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

by Shari L. Tapscott

  “Strange,” Ian says lazily. “They seemed so close when I was here a few days ago.”

  “I can only assume you’re referring to the visiting artist, who is here to paint my portrait,” I say, ignoring the count. “She is nothing more and nothing less.”

  Mother acts surprised. “You commissioned a portrait for yourself? I never realized my son is so vain.”

  I could point out that she has no less than ten portraits of herself hanging in the castle, plus a statue in the garden, but it would play right into her hand. She wants to keep me talking, hoping I will eventually slip.

  “Where is she now?” Mother asks when I don’t respond.

  I begin to tell her that I don’t know where Alice is, but my magic practically strangles me—because I do know. She’s in my quarters.

  “Why should I concern myself with the whereabouts of a human girl?” I say instead, giving her a look of disdain.

  “Indeed,” Mother says smugly. “Well, nevertheless, I expect her to attend the masquerade tomorrow.” She turns to Ian. “It will be such a treat for a human girl, don’t you think?”

  “A great treat,” he agrees.

  “Alas, she will not be joining us,” I say.

  Alice can’t attend a Fae gathering—not when she’s untethered. Who knows who might stake a claim before the night is over?

  “She wishes to spend the holiday week in Kellington,” I continue, grateful when my magic lets me speak the words. It must be true.

  “How quaint. But surely she can cancel her plans?” Mother asks. “It’s not every day a human girl gets to attend a Faerie masquerade.”

  “We will see.”

  Mother narrows her eyes. “At the very least, fetch her for tea now. I want to meet her.”

  A ball of lead forms in my stomach, and I give her a respectful nod before I turn from the room. I rack my brain, searching for plausible excuses without having to lie.

  When I open the door, I find Regina.

  “Mother wants Alice to join us for tea,” I say heavily. “I don’t know what to do.”

  “She’s not here.”

  “Where is she?” I demand.

  Regina sets her jaw and shakes her head. “I can’t tell you, not right now.”

  “What do you mean—” The air rushes from my lungs when I realize what she’s done. “Thank you,” I breathe. “Regina, you’re brilliant.”

  “I know the way your mother works,” she says icily, her eyes flashing with memory.

  “Keep her safe,” I say.

  She wrings her hands at her waist. “What are you going to do?”

  I open my mouth to answer, and then I shake my head. “I can’t tell you.”

  “Oh.” She nods quickly. “Of course. Hurry back—if you’re gone too long, Aunt Marison will come looking for you.”

  Sick with relief, but still on edge because Alice is here somewhere, I hasten back to the sitting room.

  Mother’s eyes move to the empty space behind me when I enter. “Where is the girl?” she demands.

  “I have no idea,” I snap. “I do not intend to wander the estate searching for her. Are we going to have tea or not?”

  Drake turns from the window, giving me a suspicious look. I ignore him, focusing on my sister instead. “Your dress is lovely, Sabine.”

  She preens, brushing her golden hair behind her shoulder. “Do you like it? It’s a human creation—came all the way from Albright.” Her eyes sparkle. “Mother detests it.”

  “Your fascination with the vermin is growing old,” Mother says, once again turning her ire on my sister, where it usually rests.

  When Mother isn’t looking, Sabine flashes me a genuine smile, and I nod my thanks. No one is capable of distracting the queen like her own daughter.

  14

  ALICE

  As Regina instructed, I sit in the fresh straw, trying to stay as still and quiet as possible in the closed stall. It’s difficult when the hay makes my nose itch, and I’ve been holding back a sneeze for what feels like hours. It’s uncomfortable sitting for so long, and no matter how I stretch my legs, I ache to stand up.

  Regina didn’t know how long I’d have to hide here. It could be all night for all I know. Will the Faerie beasts find me in the stable? Twilight is already darkening the building. The horses are quiet as they eat their nightly rations, with only an occasional knicker and the shifting of large bodies.

