by Meara Platt
“Melody, enough,” he said with a laughing shake of his head, as though there was nothing unusual about being dead. It was cruel of him to be amused by her predicament. “You’re very much alive,” he assured her, taking hold of her hands in that warm, protective way she’d quickly grown to crave. “Shall I kiss you again to prove it?”
“Don’t you dare,” she said, eying him warily.
“Very well, but will you allow me to explain what took place?”
She gave a hesitant nod, not really wishing to hear, but knowing she had to in order to correct his mistaken belief that she was someone special.
“Last night, I told you that the demons could not see you.”
“So you say, but those first two came straight toward me.”
“Aye, they did. They weren’t looking at you, but at your light.”
She frowned. “What are you talking about? Is this another of your tricks?”
“A golden aura emanated from you when you raised the fire iron to defend me. As the demons crept closer, the golden aura began to swirl, forming a protective shield around your body. The demons were irresistibly drawn to your light … like moths to a flame.”
“It couldn’t have been very bright or else I would have seen it.”
“I don’t know why you didn’t notice it. Perhaps you were drunk, having imbibed too much of Vicar Axwell’s sacramental wine. As for me, I wouldn’t touch his bottles. The man’s too cheap to purchase a decent vintage.”
“Your Majesty, don’t jest at a time like this.”
“Very well, I won’t. However, he does purchase cheap wine.” He sighed when she frowned again. “The golden glow about you was real and it will serve you no purpose to deny it.”
“I will deny it. I didn’t see anything.”
“You saw me. You still see me.”
“That’s different.”
“No, it isn’t. Melody, I resisted the truth as well, for you’re gentle and lack the skills of a fighter. I have only one chance to save my subjects from Lord Brihann and his Dragon Lords, but I can’t accomplish it without you. It troubles me greatly that I must rely on you. Believing in you, trusting that you’ll have the strength to conquer dragons is quite a lot for me to accept.”
“Then don’t accept it,” she said.
“I must.” He arched an eyebrow and cast her a meaningful glance. “So must you. This is your destiny, one you will have to submit to if we’re to succeed. My council is ready to crown you as my queen. I’m willing to do the same. Time will tell if my council and I are right, but I believe we are.”
“It is nonsense.”
“Is it? You see me when you shouldn’t. My body feels warm to you when it should chill you to the bone. My kisses pleasure you when they’re deadly to other humans.”
“Have you kissed other human females before?”
“I’ve lived for five thousand years. Yes, I’ve kissed human females before, though never with results quite like yours. You seem disturbed by it. Why? I have not killed any, not that I’m aware.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“It appears to matter greatly to you, though I don’t understand why my kissing another should unsettle you at all. The ladies I kissed were beautiful, but none as beautiful as you. In truth, you did not appear particularly special to me at first. But you are like a young, sweet wine that improves upon aging. Ah, you’re angry again. Why are you so angry? You’ve only aged a day.”
“This discussion is ridiculous.” She slapped her thighs. “Well, I must go. Today is market day and I have chores to finish.”
He rose and held out his hand out to assist her. “I’ll help.”
“No, I can manage on my own.”
“Perhaps, but I cannot manage without you. My council has ruled. You’re to be watched and protected from now on.”
Melody avoided his outstretched hand as she scrambled to her feet. “I will not be watched by those I cannot see. Does your council even exist? Or is this another of your tricks?”
He frowned at her. “It is no trick. You know they’re real.”
“Why can’t I see them?”
“I don’t know. Human abilities are imperfect. Some humans can see all demons, but most only see the ones they wish to see. I think my council is invisible to you because you’re fighting against your powers. You refuse to acknowledge their existence for fear of what they represent to you. Perhaps they will appear to you once we marry.”
“Hah! There will be no marriage. I haven’t agreed to it.”
“I know.” He ran a hand roughly across the back of his neck and glanced around. “I’m told it is up to me to change your mind.”
“How? You had better not use any faerie tricks on me.”
“I can’t. It must be done your human way. I’ve never courted a young woman before, so forgive me if I seem awkward or if I grow impatient with you. There isn’t time for pleasantries.” He reached for her hand.
She took a step back, suddenly concerned. “What are you going to do to me?”
He sighed. “I’ve just told you that I must do it the human way.”
“Courtship?” Somehow, she couldn’t imagine Cadeyrn coming around to tea in the afternoons, patiently sitting by her side and smiling insipidly while she recited poetry … or better yet, while he recited sonnets to her beauty.
