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

by Shari L. Tapscott

  There’s no sign of his visit whatsoever, making me wonder if I dreamed the whole thing.

  But I’m still atop the covers, and I’m now blanketed by a quilt. The thought of the bandit draping it over me while I slept warms me more than the blanket itself, and I close my eyes and snuggle into the pillow, preparing to sleep for a while longer.

  When I do rise, I realize that we parted without a goodbye yet again.

  How long will it be before I see him this time?

  10

  BRAHM

  I knock on Alice’s door after finding the conservatory empty. She’s careful, heeding the warning I gave her as the bandit, never wandering the manor alone. She must be in.

  Sure enough, Alice opens the door, her eyes betraying that she’s still cautious of me, even after the brief time we’ve spent together.

  “Is there something I can do for you, Lord Ambr—” She corrects herself when I raise my eyebrows. “Brahm?”

  As she says my name, her eyes dart down the hall as though she doesn’t want someone to overhear.

  I extend a small velvet purse. “The staff gets paid today. Regina was going to bring your wages, but I wanted to give them to you personally.”

  Alice shakes her head, stepping back so she doesn’t have to take the money. “I haven’t paid off the dresses yet.”

  “Consider the dresses a gift.”

  “I couldn’t,” she protests. “I’m here to right a wrong, not become an imposition.”

  I reach for her hand and press the small pouch into it, refusing to let her have her way this time. “Tomorrow, I have business in Kellington. If you accompany me, we will buy your new supplies. From this point forward, you are no longer a member of my staff, but a visiting artist, here as my guest.”

  Alice continues to stare at me, looking unsure…and something else. It’s unnerving.

  Trying to hide my discomfort, I say, “Also, I am here to request that you join me for dinner.”

  She steps forward, her eyes moving to my neck.

  “Your cravat is askew.” She steps very close as her hands find the material. “I’ll fix it for you.”

  I freeze, realizing what she’s looking for—acknowledging that now, without a doubt—Alice suspects.

  She goes very still, seeming puzzled. Pulling the material aside, she runs her finger along my neck.

  “Miss Alice?” I ask stiffly. “Is something the matter?”

  But I know what’s causing her distress. The wound is gone, healed completely overnight. As I expected, there is no sign of it today. But apparently, Alice doesn’t know that is a gift of the Fae.

  She steps back, eyes slightly narrowed, studying me like I’m a riddle.

  I offer my arm, trying not to smirk at my good fortune. Though it wasn’t planned, this will buy me time. “If you are finished fussing with my clothing, shall we go to dinner?”

  Alice shakes her head, raising her eyes from my neck to my face. “As generous as the offer is, I must decline. I have nothing suitable to wear.”

  My eyes drop to her garden gown. This one is ivory linen, laced with an overdress in light beige. It’s plain, but that cannot hide how lovely she is, and I doubt she is unaware of that. “What’s wrong with what you’re wearing now?”

  Alice gives me a droll look. “You’re a man of nobility, always impeccably dressed. Don’t pretend you don’t know.”

  I smile despite myself. “I will be your only dining partner, Alice. Who will care?”

  “I care.” She turns, dismissing me. “But thank you for the offer.”

  “You will go with me to Kellington tomorrow, won’t you? Or do you require a special gown for an outing into the city?”

  “I’ll make do tomorrow.” She looks back, smirking at me in a way that makes my collar feel a little too tight. “But thank you for asking.”

  I dine alone, reading a book by the light of the overhead crystal chandelier. Though the manor is far less opulent than the castle I grew up in, it’s too much for me.

  For the first time in my life, I wonder what it would be like if it were filled with the noise of a family. It’s been too long since I’ve been in a woman’s company, and Alice’s presence is a little too comfortable.

  I woke just before dawn and found she had fallen asleep next to me. She slumped against the headboard with a pillow clutched in her arms. Her long, blonde hair was falling from its ribbon.

  She looked like a porcelain doll, too perfect and fragile.

