Chapter Two #2
I bend and help the girl to her feet. She’s petite, her mud-stained dress in tatters. I suspect she’s a few years younger
than me.
“Go home,” I tell her like I told the other man. “Please, I beg of you.”
Her mud-caked hands pull at the mask on her face; the overlarge eyeholes make it look something like a skull. Her own clear
blue eyes are visible through it and she’s crying.
“I can’t,” she wails as she pulls. The mask is enchanted, I realize. Some awful fae tricked her into this game with a bargain.
“He told me I could join the court.” She hiccups. “I can’t even go home. My parents will know I’ve been here. Who will marry
me now?”
I turn to the group around the fire. “Undo it.”
They don’t react.
“I command you. Undo it!” I say louder.
A large man, wearing a child’s christening dress as a scarf, belches, then looks up at me. “That was Westcott’s spell. He’s gone now. Sleeping or something. I don’t know.” Then he takes another sip from his goblet and returns to his conversation.
I’ve wondered, in the months since our wedding, why Bram keeps me around. Why bother with the trouble of making me queen when
he has no intention of being loyal to me, or letting me participate in any official royal business.
Now I suspect it’s because he knew I’d never get any respect from his courtiers. Even with my title and my status, I am utterly
powerless. A joke, even.
Perhaps I am nothing better than Bram’s pet, and he’s enjoying torturing me the same way the fae around these bonfires enjoy
their games. He keeps me close because it’s fun to see me suffer.
It’s either that or he feels some kind of affection for me, but that is even harder to wrap my head around.
There’s a tug at my shoulder and I turn to see Rhion, his handsome face knit into an expression of confusion.
My stomach sinks. Tonight, I was supposed to be perfect. Instead, I’ve made a scene, screamed at Bram’s court, and only further
demonstrated my loyalty to our human subjects.
“My lady, you seem unwell. Let me accompany you home.”
“Oh,” I say weakly. “Yes. Thank you, Rhion.”
I bend down to the girl in the mask and lower my voice to a whisper. “Come see me in the morning. We’ll find Westcott together
and force him to break the bargain.”
She sniffles and Rhion pulls me away.
I cast one last look at the bonfire. The girl is back on her hands and knees as they chase her, the antlers of her mask silhouetted
in the firelight. I don’t know how else to help her. I’ve never felt worse about myself than I do in this moment.
Rhion leaves me at the steps of my home with kisses on both cheeks. Like Bram, his skin is the same temperature as the cool air around us.
“I’m sorry about tonight.” I put on my best act. “I was rather hoping we could become friends. After all, you and my husband
are so close, and we are neighbors.”
Rhion smiles, and it lights up his whole face. “I’d like that as well, Your Majesty. Come call on me in the morning. We can
discuss our newfound friendship over breakfast.”
Breakfast is early for a fae courtier; most don’t wake until late afternoon. He is unusual, indeed.
“I’d be honored,” I reply with a fake smile.
“There’s so much I’ve been meaning to discuss with you, so many human customs I’m desperate to know more about. For instance,
is it usual for a lady-in-waiting to run errands in disguise?”
“I’m sorry?” I ask, confused.
“One of your ladies-in-waiting, the ginger girl. Wears a lot of green?”
“Olive?” I confirm cautiously. I don’t know where this is going, but the curdling feeling in my gut says I won’t like it.
“Why does she leave every morning around eleven wrapped in a drab cloak with a scarf around her face like some kind of beggar?
Is that the fashion? Should I get one?”
“You must be mistaken. At eleven Olive would be at home. We usually meet around luncheon at the Royal Crescent.”
Rhion just shrugs. “Humans!” he says with delight. “I’ll never understand your customs. How thrilling to have so much to learn.”
I walk into the dark of my house in a daze, through the echoing marble foyer and up the stairs.
The maids haven’t left any of the lamps on for me, so I have nothing but moonlight and long shadows to guide my way.
Rhion would have no reason to lie to me about Olive, but I’d be a fool to try to find any logic in the actions of Bram’s court.
I climb another set of stairs to the third floor, but when I open the door to my bedroom, I find a dim library, complete with
spiral staircase.
I sigh. The rooms are always changing. I don’t know if it’s on purpose or something went wrong with the spell used to connect
the town houses in the Royal Crescent.
I try another door and find a sitting room.
Another and it’s a nursery. A slash of moonlight falls over an empty cradle, an old rocking horse.
The third is a plain bedroom. Pushed up against one wall is a twin bed with a neatly pressed blanket. Next to it is a washbowl
and pitcher in bone-white porcelain, set atop a simple table. It’s probably meant for a member of staff, but I’m too exhausted
to keep looking, so I fall onto the rough blanket of the single bed.
I’m nearly asleep when the sound of breathing startles me.
“Who is there?” I call.
No answer comes.
Outside, a gust of wind ruffles the dry leaves clinging to autumn tree branches.
There’s a thump under the bed.
I lean down, heart in my throat, to find Pig, cowering. He looks as sorry as I feel, his tiny little body quaking with fear.
He doesn’t like this new, strange house, doesn’t like the fae either. He barks every time one of them walks past my door.
He must have gotten lost when the rooms shifted and couldn’t find his way back to my chambers either.
“Come here,” I say softly. He burrows under the blankets and curls up against my side. I stroke his furry little head and let the tears flow down my cheeks.
I can’t shake the feeling that Emmett would know what to do if he were here.
I miss him like a physical wound.
If Emmett and Lydia are in the Otherworld, as I suspect, I fear I may be running out of time.
Are their lives racing ahead like sand through a sieve while I plot and plan too slowly here? What good will rescue be if
my sister is an old woman once I finally achieve it? Has Emmett spent years without me? Am I only a distant memory of some
ill-fated young love? I can’t think too hard about it or I’ll lose hope, and hope is all I have.
I clutch Pig to my chest, and together, we face another lonely night.