18. Lucais
Chapter eighteen
Lucais
I t was the face from my dreams, gazing back at me at long last.
Every thought and feeling that once took shelter within my being abandoned me. Too stupefied to react with any trace of recognition or emotion, all I could do was stare blankly at his face. His beautiful, coveted face.
I knew his body from my dreams almost as well as I knew my own. The sensual lines, curves, and ridges of muscle were visible even beneath his simple clothing. He wore a black tunic and pants with only a dagger in his belt, its golden hilt bejewelled with gleaming red stones. He was as tall and strong as I remembered from all of the nights he’d spent withstanding the impact of iron weapons in my mental prison, though I found nothing when my eyes scanned him for signs of harm.
Confusion flickered across my face for a heartbeat before my eyes locked with his again. They were wise eyes of deepest chestnut, and widening by the second. I would have thought him to be far too young to be the High King based on his appearance if it wasn’t for the centuries of time weighing down those eyes.
His skin was a lovely shade of brown, with olive-gold undertones that I had only ever viewed eclipsed by silver moonlight and shadows before. Hair as black as a midnight ocean, it was shaved into a sharp crew cut with long, loose curls left to fall across his forehead. Soft, rounded features distinguished his face, and two elongated ears rose up into sharp points on either side of his head. A fraction smaller than Wren’s ears, I noticed, as though he was tucking them in like wings.
He absolutely radiated warmth, to the point where the air began to feel a little bit stifled like the sun had burned its very essence into his being, and he carried light with him in every breath.
Lucais.
Lucais was the High King of Faerie.
Unharmed and free—and standing right in front of me.
I caught the exact moment that some form of recognition crossed his chestnut eyes like he’d been dreaming of me screaming for him in that cell, too.
He knew who I was.
Judging by the fleeting look the two High Fae men exchanged, Wren knew something about that as well. My opinion of him had been shifting and switching for days, but every ounce of affection I’d ever felt for him was snuffed out like a candle when I remembered that he’d heard me calling for his High King in my sleep. I had told him that the Banshee wanted me to divulge the High King’s location before I was attacked.
And he hadn’t said anything .
Wren, the scoundrel, rose to his feet with as little grace as he’d displayed whilst bowing. I tried not to ogle, but I found it odd, considering how much time he must spend licking Lucais’s boots clean.
What had he told me? Something about the High King being the most handsome and clever man that I would ever meet?
Glancing at Lucais again, I had to admit that he might not be wrong.
The High King returned my gaze with a gentle scrutiny of his own, a curiosity that one might bestow upon a leopard prowling across the beach. I sensed fear, confusion, and wonderment in his eyes, and I considered running for my life before he decided to cage me and send me back to the swamp.
Lucais’s lips curved into a tentative smile. “I’ve been worried for you,” he purred, the true panther revealed. His eyes darted to Wren, who cleared his throat uncomfortably, but I was clinging on to the sound of Lucais’s voice—smooth as honey and deep as the ocean. It was everything I’d imagined it to be when he wasn’t grunting quietly in pain. “You look exhausted, Auralie.”
The way he said my name …
“I’m sorry,” I breathed.
Lucais’s brow twitched, but he said nothing. He simply extended his arm to me, a regal and gentlemanly gesture that put Wren and his playful, wandering hands to shame. I accepted, linking my elbow with his, and he began leading me down the corridor.
My head swam with fatigue and racing thoughts, the walls of my mind feeling almost non-existent—as if my consciousness might float away into oblivion if it wasn’t for my arm being linked with Lucais’s.
“On behalf of your escort, I apologise. He really should have allowed you to rest before bombarding you with a history lesson—and an inaccurate account of it, at that,” he added, calling Wren out over his shoulder with a meaningful look.
“I was getting to it,” Wren muttered, dragging his feet on the floor runner as he trailed after us.
The exchange slipped over me like throwing sand against a wall. Wren probably could have made the whole thing up, and it would have ceased to matter because I’d forgotten it a few minutes later.
Lucais was the High King of Faerie.
I’d found him, the man from my dreams, so quickly and easily and in the exact opposite position to what I was expecting.
I had been dreaming of the High King of Faerie as a prisoner.
“You need to rest,” Lucais went on, his voice a melodious purr in my ear. I was vaguely aware of our pace quickening as we turned a corner at the end of the hall. “The House is enchanted to ease the workload of its staff, so it will take care of you. There is some urgent business I must attend to right now, but I will send someone to check on you later tonight and escort you to dinner. I’ll advise them not to disturb you if you’re sleeping…”
I was not in my own body, not in my own mind.
Lucais as a prisoner.
Lucais as the High King.
The High King as a prisoner.
A prisoner as the High King.
All one and the same, yet such entirely different potential storylines.
My head was positively spinning as we came to a stop in front of a large oak door, which swung open without a single touch to reveal a lavish bedroom within. Both of them were watching me, waiting for me to move, say something, or take a breath.
“Thank you.” I reclaimed my arm and forced my legs to take a step, and then another, until I had crossed the threshold of the guest suite. “Thank you,” I said again.
