Chapter 21 #3
“Are you all right, Aurelia?” Everett asked, breaking my train of thought.
“Um, yeah. I think. I’m just trying to sort through everything you’ve shared,” I replied. “You said this was all whispers, so you don’t have any actual proof that this is what Sterling is doing at these pleasure houses? Or that he’s even a patron of them?” I asked accusingly.
“Seriously? That’s what you took from everything I just told you? Don’t worry about my sources—they’re reliable.”
“Who? Your elderly nanny? Who knows if she has him mixed up with someone else or if she’s just senile? I’d suggest having some more concrete proof before going around telling people that Prince Sterling is an abuser and a murderer.”
“Annika is barely two hundred years old, if you must know. Her mind is sound, and I trust her more than anyone when she tells me something is happening. I know this is hard for you to hear, but denying it won’t make it any less true.”
“Barely two hundred! How old are you?”
“I’m one hundred and fifty years old,” Everett responded flatly.
“What? This doesn’t make any sense. How is that possible?”
Everett sighed. “That’s not really relevant to the current conversation.”
“Like fuck it isn’t. You want me to take some second-hand gossip as truth from a woman whose existence defies basic human biology and logic? No. Explain.”
“It’s some healing or longevity arcana that the arcana masters use on the human women who agree to carry fae children. It prevents them from aging as fast as humans normally would. Instead, they age as the fae would—very slowly.”
“What you’re saying is that this woman has been kept alive well beyond her natural life span so she can repeatedly birth children for the fae? Is she still doing this?”
“Annika is a selfless woman who is quite proud of the help she has provided the fae of this court. And yes, she is still helping fae families by carrying children.”
“And you don’t see that as being exploitative, or the power imbalance in that relationship?
Do you have any clue how hard pregnancy is on a woman’s body?
And you’ve been having this one woman do this continuously for almost two hundred years?
” I took a deep breath before continuing.
“I appreciate the warning regarding Sterling, which may or may not be true. But I’d highly recommend checking that holier-than-thou attitude you have when it comes to him, because, quite frankly, what you and your people are doing to those women is no better. ”
Everett stood up, his features resigned, and put his chair back over by the small dining table. “Well, I think that’s enough talking for today. I’ll let you be so you can catch up on some reading, or whatever it is you’d like to do. If you need anything, I’ll be outside.”
Without another word, Everett turned on his heel and promptly left the suite.
It was clear that I had offended him, but it was something that had needed to be said.
I spent the next few hours analyzing and piecing together everything Everett had told me.
I tried to make sense of what he had shared about the human women who carried for the fae.
He had mentioned that it was some arcana the arcana masters used—it was at the top of my list of questions to ask when my arcana testing began.
I had very limited knowledge when it came to arcana, but I knew that all arcana had a cost. What was the price to these women?
Were they treated well? Were they looked after properly afterward?
Or were they just thrown to the side after they allowed the fae to use their bodies?
What happened to them once they decided they didn’t want to carry children anymore?
The more I thought about it, the more nauseous I became.
Pregnancy was hard, and it was traumatizing to the body.
Knowing some women put themselves through that for years on end was upsetting, but even more than that, the lack of concern the fae had toward it was deeply unsettling, which led to my next thought: Sterling.
I couldn’t say with any certainty that I fully believed what Everett had told me about Sterling.
Part of that was because I didn’t know or trust the source of his information, but more importantly, I couldn’t believe that the man I had grown to love could be capable of such things.
Being an abuser or murderer was not something that someone became; it was who they were at their core—and the man I knew was not capable of those horrific acts.
I still saw him as the kind and gentle man who had shared my home and bed over the past few weeks.
The one who had held me as I’d cried, laughed with me at silly jokes, picked me up when all I’d wanted was to lie on the floor in defeat, sat with me for hours and read smutty romance novels in comfortable silence, and generously loved every inch of my body.
The very one who had laid claim to my mind, body, and soul.
Until I could find proof of this behaviour myself, I refused to believe it.