Chapter 55
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
ROSAMUND
With the maid hurrying ahead of us, I don’t have much time to think about Valen’s words, his unexpected suggestion.
He can’t have meant it. He’s so impulsive.
Unlike you. Only you grew freer with him, and now you think you’re like him. You’re not.
My thoughts are a thorny tangle as the maid leads us back down to the first floor and opens a set of double doors with a flourish.
The parlor where we surprised that couple kissing.
There is only a man inside, leaning against the mantlepiece over the fireplace. I frown. Wasn’t he the one kissing that girl earlier?
“Much Honored Lord Eorl,” the maid says with a deep curtsy. “I’ve taken the liberty to guide these people here, as they say they have an important message for you.”
He frowns at us. He’s holding a crystal goblet in his hand, filled with amber liquid that reminds me of Valen’s eyes. “Indeed? They look like vagrants. And one, if I’m not mistaken, is a fae.”
I stare at him. No, I must be wrong. It must have been another fair-haired man I’d seen earlier.
But he also doesn’t look much like his portrait, I think, the miniature I’ve been carrying in my locket all this time.
In the portrait, he was smiling. Maybe that’s why.
The frown is casting deep shadows over his thin mouth and bony face.
He looks older. Much older. And annoyed.
“My lord.” The maid swallows hard and remains in her deep curtsy. “My apologies.”
“Call the housecarls to take him to the dungeon.”
“My lord.” I step forward, my heart pounding. “Please, hear me out. I am Lady Rosamund Briar, your betrothed.”
He gives a slow, incredulous blink. “I beg your pardon?”
“Your betrothed,” I say doggedly. “Surely you have my portrait, just as I have yours.” I lift and open my locket. “Here. You sent it to me so that I might know you when I see you.”
And I didn’t, but that’s a moot point.
“Even if I accepted that you are indeed Lady Rosamund, who I was told perished in a terrible incident perpetuated by our enemies, the dark fae… then who is this half-naked fae with you?” His mouth turns down at the corners, a look of disgust in his gaze.
“He has accompanied me and protected me on the journey here,” I say. “His name is Valen—”
“A rogue fae? Is he a dark fae?”
“Of course not,” I say quickly, and hear Valen’s sharp intake of breath. “He saved me from… from the attack and acted as my bodyguard on the way here.”
“Is it indeed you?” Lord Eorl abandons the goblet on the mantlepiece and steps closer to me. Lifting a hand, he snaps his fingers at the cowering maid. “Bring the portrait.”
“My lord.” The maid all but flees the room, skirts flapping. “Right away, my lord.”
His gaze moves from my head down to the toes of my muddy shoes. “Did you walk here?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Why? Why didn’t your family provide a carriage for you, as well as appropriate escorts?”
“That’s a long story,” I say and feel suddenly very weary. “Do you mind if I sit down?”
He’s still frowning, but he gives a nod, indicating one of the armchairs by the fire. “The maids can clean the fabric afterward. That’s, after all, their job.”
“… and Valen carried me away, and we were lost in the woods for days. But he is a hunter, so he can track,” I continue my desperate, elaborate tale, “and eventually found the way here.”
I risk a glance at Valen who is standing beside the armchair, arms folded over his bare chest, head bowed. His eyes glimmer under his lashes. I don’t know what might happen if Lord Eorl finds out Valen is indeed a dark fae, and a wolf.
“I don’t understand.” Lord Eorl has reclaimed his glass, though he hasn’t offered us anything to drink.
Which is understandable. He still doesn’t know whether to believe our strange story.
“How did you find yourself alone outside your home, opening yourself to such an attack? And how come nobody has reported it to me?”
“My family reported it to you,” I mutter, watching his face, trying to reconcile this living man with the picture I’d created of him in my mind. “They thought I died. But I didn’t.”
Two servants bustle in, carrying an easel, the maid from earlier following them with a smallish portrait, which she displays and backs away.
I stare at the girl in the portrait. Her dark hair, her blue eyes, her hands folded in her lap, on top of a book. The sadness in her expression.
“I thought you’d be younger, you see,” he says.