I had nothing else to offer. There was nothing but a roaring in my head. A loud vibrational warning, though for whom it was intended, I had absolutely no idea.
Turning around in a slow circle, I instructed my eyes to focus on the room. It was grand enough to rival any penthouse apartment in a human hotel, and certainly more luxurious than any room I’d ever stayed in before.
An enormous four-poster bed sat in the centre of the room, adorned with a canopy that looked as though it could have been crafted with the delicate web of a spider. In one corner, a small desk sat beside a floor-to-ceiling bookcase filled with fiction and fairytales, and a russet velvet armchair sat against the wall on the other side. The similarity it bore to Dante’s Bookstore was startling but comforting.
A huge bay window overlooked the gardens, an abundant spread of soft green and lilac pillows and blankets on its seat, with patterned white lace looped over two brass hooks on either side. At the opposite end of the room, a gossamer curtain was the only door to the bathroom, hanging down from the open archway and faintly obscuring what appeared to be a marble bathtub and long sink.
“Auralie, I wouldn’t leave you like this if I didn’t absolutely have to,” the High King murmured from the doorway.
My throat had closed up like I was having an allergic reaction to the air in the room. I felt suddenly dizzy as I nodded my head and made to turn around, pausing only to examine the antique wardrobe standing in the corner of the room and the familiar insignia carved into its doors. I had to tear my eyes away from it, fixing my gaze on Lucais once more.
Later .
I could ponder the shared symbol later, and the revelation about my dreams and what to do with my newfound freedom.
The face I’d longed to see for so long was handsome and kind, but Lucais’s eyes were visibly guarded by an emotion too strong for me to properly discern. He bowed his head to me as he pulled the door closed, a gesture that stunned me so completely that I couldn’t even think to say goodbye…
And then he locked it from the outside.
A vulgar word rang out in my mind repeatedly.
The unmistakably damning click was so faint, but it instantly sobered me up.
Heart spluttering, I lunged for the doorknob. My steps were near-silent on the plush carpet, and I had almost clasped my hand around it when I heard Lucais’s voice on the other side. Swearing quietly at a silent Wren, the High King was hurling questions at him about what he was thinking and what he was doing as their voices faded down the corridor.
It had to have been about me—about Wren taking me there. Because I was human. Because I hadn’t imagined it. Lucais knew something. About my dreams, or dreams of his own…
The hallway fell silent.
They hadn’t realised that I’d heard the lock.
I held in my screams, my shouts, and the urge to try to break down the door. My hand fell back to my side. The doorknob was useless. Mortal limbs were useless.
I was a human in Faerie.
The moment of relief I’d felt earlier—the fleeting brush against freedom—was merely another faerie trick.
I was a human . In Faerie .
Walking backwards, my mind running a million miles an hour, I halted when I was in line with the bathtub on the other side of the lace curtain. And then I strode through it, wrestling my smelly cardigan over my head without bothering to undo the buttons. The curtain clung to me as I entered, and I swatted it away, wildly throwing my clothes around the room as I undressed.
Fine. Lucais and Wren could lock me in here . One of them had already dragged me across the countryside for two days with minimal regard for my welfare. But my family was safe, and there was no prisoner in the basement.
I was a madwoman, almost completely deranged, slowly losing her grip on the last threads of sanity. What did it matter if I took the opportunity to relax in a hot bath while I had a mental breakdown and resumed plotting my escape?
The bathroom resembled a snow globe. It was a large, circular chamber with an arched roof carved from jade stone, smoothed into tiles across the floor but left rough and exposed along the walls. A wide marble sink sat beside an oval-shaped, full-body mirror to one side, and I was only a little bit surprised to find a normal, flushing toilet on the other.
In the middle of the room, a marble bath took up most of the space, large enough to be a hot tub. It was deep enough to require the addition of stairs, with benches spanning across every other side. Beyond it, French doors had been pulled back, opening out onto a large balcony covered by crawling wisteria vines. They perfumed the air, nearly overwhelming in strength, as a gentle breeze slipped into the room and swept up the curtains—a matching set with the ones across the bay window in the bedroom.
I went to the doors, pulling them partially closed, and turned around to find that the bath—which had been empty moments ago—was filled nearly to the brim. Wisps of steam curled up from its glassy surface, heating the cool stone room.
What had Lucais said?
The House is enchanted. As if it was a person or a pet. Not house, but House. Not haunted, but enchanted.
My eyes bulged out of my head as it hit me. The Forest had been enchanted, too . Only this time, I wasn’t completely certain I could trust it, so I eyed the ceiling warily before I stripped off my underwear and dipped my toes into the bath water.
It was the perfect temperature.
“Okay, thanks,” I uttered quietly, to no part of the House in particular.
I scanned the room again, looking for eyes or ears, but I suddenly felt very much like the House had given me privacy—and perhaps that I had made it blush a little when I’d undressed without warning. I would have thought the House ought to be used to it if Wren lived there, but I still sent a silent apology out of my mind. And then I finally slipped into the beautifully warm water, soaking my tired muscles and weary bones.
Maybe I had found my way to that place I should not have been in, after all, but at least it was better than the dungeon.