The Masked Fae (Royal Fae of Rose Briar Woods Book 1)

by Shari L. Tapscott

  “Is it because I’m human?”

  The edges of his eyes crinkle slightly. “No.”

  “Because I’m difficult?”

  “You are difficult,” he says. “But no.”

  “Then why?”

  He thinks about it for a few seconds. “Because you remind me of someone, and I worry if you remain here, your fate could be the same as hers.”

  “What happened to her?” I ask, suddenly not feeling so comfortable alone in the woods.

  Brahm’s expression becomes pained, and he shakes his head. “I thought I knew, but now I’m not so sure.”

  “Was she someone you cared about?”

  “Yes.”

  “Family?” I ask.

  “Not exactly, but she was something like that.”

  “I lost a sister when I was young,” I admit, looking at the lights as they flicker in the trees. “It’s not something you forget.”

  “A sister?”

  “That’s right.”

  He mulls it over, perplexed. “What happened to her?”

  “She vanished while we were on holiday. There one moment, gone the next.”

  “How old was she?” Brahm asks slowly, looking as if he’s thinking very hard. “Where did it happen?”

  I don’t like to think about Eleanor’s disappearance. It was the event that destroyed our family. After she went missing, my parents spent their last years obsessed with finding her. People claimed she must have been stolen by the Fae. How else could she disappear without a trace? And everyone knows that people stolen by the Fae never return.

  Still, Father and Mother searched for her tirelessly, leaving Gustin and me with Grandmother as they scoured the Fallon border. They died during one of their trips, killed in a rockslide that took out the road they were traveling upon.

  I don’t think I’ve ever quite forgiven them, to be honest.

  Brahm leans back, perhaps reading my dark expression. “Never mind.”

  “It’s late,” I say. “We should go back.”

  He nods, offering his hand as he stands.

  As soon as I rise, the bench disappears. I step closer to Brahm, not liking it one bit.

  “Alice,” he says suddenly, his tone off. “I’m sorry I brought up the subject. I can tell it’s painful—we needn’t speak of it again.”

  I nod, taking his arm.

  The walk back to the manor doesn’t take long. When we reach my room door, Brahm turns to me, clasping his hands behind his back. “Why were you so desperate to leave tonight? You never said.”

  “I just needed some air,” I answer. “Thank you for walking with me.”

  Brahm nods, wishing me goodnight as I slip into my room.

  8

  BRAHM

  Wallen stands before me, silently frowning. “You want me to find information about Alice’s sister?”

  I nod, shuffling papers on my desk. “That’s right. A child who disappeared when she was very young.”

  Regina shifts next to me, uncomfortable. “Do you think…”

  I look over. “I believe it’s possible.”

  But mostly, I want assurance that I’m wrong. Because if I’m right, then my family has committed a wicked crime against Alice’s family—something she is not likely to forgive.

  “The chances are so slim,” Regina says quietly. “You’re aware of that, aren’t you?”

  “I need to know.”

  “I will look into it,” my valet says, bowing before he leaves.

  “Tell no one,” I instruct, though I know he won’t. He and Regina are the two people in my life I trust explicitly.

  My brother and Sabine come in at a close second, though sometimes I’m unsure exactly where my sister’s allegiances lie.

  Wallen slips out the door, shutting it silently behind him.

  Regina turns to me, looking uncomfortable. “Sisters don’t often share the same name.”

  “I’m counting on it. I just need to be certain.”

  “Brahm,” she says gently. “I think you need to free Alice’s brother and send them home. Pretend this never happened.”

  “Lord Ambrose does not show mercy,” I remind her. “That’s why I created the Highwayman.”

  And Alice’s brother does not deserve mercy—something I believe even more strongly now that I know his sister.

  “You’re stumbling in too deep with this girl. Her presence alone is dredging up things best left buried.”

  I choose not to answer.

  “Do you have any idea what your mother would do if she found out you’re taken with a human?”

  I jerk my head up, dropping the papers on my desk. “Excuse me?”