  Surely there is some sort of protective charm warding the stable. How else would the horses stay safe at night? Or do the Faerie creatures only prey on stray humans?

  I draw my legs to my chin, looping my arms underneath my knees and skirts as I wait.

  A sound makes my ears prick. I go still, holding my breath, not daring to move a muscle.

  There it is again—a soft thump against the ground, like a muffled footstep.

  I break into a cold sweat, imagining all the things that might have found me. How many are in the queen’s entourage? For all I know, the grounds could be prowling with Fae men who would be all too delighted to find a human girl cowering in the straw.

  “Alice,” a soft voice calls, so familiar I almost burst into tears. “Where are you?”

  My response catches in my throat. What if it’s a trick?

  The owner of the voice pauses just beyond the stall door, directly above where I hide. “Alice?”

  I need to say something—it’s Brahm. I’m sure of it.

  “Where did she go?” he mutters, sounding so much like himself I decide I have no choice but to take the risk.

  “I’m here,” I whisper, my voice barely audible.

  The shuffling continues, and the stall door I’m leaning against suddenly opens, nearly sending me backward.

  Brahm sighs, kneeling next to me in his full bandit garb. “Are you all right?”

  Gulping, I nod.

  “Come on,” he says, taking my hand. “I need to get you out of here.”

  “Where are we going?” I ask.

  “Across the bridge. It’s the only place a queen of Faerie cannot touch you.”

  Holding tightly to Brahm’s hand, I hurry through the grounds after him, staying in the shadows, hiding behind trees when he instructs it. We cut through the woods, avoiding the road. Things scamper around us, and golden eyes watch from the bracken.

  A shrill squeal nearly paralyzes me, but Brahm urges me to keep moving.

  “Not much longer,” he promises. “We’re close now.”

  It feels like it must be midnight before we arrive at the bridge. The nearly full moon crests the forest just as we reach it, sending its eerie glow across the landscape. Just beyond, Kellington flickers with merry firelight. I can just make out a candlelit Year’s End tree in the window of a distant farmhouse.

  For the first time since we fled, we must walk into the open. I tremble as Brahm assures me it will be all right, feeling as if there is no way my shaking legs will carry me across the bridge.

  “We’ll go together,” he says, squeezing my hand.

  “Do you think we were followed?” I ask.

  “I don’t believe so.”

  I take a deep breath, and then I nod. “Let’s go.”

  Cautiously, we step onto the road. Nothing leaps at us; there is no sudden yell.

  I feel like a deer in a hunter’s range as we run across the bridge. Brahm blends into the night in his black clothing, but my gown is pale, and the moonlight practically glows on it.

  The warm air turns cold when we’re halfway across, and the bridge is suddenly slick with ice. I nearly fall as we run, but Brahm loops his arm around my waist to keep me upright.

  As soon as we’re across, he pulls me into the winter forest on the other side, holding me around the waist as we both gasp for breath.

  The knee-high snowdrift is freezing against my legs, but I’m too preoccupied with our success to care.

  I shiver against Brahm, and he rubs his hands up and down my arms. “It’s too cold to linger. We need to
keep going.”

  “To where?”

  He pushes a wayward strand of hair behind my ear. “I’m taking you home.”

  My heart gives a leap, and my eyes sting.

  We wade through the snow and return to the road, which is thankfully easier to travel. I’m shivering by the time we make it to my parents’ estate, desperately grateful it’s not far from the border.

  We pass through the gates and walk by the fountain, past the formal gardens and the dormant rosebushes. I pause in the courtyard, hugging myself as I stare at the dark manor.

  “I’ve never seen it so…”

  Empty.

  Brahm produces a key, and we step inside the foyer.

  The smell of lemon oil hits me like a tidal wave, bringing back too many memories. Even the sound of the door closing behind us is familiar.

  But this darkness…is different. It’s new and sad and so lonely it makes the hair on the back of my neck stand on end.

