Chapter Twenty-Two #2
He sucks in a breath through his nose. “No, I suppose it doesn’t. But it is a rather long story, so I suppose you ought to
settle in.”
Bram’s voice goes a shade softer, and for the first time since we were married, he sounds like the boy he pretended to be back at Kensington Palace, the one who walked me into a sunlit stable and spoke of magic.
“My mother left the door between our worlds open for the royal family when she fled this place and became queen of England,
you know about that.”
“I do,” I answer quietly.
“Yes, well, I went back and forth rather frequently, in secret, before I puzzled out the marriage element of her original
bargain and permanently joined her court. I’d visit England the way lords check on a seldom-used country home. It satisfied
some sort of nostalgia, and I wanted to see how things were getting on without me. I always planned on taking the reins from
my mother one day, and a good king keeps tabs on things.”
“I understand.”
“But it was lonely, you see. I was stuck wandering the woods like some sort of vagrant, or observing the palace through the
bars of the gates like nothing better than a commoner.”
“That sounds difficult.” Placate. Always placate with Bram.
“Thank you. It was agonizing.”
“I assume it was on one of these visits you found the necklace?”
He cocks his head slightly. “Always so impatient, Lady Ivy.”
I’m not Lady Ivy anymore, but I don’t correct him.
“Visiting England grew tiresome as time went on. Humans used to have a respect for my kind. We were near gods. They’d flock to us, begging for bargains and boons and favors.
They delighted in our music, our revels.
My mother severed that connection and as generations passed, she also removed all evidence of us from libraries and historical records.
People forgot. I was once regarded with awe and reverence, but eventually, no one even lifted their gaze when I walked into a tavern. ”
He takes a deep breath, lost in memory. “My mother’s latest husband’s family had a country estate not far from Oakham. I liked
the feeling of the woods. The trees were nearly as old as I was, and the birdsong quieted as I strolled among them. It was
there that I first found the offering on the edge of the forest. It had been so long since someone had left a gift for me,
it felt like being doused with a bucket of cold water.”
“Unpleasant?”
“No,” he corrects me gently. “It made me feel alive—and what a feeling it was after being numb for so long. Time isn’t always a gift, you must understand. After a while, it becomes
a curse.”
I can picture those woods that he describes so clearly. Our superstitious old cook refused to go in them at all.
“I was desperate to see who made the offering. I watched all day from the tree line. It was twilight when I first saw you.
You came bounding out of the kitchen, just a child, near feral in your white dress and tangled hair. I knew the necklaces
were your idea by the way you ran across the damp lawn to check on them before being sent to bed by your governess. Lydia
appeared moments after you did, but she came through the kitchen door reluctantly and followed you like a beleaguered nursemaid.
Ivy, she called after you. And once I knew your name, I took your necklace.”
I can scarcely breathe, horror dawning on me that he’s been watching me for so long.
I thought I collided with Bram by accident—destructive, but decidedly a matter of bad luck.
To know that by offering my necklace, I called him to me is too much to bear.
I invited the monster into my life, held the door wide open and beckoned him in.
Lydia didn’t want to leave our necklaces on those tree roots.
In chasing a childhood fantasy, I unwittingly doomed us both.
“I thought perhaps you saw me through the trees,” Bram continues. “You paused and scanned the woods. I prayed you’d see me.
But I didn’t dare reach out. You were only a child, and I didn’t wish to scare you. I watched your family for the rest of
the day. You wailed as your mother ordered your cook to burn your book of faeries, and I resolved to track down another copy
for you.”
Faeries of the British Isles. I thought it was so romantic when he gifted it to me during our courtship, but now the thought is stomach-turning.
“I knew it wasn’t yet time for me to make my reappearance at court, but I resolved to find you once I did.”
“Why?” I ask, scarcely above a whisper. “It was only a necklace. A child’s folly.”
“No.” Bram shakes his head where it rests against the pillow. “It was more than that. You were the first human in centuries
to make me an offering. You respected me. You knew I was special.”
“I was playing in the garden with my sister.”
“It was more than that. You know it was,” he snaps. His voice is heated. Placate. I need to placate him.
“Of course it was, darling,” I soothe. I don’t ask him to continue, but after a moment, he does anyway.
“I kept tabs on you through your upbringing. I’d check in every few years, peer through a window or from across a garden to make sure you were doing well.
When I finally conceived of the plan to unseat my mother, I timed my arrival at court to coincide with your coming-of-age.
I engineered it so that the season I would announce my intentions to find a wife would be the same year you turned eighteen.
I was delighted when Lydia first arrived at the castle here, you know.
From across the room, I thought she was you.
You always did look so alike. Imagine my disappointment when I realized I’d have to make do with the other sister. But Lydia
is special, too, in her own way, and in time I grew fond of her. I figured I could marry her here and not have to deal with
all the tedious business of a royal wedding back in England. I was disappointed when my marriage to her didn’t break my mother’s
bargains and end her rule, but some part of me was relieved, too. It was always meant to be you, Ivy. I’ve known it from the
first moment I saw you.”
