Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
LILYFAIR
“It’s not a good idea for a little girl like you to go into the dungeons,” Snapdragon sneers. “It’s unbecoming. What would your father say?”
“My father would say I’m following in his footsteps.
He visited the same prisoner I intend to visit last night.
I’m just practicing my duties for when I am queen.
” I mustn’t roll my eyes, or I’ll never gain entry.
What a nuisance to be blocked from an area of my own castle by someone who supposedly works for me!
All night I wrote questions I wanted to ask, so they don’t fall out of my brain once I lay eyes on him—like they did yesterday.
Did I remember to bring it? I clutch the parchment within my sewing basket.
After I learned from Rosemary about father’s visit to the hubull, I became more intrigued with the silent creature.
The number of questions doubled. Why did my father visit him?
What did he do to earn a life sentence in the dungeon… and a visit from the king?
If I don’t talk to him soon, I may burst.
“Sounds to me like it’s time you learned the difference between a king and a queen." He chuckles along with Poplar and Redwood, the actual dungeon guards on duty. Without war, Snapdragon has no purpose.
“And who do you suggest teach me such a lesson?” I pause to allow him to widen his lips into a smile; “because my father has rejected every proposal for my hand so far, including yours. So until such a prince becomes my betrothed, it’s safe to assume I will rule this kingdom alone or with my father looking on as King Regent. ”
“You wouldn’t say such things if he stood beside us. He would demand to know why you are down here.”
“He would also demand to know why the captain of the army is in the dungeon instead of out on patrol. So tell on me, and I’ll tell on you too,” I say with a withering look.
“Look, I’m going to sew in the hallway. I’ll be out of danger and everyone’s way.
Go find someone who needs a hero, because I can manage without one. ”
I pat the royal crest he wears over his heart and step around him.
The other two guards snicker like schoolgirls until I glare in their direction.
They may treat me like a child, but they know I have my father’s ear, and I won’t hesitate a second to drop them in it.
Father disapproves of Snapdragon’s continued pursuit of my hand despite both of us refusing him.
I don’t know my father’s reason, but I suspect it has something to do with the twenty-plus-year age gap. My reason is simple.
Snapdragon doesn’t like me.
I’m not so na?ve as to believe in true love.
There’s no prince in shining armor coming to sweep me off my feet.
However, I would like my spouse to be someone who likes me—what I say, how I look, and what I think.
Is it too much to ask to share the throne with a friend?
When I imagine my future husband, he never rolls his eyes at my words or makes fun of my hobby.
He’s interested, even if for no other reason than I’m interested, and he likes to see me happy.
Of course, he will think I’m pretty—every Fae in Magmell is pretty—so no big deal there.
But to find a male who finds me fascinating and worthy of a partnership… that’s my dream.
My happy thoughts occupy my mind until I’m at the hubull’s cage.
They’ve stripped him of his leather harness and tight pants, replacing them with beige, linen pants that end halfway down his calf.
It’s amazing how changing his clothes softens his appearance.
He’s ripped the wooden frame off the wall that houses his window, so a cool breeze wafts through his cell.
He sits in a pile of sawdust, concentrating on something engulfed by his large hands.
At least he’s too busy to prowl menacingly.
“Hello,” I call, and he startles at my voice. “I’m sorry to break your concentration, but I didn’t feel I should sneak up on you. Can I keep you company?”
He huffs at his project as he lifts his eyes to meet mine.
Does my smile look crazed or something? What’s that look on his face?
I bat at my cheeks and lick my teeth to make sure I don’t wear parts of my breakfast. Nothing of note.
He jumps to his feet, spraying dust everywhere.
Clutching his project to his heart, he leans against the bars to stare at me with a slack jaw.
His snout twitches.
Do I stink? I tilt my chin demurely to my right to sniff my shoulder.
I smell nothing but my health cream. This jar is more pungent than usual, but Father explained it’s a more potent blend.
He said something about needing more, now that I’ve become a woman.
When I asked him to explain the disease that the skin cream cured, he danced around the question.
I threw my hands over my ears after he told me my body was blossoming.
My mind imagined the tree flowers that spit pollen all over the grounds, wishing my body developed such cannons.
And the hubull’s eyes rake up and down my body as my mind swirls with images of pollen cannons replacing my nipples.
Don’t think about your nipples! It makes them poke out!
Great, now they’re poking. The rasp of the thick lace bodice of my dress ignites little sparks on my chest. I cross my arms to hide them, but all the movement does is draw his gaze to them. As his eyes widen, I’m happy he can’t air his thoughts.
“Do I bother you?” I ask. When he shakes his head, I ask again. “I mean, do my visits bother you?”
Another headshake. This one’s paired with a lop-sided smile that makes my heart flutter.
I try to return his smile, but my anxiety keeps it from reaching my eyes.
When I point to the spot where I sat yesterday, he extends his hand toward the same corner.
So I’m welcome…even if I do smell bad. Do I explain my scent to him, or is that rude?
I’d want to know, but I want to know everything…
even those things meant to be kept private.
Some of the questions I wrote last night were capital indecent, stuff I doubt I’ll have the nerve to ask.
However, if he were to ask me the same questions, I’d gladly answer them.
