Am I Being Too Mean to My Villains?

About two months ago, I handed the fifth-draft copy of the upcoming Faerietales Book 4: Wing and Dagger to a certain influential individual in my life, figuring she could have fun reading it while I waited for my way-too-savvy editor to savage the thing.

Since the person in question is the whole reason why I wrote another installment in the series, I figured she’d be happy. And she was.

I think?

The reason why I’m not so sure is because she talked less about the aspects she liked and more about how, in the first three chapters, I’d been so mean to two particular characters.

Out of all of the possible criticisms I could have gotten, I never saw that one coming. Which was probably stupid considering her past reactions to how I’ve treated previous villains.

Yup, I said villains. The two characters she was upset about are bad guys. Unrepentant ones too. Martin was in Not So Human, where he pushed Sabrina to her literal snapping point, and Ryan was a manipulative little liar who tried to mess with her head in To Err Is Faerie.

Neither of them were main antagonists. But they certainly weren’t nice or good or likable.

Which means I don’t understand feeling bad for them. I didn’t throw them to crocodiles (which, admittedly, they don’t have in Scotland). I didn’t even have anyone beat them up, which they would have deserved considering how they’re still willingly employed by the HPAC.

All I did was make them think Sabrina was going to kill them. And in the creative world, that’s low-key. Practically chick-lit material, really.

If you want “mean,” how about having your protagonist track down his wife and daughter’s killers, inject them with paralyzing drugs and then saw them into pieces while they’re still alive?

I’m not making that up. I actually hope I couldn’t make it up, since it’s a level of disgusting I don’t care to dwell on.

(Never watch a movie just because it has a pretty face and form in it. Even Gerard Butler might not be able to make up for the rest of what you’re in for.)

I also can’t stand burning characters – villains or otherwise – or permanently disfiguring them in any other way, shape or form. If you want that kind of stuff, go read or watch Game of Thrones.

All of this is to say that I do think you can be too mean to your villains. However, I don’t think I crossed that line.

If I ever have, Ii can guarantee it’s my heroes who’ve suffer the worst. 

Off The Beaten Path

I’ve mentioned a few times now that I’m working on the fourth installment of my Faerietales series. I actually finished editing the first draft a week ago and plan on going over it again shortly.

Believe me, there’s still a lot of work to be done.

But while I was still in the process of writing this masterpiece in the making, I read two other fantasy books, one by Jim Butcher and one by Seanan McGuire, both of whom are experts in their craft. Butcher pretty much owns the genre at this point, and while McGuire is more up-and-coming comparatively speaking, she’s still phenomenal.

Now, they’re both purists in their writing. By that, I mean they stick with all the “ancient texts.” I swear they went to school to study mythology before they ever dreamt about writing their respective series, The Dresden Files and October Daye. So in their worlds, faeries include a wide range of critters of varying shapes and sizes, from the beautiful to the terrifying, with an equally diverse assortment of magical powers.

In fact, Butcher and McGuire both covered the same exact myth recently: The Wild Hunt.

That’d be one of the terrifying ones. But so cool! (I’m not going to describe it myself, but here’s the Wikipedia article if you’re curious.)

The thing is, reading their accounts proved to be a blatant reminder of how far off the beaten path I’ve taken my own stories. In my fantasy world, faeries are all humanoid, all have wings and aren’t magical. If they want to maintain their anonymity around clueless humans, they do so through scientific means, not spells or pixie dust.

In main character Sabrina’s case, I like it that way. I meant it that way. Yet still, sometimes I have to wonder…

So far, most of the people I know of who’ve read the Faerietales books aren’t die-hard fantasy fans, and so I didn’t have to worry about offending any of them with the license that I took.

But I’m really curious to see what the typical Jim Butcher or Seanan McGuire fan would think after picking up a Jeannette DiLouie novel. Will they love my fantastical twists or hate them?

Who knows… Maybe I’ll find out after my book signing on October 3.

Playing God Isn’t Always All It’s Cracked Up to Be

I love a good series.

Jim Butcher’s Dresden Files (fantasy fiction), Kate Quinn’s tale of Rome (historical fiction), Lauren Willig’s bouquet of flowery spies (historical fiction meets chicklit), Kyra Davis’  Sophie Katz (straight-up chicklit), Dee Henderson’s O’Malleys (Christian fiction), Seanan McGuire’s October Daye (fantasy fiction)…

My shelves are filled with them. There’s something about following a made-up character from book to book, seeing them grow, journeying with them as they struggle and cheering for them when they win that mimics real-life friendships. And friendship is a beautiful thing.

Yet reading a series and writing one are two very different experiences. At least, that’s how I felt while constructing the Dirty Politics trilogy. I was so happy I wrote them all before publishing them, seeing as how all the details I changed in The Politician’s Pawn while writing Moves and Countermoves, and Moves and Countermoves while writing Amateurs Play Elsewhere.

To me, it seemed unbelievable that an author could keep plot points and character development and themes running from novel to novel without taking some serious time to first map them out.

And who knows. Maybe that’s how Butcher and Quinn and Henderson do it. I don’t know.

But in writing Faerietales Book #4 after publishing the first three, this little pantser is learning that it might not be so intimidating after all. It can be a giant, intriguing puzzle that makes your brain swell and your eyes sparkle as you rise to the challenge.

Really, it’s a lot more like living life instead of playing God.

You see, someone who writes a single book is the deity of her created world. Her final word is law. End of story.

Until she publishes it and writes a sequel. Then, all of a sudden, she’s bound by the same rules as her characters.

I’m not gonna lie. It’s kinda scary letting that control go!

Yet it’s also totally doable. I’ve managed to turn minor characters from the original trilogy into much bigger players, develop details I’d intentionally left fuzzy, and revive old plots I thought I was done with.

Sure, I’ve also had to take different roads when my original brilliant ideas clashed with my canon. But overall, I have to say I’m enjoying this new journey with Sabrina instead of above her.

I guess that makes her one of my fictional friends.

What I Got Out of Being in a Carefully Crafted Harem

Normally, I’m difficult to phase emotionally. To a casual observer, I often come across as either a sweetie pie or a tongue-tied spaz case; but behind that cover, my snark stays undefeated.

Try treating me like I’m stupid, my opinion isn’t valid, or I’m just your next piece of you-know-what. It doesn’t affect me. Because you’ve already displayed how little I should care about your opinion.

Not to say I don’t get angry, sad, irritated or bewildered. I’m not a drone, after all. But off the top of my head, I can honestly think of just two men who got past those defenses to make me feel like trash: my creepy ex-coworker, Robert K., and my manipulative ex-friend, Damon W.

I already turned the former into a character in Maiden America, uncreatively naming him Lieutenant Robert Caverish. I also gave him the same disconcerting blue eyes, long lashes and bad habit of staring at his desired object until she wanted to disappear into the floor.

Ew. Yet as much as I can’t say the experience was worth it, I did enjoy getting back at him through my storyline.

These days, I’m getting the chance to do the same to Damon in the so-far unnamed and unfinished Faerietales Book #4. And yes, I'm loving it.

You see, I met Damon at college, where I quickly came to consider him as the big brother I’d never had but always wanted. He teased me, made me laugh, taught me drinking games and naughty words, but still gave a completely convincing impression that he cared about me.

Until the day he found out I fell for someone. My British boy, to be exact.

