Sorem struggled with a great many things for the better part of the day. His cause was just, so much so that fate had intervened on his behalf.

“Less faith, and more jealousy,” the Jvalan muttered.

Her words confused him as he reached the bottom step of the inn after having changed his clothes and freshly shaved.

She could hear his thoughts.

He hadn’t believed that to be true at first. Because why reveal that fact to him if it were? Sorem was her enemy and such a strategic decision as to take part of someone’s mind was sure to put him on the defensive.

Hand still holding the banister, Sorem watched the floor.

He felt foolish for the trade. But upon thinking of what he’d just done to the woman—to her home, he felt more than foolish.

Jealousy. The Jvalan had called it jealousy. That word had stung. Why was she ignoring the situation?

Sorem stood at the bottom step, confused and saddened beyond belief. What was this hunchback’s secret? He’d enchanted an entire valley.

Of course, a creature like the Jvalan that could not value justice, would see nothing wrong with enslaving the minds of others.

Wyrn had taken over these beasts of magic. Bending the will of the simple was easy, he’d been taught. That was why the hunchback needed magical beings—beings of meager education.

All that, Sorem could probably forgive. But not…not the princess. One did not steal away princesses. That was his absolute limit.

“But one burns the home of princesses?”

The Jvalan whispered it so softly, Sorem might not have heard if not for the quiet of this hallway.

Quiet.

All was quiet.

That led him to the bottom step and then to the left, toward the tavern. He’d come, expecting it empty, but instead it was packed with even more people.

Everyone partook in their mead somberly, one person at the bar in particular.

This was the first time Vadde sat without anyone approaching. A humongous jug of mead rested before her, nearly as big as her face.

The redness of her cheeks had Sorem shaking his head.

He knew it. Rescue. Here she was, yet again, doing something dangerous.

From a distance, he’d considered the hunchback small, mostly because of how he lurched when in motion. Today had surprised him in revealing that they were nearly the same height.

But the hunchback was of a small stature and should one of these savage magical creatures, temporarily freed from the hunchback’s influence, even for a moment, grab hold of her, there was no telling how she might suffer.

Sorem saw it as his solemn duty as he sat down and inched her mug between them.

His action had her smiling bright but when she turned to see him, the light in her eyes dulled and her shoulders drooped yet again.

For once, she wasn’t crying, but she also appeared angry if not disgusted with him.

“What do you want?” she demanded, in a tone dripping with hatred.

What did he want? He thought about that for some time. What he wanted was to free her from this spell. What he wanted was to take her back home. What he wanted was to find his reward for such a brave act with her hand in marriage.

She snatched her mug from him and did something he surely didn’t want. After taking a good gulp, she slammed it down again.

The force of the impact left Sorem staring at the counter, unsure how to proceed.

That hunchback.

Sorem should have known he would tighten his hold on her mind now that Sorem’d revealed himself as a prince.

Curses for honesty.

In the end, he decided to proceed with caution. “Why are you so angry at me?”

While he faced forward, she faced him, right elbow propped on the counter. Her behavior and persona were unbecoming of a princess.

“You’re trying to kill my husband. What woman wouldn’t be angry at that?”

Sorem sighed inward. That bastard. Sending his woman to fight on his behalf. Surely, there was no one more sinister than this hunchback.

But this woman turned human shield was confused and clouded. That was not her fault, Sorem reminded himself.

He would rescue her and upon doing so, speak to her about her experience in earnest. And he’d keep her secret, provided she accept him as a husband for his bravery.

“Secret? What secret?” the Jvalan risked asking in the open.

Sorem’s eyes slid downward to regard it, but he didn’t dare hold his gaze there for long.

Instead, he thought, The secret of her being intimate with a wicked hunchback. Essentially becoming his…his….

He struggled for the word so long that it left his mouth when he said, “Pet.”

“Pet?” Vadde leaned away. “What do you mean pet? Are you calling my husband a pet?”

Sorem turned to face her as he brought his hands up. “Please calm. Allow me to explain my situation before you attack.”

Though she fell silent, her demeanor still spoke of aggression.

“I have done nothing untoward in all the time you’ve known me, lady. I’ve been just and good in my actions. Have I not? Name one instance when I have not?”

“Before or after watching her naked?”

This time, he bounced the Jvalan’s cage with no guilt when the weight of it changed, indicating she’d fallen to the bottom of it.

Instead, Sorem kept his eyes on Vadde who turned to face forward, grumbling into her chest, “You still wish to kill my husband.”

