Chapter Six
T here’s a light bounce of anticipation in my step as I turn down the last hallway before the ward. I follow the threadbare, azure carpets toward the small section of the southern wing given to the healers. Few courtiers, and rarely anyone outside of the family save the healers themselves, come all the way to this tower, so my father hasn’t seen fit to update any of the furnishings or carpets since he’s arrived. Instead of the golden banners of our house draping over what’s left, I’m able to view the portraits of all the Fae who came before us.
This end of the castle is exactly as the Fae left it over thirty years ago. The intricate woodwork dances along the walls and the carefully handcrafted quilts hang along the stone walls hinting the Fae weren’t as vicious as they’re made out to be. But the way they drove apart their world and sectioned the realm off suggests otherwise. I’ve never been able to reconcile the two, though. Especially when I get to the portraits of the rulers just before Father. Queen Bronwinn and King Azulean were so regal. They look as if they’re still watching over us, almost waiting for their moment to return.
My smile falters as Father’s proclamation rings again in my head. Why wasn’t Etos Licia’s match? By all counts, it should’ve been her. She’s older, if only by a few moments. She’s more beautiful by everyone’s standards. And she’s always been his favorite. She’s the clear match to a king of such stature.
It was different with Avicii and me. With us, Father broke propriety because we were so clearly in love—or so I thought—and Avicii was his right-hand man. Since Avicii favored me—or so I thought—how could Father say no?
To overlook Licia twice doesn’t make sense. And for her still to be unwed and at the castle, after all these years, something isn’t adding up. Although Father makes it difficult to have much of a life inside these castle walls, she’s clearly making it work here with her trysts and networks that keep her more than busy.
A faint tune winds its way down the hall, distracting me from my thoughts. The soft strumming is so similar to last night. I try to shake it off as a memory. But as I proceed down the hallway, I peek my head into one of the old libraries.
Amidst the dusty, untouched books and furniture that could be a hundred years old, there he is. My delight he's in one piece and not rotting away in the dungeons is quickly eclipsed by his good looks. He’s even more beautiful this morning than he was last night, surrounded by the entire court and all the finery. His thick, dark twists of hair fall into his face as he strums a tune. His all-black attire swallows the light surrounding him. The late morning light streams in through the windows stretching from the floor up to the ceiling, and it catches in the strings along his instrument as he plays, drawing me in closer. My fingertips brush against the tops of velveteen chairs set in front of an empty fireplace as I walk closer to the large window, overlooking the gardens. And closer to him. My breath quickens as if sensing danger .
Before I know it, I’m standing right in front of him. Am I really that bold?
“Good morning, Princess.” In one smooth movement, he stands up and places his four-string beside him, closing the distance between us.
I inhale deeply, momentarily distracted by his graceful movements. “Stars above.” Escapes from my lips and I can feel my face redden from the lack of control. He’s just so gorgeous and the way he plays—
“I’m sorry, Princess?” A look of confusion and perhaps a little smugness plays across his face in the crooked smile and narrowing of his eyes.
He’s close. And just like last night, his fresh frost and pine scent wraps around me. He reaches out and his fingers brush my cheek as he pushes a stray curl behind my ear. I catch myself leaning into the feeling, the softness of his touch, the closeness of the gesture.
But instantly, Avicii flashes in my mind—his tall, wiry frame, not unlike the man before me, and the look he used to give me after weeks of being away from home, like I was the first blossom after a long winter.
Just as quickly, a shudder rolls through me as his prone form flashes through my mind. An image of the last time I saw him. His unseeing eyes staring up into the clouds and his body framed with the very garden that kept me company every day he was away.
Noticing the change, the bard takes a step back. Without saying anything, he assesses me trying to find the change. His brow furrows and he puts his hands in his pockets—a hesitance that wasn’t there before coloring the moment.
I try to recapture it, grasping at anything.
“Forgive me—” I don’t recall if Licia ever said his name last night.
As I wait for him to fill in the blank, I notice his features are the very definition of masculine perfection. His chiseled jawline and high cheekbones give the impression he’s been cut from dark stone. His clothing is simple but cut to fit him with precision. At first glance, his shirt is rather plain, but with closer inspection, I notice the intricate embroidery of the same color sewn along the wrists and neckline when he moves. It’s as if he’s wealthier than he lets on. But that must be my imagination. When I glance at my incredibly simple dress, I can imagine he’s probably thinking the opposite about my basic mourning black.
He gives a small bow to introduce himself. As he straightens to his full height, I crane my neck upward to keep eye contact with him.
“Thaddeus. Thaddeus Quicksilver.” His lyrical words swirl around me.
“You play—forgive me, bard—Thaddeus, but you play as if gifted by the stars themselves.” I recover my blundering rather poetically.