Unbeknownst to me, I had become part of Damon’s carefully crafted harem of women he used to make himself feel better about life. I belonged to him; and as such, I wasn’t allowed to date anyone else. Which he let me know by trying to seduce me.

He never did. Never even got a kiss. I take great pride in the fact that I'm one of the few women on this planet Damon tried and failed with. But he did manage to make me feel helpless and small and uncertain… for months on end.

If you asked me why I didn't dump him as a friend right on the spot, I'd have to tell you that he got into my head enough that I made excuses for him. I concluded that he was more damaged than I'd originally realized, that it was a one-time screw-up on his part, that he wasn't really "like that." So I have plenty more Damon stories to tell after that low point in life, not that they fit into Sabrina's faerietale at all.

What does fit in, however, is the larger theme of him being one of the greatest emotional con-artists you’ve never heard of.

Until you read Book #4, of course.

Can’t wait ‘til it’s done!

“Up in the Air” Chapter Two… One More to Go Before the Official Launch!

In posting chapter two of “Up in the Air,” I’m finding that all I want to do is yap on about chapters three through 19. And I can’t. Which makes me slightly cranky.

Nobody likes a cranky writer. We’re obnoxious enough when we’re happy.

(It’s true. I can admit it.)

So I’m going to find a median between what I want to do and what I should do today, and just post the back-cover description of “Up in the Air.” It doesn’t give away anything you don’t figure out by chapter three anyway, which I’ll post on Wednesday.

That’s my justification, and I’m sticking to it! So here goes…

“Facing fears isn’t easy. But it sure can be rewarding

“Six months ago, Sabrina did some serious damage to the HPAC. Since then, she’s been busy throwing herself into the role of faerie princess, which includes some crash courses in foreign affairs. And not the fun kind, thanks to a playboy Italian prince. It’s a good thing she isn’t interested in him considering exactly what his real intentions are for her.

“Following the trail of international betrayal leads her right back to some shade-sporting bigots she’d really rather never see again, along with a startling discovery about her dead parents. When the intrigues just keep coming, Sabrina has to figure out what little faeries are made of... and exactly how much power she has at her disposal when she’s free to fly.”

So toward that very goal, here’s chapter two!

Chapter 2

“S

ay something to distract me,” Sabrina ordered after a mere minute’s walk down the hallway in the direction of the dance studio.

Gerard and Simon followed behind her, matching her pace perfectly right down to her footsteps, which forced her brain to count out a terse beat of “One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four.”

Try as she did, every time she practiced her dancing, she found herself focusing too much on the footwork and not enough on the actual dance. In so doing, she usually messed herself up and definitely never relaxed. It looked like today was going to be worse than normal considering how far in advance she’d started counting before the music began playing. That was why she needed a diversion of some sort.

She should have known Dallas wasn’t the one to fulfill that particular request.

“Erm,” he stalled, his wings fluttering enough to create a small breeze around them. “Are you okay?”

“No.” It came out sounding something very close to snappish. “I’m freaking out. Which is why I need you to distract me.”

The exceptionally concerned look he shot her ended up doing the trick, but in all the wrong ways. Sabrina knew exactly where his mind went. He’d assumed she was having a flashback to her time with Stewart; and thanks to him, now she was. On top of the worries she’d already been dealing with.

That nervous energy channeled into pure crankiness, pushing her to go for broke with unflinching candor. It wasn’t her usual style, but when motivated enough, she could get brutally honest.

With his simple and yet very complex question, Dallas had propelled her over the line, and Sabrina let him know in no uncertain tones. “You have to stop that.”

“Stop what?” His face now showed a sort of panicked confusion.

“Looking at me like that.” She came to a halt right there in the middle of the hallway, grateful that nobody but her bodyguards were around. If there had been, she knew she would have held her tongue, and she had to acknowledge how good it felt to vent. “You’re treating me like my entire world revolved around what they did. I’m trying to get over it. I really am. But you giving me that sad, pitying look all the time isn’t helping.”

“I’m sorry.”

She knew he meant the apology about as sincerely as anyone could. The crestfallen pull at his eyes and mouth sent her irritation skittering to the side in favor of a humongous heaping of guilt for making him feel bad. Without the aid of her righteous indignation, her motivation to discuss difficult topics fell by the wayside.

All the same, she had little choice but to proceed. “I know you don’t mean to make things worse, but you taking that tone and regarding me like that just makes me remember it more than I already am. I want you to treat me like I’m me, not like I’m some fragile victim.”

Sabrina watched a drastic set of emotions play across Dallas’ face. She saw the way his fists clenched and unclenched several times at his side, signifying that he might not be able to meet her request as easily as she wanted him to.

She persisted anyway. “Do you get what I’m saying?”

It practically came out as a prayer, a desperate request for understanding. If a person could be killed with kindness, she was sure Dallas would have taken her out months ago.

When he still didn’t respond, she took a deep, calming breath and started walking, not bothering to wait for his brain to keep up any more than she did his feet. And when he was at her side again, she threw him a bone.

“Look, if being my escort tonight is going to be too difficult for you to handle, I hereby absolve you of your duties. It was sweet of you to step in, but I’m sure I can find someone else.” The truth was Sabrina had no idea whether that was possible or not, but she cared too much about him and her own sanity to distress either of them further if there was some way around it.

He blinked, clearly taken aback. “Why would I not want to escort you?” His brain must have still been working to process everything, because in the next breath, his eyes went about as blank as he could possibly make them, and his tone became flat. “Unless you don’t want to go with me.”

None of his carefully closed-off walls meant Sabrina didn’t understand she’d just hurt his feelings. It set her own emotions on another unplanned turn, which wasn’t at all unusual around him. Her attitude toward Dallas switched a lot. She couldn’t even blame her kidnapping trauma for that; he’d had that effect on her right from the start.

“You’re impossible,” she informed him, rolling her eyes dramatically. “Do you know that?”

“I’m sorry?” He was right back to not knowing what to say.

That was it. She gave up. “Come on. Let’s just go dance.”

“Do you still want me to distract you?”

“Sure,” Sabrina agreed amiably enough. “Why not. Watcha wearin’ tonight? Some snooty faerie designer I’ve never heard of?”

She was relieved to hear him laugh at that, the sound just as genuine as every other attitude he’d displayed in the last five minutes.

“Aerifeth. That’s what I normally wear to these things.”

Sabrina nodded despite not recognizing the brand. Her experiences in Faeriedom were still rather limited since she didn’t like straying too far from the automatic protection and comfort the palace offered. Fortunately for her, there were plenty of things to do in her new home. Even the dance studio she’d been practicing at was safe and sound inside her brother’s beautiful fortress.

Ten hallways later, they’d arrived at their destination; and seven minutes more meant she was in Dallas’ arms, gliding across the floor as best as she could to a beautiful and intricate tune. The original piece was by a legendary composer, who wasn’t anywhere so human as his fans upstairs assumed. The rendition Sabrina had chosen was even less so, filled with dueling pianos and lilting flutes and instruments she couldn’t name that made it an evocative depiction of Celtic life from centuries ago.

It never failed to make her heart melt, even if it didn’t have such softer effects on her feet.

A quick glance at the mirrored walls around them showed that her face was squidged up in concentration just as expected. She didn’t like the mirrors when she was dancing, though she hadn’t said as much to anyone other than Deanda. They were supposed to give her insight into what she was doing and how she was doing it. Yet she felt like they just added to her stress levels in the end.