  Without realizing it, I’d rolled toward her sometime in the night. My mask slid down while I was sleeping and was around my neck when I awoke. If Alice had stirred before me…

  But she didn’t.

  I wanted to pull her into my arms and go back to sleep, but I forced myself out of the bed.

  Regina’s right. I’m in too deep, have started to feel things for Alice that go beyond mild affection. I need to forgive Gustin’s debt and send the two of them back to their home, where they belong. We’ll purchase Alice’s supplies tomorrow, and I will let her paint me.

  Let her think she traded her family’s fortune back for a portrait. I will deal with the repercussions once she’s gone.

  “I’m sorry to interrupt,” Wallen says from the doorway. “But may we speak?”

  I nod my valet inside, and he shuts the door behind him.

  After setting the book on the table next to my plate, I turn toward him. “You’re back already?”

  “The information you were seeking was not difficult to find,” he says, looking troubled.

  “Alice had a sister who disappeared?”

  He nods. “Her name was Eleanor. She went missing while the family was on holiday in Fallon.”

  Growing cold, I lean forward. “How old was she?”

  “A few months shy of three years.” He watches me carefully, his gray eyes full of regret. “Lord and Lady Gravely looked tirelessly for the girl. A few years after she disappeared, they were caught in a landslide while searching. That’s how they died.”

  My stomach plummets. “Did you get her description?”

  My valet stares at me, his expression sympathetic. “I found a portrait. It was with the family’s things in the auction house. It had been set aside.”

  I swallow, finding it hard to breathe. “Did you bring it with you?”

  “I did.”

  Slowly, I stand, setting my napkin next to the plate. “I want to see it.”

  “Of course. I’ve taken it to your quarters.”

  We say nothing else as we walk down the hall. Regina steps from a parlor, smiling when she sees us. Almost immediately, her expression becomes distressed. “What’s the matter?”

  I loop my arm through my cousin’s, tugging her so she’ll follow. “Wallen has found a portrait of Alice’s family.”

  “Is her sister in it?” Regina asks, and the color drains from her face.

  “She is,” Wallen answers.

  It can’t be her—our girl was named Alice, not Eleanor. But the location, the age…

  The three of us enter my sitting room, and Wallen closes the door behind us. In the center of the room, a covered portrait rests on an easel, waiting to be revealed.

  I walk across the space, hesitating once my hand clasps the white cover. Steeling myself, I pull it away.

  Regina lets out a soft, heartbroken cry.

  Alice, our Alice, sits upon her mother’s lap. She wasn’t much older than a baby when this was painted, a year and a half at the most. She has chin-length, dark brown hair and a red satin bow atop her curls. Her amber eyes are as bright as her young grin, and she’s surrounded by a family that quietly smiles for the artist.

  Her older sister holds her hand. At three or four, the girl is just as lovely as she is now, with pale blonde hair and piercing blue eyes that match her mother’s.

  Regina cries softly, clutching my arm. “It’s her.”

  I turn away, choking back emotion that doesn’t usually plague me.

  �
��Her name was Eleanor,” I say to Regina, tilting my head back to stare at the ceiling, willing my weakness to leave me.

  “Why did she say it was Alice?” Regina asks, tears streaming down her cheeks.

  “She was young,” Wallen answers. He’s older than Regina and me by almost two decades and was Father’s valet before he started attending me. “It was difficult to understand her. She was probably asking for her sister.”

  I was eight when Eleanor came to us. I remember…but not as well as Wallen.

  Well enough, however, to know that this is her.

  Why did it have to be her?

  Regina chokes on a sob, turning from us, and dark memories flood the room. Though Eleanor was never truly ours, we loved her.

  And none of us will be able to forgive Mother for what she did.

  “Do something with the portrait, Wallen.” I clear my throat. “I cannot keep it in here.”

  “Would you have me destroy it, Your Highness?”

