The High Mountain Court (Five Crowns of Okrith #1)

by A.K. Mulford

In their realm, fae were at the top, ruling each of the five courts of Okrith . . . well, four courts now that the High Mountain Court had fallen to the Northern Court King.

The man who held her wrist leaned forward, bringing his torso more into the light. With his free hand he grabbed his hood, pulling it back to expose his angular face, golden sun-kissed skin, and wavy chestnut hair that fell into his gray eyes. He was the most handsome man Remy had ever seen. Unnaturally so.

As she darted out the back door, she dropped the two druni into Matilda’s ledger, more than enough payment for the food. The coins would be their only goodbye. A witch’s goodbye, they called it.

The blue witches had the gift of Sight, the green witches made delicious food and gardens grow, the red witches could animate objects, and the brown witches were healers and expert foragers.

Remy knew little about hand-to-hand combat, but she knew how to crush her enemies with her words.

Fated love was another fae magic, the rarest magic of all. Some fae souls intertwined long before their lives even began.

“Was?” “She died before they ever met,” Carys said. “His Fated was a princess of the High Mountain fae. She died in the Siege of Yexshire.” The darkness pulled in tighter. Remy’s chest constricted. “Some say it is a fate worse than death,” Carys continued. “To live without that Fated bond can break people. Even worse, Hale knows he will never find it.”

It was a strange sensation to have someone look at her with appreciation instead of fear.

Fae had body magic, and so it was easy for them. That was the selfishness of the fae; they could never put themselves in someone else’s shoes.

Most of the fae’s powers were powers of the body: incredible vision, hearing, smell, healing, and strength. But they also had other powers, like their power to glamour themselves into human form and communicate through fires.

Remy’s goal in life was to not draw attention to herself. Yet here she was, thinking about how she wanted to look and dress to draw Hale’s gaze. She wanted the prince to think she was beautiful, and she hated herself for it.

“Oh please, all you princes have ten names. Go on, what’s yours?” Hale chuffed out a laugh as he sipped his water. “Fine, my name is Hale Bastion Haast Ashby Norwood. And that is only five names, not ten.”

He may have been fae, but when it came to women, it didn’t matter: fae males were as simple as human men, it seemed.

“Take your time,” he mumbled. That soft look in his eyes was so at odds with his bloodied warrior’s clothes. Tears welled in Remy’s eyes at that gentleness. She couldn’t handle it, that he saw her and allowed her to feel the trauma. That he would not reprimand or dismiss her. He was simply there, seeing it all without judgment.

The way he looked at Remy now . . . it made her quiver. He looked at her like she was beautiful, but, more than that, he looked at her like she was brave.

The attraction came from relief alone: Hale had saved her. That was all it was. She would feel different in an hour.

Maybe that’s who she was: someone fun to flirt with in taverns and entertain him on his quest for the High Mountain talismans. But she was a tool to him, not a person.

“Never let anyone else tell you who you are, Remy, not even me. No one decides how bright you shine but you.”

“I do not want a prince to save me. I want to save myself.”

“I want to be able to defend myself. I don’t want to be rescued again.”

“Those ghosts will always be there—that part will never change—but at some point you’ll stop resisting their presence, and that will help. The choice gets easier too.” “What choice?” Remy asked. “The one you make every time you pick up a blade: that if it comes to your life or theirs, you’ll take theirs every time, no question.”

“Are you insane?” Fenrin sputtered. “You want to waltz in there and reveal she is a red witch?” “Not just any red witch,” Hale said with a knowing smile. “My red witch.”

“And you will be mine.” His voice was a low rumble across the shell of her ear. His calloused fingers brushed her neck as he fastened the collar.

She decided then and there if she was to pretend to belong to him, then he would equally belong to her.

“You are priceless, Remini.” Remy stilled at her full name. “Do not forget your purpose. Do not forget who you truly are.”

Heather’s lips pulled up at his proclamation, but she kept her eyes fixed on Remy. “Just . . . be careful with him. Remember who you are,” she reminded her ward again. Remy chewed on her bottom lip and bobbed her chin. Remember who you are. It was the one thing she wished she could forget.

It was new, thrilling, terrifying and yet also . . . familiar, comforting. Her chest tightened. She wasn’t sure how many disparate feelings she could hold at once. She wondered if anyone else ever felt that way, like they were free-falling every time they looked into a person’s eyes. Not any person. Just this one person.

“You saved me that day and if another day like that happens, though I hope it won’t, you have my permission to save me again.”