“I’d like to think I am,” he says with all the assurance of one who has indeed been gifted by the stars and I can’t help but laugh.
Unfortunately, it doesn’t come out as a pleasant titter of one whose been trained her entire life here at court, but a loud bark of a laugh from someone whose been hungry for conversation for too long. His lips press together, an attempt to stifle his amusement, which only causes my cheeks to redden further. “But I thank you for the compliment, Princess. It’s certainly not all who think so.” He gives another small bow as he says this then takes my hand in his own and brushes the tops of my knuckles with a gentle kiss. And with the soft way his lips brush my hand, my thoughts drift to what those lips would feel like brushing their way down my neckline. How with each exhale, his breath would tickle across my skin. And with his gaze still on my own, I can feel the blush rising along said neckline and further into my cheeks .
His cool touch sends a zing from my fingertips to my toes, breaking my revery. He flips my hand over and traces the lines on my palm. As his touch pauses on the twin fresh scars, I have to fight the overwhelming feeling to pull my hand away, knowing that he couldn’t possibly guess what the lines are from. But does he pause a moment too long? Or is this my imagination?
I should just thank him and continue down to the healer’s ward. I can’t take much more of this embarrassment I continue to heap upon myself. With my gaze locked on the space between my knuckles where his kiss lingers, I try to find the simple words I can say and then be on my way.
“Thank you for last night.” Easy and straightforward.
Except the gleam returning in his eyes says my words are anything but. And I know Licia’s description of him is more than accurate. There’s something about him that screams for me to turn and run. But I can’t help but bite the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling.
“I couldn’t leave once I was involved. I’m involved now.”
“I was just tired from a day of travel.” I feel the need to defend why I was in such a state.
“Of course, being on the road for any length of time is exhausting. Especially by carriage. The stuffy box gets old when there’s little to look at. I’d much rather take it all in by horseback, if I may be so bold.” He moves toward the window as he says this, looking out across the expanse of the boxwoods lining the garden and the road beyond that leads out of the gates of Merula and beyond.
I try to imagine riding horseback all that way. It seems daunting, but for other reasons. But could it also be invigorating? Some of the best days at the cottage were when I had crops to share and would spend the day riding around the mountainside to our closest neighbors. The wind dancing through my hair, the rhythmic clomping of Navi, covering ground faster than I can take in—the experience was always uplifting.
“All the golden hues are riveting. And when they start to mix with dusk, it's a veritable treat.” His bright smile matches the light in his eyes. I wouldn’t have guessed he’d have so much to say about the countryside. It almost makes me feel as if I took the ride back to the castle for granted. But my thoughts on this ride in particular were heavier than the golden rays of autumn.
“I’ve never seen the countryside through such an artistic lens. The way you speak of shades of gold and dusk is the same way you sing your songs.”
“It’s just where I’m from, there’s not much color.”
“You’re from the north?” The only place I can think of without color is where it snows relentlessly and the land is covered in layers upon layers of ice. Something I’ve only seen from afar.
“Yes, I’m originally from Freathia. But, as a bard, I’ve traveled all over the realm.”
“It’s never snowed here in Merula,” I say as I look out toward the farmers’ fields, remembering how brilliant the shades of gold were there as I rode through. A smile tugs at my mouth, perhaps I’ve a little artist within me as well; I just hadn’t realized it before.
“What do you find so amusing?”
“Your artistry is contagious, it appears.” I look past him out the window. The colors brilliantly meld together in a way I’ve never noticed before.
A comfortableness settles between us that wasn’t here moments before. Something I haven’t felt in so long. But something I shouldn’t and can’t explore for more reasons than I can count, it seems.
Backing away, I attempt to make my excuses to leave. “I’m sorry for interrupting your practice, I heard your playing and just wanted to thank you. I’m headed down to the healer’s ward.”
“Are you ill?” A look of concern clouds his sharp features as he looks me up and down, searching for the cause of my ailment.
“I’m fine. I just… helping the healing. I mean—” I can feel my cheeks redden once again; the comfortable feeling dissipating with my stumbling. “I help heal those in the ward. It’s been a while, and I was headed there until I heard you playing,” I manage to get out, taking a small step back in preparation to exit the room.
“You’re a healer then?” he asks, the now familiar uneven smile across his lips growing.
“Yes. I mean, no. I mean, yes, if it was up to me, then I would be. But of course.” My arms flail before me, trying to illustrate what I mean, but coming up about as successful as my words. “Of course, I can't.”
“Well, I’m sure there’s more to you than first meets the eye, Princess.” The way he mocks my title is both infuriating and refreshing. I haven’t felt like a princess these past years in the mountains. But when he says it, it’s as if he means it. He returns to strumming his four-string, watching as I make my exit.
