Chapter 6 Interesting Miss Fable
PRINCE CASSIAN POV
The velvet-lined collar of my traveling coat was stiff against my neck, damp with the light midnight mist that always settled over the high mountain pass.
We had been on horseback for three straight days, riding hard after hunting wild game in the forest. It was routine, ensuring the forest wouldn’t become overcrowded with dangerous animals. Every bone in my body ached, my throat felt like sandpaper, and my men were nearing their limit.
But no matter how grueling the journey back to the royal capital was, I always made the same stop along the central trade route.
Fable Inn.
Because it had Honey’s kitchen.
My mother, the Queen, had explicitly commanded me not to set foot back in the palace without at least three boxes of Honey’s plum tarts. My sister had demanded lavender shortbread, and my sister-in-law had threatened to banish my lead guard if I didn’t return with two crates of the estate’s private vineyard wine.
The staff at the inn were thoroughly accustomed to my arrivals. Blossom always had my usual suite in the west wing warmed and ready.
It was a familiar, predictable routine.
Until tonight.
When my head snapped up toward the dark shadow on the upper landing, I had expected a curious courtier or a stray servant who had lost their way to the dining hall.
What I didn’t expect was a woman in a thick, dark velvet robe, crouching behind the stone balustrade like an overly ambitious barn cat.
When she came down the stairs, I noticed that she didn’t possess the timid or fluttering posture of the court ladies in the capital. She walked down those steps with her hands shoved into her robe pockets, looking at my armored guards, my noble retinue, and the literal portal door to another realm as if we were a minor inconvenience on her way to get a glass of water.
When Blossom introduced me to her, I had braced myself for the tedious, customary performance—the deep curtsy, the sudden wide-eyed terror, or the shameless flattery.
Instead, she gave me a lazy nod, waved an awkward hand, and said, “Hey.”
Even now, sitting in the heavy armchair of my private suite with my boots off and a goblet of Fable wine in my hand, the sheer absurdity of it made my jaw tighten.
She hadn’t just lacked respect; she had outright accused me of being a paid actor in a “cosplay event.”
Whatever a cosplay was, her tone had made it sound thoroughly ridiculous.
The heavy oak door to my inner sitting room swung open, and Julian strolled in, tossing his velvet traveling cloak onto the side table. Rolfe followed behind him.
Julian dropped onto the plush velvet sofa opposite my chair, kicked his legs up onto the coffee table, and grinned like a fox that had just raided a chicken coop.
“Well, Your Highness,” Julian drawled, swirling the wine in his glass. “That was certainly an explosive welcome from the new landlady.”
I kept my gaze fixed on the crackling fire in the hearth, taking a slow sip of my drink.
“She is unrefined and painfully rude.”
“She’s Eveline’s granddaughter,” Rolfe corrected mildly, collapsing into the armchair beside Julian. “The old woman was sharp as a tack and didn’t care for crowns either. Looks like the mouth runs in the bloodline.”
“It’s not just the mouth,” Julian said, leaning forward, his hazel eyes dancing with pure, insufferable amusement. “Did you see her face, Cassian? She looked at you—the second prince of Eldoria—and asked if you were wearing a costume.”
“I heard her, Julian,” I said flatly, my tone dropping an octave. “I was standing two feet in front of her.”
“You looked like someone had just hand-fed you a sour lemon,” Julian cackled, completely unbothered by my icy demeanor. “I thought you were going to have your guards chase her straight back to her room!”
“I don’t chase humans who own inns away like errant children,” I muttered, staring into the red embers. “It creates unnecessary social friction. And she’s the landlady of Fable Inn. If we annoy her, we won’t be able to stay here and eat the sumptuous food and drink the excellent wine they prepare for us.”
“Oh, is that what we’re calling it?” Julian teased, nudging Rolfe with his elbow. “Diplomatic friction? Rolfe, look at him. He’s been staring into that fire for twenty minutes with that brooding, deadly scowl. What are you actually thinking about, Your Highness? The game we hunted? Where to keep it all until the pelts are skinned and the meat is sliced?”
“I was thinking about Miss Fable,” I said evenly, turning my head to look Julian dead in the eye.
Julian paused, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise. Rolfe leaned forward, suddenly interested.
“Oh?” Julian purred, his smirk returning at double strength. “Thinking about how to lecture her on royal etiquette, or thinking about how long it takes to untie a velvet robe?”
I set my heavy crystal goblet down on the side table with a hard, deliberate clack that echoed off the stone walls. I didn’t raise my voice, but I let the full, suffocating weight of my royal authority drop into the room like a lead anchor.
“Julian,” I said smoothly, my voice dangerously calm. “If another word regarding Miss Fable’s robe leaves your mouth in the next five seconds, I will personally assign you to manage the royal stable accounts for the entire winter season. You will be sitting at a rickety desk, knee-deep in parchment ledgers, surrounded by very picky royal horses. Perhaps I’ll let you sweep horse manure and assign you to skin and quarter some of the game we hunted as well.”
Julian’s mouth snapped shut instantly. The color drained from his face just enough to prove he knew I wasn’t joking.
Beside him, Rolfe bit the inside of his cheek, burying his face in his wine glass to hide a sudden, violent twitch of laughter.
Julian swallowed hard, raised both hands in a defensive gesture of absolute surrender, and slowly leaned back into the sofa cushion.
“Understood, Your Highness. Stable ledgers give me a dreadful headache anyway. Not to mention sweeping manure and skinning animal pelts!”
“Good,” I said softly, picking my glass back up.
Despite my threat, Julian couldn’t entirely hide the smug, knowing grin plastered across his face. He kept his mouth shut, but his eyes were practically screaming with amusement. Rolfe wasn’t much better, shaking his head in quiet chuckles as he poured himself another drink.
I ignored them both, turning my attention back to the dancing flames in the fireplace.
Maisie Fable was a strange, sharp-tongued anomaly in a plain velvet robe.
She didn’t fear me. She didn’t respect my title. And she clearly thought this entire realm was a figment of her sleep-deprived imagination.
A tiny, almost imperceptible smirk touched the corner of my lips as I took another sip of wine.
I looked forward to meeting her again tomorrow morning at breakfast.