When she’d gotten the privilege of watching other faeries dance in the room, it was quite the different experience. They managed to make every angle and reflection look intricate and easy, powerful and delicate all at once, a combination she aspired to with very little actual hope but a lot of wistful delusion.

For all that, the mirrors were only half of the room’s charm: the lower half, to be specific. Fashioned with pure white oak, the rest of the walls were carved into simple perfection at the base. Similarly sturdy beams then branched out into delicate tendrils from the top of the reflective glass all the way up to the pinnacle of the vaulted ceiling. And as for the rest of the space above, it was covered with a beautiful mural of faeries done up in various shades of the royal green.

Oddly, the painting didn’t depict the figures as dancing, a detail Sabrina still found odd considering the room’s single purpose. Instead, they appeared frozen dreamily, their wings raised, though not necessarily in movement. Their specific tilts expressed too much for her to imagine them in flight. If anything, it made her think they were involved in a very different activity altogether.

The detail that saved the painting from being racy was that it quite simply was not. All the figures, both male and female were fully clothed, their bodies poised in modest and respectful positions. It was just their wings that belied their otherwise tasteful appearance.

   Seeing that intriguing dichotomy had a habit of putting her in a somewhat introspective mood. Twice already, she’d caught herself wondering whether that was why she enjoyed the interlude so much between when the music started and the dancing began. That was the lull between finding herself in Dallas’ arms and having to worry about what her feet should be doing. Perhaps the emotional reaction she had to that pause was more about the room’s romantic feel, and less to do with her and him specifically.

   Then again, Sabrina admitted to herself, maybe Deanda was right and she was trying to delude herself out of wanting something that could hurt her.

If that was the case, then the room had another definite perk. Because when she was in it with Dallas, he couldn’t shy away from her like she was a leper. He had to hold her firmly, guiding her on the floor like they were just a regular couple instead of two victims trying so hard to forget that they’d ever had less than perfect control of their lives.

Sabrina cast a sad smile at her feet when the song stopped and Dallas moved back a step or two, rocking awkwardly on his heels. That aspect of the dance had been nice while it lasted, and she’d have another opportunity to enjoy it just as soon as her instructor Lynsey told her what she had done wrong.

Because there was always something she’d done wrong.

Sure enough, the attractive brunette was already waltzing over to them, her steps a dance in and of themselves. On the bright side, she was noticeably smiling, her arched wings depicting the same happy emotion in her eyes, which featured a few permanent laugh lines.

“Sabrina,” she trilled, her hands moving animatedly in the air ahead of her. “Your technique was amazing this time. Now all you need to do is learn how to relax. Have fun! You’re dancing with one of Faeriedom’s most eligible bachelors, you know.”

Dallas rolled his eyes, a faint blush covering his cheeks.

Sabrina covered up her own embarrassment with sarcasm, her usual defense tactic. “Why do you think I’m so nervous?”

Lynsey let out a little laugh when her student went on to fan her face like she might swoon, but she still shook her head. “If such a handsome young man can’t tempt you into relaxing, then we need to think of something that will.”

“How about not having to dance in front of a whole group of strangers?” Sabrina suggested smartly.

“Nice try,” her instructor warned, though even that came out sounding lovely. As well as preoccupied. She shook her head in thought. “I would suggest imagining people in their underwear, but that might be more traumatizing than it’s worth considering some of the people I know who will be in attendance tonight.”

Dallas snorted in dry amusement, thereby drawing attention his way.

“Maybe it’s your fault,” Lynsey mused. “How are you holding her? Show me.”

She might have been little and admirably peppy, but when Dallas opened his mouth to protest, all she needed to do was give him a single warning look. Without any actual words of protest, he uttered a “right, ma’am” and then waited patiently for her to turn the music back on. When they swept onto the dance floor a moment later, Sabrina very nearly felt green with envy at how natural they made it look.

It made her wonder whether Dallas was working extra hard to prove Lynsey’s accusation incorrect, or if she herself was to blame for keeping him from looking so phenomenal as a general rule.

The probable answer was not one she cared for.

Lynsey’s flowing white skirt swirled around her legs with every step and turn she took, a dreamy image that managed to sour Sabrina’s already shaky mood. As hard as she tried not to be jealous, she wanted what her instructor had so badly, from her cheerful disposition to her ease with the ins and outs of faerie life. The woman would have no problem behaving gracefully tonight, whereas Sabrina knew how very off-kilter her own royal tiara could be.

The song ended and the dance partners pulled apart from each other, but Sabrina’s mood didn’t lift one bit. If Lynsey sensed that, she didn’t show it. What she did do was push her student back into Dallas’ arms.

Not expecting the shove, Sabrina fell rather helplessly against Dallas, who caught her on instinct. Maybe she imagined it, but it almost seemed like he held onto her a little longer than necessary.

She knew her hands lingered on him.

“I want to see you two try again,” Lynsey instructed. “And no slacking off on your part, Dallas,” she warned with a teasing glare.

They started into the routine again, but she stopped them before they had finished the second turn. Striding over, the bubbly brunette shifted Dallas’ hand a smidgen lower on Sabrina’s back.

“There. Now she’ll be able to follow your lead better.” Then to the other party involved: “Stop trying to do all the work. That’s what he’s there for. You’re too busy concentrating on what you need to do. Instead, let him take charge.”

Sabrina knew she was blushing madly even before she did her best to fix her gaze on some spot between Dallas and Lynsey’s heads. That perspective let her see her reflection, however; which, sure enough, showed a starkly reddened complexion.

All the same, when their instructor started up the music again, Sabrina did her best to do as instructed. The evocative piece played around her, and she let it slide into more than just her ears. This time, she allowed it to ease some of the tension in her mind and shoulders and otherwise rigid spine. It wasn’t like she instantly lost the majority of her qualms, but she was nonetheless able to cast off a noticeable fraction of her inhibitions.

With each passing stanza, Sabrina felt herself melt further into the picture of rolling green hills and gentle sunrises the sounds evoked. If it had gone on for twenty minutes instead of five, she thought she might be able to lose herself altogether. But sadly, the remainder of the dance lesson didn’t last that long, much less the song. She had scheduled just a half-hour session since she had plenty of other entries on her to-do list before the ball began.

Thanking Lynsey and trying to act as normal as possible when she said goodbye to Dallas, Sabrina left the dance studio behind for the equivalent of the royal cafeteria. It wasn’t anywhere as formal as the banquet halls the palace featured, but it was set up with a ritzy buffet. As a general rule, the room wasn’t used at all, but they’d had it running for the last few days considering the occasion and the hundreds of guests who were either rooming in the palace or taking meals there away from the glamorous hotels they were staying at.

Sabrina felt bad for the chefs who were working nonstop behind the scenes regardless, but it seemed a particular shame when their efforts were so very underappreciated with at least a quarter of the guests. A lot of the ladies in attendance trended toward the salad bar alone, much like they would in the human world upstairs. It was a little difficult not to cave in and make a salad herself, but Sabrina couldn’t quite bring herself to run with the crowd on this one. She liked her meats and carbohydrates way too much to ever diet like real princesses apparently should.

Walking the richly carpeted path to the cafeteria, she had to convince herself more than once not to dawdle. She really didn’t want to make nice with a bunch of new acquaintances. It wasn’t that she had automatic negative opinions of them per se; she was just getting tired of all the festivities, which came complete with the constant need to entertain someone or some group.

