Well, given the secrets she’s already kept, if that is what she’s doing, he’d never know about it?



Dressed in mouse gray, with Tatterfell taking his evening clothes on to Insear, Oak heads to the stables. From there, he will ride out to the Milkwood, where he intends to determine the actual reason Wren wants Oak in particular to break off their betrothal.

As he heads toward Damsel Fly, he finds Jack of the Lakes waiting for him. The kelpie is in his person form, dressed all in brown and black, bits of seaweed hanging out of his breast pockets. A rough-beaten gold hoop hangs from one ear.

“Hullo,” Jack says, brushing the hair back from his eyes.

“My apologies,” Oak says, resting one hand on the needle of a sword he insisted on strapping to his belt. “I haven’t yet managed to speak with my sister on your behalf.”

He shrugs. “My obligation to you is greater than yours to me, prince. I’ve come to dismiss some of it, if I can.”

“Observe another clandestine meeting?” Oak asks.

“I am a steed. Get on my back, and we’ll ride to the hunt together.”

Oak frowns, considering. Jack is capricious and a gossip. But the vow he once gave Oak was sincere, and at the moment, Oak is feeling short on allies. Someone he can even mostly trust seems a boon. “Concerned about something?”

“I mislike this place,” Jack says.

“Viper nest,” Oak agrees.

“It seems quite the trick to tell the friendly snakes from the other ones.”

“Ah,” Oak says. “They’re all friendly snakes until they bite you.”

“Perhaps you’ll have no need of me today,” the kelpie tells him. “But if you do, I will be there.”

Oak nods. Jack’s concern makes his own worries all the more real. He reaches for a saddle. “You really don’t mind?”

“So long as there’s no bit between my teeth,” Jack says, transforming shape on the last word. Where once there was a boy, there is a sharptoothed black horse. The sheen on his coat is murky green, and his mane ripples like water.