15. Belle
Belle
Iwatch from my window as people enter the manor.
People might not be the right term. Some have wings, while others have extra sets of hands; it dawns on me when one woman takes off her antlers to readjust that everyone is in costume, yet I still can’t figure out which part of the partygoers are real or fake.
It doesn’t matter, though. I need to find someone who will help me, and that’s nearly impossible to figure out from up here.
This morning, I’d taken a book from the library into the greenhouse—something about elf blood—hoping a change of scenery would allow any of the confusing jargon to make sense.
Sadly, I was mistaken and too distracted by the commotion of the party’s assembly in the courtyard beyond, coupled with Rourke’s hulking presence.
I asked Rourke about the preparations as he studied me from a generous distance.
He shrugged and said he doesn’t attend gatherings.
Figures since he doesn't seem like the social type. Still, it seems rude that he wasn’t invited to a party in his own home.
I shouldn’t feel sympathy for my captor, yet I find myself growing softer toward him.
Since I’d given Rourke my blood in the library a few days ago, he’s always nearby whenever I leave my room. Only in the day, though, never at night. I wonder if it’s because he doesn’t want to frighten me or if he’s serious about his sleep schedule.
I catch him hiding behind pillars or lounging in a spot just a call away.
At first, it unnerved me, worried that he would demand my blood at all hours, but he never asks, only happily accepts when I offer, and frankly, I’m not stingy.
I hate to admit it, but the act churns my insides, causing my breath to heavy and my knees to shake. The effect worsens each time.
As I pondered the upcoming event, a new idea sprang to mind.
Perhaps I didn’t need to break my Darling on my own; I could find someone outside of Hollowbrook to help me escape.
I’ve been told only the Pans—with the blood which binds me—could free me of my Darling, but they were so adamant about not letting the staff into the library, as if secrets lay in codes between the leather bindings that I can’t seem to crack.
There had to be a way out of my collar. Surely other nobility must know how to break the Darling curse.
I only had to find somebody who seemed kind enough to share those secrets with me.
It was a lofty plan, but it seemed more hopeful than decoding ancient texts or getting Rourke or Peter to set me free.
Even with Rourke’s current devotion, I had no hopes that he’d let me out of his sight, let alone outside the Hollowbrook walls.
Peter is well, Peter, about as hopeless as begging his Father—maybe even more so.
Most of all, despite either of their current disinterest in impregnating me, they’ll eventually honor their Father’s wishes, or he will come home and make them.
A stranger is my best bet.
I wait until enough patrons have arrived, hoping that I’ll remain hidden amongst the crowd until I’m ready to reveal myself to the right person.
I tug on a light dress, green of course, and my thick green coat, buttoning it all the way up in hopes it will hide the Darling.
“Weasel!” I call, snapping my fingers and clicking my tongue.
I can’t find the creature anywhere, and my nerves rush me to get out of the room.
That damned raccoon always shows up whenever he pleases.
Sometimes I can’t get him to leave my side, and at others, I don’t see him for a whole day.
I guess that’s what I get for having a wild animal as a pet.
Perhaps it’s for the best, because once I escape, I doubt I can bring him with me.
I open the door, the sound of music and laughter swelling in a deafening wave.
I follow the source, keeping my back straight so that if someone notices me, I can pretend I’m anyone else besides the pixie prisoner.
I reach a large window, overlooking the Hollowbrook courtyards.
“Whoa,” I say to myself, immediately growing angry at my awe, returning to my childlike wonder.
Past the lit greenhouse, globs of patrons dance around the green, their outfits bright jewels reflecting off the stars and lit balloons floating overhead.
I press myself against the glass. No, those aren’t balloons, but living beings.
They resemble pufferfish, except that they’re pulsing, glowing colors that change hue as if they were driven by a motor.
Some partygoers wear masks while others sport intricate headpieces.
Couples and throuples grope each other on the dance floor, lying on the grass, or pressed up against the tents or the pavilion where music plays at the center.
In my few weeks at Neverhaven, I haven’t seen any evidence of electricity, but music reverberates off the glass and vibrates my body, sounding more like nightclub house music rather than some medieval costume party.
The instruments look similar yet entirely different from anything back on Earth: big, intricate brass, wind, and wooden stringed pieces.
I ache to get closer to figure out how they work, but of course, that should be the least of my concerns.
In the distance, over the debauchery, is the end of the earth, the end of Neverhaven.
I’ve never stopped at this window before, but I’ve caught glances of the severe dip into the endless blue sky.
It unnerves me that it’s so close by, as if I could easily tumble off the edge even from all the way up here.
It’s a good thing to focus on because it pulls me back into reality, remembering all the many horrors of this place, despite the glittering party.