  “There used to be a lamp on the entry table,” I tell Brahm, fumbling in the dark. “I’m not sure if they left it.”

  Suddenly, there is light. I turn, so startled, I let out a small yip.

  Though he looks like the bandit, and has pretended to be human up to this point, a small ball of golden fire burns in Brahm’s gloved hand, casting bright light in the room. I stare at the magic for several moments, and then I turn away, relieved to see that the lamp and the table it sits upon have been left.

  Avoiding my eyes, Brahm lights the wick just as easily as he lit the air. He then turns toward me, lamp in hand, and the silence becomes heavy.

  “There’s a fireplace in the parlor,” I say. “Can you light a fire in there as well?”

  Appearing relieved I don’t mention the magic, he follows me through the halls and up the stairs. I shiver as we walk into the room, beginning to feel as if I’ll never be warm again. My toes are numb, and the tips of my fingers sting like I burned them.

  A small stack of firewood remains in the log rack near the hearth.

  As Brahm arranges wood in the fireplace, I look around the room. It’s been stripped bare. The furniture hasn’t been returned from the auction house, and only a few odds and ends remain. The settee, all the chairs, the piano, the end tables, and Mother’s secretary desk, which Father gave her when they were married, are all gone.

  Thankfully, the window seat remains since it’s built into the house and impossible to remove. Hopefully, the men Brahm hired to move the furniture didn’t think to check the cubby underneath. I open the padded lid, relieved to find the quilts within.

  I pull out several heavy ones, each made by my grandmother in this very room during the long hours of winter. I wrap one around my shoulders and place another on the floor in front of the fireplace like a picnic blanket. Shivering so much my teeth feel like they’re chattering, I sit down, huddling under my blanket, and wait for Brahm to finish.

  He stands once the flames take and then walks to the window, closing the drapes to block out the chill coming in through the glass.

  “Better?” he asks when he’s finished, setting the lamp on the floor near the blanket.

  I see my bandit in full light for the first time, and it almost makes me smile. I’m not sure how I ever questioned his identity.

  Nodding, I turn toward the door. “It’s so quiet.”

  “Wallen hired people to maintain the property, but I don’t believe there’s anyone who stays the night.”

  I try to smile. “I suppose we’ll find out soon.”

  He laughs under his breath, taking off his hat and shoving a hand through his thick hair.

  “We had a full staff when I lived here,” I say absently. “Even when Gustin stayed out all night, I was never alone.”

  After a moment, Brahm sits next to me on the floor. He looks as if he doesn’t know what to say.

  “What time do you think they’ll arrive in the morning?” I ask. “When do I need to leave so they won’t find me?”

  “Tomorrow is the beginning of the holiday week,” he says. “I believe Wallen gave the caretakers the time off.”

  A sad thought strikes me. Slowly, I turn to look into the corner.

  “What is it?” he asks.

  “That’s where the tree goes,” I whisper. “It’s been there every year for as long as I can remember. When I was a child, I thought it was the prettiest thing, all lit with candles. I’d make hard ginger cookies with the cook, and we’d string them from the boughs. Grandmother played the piano in the evenings until arthritis in her fingers made it impossible. After that, I took over.”

  “You play?” he asks, following my gaze to the empty corner where the piano used to sit.

  I rub my hands together. “I do. But even if the piano were still here, my fingers would be too cold to play for you.”

  Brahm scoots closer. He removes his gloves and then takes my hands. He clasps them between his larger ones and brings them to his mouth. He blows hot air that must be laced with magic because it feels like I just slipped into a warm bath. Every inch of me goes warm, and I lean forward, blissfully content.

  “If you can do that, why didn’t you do it earlier?” I laugh.

  When I look up, I realize our faces are only inches apart. Brahm still has my hands, and his thumb rubs over my skin.

  “I’m glad you’re safe,” he says, his voice deep with emotion. “I’m truly sorry.”

  “What will happen when you go back?”

  “I don’t know,” he says honestly.