Her one and only consolation was that Lauren, Dallas’ younger sister, had agreed to sit with her. They’d even pre-arranged gestures for the teenaged faerie to use if Sabrina did or said anything wrong. Extending one pinky finger meant to be careful, holding out her thumb meant she was doing okay, and if she flexed her hand twice, Sabrina would know that someone had just fudged the truth.

Just for unrefined kicks and giggles, they’d also thrown in a signal to use if anyone behaved in a particularly obnoxious fashion.

Sabrina hoped beyond hope that the little pixie with the auburn hair was at their table already. There was no way she wanted to arrive first, though it was too late to do anything about it one way or the other. She was already approaching the opened double doors, where two footmen stood in their palace finery. They wore full dress kits, which came complete with household-green cummerbunds around their waists.

She couldn’t imagine having nothing to do but stand there, yet they cast her genuine smiles nonetheless. It probably wasn’t an expression they granted to everyone, but she’d long since gained a reputation for being just as easy with the servants as her brother, who was notoriously lax in that regard.

Stepping into the sizable room, Sabrina took in all the gorgeous details with an absentminded appreciation for the familiar. Part of her always enjoyed the aesthetics: the dark blue carpet with the mauve walls and off-white trimmings, the strategically set food stations with everything from fresh fruit to ethnic cuisine to the standard Scottish breakfast fare she knew she would trend toward, and the round tables draped in flawless ivory cloth. But the feature that most caught her attention was a certain diminutive faerie across the room, who was waving both her hands and bright pink and black polka-dotted wings to get her princess’ attention.

Already threading her way through the tables, Sabrina did a double-take at the girl’s appearance, but she gave Lauren an amused hug nonetheless when she reached her side. “New wings, huh?”

Dallas’ sister nodded excitedly. “I just dyed them this morning.”

She couldn’t help but laugh at her exuberance. “Is it permanent?”

Emitting a quick snort of amusement, Lauren shook her head. “Nah. I woke up this morning and felt like making a fuss tonight.”

New to the faerie scene as she was, Sabrina could still guess well enough why the somewhat garish pattern might scandalize a socially conservative group of people at a formal event. The neon pink, however, wouldn’t have raised an eyebrow by itself. Her newfound land was filled with eccentric fashion rules that Sabrina’s American and human sensibilities were taking their sweet little time getting used to.

Lauren, who knew exactly what was what, simply enjoyed being a rebel. Sabrina had to admire the girl’s spunk, though she did inquire whether her friend was going to get kicked out of the grand event. Since she was assured that wouldn’t be a problem, in large part because Kenneth had such a soft spot for both Dallas and his sister, Sabrina was therefore fine with it too.

“So is any of the rest of our party here yet?” She asked, clinging to the silly hope that they’d all bailed.

Knowing full well what she was thinking, Lauren gave her a sympathetic smile. “Vayanalette and Nat are both at the fruit bar, and the others haven’t made it yet.”

Sabrina craned her neck just a little in order to pick out the two in question. There was a cluster of women in the general direction where Lauren was pointing.

“Am I going to like them?”

“I’m going to let you figure that one out for yourself, Princess.” She grinned again, turning the title into a mockery.

Sabrina cast a condescending glare back, then started toward the food lines. From literally the second she met Lauren, she had liked her, and that feeling hadn’t gone away. The two of them had been joking about practically being sisters for a while now. But like real sisters, the teen did get on her nerves sometimes. In true sibling fashion, she was a lot like Dallas in that she was something of a skutch. So Sabrina had no real qualms about expressing her exasperation when such irritating instances arose.

Over at the fruit bar, she picked up a little cup of strawberries and raspberries along with vanilla yogurt. Then it was right over to meats and breads to fix a breakfast bap with the specialized sausage, bacon and poached egg. Sabrina did skip the baked beans though, just to be on the safe side.

By the time she finished, Vayanalette and Nat were already back in their seats, chatting happily with Lauren and a newcomer who hadn’t yet sat down. Sabrina adopted a polite smile when she approached the table, hoping that whoever the person was, she’d be worth talking to. Most of the young people she had met so far were well versed in politics and history and all the who’s-who of the faerie world. However, that didn’t make them all interesting. Despite their supposed sophistication, too many of them acted exactly like the masses, just with more money at their disposal.

The thing was, Sabrina could pull the snob card better than most of them if she wanted to. Since faeries were indigenous to just five places – England, Ireland, Scotland, Wales and Germany – there were only five truly royal courts. And she belonged to one of them; not that she would ever bring that up, no matter how much she might want to remind certain individuals that they weren’t as amazing as they wanted to think.

Sabrina did her best to mask her own prejudices with a friendly face and relaxed wings. Putting her plate down, she offered her hand all around. “Hello. I’m Sabrina.”

The newcomer at the table thrust out her own hand, her smile nothing short of radiant. “Hi, Sabrina. I’m Rose. It’s so nice to meet you!”

On anyone else, the enthusiasm would have been overdone. On the redhead with the beautiful brown eyes and the autumn-themed wings, it seemed pretty natural. Moreover, that personality trait made her quite the conversationalist during brunch. It wasn’t that she monopolized the table so much; she asked questions and listened intently to the answers. It just seemed as if she had a general zest for life that she couldn’t keep contained very well.

Since Sabrina wasn’t about to stop her, the little get-together passed by rather quickly and without Lauren needing to use any of their preplanned warning gestures. By the time they got around to saying their goodbyes, she could even say she’d enjoyed herself.

From there, it was over to help her sister-in-law with a more formal event, and then Sabrina all but ran back to her bedroom suite for what she planned to be a very short nap. She set her alarm and everything; she just forgot to turn it on. So it was something of a surprise when a speaking voice instead of a singing voice woke her up.

“Princess? Are you alright there?”

The feminine accent with its desperate overtones broke through her dreams slowly at first.

“Princess, I need you to wake up now,” the Irish lilt pressed. “You were supposed to be at your hairdresser appointment fifteen minutes ago. You have to get up.”

The word “hairdresser” was what really penetrated Sabrina’s sleep-focused and therefore bleary brain. She sat up quickly, managing not to clock her personal assistant in the chin.

“Oh bugger,” she muttered, most of it coming out as a yawn.

“‘Oh bugger’ is right.” Claire took a quick swipe at her brown bangs before helping her up. “Catherine is freakin’ out!”

“I bet she is.” Sabrina dashed her fingers across her tired eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

Her PA wasn’t about to stand around and listen to apologies though. With a critical, “You look an awful mess,” Claire dove into her boss’ walk-in closet and came out with a huge, fashionably floppy hat. Plopping the white thing with the beautiful green bow down on her own head, she flitted back over to start piling Sabrina’s static-ridden hair into a makeshift bun. In that way, she was able to contain most of the bright yellow mess in one more efficient movement, tucking in what wisps remained behind.

Standing back, she eyed her princess up and down. “You’ll do. Now come on. Hup hup!”

Feeling more than self-conscious beneath the wide brim, Sabrina tried to smile nonchalantly at the few people she and her little entourage passed. She was exceptionally happy that most of the female guests were in their rooms or at their own appointments getting ready for the evening. And most of the men were engaged in a massive pool tournament they’d rigged up earlier, complete with high stakes and some top-notch faerie-brand cigars. Forget Cuba: Downstairs, the good smokes came from Germany.

Apparently, however, there was at least one man in the palace who didn’t much care for cigars or pool. Either that or he had other priorities, like picking on princesses who were running very late. So Sabrina found herself stopped short by a deep, booming voice from behind her. A Scottish voice, to be precise, and one doing a very bad job at an American accent.

