He bowed his head in greeting. “You found me out. I am indeed. I’d heard of a garden where I might stretch my legs, but have yet to find it.”
“Oh.” Her eyes widened and her mouth made a perfect little O. “You’re nowhere near the gardens. They’re on the other side of the castle.” She bit her lower lip and glanced down the hall. “I suppose I could show you.”
He sensed a deep discomfort with the suggestion. Intrigued, he cocked his head, eyes narrowed. “I would appreciate that, but I have a feeling you were going elsewhere. I would hate to alter your plans.”
Now, he would see how adept she was at lying. Everyone lied to please the prince and he supposed she would be no different.
Lady Delarainne wrung her hands and worked her bottom lip between her teeth while Theo waited patiently to be proved right. He’d learned long ago no one was to be trusted.
“If you don’t mind, I did have other plans. I could ask one of the servants to escort you.”
He almost chuckled his surprise. “Where is it you’re going that’s so important? If you don’t mind my asking.”
Again, she glanced down the hall. “To see my mother, if you must know.”
Another honest answer. Theo squinted to better see her aura, but couldn’t make out shade nor shape. All elves had a magic presence around them, but not every elf could see them. He was one of a few who had the gift. To find an elf without an aura wasn’t unusual, but it made her even more intriguing.
“May I join you?” He hadn’t meant to ask, but her sincerity warranted further study.
“She’s not well.”
“Yes, your stepfather said as much. Perhaps I could help? I’m not strong in the gift of healing, but I might see something your village healers missed.” His fingertips brushed the bandage. Without their village healers, he would’ve been dead. If the girl in the forest hadn’t directed them out of the woods, his corpse would be lying with the wolves.
Lady Delarainne smiled and dipped a small curtsey. “I would appreciate that and I’m sure my mother would like the company.”
A grey cat slunk around her legs and purred loud enough Theo heard the rumbling as if he were snuggled next to the thing. Delarainne reached down and scratched his head before turning and setting off down a quiet wing of the castle.
Theo followed, as did the cat. Every time he looked at it, he was certain the fur monster was laughing at him. His tail whipped from side to side as they walked, every so often thwacking Theo’s leg. Each time, he bit back a retort and quickened his step, but the cat kept pace. Hopefully, there wasn’t a swath of cat hair on his trousers.
At the duchess’s rooms, Delarainne placed her hands on the door and breathed a deep breath.
“Don’t be alarmed by her appearance. She’s been in her dreamless sleep for seven years.”
“Seven years?” He tried and failed to hide his shock. He’d expected a chest sickness or possibly bad fever, but not someone comatose.
“A fall from her horse.”
For the first time, Theo sensed Delarainne wasn’t being entirely honest with him.
“I’m sorry.” He placed a hand over hers and felt the slight tremble of her fingertips. She’d been nervous when meeting him earlier that morning, too. Perhaps it was nerves, or…something else.
The duchess’s rooms weren’t dark and foreboding as Theo had thought they might be. Instead, large windows allowed in the morning light and the walls were awash with colorful paintings and tapestries. Nor were his shallow inhales met with death and decay. A freshness lingered in the air—of a spring meadow and new needles from the pine trees found not far from the castle.
Delarainne led them to a large room, totally enclosed in glass from the floor, extending all the way over their heads. He took in the etched detailing of the panes, impressed despite himself. In the center of the conservatory, a woman lay upon a dark chaise. Eyes closed, lips slack, skin so pale it was near translucent, her beauty shone through the dreamless sleep.
She had the same auburn hair as Delarainne, although, as he sat beside the chaise, he realized it was more of a deep cranberry than rust. His gaze shifted to Delarainne’s delicate facial features, the same as her mother’s, then slid to where her hand clutched the sleeping woman’s. Delarainne’s skin had the same ivory shade.
Magic surrounded the duchess. Visible streaks of gold and green circled her body from head to slippered toe. Only someone strong in magic and gifted in healing could keep the duchess suspended in a dreamless sleep. His fingertips brushed the bandage on his collarbone. The crone in the village, possibly.
