Chapter 6 Paeonia
?PAEONIA
The next morning, another dress was laid out for her. She stroked her fingers down the soft velvet of it, the violet shade dull.
She started when Ren entered her rooms, the Stoneborne acting how Paeonia imagined a handmaiden would. She allowed her assistance, grateful for the company, though she wasn’t used to someone helping her dress—or possessing intricate enough dresses to require assistance in the first place.
Ren’s hands made contact with her skin as she helped her into her gown, Paeonia surprised at her warm touch, not cold like she imagined her stone flesh to be.
She thought of Castor, the Stoneborne she met last night, and how oddly similar their encounter was to her and Rowan’s. She was curious to know how Castor managed to get here, in Rowan’s castle. How all of the Stoneborne got here.
“Have you always lived here?” Paeonia asked Ren.
“Heavens, no!” she laughed.
“Then…can I ask why you’re here? Why this castle with this fae?”
“You can. But it doesn’t mean I’ll answer.” Ren’s words were soft and gentle; she wasn’t trying to be rude. Ren slid a necklace around Paeonia’s neck, a baby-blue gem hanging from a silver chain that sat in layer with her locket.
“Why does he insist on dressing me up so much?” Paeonia asked, holding the gem in her hand as she stared in the mirror.
“It’s not so much as Rowan wishing it, as just not wanting everything that had been left behind to go to waste.”
Paeonia arched a brow.
“When the fae left—well, more than just Rowan used to live here—and when they fled Lyth, they left most of their things behind.”
“Why did they flee?” Paeonia spun to face Ren.
“Have you ever heard of the Fae War?”
Paeonia bit her lip, shaking her head. She knew the myth of the fae, how they had long since left, her memory foggy with the details of the war that ensued. But of course, she always thought it fact tangled with myth, not an entirely true historical event.
“Hm,” Ren hummed. “Well, almost two hundred years ago, the Gleam and Grim Fae fought.
The Gleam Fae had all been slaughtered. And after that, the Grim Fae had no more use for Lyth, their need for the human realm at an end.
And so, they departed, leaving the sorrow and dwindling magic behind to sour.
“They got their magic from the forest, from nature, as I’m sure you’ve figured out. And even though humans like to repress fae history, I’m sure it’s clear that the forest is unwell.”
Paeonia nodded, thinking of her father and how sick he had become.
“The Grim Fae foresaw that, knowing their magic would blacken. So, they left, never to return.”
Ren smiled, her slate eyes sparkling with sympathy, like she was attempting to tell her something without words.
“And, what does that mean for Rowan?” He was Grim Fae. Would his magic not be connected to the forest? Though, he did inform her that his being was tethered to the garden, so maybe he didn’t need the forest.
Ren hummed. “His magic is weak—weaker than it should be. He used to be much more powerful. But his tether to his garden helps him stay grounded. Stay alive.”
She bit at her fingernail.
“Though, that seems to be blackening too, I’m afraid.”
“You think the forest’s malaise is spreading beyond just that of the trees?”
“No. The garden darkens for…other reasons.”
Ren eyed her in the mirror’s reflection. And before Paeonia could inquire more, Ren urged her out of her bedroom.
Paeonia arrived at the gardens again after having another Stoneborne she had never met prior lead her.
“Do you know where Rowan is?” Paeonia asked the servant.
He shook his head and took off.
She sighed, the icy green glow from last night’s dew inviting. She tucked her fur coat tighter around her shoulders, secured her gloves, and stepped into the frigid air that hit her face at full force. She blinked several times to try and keep her eyes from watering. Winter had begun.
She let the morning sun dance on her skin, tucking her hair behind her ear before she slid the shears from her pocket and began trimming a marigold bush beside her, careful to only prune the dead leaves.
After several long minutes of pruning, she stretched her sore muscles and stood upright.
She smiled at her work, the yellow starburst flower buds opening wider in the sun, the sage leaves soft and fuzzy.
She faced the rest of the garden and her smile slowly sank—shifting entirely into a frown.
How on earth was Paeonia supposed to maintain this undivided garden by herself?
The garden was enormous. Paeonia thought that even the royal garden in Ephemeral couldn’t have competed with Rowan’s.
Though not decadent in opulent trimmings and gilded fencing, it still radiated a haunting beauty.
The billowing fog and webs that cast from the trees, the crumbling stone walls and broken gates, the depths of hazardous wells and moss-ridden statues—all making a sense of wonderment. A fairy tale.
So how was Paeonia going to mend the garden each day?
To make sure the hundreds of different bushes and flowers remained well-kept?
To keep an eye on the trees for fruition and harvesting, or when they needed honey fertilizer to strengthen them during the lacking winter?
She huffed, her hands settling on her hips, the water from her eyes freezing in her lashes.
“Inquiring about my whereabouts?” Rowan grumbled behind her.
She didn’t jump when she heard his voice, but the fae still took her by surprise. She began to prune the adjacent bush to keep her eyes and hands busy. “Yes.”
He swallowed a breath, malevolence growing in his voice. “Dare I ask why?”
Her fingers tickled the bottom of a rose petal before slithering behind the stem and cutting away a withered leaf.
This was her chance to ask him a question.
A question she didn’t need a true answer to, but an answer, nonetheless.
She tried to hum faintly to pretend she wasn’t still frightened by his presence.
“I wanted to ask you something.”