I start. “The wedding was postponed several times. The portrait was created long ago. You thought I’d still be a child?”
He shrugs. “That’s what I was sent.”
Valen growls. When I glance at him, his expression is thunderous.
I return my gaze to the portrait. A knot is growing in my throat. “Does that mean you don’t believe me, my lord?”
“Oh, I believe you. You’re obviously the person in the painting. It means your family lied to me.”
I nod. “They did, my lord.”
A slow smile spreads on his face. “Well, it’s a happy day. Having you here gives me great pleasure.”
Does it? His smile feels as thin as his face. It doesn’t reach his eyes, which gleam with an emotion I can’t name.
“You are alive. We can get married.” He raises his goblet in a toast. “Here is to us.”
What follows is a whirlwind of activity. I lose sight of Valen at some point as maids surround me, taking my measurements, asking what I would like to eat, telling me a bath is being drawn for me, and that my room is being prepared.
“Where is Valen?” I ask. “Where is Valerian?”
“The fae who came with you?” The maid who initially led us to Lord Eorl curtsies. “My lady, he’s being taken to his room to bathe as well. Lord Eorl has given instructions for his comfort while he stays here.”
“Good. That’s good.” It lifts a weight off my chest, knowing he’s being taken care of. The need to see him, make sure it’s as the maid says, is intense, but I fight it.
He’ll be fine. We’ve made it. We can relax, at last.
I thought… I thought I’d feel happier. Excited. Overwhelmed with gratitude and joy that we have arrived and have been recognized. That Lord Eorl so easily accepted that I am who I say I am and is ready to proceed with the wedding.
So why don’t I feel anything?
Lord Eorl has also left the room, I realize after long moments, leaving me in the hands of his servants.
Which makes sense. A lord and a lady aren’t always close, and by that, I mean that they stay in separate rooms and only see each other during meals and certain activities.
At least, until love blossoms. Like it happened with my parents and in all those romantic stories in the books I’ve read.
He’s only giving me space. Letting me find my footing and letting the maids make me presentable. He has no reason to hang around.
No reason to look at me some more, trying to find the girl in the portrait, trying to get to know me better. There will be plenty of time for that later.
I keep up the chatter in my head as the maids keep the chatter around me.
I’m taken to a room on the third floor, a lavish bedroom with a huge window overlooking the estates and a four-poster bed done in green and yellow.
There is a small writing desk and a chair, as well as a console with a basin for my morning ablutions and tapestries on the walls.
A copper, clawfoot tub has been placed against one wall, and it’s already being filled with hot water, servants hurrying in and out with buckets.
This is it. This is my room. My bed. I have a place of my own, a room where I can close the door and be myself. Where I can embroider or read and gaze out the window.
Take that, Stepfather. You wanted me dead, but I’ll be Lady Eorl now, and my ancestral home will come to me, as is right.
A shiver racks me when I remember Lord Eorl’s unsettling smile and the way he’d said, “And I can get my dowry.”
My dowry.
It’s fine, though. That was the agreement, apparently. He’s entitled to a dowry. It has nothing to do with me. Old traditions. Old customs. He’s only doing what is expected of him.
I’m still shaken. Exhausted. Trying to get my bearings and adjust my worldview. My own expectations. Not everything will be as I’ve imagined it. I need to keep repeating that to myself.
And I do, as the men file out and two maids remain to help me undress and bathe.
The steaming water of the tub is inviting.
The maids exclaim in dismay over my reddened hands, my dirty nails, my blistered feet, my bruised body.
They also exclaim in horror over my scars, and I shudder, having forgotten for a while how ugly they are.
Valen had made me forget. Made me believe they weren’t so bad after all.
This is a reality check.
Of course, Valen is taking his bath in another room. No more shared tubs. As I lower myself into the bath, I realize I miss him. I miss his presence, his warmth, his smile. I draw a shuddering breath. I need to stop this. Stop feeling like this. It’s inappropriate.
A sudden urge to laugh grips me. After everything I’ve done with him? After I’ve been naked with him? I can almost hear his teasing voice saying, “Is this inappropriate, Princess?”
And instead of laughing, my eyes fill with tears.