Ellie and the Prince (Faraway Castle #1)(8)
With a relieved sigh, she lowered her fresh stack of cages to the floor. “Whew!” She was a strong girl, but so many cages at once had made an unwieldy load. She’d almost dropped one on the stairs—the memory now made her cringe.
“Should I have let Omar help me carry them?” The thought escaped in a whisper. Briefly she imagined walking across the resort beside him, their arms full of cages, chatting easily about cinder sprites and . . . whatever princes talk about. Maybe he would have come in and stayed for a cup of tea.
The mind picture of him standing in her little cottage made her heart do crazy things. “My imagination will be the death of me,” she sighed.
The resident sprites now exchanged gentle squeaks of greeting with the newcomers, but the imp, a tiny green humanoid who’d been caught destroying cabbages in the kitchen garden, continued to berate Ellie in its shrill voice and unknown language. The glass cage insulated all forms of magic, so its curses were harmless. She gave it a smile, then opened the first cage and gently lifted out a solid-black baby sprite, the one from Omar’s bedroom.
He was still groggy, blinking his big eyes and twitching his ears. His little clawed feet tickled her hand. “You are simply the cutest thing ever,” Ellie murmured, then opened the mother’s cage and set the baby down beside her. Making comforting little chirps, the mother sprite checked him over with her busy tongue.
One by one Ellie moved the other four, and the mother’s cage grew to accommodate them all. Ellie cleaned out the empty cages, filled them with fresh hay, then gently squeezed them back into one-inch cubes before returning them to her pack. “I hope I never need that many at once again, but it’s best to be prepared.” She added several more to the pack, just in case. They were almost weightless at this size, after all.
Finished, she sat back on her heels and heaved a deep sigh. Focusing on the sprites, she spoke in her most encouraging tone. “You’ll all be happy at the Gamekeeper’s sprite refuge. Plenty to eat always, safe places to raise a family, and good company.”
Next she served carrots, kale, and endive to her furry guests—fresh greens helped to quench their fiery spirits. The gardeners kept her supplied with beetle larvae for the imp, which crouched over its food and stuffed its mouth, still muttering between bites. The sprites tucked in, puffing softly.
Her living room was feeling crowded with a dozen cages stacked against the wall. It would soon be time to send for the Gamekeeper to collect her little captives. The other sprites had been quite patient about their wait, content to gossip among themselves and eat good food, but they would all welcome open spaces and freedom.
Ellie poured tea to brew then flopped into a chair and tipped her head back. She was missing the noon meal at the castle, but she wasn’t hungry, just thirsty. And emotionally drained.
A picture popped into her head of Prince Omar seated cross-legged on his bed with Rita’s little arms around his neck, his hair standing on end, and shy excitement in his beautiful dark eyes. She didn’t mean to remember his pajama pants and white bathrobe, let alone the smooth brown skin of his neck and chest, but every detail seemed imprinted on her mind.
Shaking her head to banish the image, she leaped to her feet and rushed into her bedroom, where she stared into the small mirror hanging over her chest of drawers . . . and groaned. Soot and dust streaked her cheeks and chin. Her blonde hair was straggly and looked grayish and faded, like ashes. Even her eyes were gray. Her coverall, though neatly fitted to her figure, was smudged and dusty and made her look like a tall, skinny boy. She was colorless and dirty and couldn’t begin to compete with the glamour of Raquel or Gillian, one a sultry brunette, the other a golden-haired china doll.
“I sat there like a lump on his floor,” she whispered at her reflection, “and stared at him. So rude! But he tried to talk with me. He really tried! And then he hurried to catch up with me on the stairs.” Yet she would be a fool to imagine that he genuinely returned her interest.
While she showered and combed out her hair, Ellie thought back to her first real interaction with Omar three years ago, the night of a wedding celebration for some important people whose names she had long since forgotten. Ellie was assigned to serve drinks to the guests and keep their glasses filled. The meal had ended without mishap, but later, while Ellie walked among the tables with an overfilled pitcher of lemonade, she had noticed that Omar’s glass was empty.
He and his older brother Taim were talking with great animation as she stood behind his chair—she’d caught such phrases as “interquartile range” and “permutation formula” and realized she didn’t speak his language, which saddened her. While he was distracted, the princess seated beside Omar held up his glass, and Ellie started to fill it. Not until she finished pouring and the princess moved the glass away did either of them notice the spreading dark patch on Omar’s suit jacket. Lemonade had dribbled down the side of the pitcher onto his back.
While Omar talked on unaware, gesturing with both hands, Ellie took a towel from its loop at her waist, started to reach for the wet spot, then reconsidered. “Your Highness?” she said, but it came out as a whisper.
Taim gave her a quizzical look and interrupted Omar’s mathematical discourse. “This young person desires your attention.”
Ellie could still picture Omar’s long, thick lashes lifting as he turned to regard her with some surprise. His expression softened into a shy smile, striking her dumb. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He closed it, swallowed, and tried again. “Is something wrong, Miss . . . ? Er, I’m afraid I don’t know your name.”