“Mother, I’ve brought you a visitor.” Delarainne’s smile nearly broke his heart. She stroked her mother’s hand and straightened a few straying hairs. “The prince has come all the way from Elvenwood to see you.” She glanced at him, encouragement in her eyes.
“It’s my pleasure, Your Grace.” He struggled to recall her first name. Blood and ashes, his mother would know. She knew every backwater castle and hamlet in the kingdom. Theo had been schooled on them, but he’d thought the lessons boring at the time. Now, he wished he’d paid better attention.
Castles like Duir were built by the old mad king just after the fae bitch had cursed his family. They were constructed quickly and for defense, not comfort. His gaze flicked to the windows where sunlight streamed through, to the rest of the sitting room. The occupants since had made an effort to make the castle a family home.
“What is her name?”
“Fleur Madeline Rosette Dequette.”
“That’s certainly a mouthful. May I call her Fleur?”
“Of course.” Delarainne smiled and leaned forward. A small silver pendant swung loose from her blouse and she quickly tucked it away.
“With your permission?” He held his hands over the duchess and looked to Delarainne before proceeding.
At her barely perceptible nod, he opened his magic. The streaks of gold and green magic scattered a second before regrouping to continue their eternal circling. He moved his hands to the top of Fleur’s head and concentrated on any lingering maladies. An old injury, long since healed, was all he found. His inspection continued over her chest, where her lungs breathed in an out with strong consistency. At her abdomen, he lingered, searching for internal issues, but there were none. His fingertips fluttered over her pelvis and down her legs. Nothing. At least, not anything that would give him an idea why she lay comatose.
He scratched his head and rubbed a finger along his nose. It didn’t make sense.
“What caused her injuries?”
“Finnick said she fell from a horse.” Bitterness entered Delarainne’s voice and Theo looked at her with renewed interest.
“And you don’t believe him?”
Her snort wasn’t ladylike at all. She tried to cover it with a cough and a maid appeared from the other room to bring her a glass of water.
“Finnick was riding with Mother that day. I have no reason to question his recounting of events.”
Theo glanced first to the duchess and then back to Delarainne. He returned his hands to Fleur’s head, this time feeling along her skull where the old injury had healed. It might’ve been from a fall, or it could’ve been something else, but the fact it wasn’t a danger any longer intrigued him.
His gaze lingered on the clasped hands of mother and daughter. By the color of her skin, it appeared Lady Delarainne didn’t get outside much. Even now, she sat with her back to the glass panes as if sunshine might melt her slight frame. He scanned the beautiful windows and thick stone walls. Was this a home, or a prison? There was obvious tension between Delarainne and her stepfather, with the duchess the cause.
He could find no reason why she was in her dreamless state, nor did he sense anything malicious lingering over Fleur. In fact, her peaceful countenance negated any sort of villainy he might construe.
“Have you found something?” Desperation clung to Delarainne’s words and lingered in her eyes.
Theo
shook his head. “No, I’m afraid this is beyond my skills. The healer who looks after your mother is gifted, have no doubt of that.”
“Egritte is a godsend.” Delarainne smoothed her mother’s cheek with the backs of her fingers. “I sometimes think Mother is the only thing keeping Egritte tethered to this life. She’s old and weary, but loyal to Mother. And perhaps too stubborn for her own good.”
“The duchess is lucky to have such a loving, devoted daughter.”
“You are kind, Prince Theodonys.”
“Theo, please. No one calls me Theodonys except my father, and that’s only when he’s extremely vexed.”
“Rainne.” She put a hand on her heart and bowed her head.
He sat back with resignation. She was fair enough, but his interest didn’t go beyond the curious state of her mother’s illness. He would have to tread lightly and not give the false impression of romantic attraction.
She stroked her mother’s hand and spoke in a calming voice, telling her about the flowers blooming on the south side of the building. He drifted in thought, his mind working out how best to take advantage of Rainne’s situation.