  “This isn’t about our Alice anymore. This is about this Alice. The feelings you have for her aren’t brotherly as I originally thought.”

  “She’s human,” I say, trying not to remember the kiss.

  “Tell me I’m wrong,” Regina demands. “Bluntly say your interest isn’t romantic in nature. Tell me you aren’t attracted to her as a woman.”

  I struggle, fighting my magic before I finally give up. Defeated, I admit, “I can’t.”

  “Then you are walking a dangerous path.”

  I know she’s not wrong.

  In Faerie, it’s acceptable to take a human as a pet, even to go as far as to keep them as casual lovers and shower them with riches.

  It’s not allowed, however, to court a human. It’s certainly not allowed to give them our name and let them mother children.

  In Faerie, humans are for entertainment and sport—both of which I find abhorrent.

  If I let myself develop feelings for Alice, as Regina knows, I would begin to want more than I’m allowed—and that puts Alice in even more danger.

  But I cannot think of that now. For the time being, all that matters is learning more about her sister.

  It’s been a long evening, partially because I slept little last night, but mostly because a barghest found an elderly peddler before I did.

  I discovered the man’s horse, sans rider, grazing in a soft patch of grass near the entrance of the bridge.

  After walking the road, I found blood in the dirt, along with the signs of something being dragged into the woods.

  I finally found the unfortunate man in a small cavern about three miles from the bridge, unconscious but alive. The others before him were not so lucky.

  Unfortunately, the beast didn’t sense my authority soon enough. The nightmare canine lunged at me when I entered his den, grazing the side of my neck with a sharp tooth before he pulled back. He then retreated, whimpering in the corner like a cowering puppy.

  I managed to carry the man back to his horse, hoist his still-unconscious self over the saddle, and then send him to the other side of the bridge where his people will hopefully find him—all while bleeding like the nightmare dog tried to decapitate me.

  My magic will heal the injury after a few hours of decent sleep, but I feel like I’m dead on my feet now.

  Because of it, I’m not careful enough to remember there is a girl in the room next to mine who might be out on her balcony, looking for me.

  “Bandit!” Alice whispers urgently when I’m close.

  I look up sharply, startled by her quiet voice in the dead of night. With dread, I realize she’s likely spotted the blood. It would be impossible not to—I’m covered from neck to boots.

  She leans over her balcony railing, loose hair blowing in the slight breeze, dressed in a white nightgown Regina must have had made for her.

  “Can you climb?” she asks urgently.

  Realizing I have no choice but to follow this through even though all I want is my bed, I climb the lattice up to Alice’s balcony.

  She panics when she sees the trails of blood and the gash on my neck. “What happened?”

  I stumble forward, growing lightheaded as my magic draws from my energy stores in an attempt to knit the wound. Alice grabs hold of my shoulders, too small to support me if I were to fall.


  “I’ll clean it,” she says. “And I’ll find a way to bandage it. Come inside.”

  “I’m fine,” I protest, tempted to tell her the truth so I can go to bed and be done with it. But she looks up at me, her pretty blue eyes filled with anxiety, making me less eager to leave.

  “Sit,” she commands, leading me to the chaise longue. Then, changing her mind, she directs me toward the bed. “No, lie down.”

  “I’ll get blood on—”

  “The coverlet will come clean,” she insists. “I’ll scrub it myself.”

  Knowing Sabine won’t be pleased if she learns I bled all over her bed, I fumble with my leather jacket’s buckles. Alice pushes my hands away, taking over the task herself. Once the jacket is out of the way, she begins to remove my blood-stained shirt.

  “Can you lean over a little?” she asks as she pulls it up.

  I do as she requests, and what little blood is left in my body rushes hot as her cool, soft hands brush over my bare skin.

  I draw in a hissing breath when she presses a hand to my shoulder to leverage herself high enough to slip the shirt over my head. She murmurs apologies, misunderstanding my reaction, worrying she’s hurting me.

