TWENTY #2
As I walk down the hallway, it’s as quiet as it was when I ventured through last night. The wooden floor and emerald walls bask in the morning sun, streaming through glass panels embedded in the ceiling. Light cascades in a waterfall of golden rays pooling at my feet.
Intricate carvings of rich gold adorn the arches above each door, their details more than decorative scribbles conveying a message in a dialect I can’t read.
“By the sun, life it wields…
“Under the moon, we dance in fields…
“Through balance, Nature heals,” Aed’s voice purrs in my mind. Of course, he can read it. I make a mental note to thank him later.
The walls are bare, which I assumed them to be when my fingertips dragged across them in the dark. No family portraits or art pieces hang from them, nothing to make this resemble a lived-in home.
The large double doors I hid behind are still open, as is a concealed door covered in wallpaper beside them. My finger traces along the edge of the new door. The wallpaper is like velvet, but the edge is sharp. My eyes strain to see into the dark expanse beyond it.
Odhran’s amused chuckle rolls through the double doors and settles in my tightening chest. The way he’d touched me after pulling me into his lap… he did it to embarrass me, to get a reaction. He went too far, and my ears burn in mortification.
I follow the sound of his voice through the lounge as his words become clearer. I have a role to play if I’m to escape from this place, if I’m to keep my word and free Laoise.
“Sloan, for fuck’s sake, stop inhaling your food,” he complains. “You can’t possibly taste what you’re consuming.”
“You know you’re wasting your time.” Eadan sighs. My heartbeat is too loud as I approach the dining room. Pull yourself together. My jaw aches with tension. Sucking in a breath, I step into their line of sight.
Eadan reclines in a high-back dining chair, picking her nails with the sharp tip of a small golden knife.
All the confidence I felt when I saw my reflection in the mirror completely evaporates when their eyes focus on me.
I don’t allow it to show. Schooling my expression into one as cold as ice, I meet each of their gazes, one by one.
Eadan, Sloan, Odhran, and a man I haven’t met before are all seated around a large oak table. Their eyes rake over me from head to toe. All except Odhran, whose back faces me instead. Anger will be my strength. My hands clench into fists at my side.
“Don’t be rude,” a third voice, sweet like honey, says from somewhere in the kitchen.
As if materialising out of thin air, the owner gracefully rounds the corner, wearing a smile so radiant it could blind her enemies.
She has dark purple skin, which glows softly under the light, and her hair, flowing like liquid amethyst, shimmers with every movement.
Playfully, she slaps Sloan behind his head, her touch gentle yet commanding, while her entirely white eyes stare down at him.
“She is a lesser faerie. They are subservient to the high fae. Harmless. Clawless,” Aed answers, sensing my unspoken question. “Another pet.”
“Where are your manners?” She narrows her eyes at Sloan, turning her head to show her pointed ears with tufts of purple fur on their tips.
“Cut it out!” he protests. “She’s not my guest.”
A chair scrapes across the floor, reverberating through the room. My head snaps toward the sound. Odhran. His silent command is clear as he pulls the chair from the table, not bothering to look at me. My lips press together as he continues to eat his pastry, oblivious to the tension between us.
I fixate on the back of his head, a tempting target from where I stand.
However, I know it would be foolish to act on such impulses.
An aroma of warm, buttery dough fills the air, making my mouth water.
The table is stacked with an array of delicacies—tartlets, pastries, rolls, fruits, salads, and cheeses.
My stomach growls audibly, and I have to swallow the saliva pooling in my mouth.
“Sit,” he commands, his voice grating on my senses. Ignoring him, I march past, refusing to be controlled. The room falls into silence, all eyes fixed on him, not me. Odhran sets aside the remaining half of his pastry, reaching for his glass instead.
Determined to make a point, I take a seat at the opposite end of the table. Sloan laughs, not trying to conceal his amusement, while Odhran’s expression remains anything but entertained.
“I take it back; she should stay,” Sloan says, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms behind his head.
“Did you sleep well?” the lesser faerie asks me. Her words carry a tremor of tension before she clears her throat, almost as though she’s afraid of Odhran. I hate him more because of it.