“Howdy, ma’am. Nice hat you have on that pretty little head of yours.”

Sabrina would have known that bass anywhere, masked or not. She didn’t need to see her bodyguards’ wings and arms and entire selves stiffen in attention to know that her brother was making an appearance. They were much more casual with Alistair, whom they saw a lot more of.

She on the other hand, had no problem giving the king just as good as he gave. He might be the faerie equivalent of six-foot-three, with powerful green wings and a rugby player’s build, but he didn’t scare her one bit. Particularly when he was needling her.

“That was the worst American accent I have ever heard,” she began well before she was fully facing him. “And I’ve heard some bad ones since coming over here, so that says something. What is up with you people thinking everyone in the U.S. sounds like a sixties-era Western?”

Holding a foot-long, black container that came across as expensive right from the start, Kenneth chuckled. “How about New York? Would that make it better?”

“I really doubt it,” she informed him, then squealed in protest when he reached forward to grab her hat away. “Don’t you dare! My hair looks horrible.”

Wings quivering with amusement and the natural sibling need to antagonize, he tapped the brim anyway.

Her responding scowl didn’t faze him at all, she could tell.

“You wouldn’t be mocking me if you knew what I had in this box,” he assured somewhat smugly.

Not sure how to interpret that, she regarded him suspiciously. “What’s in it?”

His green eyes, so similar to hers, sparkled back. “Go ahead and give it to your hairdresser. She’ll know what to do.”

Since Claire was twitching with impatience beside her, more than ready to hurry them on their way, Sabrina didn’t ask any more questions. Instead, she gave her brother a hug for whatever “it” was, and then let her attendant drag her off to the date she was running very behind for.

As expected, Catherine was not happy when her royal client slid to a halt inside the very private hair salon. Sabrina could have gotten there faster if she’d flown, but that was a major faux pas indoors for some reason. She’d learned that early on and not the hard way, for which she was very grateful.

In her opinion, the explanation about why it was such a no-no still hadn’t been explained all that well. But she was willing to chalk it up to a cultural oddity.

“Sit. Sit.” The leggy, perfectly-painted woman with her designer jeans and manicured nails, pointed at one of the silver-accented salon chairs. “You’re late.”

Princess or not, Sabrina knew when to shut up and take orders. Sitting down without a word of dissent, she crossed her legs at the ankle and folded her wings around herself as instructed. She’d gotten her hair done often enough now to know the drill, but she still found the required action annoying as Catherine secured a stylist’s wrap around her shoulders. She hugged herself similarly whenever she went to bed, her wings serving as a security blanket most nights. But having to sit still in the same position while she was awake felt a lot less natural.

Sabrina nonetheless kept her wings folded for her shampooing and beyond. A little less cranky now that she was officially at work, Catherine carried on a conversation with the same kind of skill as the way she wound her princess’ locks this way and that.

Much of what she said was about Italian Prince Antonio Vatuicci, who was a notorious playboy. His exploits regularly ran the length and breadth of faerie gossip networks, and it didn’t seem like he minded the attention considering the mischievous smiles he wore more often than not in the circulating pictures. At one point, he had even taken up a whole half of one sensational magazine cover while a certain Scottish princess graced the other side, each with their own “breaking news” stories. With that said, all three women had to agree he was quite the photogenic philanderer.

That was right before Catherine paused to ask for the not-so-little black box Sabrina had brought in with her. If her tone was any indication, she seemed to know what was inside and when to use it, which was a step up from Sabrina.

“Claire,” the stylist called out, her tone exceptionally bossy.

Sabrina winced, knowing how much her personal assistant would dislike that attitude. There was some bad blood between the two faeries, which she’d learned after one particular eventful episode not that long ago.

But there were no fireworks this time. Instead, Claire played dumb, blinking a little too stupidly while she swept her brunette bangs back for the umpteenth time. “Yes?”

Catherine sighed the sigh of a long-sufferer. Either that or a prima donna. “The box?”

“What about it?” Again with the clueless voice.

“Would you be so kind as to bring it here please?” Her tone was now pure ice.

“Oh.” Several more blinks ensued. “Of course.”

With a well-aimed glare, Catherine accepted the case to open it up. Yet just like that, the tension between them faded into a mere background detail as the three women peered at what it held.

Inside, a stunning silver tiara was displayed against black velvet.

It wasn’t all that large, composed of a small, silver band that came close to disappearing into Sabrina’s hair when Catherine slipped it into place. The front portion of the crown sloped upward several inches in a gentle tangle of silver wisps and exquisite diamonds.

Even with half of her locks clipped up or hanging out in disarray, Sabrina had to admit that the tiara looked good on her. She’d even go so far as to say it looked right.

That was a definite plus considering what she was getting dressed up for.

After the oohing and aahing subsided, Claire went back to her seat against the wall and Catherine went back to work, combing out and curling up and spraying around. Fascinated, Sabrina watched as much of it as she could until it was done and there was nothing to stare at but perfection. Silvery-blue wings quivering in pride, Catherine handed her a mirror to see the exquisite arrangement from all angles.

Sabrina’s hair was mostly swept back off her face, gathered into a pile of curls that rested all around the back of her head. That alone would have been elegant, but then there were the artful wisps designed to escape the tangle in distracting form. They fell down her neck, with a few more dangling around her ears and two less spiraled strands closer to her face.

It was those last locks that kept the style from being too old-fashioned against Sabrina’s pixie-cute face. They added just the right touch of girlish personality to an otherwise very grown-up look.

Looking at herself like that, tiara and all, her nerves slid away in favor of excitement for perhaps the first time that day. She couldn’t wait to see how her dress looked against the hair.

“It’s gorgeous,” Sabrina breathed, her eyes wide with delight. “Absolutely beautiful.”

“Good.” Catherine beamed briefly before forcing her smile into the kind of disapproving frown most artists knew how to utilize. “Because I had to rush it since you were late, so let’s seriously hope it stays the way it’s supposed to.”

Awestruck though she was, Sabrina fought the urge to say or do something snarky right back. Being gracious, even in the face of the opposite, was all part and parcel of being a princess, she reminded herself. So she let the snippy comment roll off her wings, thanking Catherine once again and then gliding down the hallways back to her room.

This time, there was nobody about other than Claire, Gerard and Simon. Sabrina had a feeling that was on purpose, like a parade blocked off before the floats started coming down. Being the silly romantic he was, her brother would have made sure nobody could see her during her in-between stage of getting ready for the party.

They made it back to the room, where her security team took their spots on either side of the door after she slipped through. Deanda was already in there, lounging against the one bedpost in her own attire.

Not that it was any big surprise, but she looked like a knockout.

Decked in a red strapless gown, a Kisseyin original, she was both classic and classy in the floor-length ensemble. Gently creased from fitted bust to hemline, the dress had a thick, scarlet sash around its empire-waist, and a scarlet underskirt that showed for the last few inches at the bottom. It kept her strappy high heels almost completely covered beneath the fabric. Meanwhile, up top, a delicate pearl strand graced her neck, and two same-sized pearls dangled from her ears to finish off the look.

Each one of the details complimented her dark hair, and black and white wings.

“You look stunning!” Sabrina exclaimed at the same time Deanda’s eyed widened in appreciation for “Your hair!”