“Yes, you put on quite the show today.” Remy beamed at that amused voice. It had been a crazy, exciting act . . . but it had been an act and that part still stung. What she would give for this to be their lives. For the fae to want to be her friend. For the prince to want to kiss her in the moonlit gardens.

This was a game, she reminded herself. It was a game with no happy ending. But she wanted to keep playing it anyway, consequences be damned, because to be in his orbit felt so good.

“I’m only here for moral support.” A snort came from across the table. “Is that what they’re calling it these days?”

“By all means,” Bern said to them with a sparkle in his eye, “don’t stop on our account. I do not mind watching.” “I bet you don’t,” Remy crooned, proud of how easily she volleyed back to these highborn fae. Bern chuckled into his drink. “Well-picked indeed, Hale.” He turned to her and said with a wink, “But don’t worry, darling, it’s not you I’d be watching.” “I’ve told you, it’s never going to happen between us, Bern.” Hale chuckled, though his eyes remained fixed on Remy. Bern laughed. “Every boy dreams of finding his prince.”

“Damn. Maybe you should throw your witch in the pot.” He chortled. “She’d be worth a few more hands.” “The ring is a good prize, but if the choice was between her and immortality, I’d choose her every time.”

“You are the most beautiful creature I have ever beheld.” He said it through gritted teeth. “You say that like it’s a problem,” Remy breathed. “It is,” Hale said, shaking with restraint. “It doesn’t have to be,”

“It’s always been you and me against the world, Fen,” Remy said, her voice wobbling. “You are my best friend, and I will miss you while I’m gone.” “I’m sorry, Remy,” Fenrin said through pale, bloodless lips. “Sorry for what?” Remy asked, adjusting the pillow behind his head. Fenrin looked up to the ceiling with half-glazed eyes. “I’m sorry I wasn’t enough for you.”

She felt like she knew from the moment Hale grabbed her wrist in the Rusty Hatchet. An electric shock still coursed through her as she thought about it. Deep in her bones, she knew he was the start of a new adventure. She only wished she knew how it would all end.

“Yes, training doesn’t only happen when it’s convenient.”

“She loves you. A mother’s love . . . it does not fade with years. It burns brightly forever.”

“So you want a job, then? You’d be willing to follow me?” Remy shrugged, and he grinned. Her voice was softer than she intended when she spoke. “I will pledge to you the same thing that your crew has: I will be loyal to you as long as you are loyal to me.”

“It’s nice, this.” Hale’s eyes crinkled at the corners. “What?” “Talking to someone who actually understands what it is like to pretend to be something they’re not.”

“But I don’t want to put on an act like in Ruttmore.” “Oh.” Remy tried to hide her disappointment. He didn’t want a repeat of what happened in Ruttmore. “My father is a cunning man—he sees more than most. He’d take one look at me with you and he’d know,” Hale said. “Know what?” Remy breathed. “That I’m not acting.”

A fae, a witch, a halfling, and a human sat at the table. It sounded like the beginning of a joke.

Remy lost herself to the fantasy of what a family would be like—to sit around a large dining table with loved ones and friends. Heather and Fenrin would be there, her children chasing each other around the table. She would sit with a swollen belly, her third child, and her husband would rest a warm hand on it and beam at her with happiness. She knew that husband’s face, though she dare not admit it to herself. They would laugh and eat until the candles burned out.

Remy wished they could lay it all bare, these words and half-spoken truths. She wished she could be who she really was and not hide her powers anymore.

“The prince is an accomplished dancer,” Remy said, throwing out the first thing she thought to say. “For a foreigner to court life, you dance like a princess.”

“What was that princess’s name again? There was Raffiel, Rivitus . . . Ruafora, was it?” the female recounted, swirling her hand through the air. Remy held her breath as they spoke. “No, that was the last one,” the gruff one said. “Risabella?” the female mused. “I think not, but it was just as strange.” The male chuckled.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Your Highness,” Remy said in a teasing tone. “Hale,” he said in a vacant voice. “Only ever Hale to you.” “Hale,” Remy said in a soft, breathless voice.

The violet witches, natives of the Eastern Court, had made astonishing perfumes and exquisite scents that did all sorts of magic: ensnare a person’s mind, bring money or fame, and even cure ill health.

Heather had made most of her druni from bottles of this very magic: a hangover tonic. In backcountry taverns, this stuff was gold. Remy had never needed it herself before, but she kept one vial in her potions bag just in case. It sat along with two dozen other vials that were also for “just in cases” she hoped she would never need to use.

She was truly not a meek hiding creature anymore, but someone to be feared.