I’m in shock, thinking of me and Emmett last spring, all our careful planning. We were so foolish. “So, I never needed to
beg you to run away with me?”
He lets out a sharp laugh. “I thought I was going to have to beg you.”
He reaches down and trails his fingertip over the gold-and-pearl ring I wear on my pointer finger. He once wore it on his
pinkie, before gifting it to me during my season. At first, I treasured it as evidence of his affection, but in the months
since, I haven’t dared to take it off for fear of angering him. I wear it on the same hand as my rose-cut engagement ring
and gold wedding band.
The seed pearl set in the middle of the gold glows softly in the moonlight.
My stomach drops. It’s all I can do to stay here, still and listening, when I want to run from the room and vomit my guts
up.
“You’re saying this is—” I can’t complete the sentence.
Bram nods, as reverent as I’ve ever seen him. “It’s the pearl from your necklace. We’ve been connected this whole time.”
Bram doesn’t wait for me to say anything further. His eyes drop closed and he leans in to kiss me. His cool hand rests on
the soft side of my neck.
Unable to take it, I spring from bed.
“Why now?” I ask him.
“Because you are mine,” he answers simply.
“I—” I scramble for an excuse. “I have a headache. Another night, please.”
Bram rises smoothly from my bed and dresses swiftly and in silence.
He walks to my door, his face unreadable, then plants a dry kiss on my cheek.
He takes a step back and looks at me, his eyes narrowed. “Of course. Sleep well.”
He shuts the door behind him, and I stand there, frozen, my pulse racing like a jackrabbit’s.
I want to call for a bath or new sheets, but that wouldn’t be very practical, so I grab an ice-blue quilt from the window
seat and lie down on top of my covers.
Everything, even my own skin, feels contaminated by him.
Minutes go by, but sleep does not come.
Then there’s a knock on my door, so soft I think I might have imagined it. But then it comes a second time.
I fear it’s Bram again. Will he believe I’m asleep if I just ignore it?
“Psst, it’s me, Emmett.”
I wrap the quilt around my shoulders and rise from bed.
He’s standing at my threshold, not in his nightclothes, like he usually is, but in a plain white shirt and dark breeches.
He looks worried. “Are you all right? I heard what you said when I knocked earlier.”
I wave him quickly into my room. The relief I feel at his presence rushes through me.
“Bram came for a visit,” I explain.
Emmett’s brows knit together. “What did he want?”
“He asked me to explain what love was to him like he was some sort of child and then he tried to kiss me.”
A look of alarm comes over his face.
“Don’t worry, I shooed him off.”
Emmett’s shoulders drop in relief and he sits down on the edge of my bed.
“I was concerned. I had to make sure you were all right.”
I step closer to him, and he winds his arms around my waist and pulls me down on top of him.
“You seem all right,” he mutters into my ear, sending a shower of sparks down my spine.
“I’m all right now,” I whisper.
His hands grow needier, more insistent as they grip at my thighs and pull my nightdress up around my waist.
He rolls us so he’s spooning me from behind and lavishes kisses in a trail up my neck, then in the tender spot behind my ear.
I arch against him. “I’m tired of your teasing,” I sigh, my body aching for more, always more with Emmett.
“Oh, Ivy. It seems only fair.”
The voice makes me pause. Even the air in my lungs goes still with dread.
I know that voice.
And it’s not Emmett it belongs to.
I don’t want to look behind me, because I know the monster I will see there.
I gather all my bravery and turn.
Bram is in bed behind me, his hair rumpled, his shirt hanging off his tanned shoulders, his face absolutely enraged.
He sucks on his lower lip as he regards me.
I spring from bed and do nothing but stare at him, my breathing ragged.
“So, you’ll whore yourself out for my brother but not for your husband?” he asks, his voice icy with rage.
Hot tears spring to my eyes, but I won’t give him the satisfaction of crying in front of him. He might not understand love,
but he is well acquainted with pain, and he gets so much satisfaction from mine.
“I—” I scramble for an explanation, for anything that will protect Emmett. I don’t care much what happens to me anymore, but
I need him to be safe.
“I thought I was dreaming. You caught me half asleep.”
He tuts his tongue at me like a nursemaid. “You’ll have to do better than that. You’ve been in the Otherworld long enough
that I thought you’d recognize a simple glamour.”
“It’s the truth. What do you know of human sleep?” The lie is thin and he sees right through it.
He laughs, and it’s like the rumble of a storm cloud on the horizon, dark and awful. “More than you, apparently.”
He rises from the bed and puts himself to rights.
As he smooths his hair, he walks toward the door. “We’re going to have such fun at the next trial.”
“Divorce me,” I beg. “Let me go home. Punish me in any way you see fit, but leave my sister and Emmett out of this.”
If I thought it would make a difference, I would drop to my knees in front of him and beg.
He doesn’t break stride. “What fun would that be?” he says, and slams the door behind him.