Chapter 3 Paeonia #2
She sat at the whoosh of a crackling fire, the room cast in an orange glow, her nose lingering with the scent of burning wood.
She blinked several times, stunned, before slithering off the bed, stumbling as she moved hastily, dragging the duvet with her.
She huddled before the fire, wrapped in her blanket, her nose finally thawing.
She wondered if she was simply dreaming of the warmth.
After falling asleep, and not long after, she was awoken by a grumbling that shook the castle. Then the fire went out.
“No,” she whispered.
Before she could sulk further, a scream—a masculine scream—echoed outside her door. It sounded faint, but unquestionably coming from within the castle. She sank back against the ground, shaking as she huddled in her duvet before the smoking fireplace.
She didn’t hear another cry, but the harrowing sound reverberated in her head, and each time, the scream sounded more horrific.
The image of Rowan’s hand wrapped around Barth’s neck started her. What if Barth had come for her and that was his scream she heard?
On shaky legs, she approached the door, but when she turned the knob, it didn’t budge. She tried to rationalize with herself that it was all in her mind, that she had fabricated the yell of terror from exhaustion.
She curled back up on the floor by the hearth, willing her thoughts away from the scream, too scared to even wonder what could have caused it if she hadn’t conjured it in her mind.
As expected, she did not sleep well that night.
The sun rising over the horizon, the cool light glazing over the worn floorboards of her room, stirred her from her fitful sleep.
She was still tired, but too on edge to fall back asleep.
A small click sounded by the door, and she hastily stood.
When no one entered, she cautiously tiptoed over and turned the handle—unlocked.
She bit her lip as she opened the heavy door, sticking her head out into the hall and looking both ways.
The walls were smoothed over with a crimson wallpaper that had faded with time, peeling and showcasing the wood beneath in clipped fragments. Cobwebs clung in the corners, their silk muted.
She tilted her head, the walls bearing imprints of picture frames—ones that had hung for decades if the amount of collected dust and sun staining was any indication. She traced her hand along the space, her fingers collecting the dust, the walls oddly warm to the touch.
“Stars,” she muttered to herself, faced with several hallways and a spiraling staircase that she never remembered passing.
She hadn’t the faintest idea how to navigate the castle.
Sconces lit the halls, most of them burnt out, the wax dripping onto the floor.
She decided to follow only the lit flames.
She crept down the halls, almost entirely forgetting her entrapment, the castle filled with decayed beauty around every turn.
Sculptures that were weathered with time, left uncared for.
Even the sconces were intricately forged.
She stretched as she passed one, letting her finger steal the dust on it, revealing a shiny gold surface beneath.
Why had the castle been so uncared for? Was this fae the only one living here?
The revelation startled her. She hadn’t thought of other beings residing in the castle until now. It sure was large enough. Suddenly, wandering the halls, unaware of how to get back to her room, felt like another one of her foolish ideas.
She halted her steps when she passed a silver door, its surface carved with a winter rose.
She reached for the handle without thinking, attempting to twist the doorknob, but it didn’t budge.
When she removed her hand, her eyes still on the knob, she gasped.
Rusted burgundy stained the crystal. Blood that had long since dried.
Loud thumping echoed down the hall into the dark shadows. Footsteps were approaching her. Large footsteps. She scurried back the way she came, tripping over her skirts in the mad dash.
She hid behind a drape, pressing her body flat against the window, the footfalls having quieted. Then she thought she heard a whisper.
“This is not good,” a soft woman’s voice said.
“Not good at all,” a man responded, his voice like a shiver from the wind.
“Quit hiding, girl,” a new, closer voice spat.
Paeonia jumped, darting out from her hiding spot, faced with an empty hallway. One night she had been here, and she had already gone mad.
It took her several more agonizing minutes, jumping at the smallest of sounds, to reach the main floor. The morning light shone in through the frosted glass doors, and she released a sigh of relief.
She glanced over her shoulder at the familiar, handsome sound of a piano. The beats were slightly out of tune, but the rich notes echoed softly through the rooms. She traced the harmony like one might follow a bread trail, only to find the piano in the adjacent room lonely, no pianist in sight.
“I could’ve sworn…” she mumbled.
“Already making yourself at home?” an acquainted, deep voice said from behind her.