They barely got the chance to laugh about that before the royal dressmaker arrived, complete with sewing kit and two attendants. Enar had Sabrina undressing right away so they could finish fitting her down to the last tiny stitch. Everything was going to be perfect, the seamstress assured.

Unlike with Catherine, Enar knew how to perform her art without an attitude. So Sabrina smiled much more easily at the Scottish matron with the tiger-lily wings. They’d been working together for months to design the perfect dress, and the finished result was a masterpiece with or without whatever last-minute nitpicking she planned to add.

A cheerful green that perfectly matched one of the slighter shades in her wings, it cut in a fetching but modest sweetheart neckline. That had been at Sabrina’s specific request. Once upon a time, she wouldn’t have minded showing off what her mama gave her for special occasions. These days though, a nunnery didn’t sound so bad, complete with long robes and habits.

Despite her Stewart-inspired neurosis, she had to admit she looked good in the gown. The A-line pattern featured thin straps that were made out of tiny, disconnected strands of diamonds; and more of the same laced the very top of her gown from front to back, as well as around her hemline and the slits for her wings. The tiny stones could have looked tacky, but the rich, ruched fabric they lay on was more than enough to demand the lion’s share of attention.

There were larger diamonds for her choker and bracelet, making for a dazzling finish that had Sabrina’s thoughts skittering where they had no purpose going. Alex had bought her a diamond necklace their last Valentine’s Day together. It had been just a very simple pendent, but she had loved it anyway.

If he could have been there with her right then, she thought he would have been rendered speechless. But he never would see her like that, or like anything again for that matter. He was back in the United States, alive and doing fairly well according to the last report she’d requested. Yet well or not, he was out of her life for good.

She could feel the tears well up in her eyes.

Claire, who had been busy expertly applying her makeup, yelped in concern. Deanda rushed forward with a tissue, startling Enar, who was crouching on the floor making some infinitesimal adjustment.

Somehow, everyone managed to not trip over each other while saving Sabrina’s mascara. It was supposed to be smudge proof, but only after drying appropriately.

The real factor that kept her from turning into a sniffling, sobbing mess was Deanda, who gave her hand a quick squeeze. It was a welcome reminder that she could get through tonight because she didn’t have to get through it alone.

Sabrina squeezed right back. And then she set Alex out of her mind. He wasn’t part of her future. She had a whole new world to welcome, and so welcome it she would with her head held high and her makeup perfectly set.

That might be because she didn’t have much of a choice in the matter. But she was going to take it on and take it down anyway.

Proof I Could Have Been So Much Worse to Sabrina! Oh Yeah, and Here’s Chapter One of “Up in the Air”

So yeah… I was a little harsh to Sabrina in “Not So Human,” and a real jerk in “To Err Is Faerie” (though I still refuse to accept full blame for torturing her the way that I did). Which is why I don’t blame you one bit if you’re a bit skeptical about my next statement…

I believe in happy endings.

Okay, now that you've stopped laughing, I really do. It’s just that sometimes those happy endings don’t come until the end of the series.

I recently finished a novel about a WWII Scottish spy taken prison by the Gestapo in Nazi-occupied France. It started out so extremely good! Aside from the torture and everything, of course.

Oh, and let me take a second to point out the then natural conclusion that I’m not the only author who puts her characters through the ringer. See? Back to my main point now…

The middle of this WWII story was excellent too. Right up until the spy’s best friend had to shoot her in the head after a botched rescue attempt. She died on the spot.

What. The. Heck!!!!

That’s just wrong.

I would never do that to my main characters. Just their ex-boyfriends.

Chapter 1

S

taring into the bathroom mirror of her royal palace bedroom suite, Sabrina knew she was woefully out of her league.

She had handled a lot in the last year: finding out she was a faerie princess, running away from America to the supposed safety of Scotland, meeting the older brother she never knew existed, and getting kidnapped by one of the most evil organizations the world had ever known. Twice. Moreover, she had somehow managed to get through all of it alive and with an admirable part of her sanity intact. With all that behind her, a party shouldn’t feel like such an ordeal to get through.

In the back of her mind, Sabrina knew very well that it wasn’t. Not comparatively speaking. Yet that didn’t mean she was looking forward to the schedule spread out before her.

Her brother Kenneth was throwing a gala in her honor. It was the welcome party she was supposed to have had months ago, soon after she gained the physical capabilities to assimilate into faerie life. But the Human Preservation and Advancement Society had gotten in the way of those happy arrangements.

It had a long track record of messing up Sabrina’s life, almost from birth.

She hadn’t even been a year old when HPAC operatives assassinated her parents, the then-king and queen of Scottish Faeriedom. That unexpected tragedy propelled Sabrina’s much older brother onto the throne, where his panicked advisors convinced him to send the other remaining member of the royal family far, far away. That was how Sabrina grew up thinking herself an American orphan, far removed from such nonsensical notions as winged people or secret societies or tiaras on her head.

It wasn’t until the HPAC reappeared full-force in her life more than two decades later that she was stripped of that snuggly delusion. The organization’s hardcore certainty that her kind didn’t deserve basic human consideration led to her near-drowning in a Florida hot tub, several applications of electrical shock motivation, and a nasty bout of Stockholm syndrome.

After all that, not to mention growing out her very own pair of wings, it was rather difficult not to believe in faeries.

Sabrina arched said wings behind her back, watching their mirrored image stretch as well. As a general rule, she loved them, with their elongated teardrop shape and lime-green coloring that faded into yellow further in. By faerie standards, they were fully functional and fully regal.

But by her standards right then, they were also fully problematic. If she hadn’t grown into them and hadn’t developed the ability to size-change into the far smaller spaces belowground, which faeries called “downstairs,” she wouldn’t have to attend any royal parties. She’d be scot-free.

Sabrina sighed at her reflection.

It sighed right back at her.

The defeatist attitude she was currently fostering showed on her face, but otherwise she looked perfectly presentable. Her bright blond hair was pulled into a sporty ponytail, with any and all wisps held in by half a can of hairspray. Her green eyes might not be sparkling, but she knew she could put on a good show as soon as she had to. And her petite but curvy figure was clad in preppy grey slacks and a vibrantly deep blue blouse. Purple boots, purple earrings and a purple bracelet completed the day’s princess look; and one non-nervous part of her acknowledged the fact that she wore it all well.

The problem was that a polished wardrobe and impeccable manners weren’t going to save her from gossip. The palace was already filling with people who were doubtlessly wondering about her and whispering about the details of her far-from-normal life. Sabrina hated knowing that she was such an open book to not only her own country’s long list of diplomats and dignitaries and masses, but also for Ireland’s faerie populace, Wales’, Britain’s, Germany’s, Spain’s, and the list went on.

She wasn’t being egocentric believing they were all whispering about her. She’d made the faerie headlines too many times for them not to have formed their own opinions.

Those opinions could range from how uncultured she was as an American human, to far more charitable estimations of how well she was holding up after her multiple run-ins with the dreaded HPAC. Despite how carefully Kenneth had tried to handle the press after her last encounter, there was only so much he could do. The palace was filled with too many people, all of whom knew very well that “the severely traumatized Princess Sabrina was holed up in her suite for a week straight after her brother brought her back downstairs. What she went through at the hands of our greatest enemies, we might never know.”

That was an exact quote taken from one particular melodramatic publication. Worse yet, it wasn’t untrue. There was nothing the royal spokesfaeries could refute about that obnoxious article. All it could do was ask everyone to “respect the family’s privacy as they get through this difficult time,” a wasted appeal right from the beginning.

