Mouth falling open, Luci stared at the aggravating being who infiltrated her home.
“You truly take nothing seriously.” Luci scoffed.
“You take it seriously enough for all of us,” he said.
Luci was seeing red. It permeated every corner of the room. Arrogant ass.
“You-” Luci began, but a knock on the door stole the much-needed words.
With a gentle ascent from Brielle, who was hiding a smile beneath a cough, Mrs. Blakesley entered. Of course, her sharp gaze locked on Luci like she was immediately guilty of somecrime. Suppose she could just find a pillow to scream into. She’d be much happier.
“The carriage is ready, Miss Brielle, Your Highness,” the housekeeper said.
Excellent. They were really doing this.
Turning sharply, Luci reached for one of the vials that held her scrawled handwriting. Ginger and turmeric. By the time she made for Brielle, she was already holding her hand out expectantly, a small curve to her lips.
“To prevent my knees from swelling during the carriage ride, I know, I know,” she said.
With ease, she popped the cork off the top and drained the amber liquid in one go, wrinkling her nose in distaste.
“I hate that one,” she said, her lower lip popped out.
“Well, we could skip the carriage ride, and you wouldn’t have to take it,” Luci said.
“I’ve taken it now, so might as well go. If only you said that before, I might have reconsidered.” Brielle chirped.
Irritation drew the hairs up on Luci’s back as Prince Ira chuckled and gently took the vial from Brielle, inspecting it.
“I think you might be the only person alive who can tease Lucinda and still live through it,” he said to Brielle. “This is very impressive, though. While we are at the capital, you should stop by and speak to Master Hartrich, the lead healer. He’d be very interested in your methods.”
“And leave you to convince Brielle to waltz up a mountain, I think not,” Luci said.
She snatched the vial from him and ignored the way his fingers brushed hers and the sound of his laugh that made her think that maybe she should laugh a little more. Laughing was for princes without responsibility who chased fairytales as a result. Maybe he should spend more time preparing to be a leader and kinginstead of letting a seven-year-old fill his mind with bedtime stories.
“Luci doesn’t like leaving Blythe. It makes her very grumpy.” Brielle offered.
“I see that.” Prince Ira agreed.
Luci ignored both of them as she carefully placed each vial in its own small cloth-lined compartment of the wicker basket. She’d spent years perfecting the design so that when they were forced to travel, even the roughest carriage ride would not crack the glass.
“Allow me,” Prince Ira said.
Luci turned her head slightly to see him standing, holding his hand out to Brielle, who beamed up at him and placed it in hers. How easily Brielle let down her guard and trusted the prince. Not a moment spent considering how this would all end. It was a side effect of being chronically unwell and cooped up. If Luci had spent more time bringing her outside and taking walks, maybe she wouldn’t crave adventure and romance as much. Probably a symptom of those damn books.
“Luci, will you grab Calcifer? He will scratch anyone else.” Brielle said.
Luci spun, mouth hanging open. “The cat? Why are we bringing the cat?”
Puffing out her bottom lip, Brielle sniffed. A truly pathetic display of manipulation.
“I’d miss him too much. Don’t pretend like you wouldn’t either.”
Shaking her head, Luci finished packing the vials and ignored the happy couple as they left her to her work. It was one thing after another. Brielle wasn’t thinking practically. All it took was one person from the ball recognizing Luci and throwing the whole ordeal into question. Her head was still attached for the moment, but that could be easily undone.
Besides, Prince Ira might act like a perfect gentleman, but no man appreciated being tricked. That austere mask filled with smiles would quickly decompose if the truth were found out. Which meant Luci needed a way to figure out how to get Brielle back to Blythe as soon as possible. Even if it meant entertaining this farce of a charade regarding lost magic and fairy godmothers.
That itch in her neck prickled and pestered, reminding her of the way the magic felt on her skin. Who was she to pretend like it didn’t exist? There was no other logical explanation for what she’d seen and felt. To acknowledge magic was real was one thing, but to go off on a wild quest searching for a flower that didn’t exist? That was something else entirely.