Page 150 of Reign

Her fingertips radiated an otherworldly shimmer—as though she held captured starlight. A wash of purple light seeped from her palms, shrouding Bronwyn and Billy. Bronwyn’s skin rippled like shifting waves beneath the glow. A spectral haze engulfed the goblinette in swirls of iridescent light. As the mist dissipated, Bronwyn stood transformed into a perfect reflection of Billy.

“Is that truly how I look?” Billy sneered, eyeing up his doppelgänger.

Bronwyn raised her hands to her face. “I… I really am him!” she gasped, scrutinizing her changed knuckles—thick and gnarled like twisted tree roots.

“Swap clothes,” Fitzroy ordered.

Billy hesitated, stammering, “I—I…”

“Swap clothes, or I’ll slit your throat and strip them off your corpse,” Fitzroy growled, his hand inching toward the hilt of his sword.

Billy flinched at the warning. “Spare me,” he pleaded while reluctantly unbuttoning his red doublet. “I can advise you on defeating Regina—I know all of her plans for war.”

“He might prove useful,” I said, casting a wary glance at the untrustworthy goblin.

With a defeated sigh, Billy shrugged on Bronwyn’s tattered garments, tugging the threadbare fabric across his humiliated face and over his protruding belly.

“We’ll take him back to Cambas,” Fitzroy declared decisively. “Niamh can smuggle him out of the castle beneath the folds of her skirt.”

I scoffed incredulously at his plan. “You expect me to conceal a goblin who’s just regained his eyesight under my skirt?”

“Indeed,” Fitzroy replied. “He doesn’t need to go under your chemise—merely beneath a few layers of linen.”

“I’m not comfortable—”

“I’m not asking if you’re willing, I’m telling you that you are,” Fitzroy commanded, leaving no room for argument.

Narrowing my eyes in silent defiance, I glared at him, making it clear I didn’t appreciate his authority.

Unfazed, Fitzroy lifted my skirt and helped Billy scramble beneath the layers. The goblin scarcely had a moment to enjoy his restored sight before being plunged back into darkness. He latched onto my legs, clinging like a leech as I struggled to retrieve my gifted grimoire, which I tucked securely into the inner pocket of my cloak—a relic I refused to part with.

“I’ll accompany you to the woodland,” Isobel said as she helped Mabina to her feet. “We shall mourn Herla once Queen Regina’s dead.”

“Stop calling her a queen,” Mabina snapped. “She rules no lands—Annwn belonged to fae before she arrived.”

“This Isle will be yours once more,” Fitzroy assured Mabina, taking her hand in an affirming grip. “We shall see you in a few days. I have faith in all of you—I know you won’t fail me or the subjects of Annwn and Lyonesse.”

The three nodded as Fitzroy turned his attention to Bronwyn, now disguised.

“Don’t let Regina suspect you’re anyone other than Billy,” he cautioned.

“I’ll try my best,” Bronwyn replied, adjusting the red cap atop her head.

It was unnerving to hear Bronwyn’s voice emerge from Billy’s form.

“That’s all I ask,” Fitzroy said with a grateful smile.

Elizebeth gasped. “I almost forgot,” she muttered, sweeping her palm across Bronwyn’s transformed face.

“Wolcn hire gesiht, smogan hire gesiht, peah hero pa gænan purh a mistig niht.” Cloud her vision, fog her sight, though she is walking through a misty night, she intoned.

The spell manifested as white swirls in Bronwyn’s irises, reminding me of clouds drifting in front of the moon to hide it.

“Cataract enchantment,” Elizebeth said. “Now even Regina will believe you’re Billy.”

Bronwyn blinked her veiled eyes a few times, as if trying to adjust to the final piece of her disguise. Leaving the chamber, Elizebeth, Mabina, Isobel, and Bronwyn—transformed into Billy—headed down one corridor, while Fitzroy, Billy, and I moved in the opposite direction.

Clinging to Fitzroy’s arm, I shuffled along the hall as Billy’s sharp nails dug into my thighs. His wandering hands crept uncomfortably close to my backside, prompting me to kick out like an agitated steed.