  “No,” I say immediately, the idea unthinkable. “But store it somewhere we don’t have to look at it. Somewhere my mother won’t find it.”

  “Or Drake,” Regina says softly.

  Drake.

  “Yes,” I reply.

  Wallen covers the portrait and steps into the hall, leaving me with Regina.

  “Brahm,” she cries, hugging herself.

  “I know,” I murmur gently, wrapping my arm around her shoulder.

  “They looked so much alike,” she says. “Do you think…do you think Ali—Eleanor would have grown up to look like Alice?”

  My face tries to crumple, but I fight it. “Don’t do this to yourself.”

  Regina nods and steps back, her eyes already red from crying.

  “It’s getting late,” I say gently. “Go to bed.”

  “Are you all right?” she asks, dabbing her face.

  “I’m not.”

  She blinks quickly. “If you need me…”

  “I know.”

  I wait until she’s gone before I sink into a chair and let my head hang. Alice’s parents died because they were searching for her sister. Her life has been turbulent because of us.

  If we had tried to locate Eleanor’s family when she was first brought to us instead of treating her like a puppy, perhaps the tragedy could have been avoided. Eleanor might have lived a normal life. She and Alice would likely be with their parents tonight, content and happy, maybe chattering about a ball they would attend come the weekend.

  Untouched by Faerie and its cruel ways.

  Before I can think about my decision, I stand and pull off my jacket, quickly dressing in my black garb. A few minutes later, wearing my mask and a bandage I do not require, I stand outside Alice’s balcony door.

  11

  ALICE

  The knock at the balcony door is so unexpected, I slosh tea onto my hand.

  Quickly, I set the cup in its saucer and wipe up the mess before hurrying toward the door. I peek through the curtain, hoping.

  The bandit waits in the dark, his wide-brimmed hat clutched in his hands.

  I throw open the door.

  “Two nights in a row?” I whisper with a grin. “What have I done to earn such a thing?”

  He steps inside, softly shutting the door behind him. He’s so tall, I feel dwarfed next to him.

  Exactly as tall as Brahm.

  My eyes fall on the bandage at his throat, and my thoughts churn with confusion. I was so sure…

  “How’s your neck?” I ask.

  When he doesn’t answer, I grow worried. Stepping closer to inspect the injury, I ask, “Did you go to the apothecary?”

  “My neck is fine,” he finally says, taking my hand in his before I can fuss over the bandage.

  “Then why do you look like you’re in pain?” I whisper.

  “I am.” He looks down at our clasped hands. “But not from a physical affliction.”

  “All right… Then why are you here?” Quickly, I add, “Not that you aren’t welcome.”

  He interlaces his fingers with mine. “I just wanted to see you.”

  “Something happened.”

  After several heavy seconds, he nods.

  “But you can’t tell me what it was?”

  “I don’t think it would be wise.”

  I hate that he’s keeping so much from me, but I don’t know what to do about it. Maybe the best thing I can do is show him he can trust me.

  “I have tea.” I tug him toward the small table. “Have a cup.”

  But instead of letting me lead him, he steps up behind me, wraps his arm around my shoulders, and tucks me close. His cheek presses against mine, and the soft satin of his mask brushes against my temple.

  “I’ll leave if you ask me to,” he murmurs.

  “Why would I do that when I’ve been waiting for you for weeks?” I say, working hard to keep my voice steady so he won’t know how deliciously flustered I am. “And this time, you’re not even covered in blood.”

  He laughs softly near my ear. The sad sound of it tugs at my heart.

  “How was your day?” he asks. “You’re working in the conservatory, is that right?”

  “My day was fine, and I was relieved of my position this evening.” I angle my head to look at him. “Lord Ambrose said I am now a guest.”

  “He must be fond of you,” the bandit says quietly.

  “Do you think?”

  He watches me with a steady gaze. “How couldn’t he be?”

  “He’s taking me into Kellington tomorrow to purchase new supplies.”

  “You could stay, you know. Remain in Kellington, resume your normal life.”

