Prologue #2
“Lady Cassandra—” Rowen called out to the girl, and she turned around. “How would you like to see the most beautiful spot in all of your fairy kingdom here in Gloucestershire?”
“The most beautiful spot?”
“I think it is.”
“Then it must be so,” added Tristan.
“Come, I’ll take you. There’s a secret pathway just north of here. It’s not far.”
The girl’s back straightened, and she followed Rowen and Tristan. Rowen found the path, and soon enough, they had hiked uphill and finally reached their destination. Clouds had begun to settle over them in the sky, and a mist formed over the limestone temple.
The girl let out a gasp at the round, colonnaded structure rising high on the hill. Lady Cassandra ran up the stone steps and slid a small hand around a Roman column. She darted to the next one.
“Careful! The stones are damp and slippery here,” warned Tristan.
“Is this an ancient temple of the fairies or is it Diana’s?” she asked as she swung around each and every column.
Rowen didn’t want to disappoint the girl with the truth. His great-grandfather had this austere temple built as a monument to his self-importance. This was no artificial “folly” meant to inspire feelings of romanticism or delight. It had been built to declare and dominate.
“We call it the Hawk’s Crown,” he said, pointing to the stone tablet at the base of the dome. “You see up there, the crown of oak leaves with a hawk at the centre?”
She glanced at it briefly, but it did not seem to inspire her imagination. She entered the hollow interior and shouted out, enjoying the echo of her voice.
Rowen let out a laugh. “Come, Lady Cassandra. Stand here with us. I wish to show you something.” Tristan took his sister’s hand and they went to Rowen. “From here you can see down to the lake and the house.”
“Such a grand house,” she whispered to her brother. “Think of the naval battles we could have in that lake…”
Rowen led them around the temple to the other side. “And from this vantage point…”
“Oh…” the girl said.
“Beautiful,” agreed Tristan.
Rowen took in the steep valley that stretched out before them, resplendent with blooming hedgerows, their soft whites and burning golds woven through the rich green hills. In the far distance, the winding silvery thread of the River Severn caught the light. “Is it not magnificent?”
“From here, you can drink in the majesty of this earth,” Tristan murmured.
Rowen’s pulse quickened. He had known this view his whole life, yet seeing it now reflected in their wonder sent a charge through him. Exciting and, yet, unsettling.
“It is indeed,” whispered Lady Cassandra. “Here, I feel like a true fairy.” Grinning, she looked up at her brother. He put a hand on her back and straightened her fairy wings. She skipped around the columns once more, singing to herself.
Rowen dug his hands into his pockets. “When will you return, Tristan?”
“Couldn’t say.” Tristan leaned back against a column, his gaze still on the Severn. “I don’t think one can make any sort of plans in this line of work.”
“Quite…” Rowen took his hands out of his pockets. The rose petals that Lady Cassandra had pressed into his palm were still there. He crushed them, the scent rising from his fingers, green and sharp.
“I would endeavour to ask you a favour. If you could check in on Cassandra? Enquire after her from time to time?”
“Ah.”
“My uncles, of course, dote on her, and she has her governess. I have become her legal guardian, and yet…” Tristan’s voice broke, and Rowen grit his teeth at the ache in the sound. “I’ll be so very far away. But it can’t be helped.”
Rowen swallowed hard. “I understand. Of course. You have my word.”
“Good.” Tristan let out a breath, his shoulders easing. “That is of great relief and comfort to me.”
Rowen forced a laugh from between his lips. “Breathe easy, man.”
Tristan’s eyes seemed to bore into his. “It’s you I trust, Rowen. You, above my uncles. More than her governess. Above anyone. My sister is most dear to me. The most precious…” Tristan dug a hand through his hair that had come loose from its tie.
“Yes, of course she is.” Rowen stiffened at Tristan’s flare of emotion, the sudden tremor in his voice. It settled on his chest like a heavy slab of stone, and he shifted his weight.
The girl sang to herself as she swung around a column, another wildflower in her hand.
“I shan’t forget this, Rowen. Not ever.” Tristan squeezed Rowen’s shoulder, his broad smile brightening his face like it always used to. “I shall write when I can.”
“Yes, do. And if there’s anything I can do to help your endeavours, you have only to ask.”
“I shall. I thank you.”
Rowen cleared his throat. “Good thing we came out for practice today, as you are severely lacking—”
“Shut up, my lord.”
They both laughed.
“Can we stay here forever?” Cassandra’s clear voice rang out.
“You’d like that, would you?” Rowen asked.
“I would.” She lifted her face and took in a deep breath, her eyes closed. “Our very own kingdom. We have the woods across there, and here we have the clouds, and the river in the distance…far away from everyone.”
“Unfortunately, it’s not our kingdom. This is my father’s land, ” stated Rowen.
“Oh.” Stumbling, Cassandra straightened herself.
Rowen felt that familiar tightening in his limbs. The estate was beautiful—but it required. Demanded. Most especially from him.
“This is Oakley property, Cassie,” said Tristan. “You mustn’t be caught poaching or hunting here.”
“Indeed, Lady Cassandra,” murmured Rowen. “All the fairies, even the goddess Diana herself, must pay a price if they are caught.”
A shaft of light broke through the trees, and a breeze scattered the tall grasses around the step where the girl stood, surveying the land. “How awful. To what monstrous ogre must we pay this price?”
Rowen laughed darkly.
“Cass!” chided her brother, but Cassandra only let out a scoff, ran down the stone steps and up higher on the grassy hill, her wings flopping and bouncing behind her, her hair flying.
“She’s right, Tristan. The Duke of Oakley always has a price.”