In her mother, he might have found a solution to his own predicament.
5
Finnick stormed across her room, his face red with fury. Rainne cowered behind a chair, mortified at her own cowardice and fear. Never before had her stepfather raised his voice to her, but now, he raged like a madman.
“I thought he could help.”
“You thought—” He didn’t finish his words. Instead, he spun on his heel and grasped the edge of a desk. His back heaved with his breathing and she waited, legs trembling, stomach roiling. “You thought nothing of your mother’s safety. How can we trust him?”
“He’s the prince! Surely, he is of noble standing. Besides, it was wasted effort. He couldn’t help Mother and even admitted that Egritte was more skilled than he.”
“Blessed be the gods for that.” Finnick turned to face her, his features screwed into relief and torment. He scrubbed a hand over his face and blew out a breath. “If he learns of the dangers we face here, of the raids and increase of creatures coming up from the south, he’ll insist on sending troops to help protect the border. It’s imperative he doesn’t find out what we’re dealing with.”
The tremble in Finnick’s voice scared her more than his rage. He was truly frightened, and she didn’t believe it was just from the prince sending troops. Something darker weighed his words. In all her years living with him, she’d never seen her stepfather afraid.
“I’ve done the best I could for you and your mother. All we can do now is keep her comfortable, but that doesn’t mean I’ve stopped searching for a cure for you both.” His gaze met hers and tears shimmered in his eyes. “I never wanted this for either of you. I know you blame me and some days, I don’t blame you. I wish things could be different, but wishes only work in children’s stories.”
Rainne crossed her arms over her chest and smoothed the fabric of her sleeves. His vulnerability touched her and she wanted to believe him, desperately so. Yet that wouldn’t remove the curse. And if she didn’t hate him, she’d have to hate herself even more.
“Stay in your rooms until he leaves. Please. It’s for the best. If he knows what you are at night, all will be lost. He’s your prince and if he so desires, he can put another noble in our place.”
“But our family has lived here for generations. Just because Mother is unable to defend the border doesn’t mean we’re leaving the realm open to attack. We—” She stopped and considered the ramifications of Theo knowing she became an ogress. Sourness churned in her belly. “I remember Mother telling me once how most elves despised anyone not of their race. She wasn’t specific, and I thought she meant the faeries, but—” She glanced at Finnick, afraid to finish her question.
“Will he kill you if he knew the truth? I can’t say for certain. The royal family harbor many secrets and just as many prejudices. Avoid him so that we don’t test his allegiance.” He glanced out the window, where the sky began to darken. “I’ll leave you now.”
Curses bit against her lips, but she would not speak them. Not to him. He didn’t deserve her rage or her love. At the sound of her door closing, she breathed out and sunk into a chair. Pora leapt up to curl along her leg. She stroked his silky fur and willed her heart to stop its frantic beating.
“This is a disaster.”
“Only if the prince sees you.” His little grey head lifted and his whiskers twitched. “I could always scratch out his eyes.” He flexed a paw to show his claws.
Murderous little imp.
“Thanks, but there will be no need for that. I’ll just stay out of his way like Finnick said. I need to prepare.” She gave him one last stroke before she rose and went to her bedchamber.
Alona waited with a robe and steaming cup of xanslip tea to help with the pain.
Rainne emptied the cup in one long gulp. She stood with her head tilted back, eyes focused on the ceiling, and felt the burn of the tea as it coursed down her throat into her belly. Soon, it would sear her veins with its numbing. It wasn’t enough, was never enough, to combat the agony the change brought.
A knock at the door startled her and Alona looked to Rainne with huge, apprehension-filled eyes.
“See who it is and get rid of them.” It could only be one person—the prince. Everyone else in the castle knew better than to disturb Rainne after sunset.
