A Court Bright and Broken (Age of Fae #1)

26. Four P.M.

Chapter 26

Four P.M.

R aewyn

Each morning Stellon left the suite to attend to his duties.

Each night he returned to spend hours here with me, talking and amusing me with tales of the visiting Fae lords and ladies, all the eager parents attempting to force their daughters on him.

“One mother, Lady Patrice of House Balderill, tried to entice me by telling me her daughter was ‘obedient,’” he said with horror. “Like a hunting hound or a horse.”

Then he laughed. “I’d probably be happier with a hound. Though my horse Malo is excellent company.”

“Any word of your betrothed?” I asked. “Or perhaps I should say ‘former betrothed.’”

Whenever I could, I tried to get updates on the investigation.

“Nothing. I fear she is truly gone, and I will never know what happened to her.”

Out of morbid curiosity, I asked, “What was she like?”

Stellon’s eyes lifted, and his gaze softened as he stared off at nothing, remembering. His eyes came back to me.

“You know what’s strange? I can hardly even remember her now,” he said. “I truly must have been under a spell—I didn’t drink that much at the ball,” he said.

And now I was weirdly disappointed. It had been just the Earthwife’s beautification spell after all.

“When I think of her now, it’s vague and hazy,” Stellon said.

“Even the way she looked is starting to fade. What I do remember is her sweetness. She seemed to have an…”

He paused to think of the words he wanted. “... inner light. Yes, that’s what it was. I know she was beautiful on the outside, but what captivated me was what she was like on the inside.”

My insides were soaring. It felt like the ankle would no longer hinder me from traveling because I could simply lift off and fly out the window all the way home.

Because what was on the inside of Lady Wyn was me . Was that truly what Stellon had fallen for?

He shook his head as if to clear it. “Of course, I read her all wrong. Nearly dead wrong, if the assassin theory is correct.”

My favorite activity during the long days I spent alone was reading.

If I hadn’t been worried about how my family was getting along without me, I would have been in heaven.

For the first time in my life, I actually had time to read entire books and sometimes took advantage of the copious candle supply to stay up late to finish one.

And there were so many. It felt like a treasure hunt every time I searched through the crates.

It was such a pleasure to read books I hadn’t already read a thousand times—though I’d always have a place in my heart for my favorites.

Immersing myself in new worlds and falling in love with new characters made me forget I was even reading and lose track of the passage of time.

There were epic adventures and stories of magic, of courage, and heart-wrenching tales of love lost and found.

Of course I couldn’t read every moment of the day. I tried my best to exercise my ankle, walking short distances before sitting and resting again.

One day while Stellon was away, I stopped for a break in my laps around the suite to look out the window. There were many, lining one whole wall of the receiving room and much of the adjoining bedroom. They allowed copious sunshine during the day and a marvelous perspective of the stars at night.

Day or night, the view from them was breathtaking.

Beyond the manicured palace lawn, the ocean sparkled in the bright sun like a cloak of blue velvet scattered with tiny diamonds.

Closer to the palace, the windows looked down on the courtyard. There had been a few social gatherings out there as part of the Assemblage, making it busy occasionally. Most of the time it stood empty.

Except around four p.m.

Every day at that time, Stellon’s brother arrived to meet his weapons trainer for practice.

I’d watched many times as Pharis honed his sword fighting skills and practiced knife throwing and archery. He was quite good, hitting targets set surprisingly far across the courtyard.

He was also quite fit.

After a few minutes of practice, he always removed his shirt, revealing a wide chest, and rounded shoulders, and sinewy muscle that bulged and moved beneath the skin of his abdomen as he trained.

I supposed as the second son, he had extra time to develop his body and battle skills to perfection.

Stellon was in good shape as well, but not quite like this . It was easy to understand why he wouldn’t put himself through such a punishing daily routine. As Crown Prince, he probably didn’t have the time.

And the heir to the throne would never be sent off to war—he was far too valuable.

It happened to be a little after four today as I stopped by the window and looked down, hoping to assuage my boredom.

As usual, Pharis and his trainer were there, going through their paces.