Unsure of a proper response to such a statement, I nod and quickly turn to go. Then, turn once more. “I look forward to hearing you play some more, Thaddeus.”
He looks up from his instrument, and his pale green eyes pierce me with their lightness. “And I would play for you anytime, Princess.”
My eyes widen and I turn to go before he can see my response. I’ve never been good at hiding my feelings. Especially when I can feel the blush rise along my cheeks as sure as the sun. Once more, I find myself astonished by the way my body responds to him—a traitorous reaction that stirs something deep within me. It’s as if I’ve been transported back to my youth, where emotions swirl uncontrollably, leaving me both exasperated and exhilarated. This intoxicating blend of feelings is a reminder of the thrill of desire, a sensation that is as maddening as it is invigorating.
I stop just outside the door, taking in slow breaths to regain my composure while he continues to pick haphazardly across the strings in a light and playful way. Stars above, that is—he is—I can't even gather my thoughts quickly enough. I press myself against the wall, letting his light song bring comfort and calm before I step into the bustle of the healer’s ward.
Bold is the first word that comes to mind. He’s bold in a way I’ve never experienced. Not like father’s take-what-is-mine boldness. Or Killian’s grown-up-royal boldness. Not bold in the way Licia knows she’s beautiful, nor in the way Avicii knew he was so powerful.
At the thought of Avicii again, I look down at the mourning black of my dress. The embarrassment floods my features all over again. My shameful body. How could it respond in such a way to someone not even weeks after my husband died?
A small, insistent part of my mind reminds me that even with Avicii, my body never responded like it does from the small touches and almost-smiles from Thaddeus. Avicii never looked at me the way Thaddeus does. Like he wants to lay me down in front of a burning fireplace and slowly undress me, watching the way the firelight plays against my skin before he devours me from neck to navel.
Now, my body and my mind defy me. I can't fall for him—the very bard Licia warned against. He’s dangerous. He feels dangerous. The very air around him crackles and drips with danger. But, stars help me, that’s one of the reasons I’m so drawn to him. Avicii was so safe, and look where that got me. But now is not the time for me to get wrapped up in another man.
I’m a widow in mourning. And apparently promised to the king of Etos. I know what’s expected of me. I know my place in this game. Why doesn’t my body fall in line?
The memories of Avicii and of Thaddeus’ light touch threaten to return so I push against the stone wall separating me and Thaddeus, propelling myself away from the thoughts that haunt me and toward my place of solace.
Soon, the familiar fresh scent of sun-bleached sheets fills my lungs and washes a much-needed calmness over me. The tall windows are thrown open to let in the cool sunlight and the crisp, autumn air.
On my way into the wide open room, I grab an old apron in an attempt to keep my gown clean. The rows of beds along the perimeter of the room are mostly empty this morning, except for a few people still asleep.
Healers move around the room with strident purpose. Between their bustling forms I soon spot a tall frame I know well. She’s draped in layers of blue drooping fabric and her silver hair is piled messily on the crown of her head, flopping with each move she makes. Her eyes are a bright, earthy green, a color so rich I always thought they held a whole treasure trove of knowledge. Her small, pointy nose gives her a childish appearance despite her years, starkly contrasting the many wrinkles lining her eyes. She spots me and moves my way. Her arms are laden down with bandages and small jars of herbs, so I grab a few to lighten her load.
“My sweet Rowandine! You’re a sight for these old eyes.” She wraps her now free hands around me, clasping my face in her hands, and looking me up and down. “Ten years is too long to go without my best apprentice. And the happiest of birthdays, my dear.”
I bask in the warmth of her embrace. The familiar smell of cinnamon and herbs wrap around me, lightening my load if for just one moment. “I’ve missed you so, Thaliya. And I can’t thank you enough for the seeds and supplies you sent me with on my wedding day. I would’ve been completely lost if it wasn’t for you. Who knew I’d be up in the hills of Merula for so long?”
She assesses me; her hard gaze speaking volumes. She knew—it would appear—and did not agree with how Avicii whisked me away. At the time I thought it was terribly romantic, but now—I know better.
“Well, thank the blessed stars we have you back in one piece. And you always seem to appear just when I need you,” she says, wrapping an arm around my shoulder and turning with me, gesturing toward the bare shelves against the wall. “Take these and restock the shelves, and then you can work alongside me until you find your footing once again.”
I carry the handful over toward the shelves but as I walk past the backdoor, I barely miss colliding with a screaming woman who barrels in with a young child in her arms. I’m closest to the door, so the woman shoves the small girl into my arms. The dried herbs and supplies spill everywhere and are instantly forgotten. The woman’s frantic screams follow me as I rush toward the closest bed with the weight of the limp child weighing down each hurried step.