Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
ROSAMUND
I pace under the tree canopy while Valen sits down on the roots, leaning back against the trunk. Bert and Kier stand, arms folded, looking uncomfortable.
“You can go,” I tell them. “Go to the banquet. I’ll be fine.”
“But, my lady.” Kier frowns and nods at Valen. “The wolf.”
“Right… right.” That’s stupid of me, letting my guard down. It was only this morning that I had to be coaxed out of bed and made to bathe, dress, and eat, and face my nightmare.
A nightmare who is now sitting quietly on top of the roots, long legs stretched in front of him, torn boots and torn pants showing patches of bloody skin, and—
“We’ll tie him to the tree,” Bert says and starts toward Valen. “With ropes—”
“Not a step closer,” Valen snarls.
“I’ll show you what demands will get you,” Bert snarls right back, “you beastly—”
“Bert,” I say. “Wait.”
“But…my lady.” He glares at me. “This is what I’m here for. To protect you.”
Damn. He’s right.
“Do it,” I whisper. “As for you, Valen, remember our agreement.”
“Our agreement seems to be growing limbs,” he growls. “I don’t fucking like being tied. Fuck, no—”
Bert and Kier haul him to his feet and loop a rope around the tree, tying him to the trunk. The werewolf shoves at them, but then he suddenly stops and hangs his head.
“There,” Bert says, dusting off his hands. “All done.”
“Fuck you,” Valen says, his voice shaking a little.
“Now we can leave you to your thoughts,” Kier says, “but we won’t go far. You only have to shout, and we’ll be back.”
“Kier, I still don’t think we should go,” Bert says.
“Do you two idiots really think I can’t get free if I want to?” Valen asks, a deep purr in his voice. “I’m here because I’m a man of my word, so fuck off.”
I stare at him. His eyes flash gold, and the sight of him tied up like that… stirs something in me, something dark and heavy.
“Stay close,” I tell the two men, my own voice shaking a little. “I’ll call you when I’m ready.”
They grumble but obey, casting looks over their shoulders. Once they clear the low-hanging branches, they vanish from view, giving me the illusion of privacy.
An illusion because he’s still here, of course, tied to the tree. He’s glowering at me from his greater height, his cursing muffled by the muzzle.
With a sigh, I sit down on a root and rub my hands over my face.
Think, Rosie, think. Pull yourself together. You have a plan. It will work. You have to believe it. You have to—
“Are we going to eat something, or do you still plan on starving me to death?” Valen asks.
I jolt, and guilt fills me before I remember who and what he is. “You heard that.” He heard Della and me discussing him through my bedroom door.
“I’m not deaf. You were… pretty upset.”
And raised my voice a tad too much, apparently. “You can’t sit at the table.”
“I know how to use a fork and knife, if you’d just unbind my hands.”
“A werewolf can’t sit at the table! A werewolf won’t sit at my table.” I scowl. “Never.”
“Was it something I said?” he rumbles.
“You… You’re a danger to everyone. You shouldn’t be here.”
“I know.” He lifts his bound hands. “Trust me, I’m here against my wishes, too.”
He makes me want to laugh with his dry remarks. Which annoys me even more. It’s one thing to be a fearsome, growling beast, and another to be a beast who cracks jokes.
Sarcasm is close to my heart. I wield it like a rapier. But he can’t be close to my heart. Ever. In fact, the only place he can be is out of my life and far away from me.
“My lady!” Kier calls from beyond the branches after a while. “Is everything all right? Are you done strategizing?”
Done crashing and burning, he means. I smooth my hands down my bustle and then lift them to pat my hair, making sure my hairdo is still in place.
The werewolf watches me with those golden eyes that seem to glow in the morning light.
“I’m done!” I call out. “Come stay with him while I go and mingle.”
And try to find out what the deal between my stepfather and the fae house is, what debt there was, and if possible, why I’m suddenly dead weight, ballast to throw overboard.
What changed?
I sit with my cousins who reserved me a seat because they are so sweet. They fill up my plate and plague me with questions.
“When are you leaving? Is it true you’re leaving any day now?”
“How did you get the beast to behave?”
“Are you doing all right?”
I nod and stuff my mouth with sweetmeats not to have to reply, buying myself time so that I can think of a neutral answer. One that won’t enrage or worry my cousins too much.
After all, there’s nothing they can do to help. Soon, they will be leaving too, returning home, just as I will be departing, heading into the unknown. All I can do is sit with them, soaking up their affection and warmth, trying not to think about the wolf tied to the tree just a few yards away.
“So, how is your future husband?” Mina elbows me gently in the ribs. “You never showed us his portrait. Is he fatally handsome?”
I laugh. “Fatally? I hope not. I do have a miniature portrait that was sent to me.”
“Show, show.”
I fish the locket out of my cleavage and click it open. Inside is a picture of my parents, and the portrait I received together with a set of tacky earrings from Lord Eorl. I stare at my parents for long, aching moments, then glance at the blond man in the small painting.
I turn the locket around. “There he is.”
“Ooh.” Elsie claps her hands together. “He’s attractive.”
Orlen frowns, leaning closer. “He’s all right.”
“Such a harsh judge!” Mina all but presses her nose to my locket. “He’s handsome, Rosie. If the outside mirrors the inside, then you have yourself a perfect husband right there.”
But does the outside mirror the inside? That’s a philosophical question for the ages, and for some reason, I think of amber, long-fringed eyes watching me over a black muzzle.
I shake my head to clear it.
“Handsome and rich. Probably charming. Maybe he’ll be the one to get you out of your shell, cousin.” Mina elbows me again. “Huh? What do you say?”
“I don’t need anyone to get me out of my shell,” I say frostily.
“Someone to get you to wear off-the-shoulder dresses and let your hair down,” she goes on. “To accept more touches and sleep more peacefully. To smile more.”
My throat closes, because I’d mistakenly thought I managed to open up and give the impression of a healed, happy woman. “Mina…”
“Yes, dear.”
“Does everyone around here think I’m a conservative old bat?”
Orlen chokes on laughter. “The sense of humor prevails.”
“Humor covers up old wounds,” Elsie says gravely, “don’t take it lightly.”
“But it’s humor, how can I not take it lightly if—”
“Shut up, Orlen.” Elsie dismisses him and gives me a long, discerning look. “What we’re saying is that hopefully this handsome Lord Eorl proves worthy of you, of your strength and kindness, and helps you blossom into—”
“My old self?” I push my chair back. “I’ll never be the girl you used to know as a child, Elsie.”
“That’s not what I meant. Wait, Rosie—”
“There’s something I need to do. I will see you later!”
And if I’m running away again, well, it beats the alternative of giving in to this strange fury inhabiting me. The fury at those who took my kindness, my innocence from me, and the knowledge that there is no going back now.