With my sheltered life, I have few scandalous stories to tell.
“Can I ask your name?” I ask, as I arrange my skirts around me on the floor. I’m pleased as punch when he sits across from me.
He lifts a piece of the window frame to his horn and rubs it furiously, spraying himself with dust. When he’s satisfied, he runs his hands down his body to brush the particles onto the floor.
I try not to focus on the grains that stick to his bare chest…
or the sweat acting as glue…but rather on the lawn of gold he’s made between his knees.
With his fingertip, he writes Franklin in blocky letters.
“Well, Franklin, how wonderful that you can write,” I reply. “It’s a pleasure making your acquaintance. You are quite clever to utilize the window frame to communicate.”
He smooths the letters and rearranges the dust until it’s flat.
I remove my latest project from my sewing kit so as not to stare at his motions.
The last thing I want to do is discourage him from communicating with me.
I busy myself with threading my needle with white thread to close this doll until he bangs on the bars.
“Thank you for the doll. Most thoughtful gift--ever,” reads the dust in smaller letters that run together.
“I know they’re silly. You don’t have to humor me,” I add when he shakes his head. “Everyone in the castle tells me they’re silly, immature, childish, and a waste of resources. I think they represent me—”
His growls startle me. He swipes the letters from the sand with a slap to the floor. “Dolls = caring, Fae = stupid,” he writes with furious fingerstrokes.
“I’m glad that rage isn’t directed at me. I’d hide under my bed,” I reply with a giggle.
His chuffing sounds like a whispering laugh.
I love his laughter and want to hear it often.
When I lift my chin from my work to tell him so, my heart skips a beat.
He’s stunning when he laughs. All Fae men are pretty—boring square jaws, slashing brows, and aquiline noses.
Franklin’s beastly features provide the contrast to make him interesting.
Sparkling eyes, but a road map of wrinkles around them.
Sensual lips frame his pearly, blunt teeth, but they sit under his humongous snout.
I love his face so much I could stare at it all day.
“Whose doll?” He writes in the dust and then points at the doll in my lap.
“This is for the Eisleys’ new baby,” I reply, holding up the nearly completed doll. “They’re bakers, so the doll has a little apron and hat. Sorry, I get excited talking about them…” My voice trails off as my head fills with disapproving voices, telling me to stop talking about my nonsense.
He clears his throat and rolls his wrist to wave a large hand at me.
“You want me to continue? Really? I’ll keep you company even if you don’t want to listen. In fact, I have a list of questions about you—" I cut off my words when he crawls toward his naked window to gather more dust. He must have a lot to say.
“You said everyone gets a doll…personalized?”
Oh, he’s interested. My insides glow with happiness.
“That’s the most fun part! Fae who migrate from the Unseelie Court or the Fae forests get a doll when Rosemary—she’s my governess turned lady’s maid—tells me about them.
I love to hear the gossip from the Seelie Village.
However, most of the dolls go to new babies, which is the most fun.
I love to predict their hair color, eye color, and gender.
Rosemary says I’m always right, but it’s rare I get to see them for myself. ”
“No village visits?” He writes in the dust.
“Oh no, I’m not allowed to leave the balcony.
Even then, I’m shielded by dwarf elves in front of me like a shield, and Fae guard snipers in the turrets above.
I’ll never understand why I must be guarded so tightly against our own people.
Recently, I’ve been more heavily guarded than my father.
I mean, you met him—he can take care of himself—but surely he’s more important than little me. ”
“Lilyfair = future.”
“Distant future, maybe,” I say with a smirk.
“Most of the castle sees me as a child. Between you and me, I encourage them to overlook me. I don’t like being the center of attention.
If too many people are staring at me, I find a way to sneak into a cabinet.
You laugh, but it’s true! When they aren’t looking, I’ll slink under the table and crawl to the corner. Do you think I’m weird?”
“Not weird, humble,” he writes, reaching his hand through the bars.
Palm to palm, his warm, rough hand envelops mine.
Without a word, he conveys his message loud and clear.
Given the chance, he will use his beastly size and grit to protect my softness.
Maybe I’m reading too much into it, but his countenance is stern and determined as he holds my hand.
If he were at my side, I wouldn’t have to hide in cabinets, because he would wrap me in security with his presence on our throne.
Wait, what?
I give his hand one more squeeze before I let go to return to my sewing with my mind whirling in chaos.
In a society that values beauty above all else, I can’t choose a beast as their next king.
Fantasizing about a tumble with a hubull is one thing.
Pretending we could have some sort of future together is another.
I’d best remember who I am and where my priorities lie, unless I want to end up heartbroken.
He doesn’t love me. I don’t love him. It's prudent to distance myself while I still can. Luckily, he believes that I’m sewing and returns to whatever he was doing when I arrived.
My fantasies of being with Franklin will have to stay firmly locked within my mind.
How many dreams do I hide because I’m a princess?
Leaving the castle to meet the villagers face-to-face—not happening.
Exploring the forests just beyond the castle—yeah, right.
Sitting on the throne beside my father as he teaches me about the affairs of state—never so far.
Falling in love with Franklin—better not if I know what’s good for us…