The royal suite in the castle’s east wing, offering views of both the lake and the mountains, was currently occupied by the sovereigns of Khenifra, a kingdom located on a continent far to the south and reputed to be an important military power. This exceedingly handsome royal couple had produced numerous offspring who were, in Ellie’s opinion, the most beautiful on earth.
The four youngest of these had accompanied their parents to the resort this year. “Lively” was the word most often used to describe them, a description usually spoken in fond tones but occasionally emitted through clenched teeth and a fake smile.
As soon as Ellie reached a large marble griffin and turned right, she heard muffled shouts and screams. She sprinted the last few yards then pounded on the suite’s main door. When no answer came, she resorted to her passkey and rushed inside, puffing for breath. “Hello?” she called while pulling a cage cube, her spray bottle, and a scoop from her pack. She didn’t yet smell smoke, but there was no time to lose.
“Little cinder sprites,” she cooed softly. “Are any of you near me? I’m here to rescue you and take you to a quiet, beautiful place where you can eat sweet greens and run about without fear.”
A soft, wistful squeak caught her ear. Going down on her knees, she peered under the ornately gilded hall table, saw a pair of shiny black eyes, and sensed the little beast’s helpless dismay. “Hello, darling,” she cooed. “You must be the mother. How did you end up here? Would you like my help? I promise to catch your babies and return them to you, but you need to let me capture you.” Ellie continued to babble such reassurances, hardly paying attention to her words, for her tone was far more important.
The little creature made no objection as she reached in to pick it up. Not once did it brandish its sharp horns or show its long teeth. “You are a pretty mama,” Ellie told it, stroking the soft hair that sprouted in all directions from its head and body. This sprite was white and red, and its tiny feet were pink. As soon as she felt its fright dissolve into trust, she tucked it into the cage, which magically expanded to a manageable yet comfortable size for the sprite and was already stocked with sprite food. The little creature immediately began munching on fresh greens.
Leaving that cage near the door, Ellie pulled several more from her pack and tucked them into her coverall pockets. These cages, blown from tempered glass to her exact specifications, were vital to her success. Cinder sprites, rare magical creatures native to these mountains, were adorable yet dangerous, for one frightened or angry sprite hiding under a pile of dry leaves or a sofa could start a raging fire in minutes. Ellie used her gift of soothing talk along with an herbal potion, her own recipe, to calm or quench the sprites as needed. Once isolated in tempered-glass cages they could safely be transported to a place less combustible than an ancient magical forest or castle.
“Hello?” she called, using her gift to calm humans and sprites alike as she followed the sound of voices to the sitting room.
“There it is! Catch it!” cried the eldest, a boy.
His sister grabbed for something under a chair but snatched her hands back with a cry. “It’s too hot!” she cried. “You try. The rug is starting to burn!”
Ellie slid in between them on her knees and located a baby sprite that glowed red, snapping and crackling like a tiny bonfire. She quickly squeezed the trigger of her bottle to spray sweet-smelling liquid over the miniature inferno. The sprite collapsed into a steaming black puddle of goo.
“Is he dead?” the youngest child wailed.
“Oh no,” Ellie said in her calmest tone. “I would never kill a sprite. The baby was so frightened that he might have turned straight to ash, so I extinguished him. He will recover once he dries out.” She used her scoop to scrape the sprite from the rug and slide it into another expanding cage. The little girl sat beside the cage to make sure her sprite recovered. Her name was Rita, Ellie knew, having met the child as a tiny baby three summers ago.
She spent the next several minutes chasing down and capturing three more baby sprites and putting out small fires. One baby never did ignite, which made things easier. The children romped around, eager to help her find the terrified babies and fascinated to see how the cages grew to fit each furry inmate. Ellie used a second spray potion to clear the air and to repair the burned rug, a scorched chair leg, and a blistered shoe.
By the time the last creature was caged and the mess cleaned up, she was sweating and sooty but satisfied. She now knew the older three children by name: Princes Rafiq and Karim, ages twelve and five, and Princess Yasmine, age eight. She had seen them all around the castle many times over the years, watching them grow up without ever actually meeting them. They talked nonstop, usually all at once, which made communication a challenge, but she managed to calm them slightly and have brief conversation with each one individually. All four children captured her heart with their gorgeous dark eyes and brilliant smiles.
So very like their older brother Omar’s.
But then, Ellie had long ago lost her heart to that brother, so this conquest was no surprise. If only he had come to the resort this summer! His family usually spent four weeks every June and July in this very suite to escape the summer heat of their homeland, but this year all five older children were occupied elsewhere. The heir to the throne was married, as was the eldest daughter, and the second son was recently betrothed, she knew from gossip.
But as far as she knew, Prince Omar was still unattached, and Ellie could never stop hoping that one of these summers . . . She had frequently met his steady gaze or encountered him in doorways, where he always politely opened the door for her and spoke a bashful word or two of greeting. Sometimes she even wondered if he might wish to become acquainted with her.
But this idea was completely ridiculous, for a prince must marry nobility or royalty; in many countries, royal children were betrothed at birth. Every summer she had seen Omar in the company of some beautiful princess or lady, though never the same one two years running and never with any evidence of romantic attachment. But his freedom couldn’t last forever. For all Ellie knew, he was spending this holiday with his future wife’s family in a distant country.
The temptation was strong to quiz these children about Omar, but she refused to use them in such a way. Glancing around, she noticed a distinct lack. “Where is your nanny?” she asked, pushing loose hair from her face. Her ponytail never seemed to last through a sprite hunt.
Yasmine went wide-eyed, but Rafiq brushed off the question. “We don’t need her. I am old enough to watch over the little ones now.”
“Are you?” Ellie wondered about this. But she also knew that Madame Genevieve, the resort director, would never allow her magic-creature wrangler to fill in as a nanny, not even for royal guests. “I would feel more confident about your responsibility, Rafiq, if I didn’t know that you helped bring these cinder sprites into your rooms,” she said, giving him a level look.
He frowned and looked away, then shrugged and gave her a charming grin. “We won’t do it again. How could we know they would light themselves on fire? Do they always do that?”
Ellie restrained a frustrated sigh. Guests were always warned about possible hazards, including sprites, but few seemed to pay attention.
“Only when they are frightened or angry,” she told him. “But they are easily frightened, and some have hot tempers.”
Rafiq and Yasmine chuckled. Rita kept a vigilant eye on her melted sprite, which was beginning to quiver in its cage. “Will he be all right?” she asked once more.