His feet shifted in her periphery.
“Why are the Stoneborne here?”
“You called for me to ask why the Stoneborne exist?”
“I didn’t call for you,” she said meekly. She didn’t hold that sort of power. “I can’t call for you. I just asked someone where you were. I would have come to you—”
Rowan gruffed. “Enough of these pretenses.” When Paeonia cringed at his candor, he commanded, “Look at me.”
Her shears fell to her side as she spun to face Rowan.
Today, he donned a black, weathered overcoat, clearly worn countless times.
He had a gray linen beneath, hastily buttoned and thus stopping midway, exposing his chest and peppered hair.
She shivered just looking at his exposed skin.
His hair was a mess like it always seemed to be, and he didn’t appear to have been shaving, his stubble growing darker each time she saw him.
His irritation brewed visibly under the surface, like he was attempting civility but couldn’t be bothered to last more than a few measly seconds.
“You take fae as fools? Stupid, brainless beasts?”
Her face sank, and her heart began to race. All this from her one question? “I…” she stuttered, confused at his anger.
“You left your rooms.”
Oh.
“Only to—”
“I had told you to stay put,” he swore. His cadence rattled her. “You like to disobey. To infringe on your hosts.” A statement, not a question.
Paeonia shook her head.
“Humans who violate my rules—” he said softly, a shiver clawing at her spine, “guests who impose on their host’s requests—do not go without punishment. Or shall I just treat this as you breaking our bargain?”
“No, please. I don’t know what came over me,” she told him in earnest. “I swear I never intended to insult your hospitality! I’ll never leave my rooms at night again,” she pleaded.
His eyes went dark as he glared at her. Her pulse throbbed in her ears, feeling small. This is why she never defied, why she should have listened to the terrifying fae that kept her locked in his castle.
When he spoke, she could feel it in her stomach. “So eager to break the one rule I gave you,” he began, “almost getting yourself killed by the fucking Eldritch. And you have barely been here two days.” Disbelief lingered in his voice.
Her breath hitched in her throat, and she leaned flat against the stone wall behind her, wishing the cobblestones would absorb her.
“Troublesome human.”
A term she had never been accused of before. Paeonia, troublesome? If her father was here, he’d have burst out laughing.
“You want to come out at night? Can’t stand your torturous room with a feathered bed and servants to wait on you? Who bring you pretty new dresses”—his gaze traced her body, and she stopped breathing—“and give you polished jewelry to wear.”
She shook her head repeatedly.
“Yes, apparently you do. So I’ll be kind and grant you just that. You’ll be outside tonight. Yes”—he gestured around them—“you’ll be in the gardens after dusk—to play in the dark.”
“I’m so sorry, Rowan. I swear it. I hadn’t meant to offend you. I truly don’t know why I left my rooms.” She threw her hands in pure frustration with herself. “I never do that sort of thing!”
He almost seemed to settle, to heed her words.
But then he shook his head. “It’s fae customs,” he said, more reserved.
“I, myself, must follow the will of the castle. And when a guest directly disobeys the host’s rules, getting kicked from the residence is customary.
” He sighed. “And I do not wish to end our bargain already. So, I shall banish you from the castle, but only for one night.”
She nodded in meek understanding, embarrassment stinging her eyes. She had never been reprimanded like this, let alone kicked out of someone’s home.
He tilted his head, sizing his prey. He reached a hand forward and dragged his finger along her cheek.
“No need to worry.” She loosed an unsteady breath.
He leaned in close, towering above her, trapping her to the wall.
“I’ll be in the garden. You won’t need to fear any more wolves eating you.
And I wouldn’t want you concerned about my whereabouts,” he jested.
He gave her that predatory smile he seemed keen on, and the full force of the deal she made with Rowan came alive in her blood.
She had sobbed the other night, but it still didn’t feel quite real.
Now it felt real. Felt as real as the hot breath that Rowan panted out of his mouth and over hers.
As real as his shadow that shrouded her. Real. All of it.
Still, she was resolute in her need to get him to answer her question. “Tell me,” she whispered, her breath fanning his face. “Where were you last night?”
His eyes blazed, almost as if he was shocked that she managed to change the topic of conversation so easily, his lips just a hair’s breadth away from her skin. He traced the plains of her face before saying, “You want to find out?”
She swallowed hard, and his eyes flashed to where her throat bobbed.
“Sometimes I leave the castle at night. Sometimes I don’t.” His hand pinched her chin between his thumb and pointer finger. “Which means I won’t always be around to rescue you if you stupidly get into trouble in the gardens.”
Her eyebrows knitted. Be around to rescue her? But it was Castor who came to her aid. Rowan has yet to prove himself as a protector.
“Say it,” he demanded. “Say what you’re thinking.” His gaze narrowed.
“You weren’t last night.”
She thought he might wrap his hand around her throat and suffocate her for being so defiant. Instead, he laughed, his mouth slipping into a cynical grin. Her heart rate doubled.
“Are you always this tiresome?” he droned.
She gulped as he appraised her like he could see straight into her thoughts, like he knew she lived her life as a compliant and meek mouse. “No.”
“Hm,” he hummed. “Didn’t think so.” He dropped her face and straightened his spine. “You’re a curious, little thing,” he all but mumbled.
Paeonia clutched the stones under her hand in astonishment as he gave her a onceover and took off back into the castle.