  Even I wince when I look down. Blood seeped under the collar of my shirt, saturating large sections of the fabric and leaving my entire torso smeared in red.

  Now that I’m dressed only in trousers, Alice coaxes me onto the bed. It’s softer than mine, with dozens of down-stuffed pillows.

  My eyelids grow heavy as Alice fusses about the room, and I barely remember to pull the sides of my mask over the top of my ears before I drift. Hopefully, it’s enough. I don’t have the energy for illusion tonight.

  I wake when the bed shifts next to my shoulder. I crack my eyes open and find Alice hovering close to my face, wet cloth in hand.

  “This will probably sting,” she warns as she dabs the cloth to my neck.

  Though I brace myself, the toxin from the barghest’s saliva makes the area especially tender. I fist my hands, pretending it doesn’t hurt. When Alice gets to a particularly tender spot, I arch my back slightly, cursing the Faerie beast to oblivion and back.

  “I’m sorry,” Alice murmurs, “but you must stay still.”

  She pushes her hand firmly to my chest, holding me in place as she cleans the wound. I focus on the feel of her palm against my skin, thankful when she’s finished.

  I draw in a deep breath, wishing she hadn’t witnessed that.

  “I don’t have a bandage,” she says, “but this will do for tonight.”

  I recognize the square of cloth as a handkerchief Sabine embroidered. Alice must have found it in a drawer. Before I can stop her, she wraps it around my neck.

  “Tomorrow, go into Kellington and see Thomas at the apothecary shop on the corner of Wellington and Main. He’s a retired army doctor and an old friend of my father’s. Tell him I sent you, and he’ll stitch your wound without asking questions. For now, this should stop the bleeding.”

  “Alice,” I say raggedly, setting my hand on hers. “I need to tell you—”

  “You don’t have to explain why you disappeared for three weeks and then showed up in this state. I’m not going to demand an explanation.”

  “That’s not…” I gulp, unable to finish the sentence.

  Now that Alice is finished with the urgent task of bandaging my wound, she begins to clean blood from less vital parts of my body.

  She runs the cloth over my shoulders, rinsing it in the warm water as needed. She moves to my chest, and then to my abdomen.

  My breath comes quicker, and the pain in my neck dulls to a low ache that’s easy to ignore.

  Alice stills when my muscles clench under her hands. Slowly, her eyes move to my face. Though I wear the mask, I feel revealed.

  “Am I making you uncomfortable?” she asks quietly.

  “Not uncomfortable,” I manage, pushing myself up on my elbows. “But you should stop.”

  Her eyes dart down to my stomach before she looks back up. “I’m almost finished.”

  “I’m not so close to death’s door that I’m not affected by your hands on me, Alice.” I try to say it lightly, but my voice is rough, betraying the truth of my words.

  She lowers her gaze, dabbing again at my stained skin. “You think that it’s not distracting for me as well? But you’re covered in blood, and I’m not going to leave you like this. If I can control myself, I expect you should be able to do the same.”

  9

  ALICE

  The bandit falls silent, and I work quietly, a little embarrassed by my honesty.

  “I missed you.” I stare at his stomach as I remove the last of the drying blood. “I kept thinking you were going to return. Kept hoping. I thought…well, I thought we were becoming friends. You didn’t even say goodbye.”

  “Alice…”

  “Will you answer one question?”

  He nods slowly, wincing as he raises his hand to the makeshift bandage.

  “I understand why you didn’t visit me…but did you want to?” I hold my breath, preparing myself for disappointment.

  He stares at me, looking torn.

  “Is it that difficult to answer?” I look at my blood-stained hands. “There are only two possible responses: yes or no?”

  “Yes,” he says, the word sounding like it was dragged right from his lungs. Like it was painful.

  I meet his eyes, feeling my heart squeeze.

  He sits up, which puts our faces very close. “Yes,” he says again, and this time it doesn’t sound like it’s ripping him apart. “I’ve thought of you every day, Alice.”