  I tighten my hands over his. “Then stay here. Don’t return.”

  His gaze moves over my face, and he drops his voice. “You have no idea how tempted I am by that offer.”

  He lowers my hands, setting me free…but he doesn’t shift away. He gives me the choice to stay close or move back. Slowly, he lifts his hand to my face, caressing my cheek before he slides his fingers under my hair to cup the back of my neck.

  My heart leaps, and fear mingles with desire.

  Brahm gives me several seconds to protest our nearness. When I don’t, he touches his lips to mine.

  It’s a feather-soft kiss, so gentle I feel as if I might cry. I lean into him as he kisses me again, placing my hands on his shoulders, drowning in sensation.

  His mouth is warm and tender, the kiss sweet and telling. It’s not about passion—it’s a wordless confession.

  I care for you.

  It’s like sunrise chasing away night, leaving me standing in the light of warm morning. Even when it’s over, I bask in its glow.

  Brahm leans in once more to finish with a last, brief kiss.

  We then study each other, chests rising and falling in tandem, marveling in the quiet newness. I feel like a butterfly, emerging into the world on new wings.

  I raise my hand to the edge of his silken mask. “May I?”

  “Say my name,” he says hoarsely, his fingers gently moving against the back of my neck.

  “Brahm,” I whisper. “Lord Ambrose. Marquis of Rose Briar Woods. Fae prince of West Faerie. My friend, and the man who has stolen my heart—just as he warned he would when we first met.”

  I hold my breath as he loops a thumb under the edge of the mask and pulls it from his face, stripping himself bare.

  Brahm stares back at me with his familiar, dark brown eyes, the two most important men in my life merging into one.

  “Your ears.” Choked up, I reach for them and run my fingers over the subtle points. “And the wound on your neck. How?”

  “Magic.”

  I kiss him even as I cry, so grateful he decided to share his secret with me. He holds me close, pulling me into an embrace and smoothing his hands over my hair.

  “Why did you create the Highwayman?” I ask, wrapping my arms around his middle.

  Brahm returns my embrace like he’s afraid someone will steal me away. “Behind the mask, I can do things I otherwise cannot. Protect those I cannot protect.”

  “But why? Why do you care about humans?
”

  Except for the rapid beating of his heart, he’s perfectly still. He adjusts his hold on me, clutching me even closer. “Because a young human girl came into my family many years ago.”

  “The girl you mentioned before?” I whisper.

  Slowly, he pulls away, shaking his head when I try to tug him back.

  Brushing his knuckle over my cheek, he says quietly, “I need to tell you about her. We called her Alice, but you knew her as Eleanor.”

  15

  ALICE

  I listen to Brahm’s story in complete silence. Maybe it’s due to the evening’s events, but I feel numb.

  Or maybe incredulous.

  Yes, we believed Eleanor wandered into Faerie, or thought perhaps she’d been kidnapped by the Fae and stolen across the boundary, but it seems the chance of her ending up with Brahm’s family is too unlikely. West Faerie is a large territory.

  “I don’t understand,” I say when he finishes. “If Eleanor is dead, why did you think I might be her?”

  “No one knows for certain what happened to her. Mother decided to execute her, but she disappeared. Later that day, Mother learned my brother stole her out of Auvenridge. Her guards apprehended Drake near the eastern border, but they never found Eleanor. Since there is no way a human child could survive in Faerie alone, it’s always been assumed she died.”

  Brahm watches me, looking as if he’s waiting for me to lose my composure. But I don’t know how I feel. I don’t remember Eleanor well. Over time, her existence was reduced to a name. She was the reason my parents were so often gone, the reason they died. I was five when she disappeared, not old enough to understand their anguish. I just knew they were rarely home. When I was older, it felt as if they were chasing a ghost. She didn’t seem real.

  But one thing was certain in my young mind—they must have loved her the most. Why else would they abandon us for all those years?

  Now that I’m older, I understand. But the shadow of my young resentment remains.