My eyes remain fixed on Odhran and his silver hair tucked neglectfully behind his pointed ears, which are adorned with a row of black hoops and studs.
“Why didn’t I notice those at the manor?” I ask Aed.
“Because he hid them,” he confirms with a displeased sneer. “Faeries can mask themselves if they wish.”
“Why?” I frown, not noticing the stares I’m earning around the table.
“Because sheep run from wolves if they are not dressed in fleece.”
“I—” I clear my throat. “I slept well.” I keep my voice even. My lie hardens Odhran’s expression as a muscle feathers along his jaw.
I reach for the tray closest to where I sit, filled to the brim with sliced fruit as bright as a rainbow and as shimmering as a sky full of stars. My mouth waters at the sight. They look delicious.
Odhran pulls the tray toward him, out of my reach. “Here,” he says, handing me a plate filled with freshly baked pastries, muffins, and grilled chicken strips instead. “Eat. You have a long day ahead of you.”
“You can’t be serious, Odhran.” Eadan sets down her small knife and rises from her chair to give him a pointed look. “Do you really think she’s worth it? That all the added effort of caring for a human who will only paint a target on our backs is worth it?”
“Easy…” Sloan tells her in a hushed whisper. She pulls away before he can touch her arm.
“You’re free to leave, Eadan, but I won’t allow you back into my home if you do.” Odhran’s voice is a deep murmur filled with warning, making the hairs raise on my arms at the sound.
“Let’s not be rash.” Sloan stands, positioning himself between Odhran and Eadan. “She’s just raising a concern about the human girl. A valid concern.”
“This isn’t about the girl, and she knows it. This is about questioning my authority.” Odhran rises from his seat, his hands splayed out on the table before him.
“Alright,” she says, raising both hands in surrender. “I’d love for you to prove me wrong.”
A door slams in the background, but nobody pays it attention, not until the sound of heavy and persistent steps booms across the wooden floor. “General Odhran.” The male comes to stand a few strides from the table, arms neatly at his sides, feet together.
“Yes.” Odhran’s posture slackens as he backs away from the table.
“You have been summoned, sir.”
“By whom?” He frowns at the younger looking male delivering the message.
“By your father, the king.” The young man nods, looking straight ahead instead of at Odhran.
“Tell the king I decline his invitation.” He takes his glass from the table and swallows the rest of its contents in one gulp.
“But… sir?” His eyes dart nervously to his general and back to the wall.
“You heard me, soldier. You’re dismissed.”
There’s a moment where no one speaks until the door closes again.
“Poor bastard.” Sloan chuckles. I can’t help but notice the mischievous glint in his eyes as he speaks. “Now he gets to deliver that message to his king. I wonder how it will be received.”
“She needs to train,” Odhran tells his friend. Is it because of what happened at the ball? Or perhaps what I attempted in his study? Maybe both.
“I know how to defend myself,” I say, my words doused in humiliation. My anger grows, fuelled by shame. The only image flashing in my mind is that of last night—his hands on my bare thighs.
“Then you can show me in the courtyard tomorrow.” He steps forward, knuckles whitening as he clenches the edge of the table.
I pay him no attention as he decides to leave, walking through the double doors.
The others follow suit, leaving the room in the opposite direction, only the friendly lesser faerie remaining.
I frown, staring at the plate Odhran placed on the table.
“Be careful what you eat, lovely,” she warns. “Faerie fruit isn’t safe for humans.”
I hesitate, memories of the writings in the book flooding my mind.
She smiles at me, taking a seat across from mine. “These are safe; you don’t need to worry,” she reassures me. “But not these.” She gestures toward the freshly cut fruit out of my reach.
“Why should I believe you?” I ask.
“Because faeries can’t lie,” she replies with a casual shrug of her shoulders, her smile growing even brighter. “I’m àine, by the way.” Her carefree demeanour is enchanting, filling the room with a sense of lightness. In contrast, Odhran is shadow and thunder.
Taking a bite of the small puff pastry, I can’t help but let out a soft moan.
The symphony of textures and flavours practically melt in my mouth.
The balance of savoury and sweet, the satisfying crunch followed by the softness—it’s quite possibly the best pastry I’ve ever had.
With each bite, I can’t help but close my eyes, savouring the moment.