On any usual day, with any usual princess, he would have been direct…and truthful, but this was magic—powerful magic. Magic he had no way of fighting as this Jvalan appeared limited after all.

Therefore, Sorem called on his skills earned from his service in the priesthood—vague and double speak.

“Why do you think I am trying to do away with your husband? Is this something that happens to him often?”

All the fire that had burned in her dulled with proper consideration. Sorem did not like the quiet. Now, instead of pulling that mead away, he found himself inching it to her.

When it reached her line of sight, she snatched it up and took another drink.

It came down to rest hard. “You’re asking him to kill a fairy. And no fairy’s death goes unpunished.”

Sorem’s heart slowed to a stop. When it shot back to life again, it pounded like a thousand horses in a stampede.

He fought to calm, reminding himself that this was not the woman’s actual words but instead, a spell. A spell controlled by the hunchback. A hunchback too cowardly to bring these points up by himself.

And he would appeal to this hunchback’s ego now.

“Killing the Fairy King is nothing sinister, my lady. He is a being of war and many kingdoms worship him. My order, the Divine Thinkers Order, is tasked with keeping the peace. The fear of the Fairy King’s might used to aid in that. But lately, we’ve determined that he’s been…corrupted—silenced. Immortality guarantees that the Fairy King will always be reborn. A death for him frees him off all corruption. Done properly, he’s sure to offer his rescuer a boon.”

Vadde’s dainty fingers traced the mug’s handle. She picked at it in quiet contemplation before a thought had her turning her head to him so slowly one could not dispute her enchantment.

“Then why don’t you do it?”

Panic leapt into Sorem’s heart.

In his mind, he scrambled for an answer.

One came from an unlikely source.

“Because I’d heard stories of a clever hunchback, one that rules over three villages justly. And I knew, this man was truly smart enough to know how to do this properly.”

The Jvalan.

It waited so Sorem cleared his throat and recited her words to Vadde.

Almost instantly, the anger receded from Vadde’s face.

When she took her next drink, it was in quiet. She drank far longer than he expected but the mug came to a gentle rest this time.

“He is rather clever,” she admitted.

He waited, because she looked on the verge.

The way her body trembled made him reach into his inner pocket for his handkerchief which he handed over.

As soon as she saw it, she shed a tear and snatched it from him.

“And he’s so angry. I’ve never seen him this angry. He says I’d tricked him. But I hadn’t tricked him. I honestly did miss him and didn’t want to wait till we got home.” She turned on her chair, shouting, “Doesn’t that speak of love? Isn’t that love and not deception!”

Sorem longed to reach for her, to hold her hand perhaps. But the eyes of the patrons in the room sobered his thinking.

He had to wait.

She dabbed her eyes and he decided to play along.

“Wait for what, exactly?”

The color of her skin reddened, and she cried harder.

Sorem had known her meaning but was glad to see it brought her some shame.

“It’s nothing.” She drew in a final sniff then held out his handkerchief and lamented, “And now I must wash this for you again.”

“No need, Princess. It’s quite all right.” He plucked the cloth from her hands and tucked it back into his pocket. “How long have you been married? Was it a lovely ceremony?”

She shed another tear as she turned to hold her hand up for another drink.

Bonn approached with caution but replaced her mug as he muttered, “Slow down.”

With a nod of her head, she obeyed him, cradling the mug between her hands instead of drinking.

Sorem was alarmed. How many men here had possible command of her? Was anyone able to take control of this woman? Was that why they guarded her so closely when the hunchback was away?

“You mean, could you take command of her?”

The Jvalan’s words were no longer in jest and Sorem didn’t appreciate the tone.

As a means to get her out of here, then yes, that is where my thought process lies.

He would have continued with his fight if not for the princess waiting on Bonn to be out of view to drink heartily.

A minute later, she slammed the empty mug down. Now, her red face was no longer a consequence of her crying.

It was a chore for her to remain upright.

“Miss?”

“I’ve been married five years,” Vadde explained, her tongue adequately loosened by the liquor. “And no, we hadn’t a nice ceremony. Not at first. After…after the resistance to marrying faded, however, we did have one.”

“Resistance?” Sorem inquired.

“Ah. Perhaps…reluctance is the better word. There was a reluctance to marry.”

Sorem’s heart sank. This poor woman.

“But once I wore him down,” she declared, hands held high, “we had a wonderful ceremony.”

Wore him down? To perhaps making her an honest woman before ruining her entirely?

Sorem let out a sigh. Something else drew his focus. “And he doesn’t want children?”