She jumped again, hating her erratic heartbeat, to face Rowan.
She tilted her head, examining him from several feet away as he leaned against a crumbling pillar.
He looked different than she remembered from the prior night.
His face remained scarred, his hair still disheveled and curly, and his height was still frightening.
But he didn’t appear as…angry. He looked like a person, sans the pointed ears and unnaturally large stance.
He wore an unbuttoned, loose overcoat as if the cold winter air didn’t bother him.
His hair was dark, gleaming a bit golden-brown in the light now that it wasn’t hidden by the dusk.
It was overgrown, curling just behind his ears.
His deep skin radiated something otherworldly, but not as she thought fae would appear.
She had always been told fae were ethereal, stunning, and could seduce a human by just glancing at them.
That it almost hurt to gaze upon their beauty.
But Rowan wasn’t beautiful—at least not how she knew the term.
He didn’t have a glowing cast pooling around him, nor did he wear excessive jewelry or clothes.
And his hair was short and curled, quite the opposite of the fae she imagined with long, silky locks.
He wasn’t lean and lithe; he was heavy-built and foreboding.
“No…I…I’m sorry. I had gotten lost, and I—”
“Come,” he said sternly, cutting her ramblings short. He pushed himself away from the wall and opened the garden doors, escorting her out to where he had captured her last night.
She walked silently in his shadow. When she began to descend the steps to the garden, she marveled at the expansiveness of it. It was far more monumental in broad daylight.
The garden stretched endlessly, a labyrinth of shadowed hedges and silver-tipped blooms that shimmered even beneath clouded skies.
Vines draped like lace from archways of bone-white stone, and black-petaled roses climbed the wrought-iron fences with quiet hunger.
Despite the darkness that clung to its edges, there was whimsy in the curling paths and glass-winged moths that drifted through the air like falling stars.
It felt half-forgotten, half-awake—an echo of something once sacred, still dreaming in thorns.
“It’s beautiful.”
He grunted a sound of annoyance before turning to face her. “You are to tend to the garden every morning. Not a single flower is to wither or die.”
She swallowed. “If one does?” she asked meekly.
“Not a single flower is to wither or die,” he repeated, his words pronounced and final.
She glanced at the gardens, a rather warm winter breeze shifting her skirts, still in yesterday’s gown.
The gardens were comprehensive, trailing beyond where her eyes could see.
“It’s so big,” she muttered to herself, worried it would be too large an area for one person to tend to.
She met his black eyes, his expression bored.
“I’m sure you’ll manage.”
He turned like he was about to leave, and Paeonia forced herself to take a step in his direction. He seemed taken aback, and her hand that had outstretched toward him reared to her side.
“How did you know I’d be a good gardener?”
His jaw clenched. “You’re asking me to explain fae magic to you?”
She blushed. She hadn’t any idea how magic worked, not thinking it even existed until now, but with the way he spoke, it sounded like deciphering her abilities to be a mundane skill for fae. She hoped the chilly wind would suffice in disguising her flippant embarrassment.
“You can tell what I’m good at with your magic?”
He stiffened. “In a way, yes. But, just by looking at you”—he appraised her simple, self-made frock—“I’d be right in assuming your proficiency in…agriculture.”
She nodded, heat rising to her cheeks. She tried to shift the conversation. “I…I’m still trying to digest the fact that fae exist.”
He laughed, but it lacked warmth. “You humans are so oblivious.”
She wanted to ask him how he did not know humans thought fae a long-forgotten myth. Did he stay reclused in the castle? Had he never ventured beyond his property? Wouldn’t he have discovered humans in shock of fae by now?
“I mean, there are myths about the fae. Making bargains…” Her voice trailed off, her eyes settling on his, thinking about her own deal.
“So set on keeping us hidden,” he muttered.
“Us? There are more of you?”
“Do I also have to explain how mating works? Fae reproduce with the same sexual instinct as humans—”
“No!” She shook her head several times. “No, I just didn’t know so many of you still wandered this realm.” Her words were a faint whisper, too timid to speak any louder.
That seemed to anger him. He stood taller, his face remaining stoic, but his eyes narrowed. “Does that notion bother you?”
She genuinely considered him for a moment. “I don’t think so.”