She removed the small silver vial pendant she always wore when an elf—the one filled with enough poison to end her life if need be—and continued to undress while listening to Alona explain that Lady Delarainne was not feeling well and had taken to her bed early this evening. Theo’s voice came clear to her elven hearing and she detected a slight regret in his tone.
“Please give her my regards and tell her I’ll call again in the morning.”
Sweet, kind Theo. She would have to think of another excuse tomorrow. Damn it all, but Finnick was right. She should never have asked him to visit with her mother. It was worth a shot to see if he could help, but doing so had given him the false impression they were friends and apparently implied an open invitation to seek her out. She’d do as Finnick ordered and avoid him until he left the castle to resume his journey, which needed to be sooner rather than later.
“Alona, send a message to Egritte asking that she visit the castle tomorrow. I’d like her to check on the duchess, but also to see about speeding along the prince’s recovery from his wounds.”
“Of course, my lady. I’ll go myself as soon as you’re settled.” Alona helped remove the last of Rainne’s garments and held the robe for her to slip on.
She cast another glance at the sky and to the cup on the table. “Make me more tea, please.”
“But you shouldn’t—I mean, Egritte said only the one cup each night.”
“I know what she said, but she doesn’t understand the pain I suffer.” It was more than the pain. Rainne hoped a second dose would dull her mind so she didn’t spend the night thinking of elven princes and futures that could never be.
Thankfully, Alona didn’t argue. She’d been with Rainne all these years; she knew what her lady endured.
Just as Alona set the cup in her hands, a spasm shook her and she hastily drank the steaming liquid, burning her lips. It didn’t matter. As soon as her ogre took over, the wounds would heal as if they never were.
Her head throbbed and muscles ached as the spasms continued. Bones creaked and adjusted, thickening with the change. Alona unfastened the clips in her hair and a waterfall of crimson fell over her shoulders. Her ogress never wore her hair up—it was the one vanity the ogress allowed.
Rainne gasped and bent at the waist. The tea in her belly sloshed up the back of her throat, but she swallowed against it. Tears filled her eyes and she went down on her knees. Her veins thickened with ogre blood, and muscles stretched to accommodate the bigger bones. Tendons snapped and Rainne held in a scream.
She thrust forward, bracing on all fours, and panted like a dog. This was the worst part—when all the scents violated and overwhelmed her senses. She breathed in, encouraging the smells in order to be done with it sooner.
Lust, fear, anger, melancholy, regret—every emotion from those living in the castle came to her and she gagged. Her panting increased with her heartbeat, and her stomach coiled as if to spew back the smells in a sticky mess of tea and biscuits.
She heaved and arched into the change until finally, long green fingers splayed beneath her face, only one scent remained: sweet pea and powder.
“Oh, fuck no.” She stretched like a cat, dipping her back low, her head thrown back. “I can’t stay here, not with him so near.”
Her ogre blood ignited, and the peculiar pricking of her heart increased. The prince wasn’t safe. She stood and touched her lips with a fingertip. The sweetness of his taste lingered even now, a full day later. During the day, she’d not been distracted by his scent, merely noting it as fresh, but nothing more. Nor had she remembered the sensation of his lips to hers. The ogre attraction to him carried through to her elven form, but not the memory or emotions connected to the actions.
Alona held out her ogre clothes and helped Rainne dress in the leather pants, tunic, and jerkin she always wore at night. Pora entered, dressed in his own kit, and flourished his rapier. She chuckled at the silly cat.
“What shall it be tonight? More wolves? A raid on the neighboring village? How about a nice pint down at the pub?” He sheathed his weapon and bowed like a proper gentleman.
He knew none of those things would happen, but he liked to tease her all the same. He didn’t know how much the previous night’s bloodshed had affected the ogress and how, even then, she had to fight the urge for more.
“The sword master.”
His whiskers fell. “I was afraid you’d say that. Can’t we forgo training for one night? Let someone else patrol. We deserve a night off.”
“Thank you, Alona. I’ll be back before sunrise.” As always.
Sunset, She Fights Page 4