People talked just the same in Faeriedom as in the human world.

Despite all of that prying and gossip and speculation, there were just a handful of people who knew the full details. That included Kenneth, his wife Kyla, their son Alistair, her best friend Deanda. And Dallas.

Dallas, who was her official escort to the ball that night. Dallas, who had seen her at her very lowest point.

Which she didn’t want to think about.

It was therefore pretty darn convenient when someone knocked on her door.

Since she already knew who to expect, Sabrina didn’t hesitate in trotting over. Unlocking it, she flew several steps backward to get out of the way for her best friend, who was awkwardly cradling a pile of parcels.

There was a particularly large squarish box on the very bottom, with three smaller yet still cumbersome packages on top of that, and five more stacked on top of those. Sabrina couldn’t even see Deanda’s face behind them, just her beautiful black and white wings, which were stretched out on either side for balance.

“What in the world are you doing?”

“Bringing you more gifts from the latest attendees to stroll through the door,” Deanda trilled happily. “Don’t worry. They’ve all been screened. Where should I put them?”

Sabrina looked around her usually neat and tidy room. Presents had been arriving for the last four days straight, and most of them were still lying unopened around her suite. Some were stacked behind the yellow couch, others were piled along the far side of her four-post bed, and still more lined the wall on either end of her walk-in closet.

“Put them anywhere.” She shrugged despite how Deanda couldn’t see her. “I’m not trying to sound ungrateful, but this is getting ridiculous. I live in a palace; I’m pretty sure I’m not hurting for anything.”

Laughing in agreement, her best friend headed toward the couch, where she somehow managed to set everything neatly on top of the boxes already sitting there.

“Speaking of the girl who has everything,” Sabrina added, “why are you delivering my packages anyway? Are future queens allowed to do such menial chores?”

Deanda, who was steadily dating the future Scottish king, turned around to show her face, her violet eyes twinkling. “Future queens are allowed to bully princesses’ future boyfriends into handing over said packages they so obviously took from menial laborers.”

Sabrina scrunched her forehead in complete confusion at the convoluted comeback. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Seriously.”

“Dallas was looking for an excuse to come see you.”

“Oh.” Sabrina brushed that aside without so much as a blush, only a sad little twinge in her stomach. “I’m sure he was just on his way to pick me up for our final dance lesson.”

“So it’s weird for your best friend to bring packages over, but not for your non-boyfriend?” Deanda crossed her arms over her chest and raised her eyebrows to emphasize her point. “Anyway, your lesson isn’t for another twenty minutes, which makes his behavior even more suspicious.”

“Dallas is not my boyfriend,” Sabrina assured calmly, making herself meet Deanda’s gaze for all of three seconds. “And what do you think of these boots? Do they work or is it too much purple?”

“They’re fine. You look awesome.” There was no hesitation in the response. Either to the wardrobe question or the protest before it. “And I never said Dallas was your boyfriend. I said he was your ‘non-boyfriend.’ That means you guys are mooning over each other without actually doing anything about it.”

Sabrina went over to her ornate and multi-drawered jewelry box to pretend like she was reconsidering her earring choices, even going so far as to pick one up and hold it to her lobe. “We are not ‘mooning over each other.’ Dallas doesn’t see me that way. Not anymore.”

Facing the mirror again, she compared the shade of purple already dangling from her ears to the one she knew she wasn’t going to exchange it with. In her new world, there were whole color schemes humans couldn’t come close to imagining. Faeries, on the other hand, had much more powerful eyesight to take in such ranges. In many ways, that made coordinating outfits with wing hues a lot easier. But there were still pairings that clashed, or at least didn’t look nearly as good.

She put the second set of earrings back in their little enclosure, then turned back to Deanda, who was regarding her with assumed superiority.

Sabrina refused to be baited though. There wasn’t a trace of bitterness or horror or even irritation in her voice when she responded to the unspoken challenge. Which showed how much her etiquette lessons were paying off.

“I know we had a thing for a week or two when I first arrived, but that was before everything that happened happened. Dallas doesn’t see me that way anymore. He’s barely even teased me since we got back from that HPAC facility, much less made any romantic moves.” That was where the training slipped and she let something out that she didn’t mean to. “I don’t know if he blames me or is disgusted with me, but that spark is gone regardless.”

“Are you done?” Deanda asked with an impressive combination of condescension and sympathy: a blend very few people other than true best friends could manage.

Sabrina shrugged her wings.

“Wonderful.” Deanda took a seat on the plush yellow comforter. “In that case, wake up and smell reality. Dallas doesn’t blame you, and he’s definitely not disgusted with you. He blames himself, which, deep down inside, you know.”

She wasn’t entirely wrong; but that didn’t mean Sabrina could be entirely confident she was right either. “He has no reason to blame himself. If anything, I was the one who got him into that mess in the first place. It wasn’t his fault.”

“And it wasn’t yours either,” Deanda stated firmly. “It was the HPAC’s. I really wish you two would accept that already. It’s painful watching you guys beat yourselves up like this day after day when there’s a whole lot of other people who deserve that kind of punishment.”

The uncomfortable sensation in Sabrina’s stomach was starting to spread, as it did whenever she dwelt too long on the current topic of discussion.

“Can we not do this right now, Dee?” It sounded like a question, but it was much more of a plea. “I promise we can have a good, long discussion about it later. But not now. Not when I have to get through tonight without making an absolute idiot of myself.”

Deanda sighed, her wings waving unhappily behind her. Then she bucked up and switched the subject as requested. “You’re not going to make an idiot out of yourself. You’ve been training for this for four whole months now.”

“I feel like I need another four months. Minimum.”

It was her own fault she didn’t have that extra wiggle room. Her brother had made it very clear she could take as much time as she needed or even wanted. There was no pressure whatsoever. But after her first week back, plagued with memories of Tasers and batons and Dr. Stewart’s fingers wrapped around her chained leg, Sabrina had been ready to do anything for a distraction. She’d thrown herself into her new life, taking classes and courses and tutorials and accepting honorary placements on charity boards with perhaps a little too much zeal.

All of that helped, but only so much, especially when she kept catching unfortunate snippets of rag-mag gossip and even more professional articles about her heavy-handed confrontations with the HPAC. And so she’d determined to give them something else to talk about, like how well she was doing and what dress she would be wearing to the royal ball.

It had seemed like such a good idea at the time.

“I stepped on Dallas’ foot during dance lessons last week,” she confided. “He was a trooper, but I know it hurt. I was in stilettos. It had to have hurt.”

“So there you go,” Deanda assured as if this was the best news ever. “You already know if you step on his feet tonight, he’ll be able to play it off like nothing happened. What else is there to worry about!”

Despite herself, Sabrina had to smile.

Her friend went on after missing the perfect beat. “It’s really nothing. You mix and mingle, and whenever you run out of stuff to say, you give the excuse that you’d better get back to greeting everyone, but ‘it was so lovely to chat, and I do hope you enjoy the rest of the party.’”

“That easy, huh?” She said dryly.

 “Yup,” Deanda assured, rolling her eyes at the simplicity of the matter. “Blah blah, chirp chirp, beep beep. Piece of cake.”

Sabrina refrained from pointing out that her fellow faerie had grown up with the cocktails and ball-gowns scene. It would be a pointless effort when her friend seemed so determined to be optimistic about everything. So she changed the subject yet again.