  “Do you think the marquis will give me that option?” I ask.

  The bandit’s eyes are solemn behind his mask. “Most likely.”

  “So, is this our goodbye? Is that why you’re here?”

  “You can’t have a life in Faerie,” he says, turning me so I face him and then dropping his arms. “Too many humans think it’s possible, but you must believe me when I say it’s not. Each day marches you closer to peril. Your life expectancy is far too short here.”

  “What about you?”

  “Me?”

  “You’re a human in Faerie, aren’t you?” I press.

  But is he? Is he really?

  “I don’t know where I belong anymore.”

  “Neither do I.” I let my fingers brush against his. “But there is one reason to remain here, and no reason to stay in Kellington. Arithmetic was never my strongest subject, but even I know the answer to that problem.”

  “Your brother isn’t worth the risk.”

  “I wasn’t speaking about Gustin.”

  Incredulously, he asks, “You would linger in Faerie because of me?”

  “I think you need me,” I say.

  “I need you?”

  Instead of answering with words, I set my hand on his cheek and let my thumb edge over his black, silken mask.

  I expect him to shy away, but his hand moves to my side.

  “You’re lonely,” I say quietly. “I recognize the symptoms. I’ve battled them most of my life.”

  His grip tightens on my waist as though the statement cuts him to the core. “Were you unhappy as a child, Alice?”

  I shake my head. “No, but when I was young, my parents were often gone. To be honest, things didn’t change all that much when they died. My grandmother tried, and I had a kind governess, but I was alone much of the time. And Gustin…well, my brother and I were never close. When he was old enough, he began drinking and gambling, spending most of his time in the clubs. I rarely saw him.”

  The bandit’s frown deepens.

  “Don’t misunderstand,” I say quickly. “I know what a blessed life I led. I never wanted for anything; I never went hungry. I’m not ungrateful for all I had. Even Gustin, vacant though he was, gave me a generous allowance, letting me have whatever I wanted, buying me expensive gowns and all the art supplies I could ever want. I was w
ell cared for.”

  “When did you begin painting?” he asks.

  “I don’t remember exactly. It seems I always had a brush in my hand when I was little. When I was ten, Grandmother brought in a tutor to help me hone my gift. I completed my first commissioned portrait when I was sixteen. A friend of my grandmother’s asked me to paint her dog. Apparently, I did an adequate job. A month after the first portrait was complete, she commissioned me to paint her with the dog.”

  He smiles a little. “And you’ve done other commissions since then?”

  I nod, torn between humility and wanting to impress him. “I have.” I grin. “Even some without pets.”

  Suddenly, he stands straighter as if something has occurred to him. “What did you do with your earnings?”

  My mood sours a little. “I happily, and naively, gave everything to Gustin. It was my contribution to our family’s estate.”

  And now it’s gone.

  I had no idea my brother would gamble with our home. I still feel the sting of betrayal, though I’ve tried to ignore it.

  Perhaps I should wash my hands of my brother altogether, let him reap what he’s sown. But I’ve lost too many family members to sacrifice the last to the Fae.

  “Your money wasn’t his to gamble,” the bandit says, growing excited. “Tell Lord Ambrose.”

  “What difference will it make?”

  “All the difference in the world,” he says urgently, grasping my arms. “Alice, you must tell him.”

  And despite all the evidence to the contrary, I can’t help but think Lord Ambrose knows…because I’m speaking with him now.

  “Will it free Gustin?” I ask.

  Immediately, the bandit releases my arms. Sounding frustrated, he shakes his head. “No.”

  “Then what’s the point?”

  “The point is Gustin gambled with assets that didn’t fully belong to him—it breaks the agreement. It allows Lord Ambrose to give you back your home and life without any repercussions.”

  “It gives him the opportunity? You’re saying he doesn’t have it right now?”

  “He’s not as free as you believe. The queen watches him, waiting for the slightest sign of defiance.”