I push off the window and hurry down the hall, descending steps until I meet the grand foyer leading out to the greenhouse.
A sprinkle of people hang around the area.
Most chatting in corners or practically fucking—there’s no in-between.
I try not to stare, holding my coat tighter, since the buttons are flimsy, as I head for the doors.
Someone bumps into me, and I stumble backward. “Oh shite, I’m so sorry!”
“It’s okay,” I say, righting myself.
The golden-haired man eyes me up and down, his gaze stopping near my collarbone, before I have a chance to fix my coat that has fallen down my shoulder.
I hope he’s just checking out my rack and not my Darling, which wouldn’t be that much of a wild assumption since everything in my wardrobe loves to accentuate my jugs.
“I don’t think we’ve met before. I’m Trago.” He steps closer to me, outstretching a heavily ringed hand.
I take my turn in examining him, crossing my arms over my chest as I inspect his ensemble. “Why aren’t you in a costume?” I ask, noting his green vest, the crown, the gold cufflinks. He looks like a Neverhaven prince. In fact, he reminds me of someone, I just can’t figure out who.
He laughs. “Now I’m sure I’ve never met you. Women around here aren’t always so direct.”
Oops. “I apologize.” It’s odd that my forwardness surprises him.
Women here can’t talk freely but showing public displays of affection and nudity at a party is cool?
But even as I ponder this, I know why. Men love tits but hate women as people.
I guess Earth and Neverhaven aren’t so different after all.
“No need. I rather enjoy your candor. Can I get you a drink?”
“No, I’m okay.” I glance around the room.
“Are you looking for someone?”
“What? No,” I say, a little too quickly. He chuckles, eyes wide. I soften, realizing I’m not playing it cool in the slightest. I used to steal cars for a living. But Earth was predictable, whereas in Neverhaven I’m not even sure what normal looks like.
“Listen,” he says. “I apologize if I’m bothering you. You just look like you need some help.”
His words trigger my attention. “Don’t you have a party to enjoy instead of helping some random chick?” Shit. “I mean, some random maiden.” I give a cheesy grin, hoping that my Earth lingo won’t give me away.
His smile doesn’t waver. “I’m finding it rather dull around here.”
“Dull.” I eye the couple pressed up against the marble wall behind us. One woman’s breasts are exposed, and another woman ducks under her skirt, causing some boisterous noises to echo throughout the large space.
He follows my glance and nods. “Well, that’s definitely exciting, but not my style.”
“Oh, you’re not into fucking?”
He nearly doubles over with a laugh. “No, I rather enjoy fucking. I only find the public display gets rather old after a while.”
“So this kind of thing happens often here?”
He raises his eyebrow. “I take it you’re not from around here.”
Shit. I shouldn’t have said that. Panic tightens around my throat. I step to flee but he grabs my arm. “Wait, it’s okay. I knew you were the rumored pixie from the moment I saw you. I’m not going to hurt you.”
I stare into his eyes, hoping they’ll reveal more of his character. “How did you know?”
“Gossip spreads quickly in Neverhaven. Staff love to talk, and you have this sort of glow to you.”
“You’re full of shit,” I deadpan. I tug, attempting to regain my freedom, but he doesn’t let go.
“I think it’s awful that the Pans are keeping you trapped here.”
“You do?”
“Pure evil.” He lets go, but I have no interest in fleeing anymore.
I cross my arms over my chest. “Can you help me escape?”
He shrugs. “I must admit, I hate to be rid of you after only just meeting you, but yes, I can help you leave this dreadful place.”
“Really? You can break the Darling?” I grab his arm, my heart pounding. I shouldn’t trust him so easily, but I’m too excited by his words.
“Yes, I can.”
“What do you want from me?”
“I don’t want anything from you.”
“Then why are you helping me?”
He shrugs. “Would you help someone trapped by an evil ruler if you could?”
I ponder his words. “Yes.” I don’t view myself as a good person, but I’m not a monster.
It’s not that outlandish to imagine other people like me, even in a place like Neverhaven.
Rosalia’s nice enough and she’s from here.
“When can we leave?” I’m still holding his arm, my fingers pressing into his skin.
He chuckles, amusement flashing in his eyes. “Right now? I was planning on leaving anyway. Are you ready?” He turns and offers me the crook of his arm. I take hold of him, following as he leads me in the opposite direction from the party.
As we walk down the halls, I notice the details on his vest, tiny golden embroidered roses sewn into the green.
Just as he opens a door to our right, it dawns on me who he resembles.
Lord Pan. Is it a costume to mock him? I open my mouth to ask, but before I can, Trago yanks me into the unlit room.
His once kind eyes darken—now truly matching the rest of his ensemble.