Naughty Little Fox

Veila shoved the final stack of reports into Cael's desk with a frustrated sigh. Prince Dorian’s new strategy was infuriatingly effective. Under the guise of helping the newly engaged couple "bond," the eldest prince had flooded Cael's schedule, reducing Veila’s interactions with her contractor to hurried morning briefings and passing hallway glances. 

It is for the best, Veila reminded herself. Securing the House Valerius trade route gives us a massive advantage.

But cold logic offered no comfort on the sidelines of the morning court. Lady Senna was always there, perfectly poised and relentlessly attentive. From behind a pillar, Veila watched, her jaw clenching, as the noblewoman smiled and adjusted the collar of Cael’s doublet.

They looked like a painting. A perfect match.

Veila crossed her arms, forcing a mask of professional detachment. She was the strategist, the shadow in the background. Yet the irritation twisting in her chest screamed otherwise.

Shaking her head, she forced her tail to still. She narrowed her eyes, tuning out the useless court chatter. Through the crowd, her superhuman eyesight caught a fast movement. While politely smiling at a noble, Cael smoothly slipped a wax-sealed letter into the pocket of an influential Count they had discussed weeks ago.

Veila’s breath hitched. He had been paying attention to her reports. He was playing them all.

Later that afternoon, during a private dinner arranged by Dorian, Cael formally requested a "diplomatic briefing" in the adjoining parlor, demanding Lady Veila on standby. He would effortlessly spin the excuse to the court, but Veila couldn't help the fluttering thought: He just wanted a reason to have her near him. She killed the hope instantly with a mental flick of her tail.

As she hurried past the Great Gardens, she spotted a bush of blooming pink carnations. She stopped, her chest tightening. Cael had never replaced the withered carnation on his desk after the first toll.

The joint dinner unfolded exactly as planned. Cael integrated Veila into every tactical discussion, dismantling Dorian’s cronies with hard facts. When Senna excused herself to speak with a dowager, Veila was finally alone with her prince. Cael caught her eye and subtly tilted his head toward the empty parlor.

The oak doors clicked shut, cutting off the banquet's noise. Veila broke the heavy silence by pulling the pink carnation from her emerald dress.

Cael tilted his head in confusion. He accepted the flower, politely tucking the stem into his breast pocket, but there was no recognition in his golden eyes. 

“Congratulations on securing the trade deal today,” Veila said, the blank look in his eyes draining her joy. 

“Thank you. But I couldn't have cornered them without your notes,” Cael murmured. His gaze was soft, but the spark was missing, replaced by bone-weary exhaustion.

No verbal command was needed. He held out his palm.

As he waited, he unconsciously began to hum a low, raspy, comforting melody—the same lullaby from their first night in the forest. 

Veila placed her hand over his. A glowing thread of yellow magic, echoing with musical notes, pulled from his skin and sank into her palm. 

Cael's humming stopped.

The melody was wiped completely from his mind. He blinked, mildly confused by the sudden quiet. As silence settled heavily over the parlor, Veila felt a sickening ache in her chest, realizing there was absolutely nothing she could do to help him.

***

Ever since that night, Veila had been restless. She felt horrid—a foreign sensation for her. She plucked carnations for her quarters and caught herself humming that raspy tune. Why did she care this much?

She tried to recall Cael's campfire trauma-dump, but her mugwort-addled memory offered nothing. Scouting his study yielded no clues. The only place left was his private bedchamber. 

Sneaking in as a human advisor meant a career-ending scandal. But catching her reflection in the mirror, a wicked smile touched her lips. No one cares about a stray animal.

With a snap of her fingers, her human facade dissolved. The emerald dress and pearls collapsed into a messy pile. From beneath the silk emerged a red fox with a single white streak on her ear. 

Staying low, she slipped past the heavy-footed guards and nudged open Cael's bedroom door. Empty. Fighting her newly dominant animal instincts—and the overwhelming urge to curl up in his discarded tunics—she searched the heavy wooden dresser.

Tucked in the bottom drawer, she found a velvet-wrapped bundle of miniature paintings. Using her teeth and paws, Veila unfolded the fabric. The top portrait depicted a sad-eyed woman holding a blonde child. Beside them sat a vase of vibrant pink carnations.

The dots violently connected. Cael had mentioned his mother passing away.

Oh, gods, Veila thought, the painting slipping from her jaw. I took his mother.

Lost in the horrifying realization, Veila failed to hear the doorknob turning. When she finally looked up, Lady Senna stood in the doorway.

The noblewoman’s hands covered her mouth, her sleepy red eyes wide as she stared at the red fox clutching a family portrait. But Senna didn't scream. With a calculated calmness, she pushed the door shut and slid the iron lock into place. 

Veila froze, trapped in her animal form and unable to cast an illusion.

Senna crouched down to eye level. “What are you doing in here, you naughty little fox?” she murmured. A knowing smile curved her lips. “Or should I say... Lady Veila?”

Veila scrambled backward. Her ears pinned flat, her fur puffed out, and her spine arched in a defensive hiss. Plan B, she thought frantically. Tear the princess’s face off and summon a smoke-screen.

But Senna was impossibly faster. She scooped the fox up, sat on the edge of the bed, and unceremoniously deposited Veila right into her lap. Then, Senna simply started petting her. 

Veila sat mortified. A woman who regularly wore fox fur was currently stroking her head. At least Cael asked for permission.

To make matters worse, Veila found herself cooing as Senna scratched that perfect spot behind her ears, her tail flicking in traitorous contentment.

“Do not worry. Your little secret is safe with me,” Senna said.

“When did you figure it out?” Veila rasped, deciding to drop the act.

“I confirmed it after our tea party. I had my scouts search the Northern Marches,” the princess replied. “But I suspected it the moment you looked out over the courtyard. No human possesses eyesight sharp enough to read a man's expression from a hundred yards away.”

Veila jumped down to the carpet, looking up in alarm. “What do you want? What are your conditions?”

Senna chuckled, her polite mask replaced by a sharply amused grin. “I am not your enemy. Besides, I already know Prince Cael only has eyes for you.”

Veila let out an undignified, high-pitched yelp, her tail wagging furiously against her will.

Senna pretended not to notice the romantic panic. “Prince Cael is a good man. But if I cannot have a husband's undivided attention, I would rather have none.” Senna's sleepy demeanor vanished into cold ambition. “That is why I want to break this engagement. I simply need a different spouse. Prince Dorian seems to be quite a handful... but I do love a challenge. Will you help me arrange this deal?”

Stunned by the pragmatic noblewoman, Veila gave a curt nod and placed her small white paw onto Senna's palm.

Deal.

Defeated by the fluffy indignity of it all, Veila did not complain when Senna scooped her back up, hid her under a winter mantle, and carried her back to her own room to change.