The day must have been particularly hot because he was already perspiring, his body slick and shining as he vigorously moved.

Either his coloring took after his mother’s or he spent more time in the sun than Stellon did—his skin was deeply bronzed. The way it stretched tightly over his sleek muscles reminded me a bit of some of the statues I’d seen around the palace.

Not even a master carver could fully capture this kind of masculine beauty, though.

Pharis might have been a villain, but he was also a work of art.

With his shirt off, I could see the tattoo I’d glimpsed the edges of that night at the ball. It was quite large, covering a large portion of his chest and narrowing as it moved down the front of his body.

At this distance I couldn’t make out the symbol clearly, but it must have had some significance to him for him to endure the pain of having such a large tattoo applied.

I was always careful never to stand too close to the panes of glass. If I were spotted inside Stellon’s rooms, it would no doubt raise all kinds of alarms.

But today I must have involuntarily moved closer because I found my forehead contacting the warm glass.

And then Pharis turned and looked up, directly toward the window. I stumbled backward, my heart thrashing inside my chest.

How could I have been so careless? Had he seen me?

A moment of horror stole my breath. It was accompanied by a vague sense of guilt. And then my rational thought process took over.

Most likely he had not seen me. It had only been the smallest part of a second. If he had seen anything, it would only have been a flash of movement. He would assume it was Stellon.

Besides, at certain times of day, the sun hit the glass at an angle that made the windows reflect like mirrors from the outside.

Pharis had probably only been seeking a glimpse of his glorious, vain self.

Still, I rushed away from the window, and over to the crates that had been delivered to the room, planning to select a new book to get lost in.

What I found was an old one.

Stellon entered the suite just as I grasped and lifted it. Still a little spooked, I pressed the ancient tome to my chest.

“Well hello,” he said. “What’s put that look on your face?”

“I can’t believe you have this book,” I said, limping to the sofa to sit beside him.

I didn’t mention the close call with Pharis, as that was all it was. A close call. But I made a vow to studiously avoid the windows from now on during the four o’clock hour.

Stellon’s smile was wide. “It’s my very favorite. You know it?”

“Know it? I’ve read it a thousand times,” I said. “We have this one at home. It was my mother’s. It’s always been my favorite as well.”

What were the odds we’d have the same favorite book? An Elven man and a human peasant. Especially when I had so few, and he had so many?

All thoughts of Pharis and his mysterious tattoo and glistening muscles vanished.

“That’s strange,” Stellon said, holding out a hand, silently asking for the book.

I gave it to him, and he turned it over several times, inspecting the spine, the back cover, and then the front cover again.

“There aren’t many of these around, you know,” he said. “I wonder how your mother came to be in possession of one.”

“Is it forbidden or something?” I asked, confused.

“No, not forbidden. Just… rare. Who did you say your mother was?”

“Her name was Jeneve. She died a few years ago, remember? I told you that day at the Rough Market.”

“No, I remember that part,” he said. “It stuck with me because I’d lost my mother as well, and it made me feel… I don’t know… I guess… connected is the right word—with you.”

His words filled me with a sense of wonderment, and the look in his eyes set off a nervous tremor in my stomach.

“I felt the same that day,” I said.

The surprise was I felt even more of a connection with him now.

Who would have thought getting to know Elves would make them more appealing, not less?

“I think it was my first realization that Elven people weren’t so different from us,” I said. “We all love our mothers… and miss them when they’re gone. I wish I had a portrait of mine to show you. The only one I had was in the locket I lost at the market.”

Stellon bolted upright. “The locket. I can’t believe I forgot about the locket. My mind really is muddled these days.”

He dashed across the room to his writing desk as I watched.

“What are you looking for?”

He dragged a drawer open and rifled through it, grasping something with a triumphant, “Aha—here it is.”

Then he hurried back to me, his long stride taking mere seconds to reach me. When he did, he knelt on the floor beside my bent knees and held out his closed hand.

When he opened his fingers, I gasped.

“My mother’s locket.” Astonished, I took the heirloom from his palm. “Wherever did you get it?”