She had trouble holding her head up, forcing her to brace her forearms on the counter and shake her head.

“Not a want. A…oh, never mind. It was foolish of me.”

Something happened to Sorem as he sat there. A sudden need to impress her came over him.

“Oh, I understand. I for one love children,” he lied. “In fact, there are far too many in my family. I have so many cousins.”

“You have one cousin,” the Jvalan reminded him, “and only one.”

He flicked her cage again and received silence.

“Honestly, my parents were so afraid of an assassination attempt with so many viable heirs in play.”

Vadde picked her head up and watched him in envy. “That is certainly a problem.”

When she hung her head again, Sorem struggled with a solution to her immediate danger. He couldn’t very well leave her here to the mercy of these unjust men.

“What will you do for the night?”

Vadde wiped her eyes again. “When he’s angry, he goes off for days. I suppose…I suppose I’ll go to my little room, that I’ve earned with my wishful thinking, and cry all night.”

Sorem resisted the urge to stroke her back or perhaps her arm by balling his fists. Oh, how he longed for her. Her pitiful situation drew him in even more. She needed rescue. She needed him.

The least he could do was see her to her room, so he slipped off his stool, intent on doing just that.

“I have one last question,” Sorem said. “Do you know there is a spell on this valley? A spell on you?”

Vadde swung her head around to face him. “Do you mean the one keeping all the women in?”

Sorem’s jaw dropped. She knew. Maybe she was having a moment of clarity with this liquor. He landed on his stool in record time and raised his hand for a mug of his own mead.

When Bonn returned to do just that, he didn’t like what he found.

“Vadde, are you all right?”

Head resting on the counter, Vadde sobbed, “I’m perfect.”

Bonn threw the drink down and hurried out, calling to his wife, “Find Wyrn.”

“No need to find me. I’m right here.”

A voice came from the tavern door. Vadde tensed visibly.

Blast.

Sorem hurried to whisper, “What is this spell? How does one dispel it?”

“You cannot dispel it. Only the Living Goddess can.”

“Well, how far does it stretch? Is there a time limit?”

“You ask so many questions.”

“Just answer!” he growled with a slam of his fist.

Vadde bit back a cry. “It’s only in this valley. Beyond it, it does not work.”

A hand came to rest on her back, and she slipped off the stool, clinging to the hunchback like a lifeline.

The way she responded to him in person compared to his absence spoke of powerful magic.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, tightening her hold around his neck.

Wyrn, the hunchback, glanced past her to the mugs then to Sorem and sighed.

“Come,” he said, pulling her with him as he walked. “You can sleep this off.”

Sorem turned to watch them. When they disappeared into the hall, he threw down a few coins and retired as well.

Muffled voices coming from the wall thrilled him—they were the next room over.

“Take off the shield,” Vadde begged, her voice groggy.

Shield?

“He wears metal on his back,” the Jvalan said. “That is what I tried to warn you. Creatures wearing metal fear the fairies. They use it to prevent others from sneaking up on them from behind.”

“There. Is that better?” Wyrn said. “Stop touching it. This is why I don’t want to take off the shield.”

Touching it? His hunch? Sorem cringed. That bastard.

“Well let me rub some ointment on you.”

“Stop. You’re a mess. Assuming you don’t vomit all over us, we may live to see tomorrow.”

Something cut him off and he struggled to speak. Sorem recognized the kisses.

“Princess, this isn’t really a good idea with you so drunk—”

“Then you get drunk, too, and we can make some poor decisions together.”

“Shh. This isn’t like home. These walls must be paper thin. If—”

His deep moan had Sorem scowling.

Something slammed into the wall and Sorem raised his fist in triumph. Good for the princess. Her drunken stupor was finally allowing her to see the light.

“If you’re not angry at me then you should prove it.”

Wyrn sighed. “I’m not a pet.”

“Pet? That’s the second time tonight I’ve heard that word.” They shared a pause, perhaps a kiss before she whispered, “What would you do for me if I made you my pet, pet?”

The laughter that time came with a moan. “Princess, please—”

“Fine,” she said, “I’ll be the pet and get down on my knees to please you.”

Head leaning against the wall, body slumped, Sorem fought back his sorrow.

At length, she stopped and explained, “You must stroke my head as I do this, husband, or I cannot know you truly enjoy it.”

Wyn’s words came strangled. “Surely you know.”

“Put your hands on my head. Now.”

After a brief cough, he answered, “Yes, ma’am.”

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