“Now that you mention ‘cake,’ where’s Alistair and why aren’t you hanging all over him?” The transition made a lot more sense in her head than out loud, but she didn’t bother to explain it.

She eyed the bed, one part of her wanting to sit down with Deanda, the other part too antsy to actually do it. Instead, she began running her wings up and down the wall behind her in no particular pattern or rhythm.

“I do have a life outside of my boyfriend,” Deanda retorted. “Best friends still take priority, and I knew you’d be stressing.”

“Best friends take priority,” Sabrina agreed, complete with her own knowing look. “But this best friend is okay if you want to try smoothing things over with your man. I know something’s off between you two, and I’m pretty darn sure I’m not so wrapped up in my own self to not know what that something is.”

Someone knocked on the door before she could completely finish her sentence, ending the chance to have that particular chat.

Deanda grimaced in acknowledgment anyway.

With the influx of well-to-do guests flooding the palace for the last few days, there had been plenty of little spats and drama to juice up the gossip mills. As Deanda had predicted a full week ago, “You can’t expect a bunch of spoiled royals to coexist peacefully under one roof. They’re so temperamental.”

Sabrina had countered by reminding her that she’d likely be royal too within the next two years. Yet as usual, her friend produced a quick retort, specifically that she would be marrying into the family; she wasn’t spoiled by birth.

Sabrina hadn’t taken offense at the time, and she could see Deanda’s point even more so now. One of the many minor issues marking the soiree was German Princess Elena Stropenheiger. The twenty-three year-old had apparently long since set her sights on Alistair, and was making it very clear she didn’t care that he was in a relationship now. While her behavior wasn’t the Scottish prince’s fault, it was still making for some tense times between him and Deanda.

“We can talk about this later too,” Sabrina assured, flitting her wings enough to float off the floor. Then she was at the door, opening it up to greet Dallas, who was a full ten minutes early.

Early and standing somewhat awkwardly between her guards, Gerard and Simon, who were on duty that day. It was hard not to notice his discomfort when he was so very oblivious to his own feelings half the time. Or maybe it was because they’d gone through so much that she could read him like an attractive but pretty messed up book.

There was a reason why she had been physically drawn to him from the start. He was tall, dark blonde and handsome, with beautiful brown eyes and smoky green wings. Moreover, he’d been working out a lot more ever since his return from HPAC captivity, which meant it was even more difficult to keep her eyes away from the defined muscles in his brawny arms. Or the way his shirt lay against his tight chest.

“Hey, Dallas,” she said in her best normal voice, which was a whole lot better than his. “I don’t think the dance studio is going to be open until ten-thirty. Wanna come in and kill time ‘til then?”

“Oh. Yeah,” he hedged. “I thought we could just walk slow.”

A fast walker herself, Sabrina found his response doubly offbeat. She held the door open a little further. “Well, Deanda is here –”

“Oh, sorry,” he interrupted. “I didn’t realize that. I can come back in a bit.”

“Dallas,” Deanda called out from her place on the comforter. “Stop stalling and get your fine self in here.”

He complied, but Sabrina could see his eyes settle on the bed. Then he tore his gaze upward to say “hello” to the other faerie in the room, a pained expression lingering on his face. “How’s it going?”

With almost all altruistic motivations, Sabrina decided to answer that question instead. “She’s upset about Elena.”

Deanda swiveled her head away from Dallas to glare her exasperation.

She chose to ignore it, knowing full well that Dallas would be able to back her up on the issue.

Sure enough, his features twisted in immediate skepticism. “Why? Because she’s chasing Alistair?”

“Yeah,” Sabrina supplied again, resorting to some Scottish vernacular for emphasis. “She’s acting the daft lassie.”

He shrugged his wide shoulders, his wings moving easily behind him. “Trust me, he doesn’t care about her. She’s all high-street with no real class.”

“See?” Sabrina said with a pointed tone and matching stare. “Told ya.”

“Her laugh is annoying too,” Dallas noted, more to himself than anyone else. “I can’t wait until she leaves.”

“Same here,” Sabrina agreed, growing much more introspective. “If only because that’ll mean this whole thing is over and done with.”

“Speaking of which.” Deanda hopped off the bed with a little too much enthusiasm. “You guys should get going. Have fun dancing! And Za?”

Recognizing the particular tone in her voice, Sabrina’s eyes narrowed.

Already halfway to the door, Deanda didn’t quite stop in that trajectory to toss a final word of advice over one wing. “That conversation we’re going to have later? This might be a good time to start practicing.”

And then she was gone, leaving her friend to frown at the hallway, and Dallas to look completely confused. Though that emotion lasted briefly before he reverted right back to nervousness.

“You ready?”

Considering the way his entire body was leaning away from her, Sabrina was fairly certain he wasn’t referring to anything romantic, no matter what Deanda wanted to think. She nodded, swallowing back the degree of disappointment that welled up inside her unbidden.

“Might as well.”

Locking her door behind them, she knew very well why Dallas had felt so uncomfortable in her bedroom. He always was when he stopped by, which was always when he was with Alistair; never by himself.

Admittedly, he wouldn’t have visited her there alone even if things had been different. Not to do more than pick her up anyway. Faerie culture was still pretty conservative in a lot of ways, including when it came to dating rules. Her brother in particular didn’t condone unchaperoned lingering in the opposite sex’s bedroom. And it would have been difficult to get around his wishes when she had at least two bodyguards, who just so happened to be in his employ, around her whenever she wasn’t in her private quarters.

That should have meant she and Dallas had nothing awkward to dwell on when it came to bedrooms. However, the HPAC had written out a different story for them, one that had ultimately failed but still resulted in uncomfortable memories.

With both of them held captive at the time, the humans had gone out of their way to set them up, employing various torture tactics until Dallas was going out of his mind with worry and Sabrina was going out of her mind in general, thanks in part to a drugged-up drink she was coerced into taking.

She still didn’t remember the entire encounter she’d literally stumbled into, though she did know she’d done her best to ravish him. Dallas had used very cagey language when he described that part to their lawyer, Elizabeth. However, being a connoisseur of literature, Sabrina was used to reading between the lines.

With the fine print of Dallas’ testimony burned across her retinas, Sabrina had put two and two together. If she was right about that equation – and she thought she was – then she had jumped him, he’d fended her off like a gentleman and they’d spent the night snuggling, him shirtless and her in a ridiculous red dress that showed way too much off.

She remembered those last two details at least. As much as she might wish otherwise, she remembered everything after waking up in the oversexed room with its seductive colors and satin sheets.

So she was very well aware that she’d freaked out and huddled in a corner. That the thoroughly evil Stewart had come barging in like he was saving her when he really just meant to terrorize her into further submission. And that he and Dr. Morrison had planned on foisting the contrived romance on their two subjects again at a later time and place when they were more certain to get what they wanted. Which happened to be little faerie lab rats to add to the full-grown subjects they already had.

That was what her bedroom made Dallas think of; and that was why she couldn’t blame him for balking about coming in. Sabrina just hoped he knew the truth. That she had only been trying to be friendly this time around. She wasn’t trying to ravish him all over again.

For one very brief second, while she was turning away from the door, she wondered if she had the nerve to tell him that. But she chickened out well before she turned to face him again with a perfect smile on her face.

Deanda was entirely correct. There were issues that needed to be addressed all around, this being one of them. It was merely a question of when to do that addressing.

In that one regard, she supposed, the party was a saving grace. Comparatively speaking, she’d much rather focus on her guests.