A flash of suspicion pierced my heart. Had he taken it from me that day?

“I sent my soldiers to find the band of thieves,” he said. “They didn’t have the locket on them any longer—they’d already sold it—but they kindly provided the necessary information on its whereabouts. My soldiers were able to buy it back from its new owner and bring it here.”

A sense of awe blended with joy and filled my chest to the point it was almost painful. I held the locket inside both hands against my heart.

“I never thought I’d see this again,” I told him. “Why would you do that? Why send your soldiers to find it?”

His expression changed, looking almost shy. “Because it was precious to you.”

That explained nothing. In fact, it created even more questions.

“I guess I thought… maybe I’d see you again someday and could give it back,” he said.

Tears flooded my eyes, blurring the beautiful vision of his face, and my throat suddenly felt sore and blocked by something. I swallowed hard to clear it.

“Thank you,” I whispered. “This is without question the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me.”

Stellon’s chin dipped down, and he cleared his throat.

“It was nothing. I’m just glad they were able to find it.”

He watched as I opened the locket and smiled at the sight of the two small portraits inside—one of my mother holding me as a baby and one of her alone. It was so good to see them again, to have her back in the only way I could.

“You must have the magic touch,” Stellon said. “I tried so many times to open it and never could. May I see it? I’ve been dying to know what was inside these past few weeks.”

I handed it to him, and Stellon studied the portraits.

He blinked several times. “It’s so strange… I feel as if I’ve seen your mother somewhere before. Did she ever work in the palace that you know of?”

“Not that I know of. She probably looks familiar because she looks like me.”

He glanced up at me then down at the locket again.

“Yes, that must be it.” After a few seconds’ hesitation he added, “She’s beautiful.”

Brimming tears blurred my eyes, making my smile wobble a bit.

My mother would have been forty-two years old this year, had she not been killed. I had no doubt she would have been every bit as lovely now, if not more so.

“She was.” It came out sounding hoarse.

For some reason, I missed her more in this moment than I had in a long time.

Stellon’s chin jerked up as his gaze left the locket and came to meet mine.

Spotting my tears, he reached out and cupped my face, gliding his thumbs beneath my eyes. His tone was gentle, his face taut with compassion.

“I am so sorry you lost her.”

I nodded, blinking and swallowing to try to keep the tears at bay. I had thought I was all cried out over the loss by this point, but apparently not.

“You lost your mum, too,” I said, feeling guilty for being weak when he was so strong.

“That’s how I know how much it hurts.”

Stellon’s own eyes glistened, looking deeply sorrowful. They also looked tired, underscored by shadows.

“You haven’t been sleeping well on the settee,” I said.

It wasn’t a question. There was no need to ask because the answer was evident.

He gave me a soft smile. “I now have definitive proof they were not constructed for six-foot-five men.”

“I told you to let me sleep here. I fit just fine.”

“You’re healing from an injury. What sort of friend would I be if I let you sleep on this hard, uncomfortable thing?” he asked.

Friend . The word struck me oddly for some reason, but I guessed we were friends by this point.

My throat grew tight, feeling thick as I swallowed down the upsurge of guilt. What sort of friend was I to have let him sleep on this—or try to—for the past week?

“Sleep in the bed tonight,” I said.

“No, I just said—”

“With me.” Hastily I added, “I mean, on the other side of the bed. It’s so large. There’s plenty of room for both of us.”

For a moment, he just looked at me, longing clear on his face.

“Are you sure? I’ll sleep atop the covers—fully clothed of course.”

“I’m sure. The mattress is so solid, I doubt I’ll even notice you’re there.”

That turned out to be a lie.

We both said good night and blew out the candles on either side of the bed. And then I laid there, feeling more awake than I ever had in my life.

I was acutely aware of every movement Stellon made, every small sound coming from the other side of the bed.

My mind kept creating scenarios to worry about. What if he inadvertently rolled close to me during the night? Or I to him, unconsciously seeking warmth?

What if our bodies touched? There was an uprising of flutter-by wings in my stomach.

At this rate I would never fall asleep.