  My heart pinches, making me worry I’m growing too attached to this man of secrets.

  I move my eyes to the bandage. I panicked when I saw him walking toward the manor, worried he had to be close to death in that state.

  But the wound, though ghastly, is nowhere as severe as I feared when he showed up covered in blood. Once I cleaned the area, I found the gash to be manageable enough, though he will need it stitched in the morning. At least it’s wrapped now.

  I stand, and the bandit lowers his legs over the side of the bed.

  “Don’t move too quickly,” I warn, gathering my supplies, trying not to think of the way the water has been stained deep pink. “You’ve lost a lot of blood.”

  He watches me as I walk to the basin and wash my hands. How am I going to explain this mess to Regina in the morning?

  As soon as the thought crosses my mind, I glance back at the masked man, wondering if I’ll have to.

  It’s Brahm on my bed. I know it—I’d have to be a fool not to recognize him.

  But why has the marquis created this secret identity? And how do I explain his ears? They’re hidden under the mask now, but his deep brown hair is mussed just as Brahm’s was when I knocked on his door the night we walked into the forest—as if the marquis had been wearing a hat only moments before.

  Once my hands are clean, I walk back to him. “How are you feeling? Feverish at all?”

  Before I place my palm against his forehead, the bandit gently catches my hand and pulls me to him. It’s a languid movement, and yet it speaks volumes.

  Like lovers, we’re close. His legs brush mine. Unsure what to do with my free hand, I clench it into a fist behind my back, sternly telling myself I will not explore his bare skin with my fingers, no matter how tempted I might be.

  He brings the inside of my wrist to his lips. “Thank you for tending me, Alice.”

  The gesture makes me flush, the warmth beginning in my cheeks and then traveling down my neck.

  When I realize he means to rise, I press down on his shoulders, making him remain seated. “You’re leaving?”

  He studies me in the candlelight. “We both know I can’t stay.”

  “But you can’t go, not like this. Sleep for a while. I’ll wake you when you must leave.”

  Smiling as he rubs his thumb over my knuckles, he drops his voice and s
ays, “How will I sleep with you hovering over me?”

  “I won’t hover.” My lips twitch as I try not to smile. “I’ll pull up a chair.”

  “I’m not going to chase you out of your bed, Alice—not even for a few hours.”

  “Have it your way,” I say stubbornly, crawling onto the bed and sitting primly on the other side with my back against the headboard. Sternly, I point to the pillow beside me. “Sleep.”

  The masked man twists around to face me, looking like he knows he should protest. Exhaustion, however, wins.

  “Fine,” he says with a heavy sigh. “But only for a few minutes.”

  “I’ll wake you after a bit,” I promise.

  He shifts until his head is atop the pillow and his back faces me.

  When I run my hand over his shoulder, he flinches. But his muscles soften as I slowly stroke down his arm, back up, and then repeat the movement.

  Minutes later, his breathing becomes deep and even.

  I look at the bandit’s still figure—his long legs, slightly bent, his broad shoulders and tapered back. He’s truly beautiful.

  If he were mine—if this were our room—I would lean down and press a kiss to his back, wrap an arm over his waist, and then snuggle in close.

  Perhaps he’d stir, rolling over and taking me into his arms, kissing me long and slow before we both drifted to sleep. I wouldn’t have to wake him; he wouldn’t have to leave.

  These are fanciful thoughts considering he won’t even share his identity with me. Why does he trust me enough to sleep in my presence, but he won’t take off the mask?

  I could do it now, while he’s unconscious and so close, but I won’t violate his trust like that.

  He’ll show me when he’s ready.

  I wake with a jolt, realizing I fell asleep. The sky is lightening with early dawn, and birds chatter outside the window.

  I roll over in the bed, preparing to urgently rouse the masked man.

  But he’s gone.

  Coming to my senses, I realize he must have woken on his own and left. The bloodied jacket, shirt, and cloth are missing as well, and there are no stains on the coverlet.