“No. The human way. I intend to seduce you.”
Melody meant to protest. Truly, she did.
Instead, she folded her arms across her chest and tilted her chin upward in defiance. “I’d like to see you try.”
Chapter Six
It was late morning by the time Melody tucked her gray shawl about her shoulders and left the vicarage, basket in hand. Her thoughts were concentrated on defending her virginity, which was at serious risk if what Cadeyrn said was true. He didn’t need faerie magic to melt her resistance, for her own body was working against her, breathlessly eager to surrender at his first advance.
How was she to stand firm when her legs turned to pudding whenever he was about?
“Think of your chores,” she muttered as she strolled down the forest path toward Borrowdale, too lost in desperate plans of defense to enjoy the occasional bursts of sunshine and pleasantly cool air. Nor did she pay much attention to the ferns and lungworts that thrived amid the shadows of the ancient trail.
At the forest’s edge, the trail met a lush, green valley. A river ran between the forest lands and the valley, its gentle flow of water descending from Friar’s Crag and meandering on a lazy current into Borrowdale.
The forbidding peaks of Friar’s Crag loomed over the entire landscape, dominating all manner of life that fell under its dark shadow. Stark, gray clouds were in a constant swirl around its desolate heights, those clouds ever battling with the sun for control of the gentle valley.
Melody quickened her pace toward Borrowdale, for it seemed that the clouds would win control of this day. Cadeyrn fell into step beside her. “Will you be stopping at the bake shop?”
She considered ignoring him, but relented since he had made it clear he would not go away. “I might. Why?”
“Mr. Gordimer makes the best sweet buns. They’re my favorite, especially with the sugar melted across the tops.”
“I hate sweet buns.”
He threw his head back and laughed. “No, you don’t. I saw you there the day you arrived, enjoying two.”
She inhaled lightly and paused to gape at him. “You were watching me?”
He nodded. “My council and I noticed you the moment you descended from the Lincolnshire coach.”
She didn’t know what to make of his admission, so she quickened her pace and marched onward. Who … or what else … had been watching her? “You do not have my permission to spy on me.”
He arched an eyebrow. “Kings do not require permission from commoners, though I will admit you are a most uncommon commoner. We weren’t spying on you, just curious about you. In truth, we had dismissed you as ou
r savior queen until you stumbled over me in the garden and thrust yourself back in our notice.”
“Dismissed me? Why of all the—”
“Miss Hargreaves!” someone called out as she marched past the Ashness Inn. “I’m delighted to see you again.” Lord Babcock rounded the copse of trees that partially hid the inn from view and strode briskly toward her. “Forgive me, I do not wish to interrupt you.” He glanced beyond her to the empty street. “I thought you were speaking to someone, but I see no one is here.”
“Good morning, my lord. I was merely singing to myself.” She meant to give a quick curtsy, but Cadeyrn caught hold of her arm and tugged her upward.
“You’re a queen,” Cadeyrn said with a growl. “He bows to you.”
Melody dropped her basket instead and quickly bent to pick it up, hoping that Lord Babcock would take her action as an awkward curtsy and Cadeyrn would believe she merely bent to retrieve her basket.
She saw from Cadeyrn’s scowl that he hadn’t been fooled, not that she cared. She turned to Lord Babcock and graced him with an overly bright smile. “I didn’t expect to find you still here,” she remarked. “No trouble, I hope.”
“None at all,” he assured her. “I tarried in the hope of seeing you again. Will you join me for refreshments at the inn?”
She glanced at the darkening sky, which seemed to match Cadeyrn’s darkening temperament.
“Please,” Lord Babcock coaxed, making an elegant offer of his arm. He was dressed elegantly as well, wearing a dove-gray jacket and matching cravat over a white lawn shirt, fine black pants neatly tucked into his polished black boots. “I won’t keep you long. You can finish your chores afterward and my coachman will drive you back to the vicarage. Can’t have you caught in the rain.”
Melody accepted his invitation with some trepidation. She didn’t mind spending time with the amiable gentleman, but Cadeyrn appeared angry and there was no telling what an angry faerie might do. She breathed a sigh of relief when she and Lord Babcock entered the inn without incident, but felt a pang of remorse upon realizing that Cadeyrn could not enter unless invited in by the innkeeper or his wife. She wasn’t about to ask them, for how did one go about asking a proprietor to invite a faerie in? And not just any faerie, but the Fae king himself? She turned her back on Cadeyrn and left him scowling outside.
Lord Babcock escorted her into the inn’s common room, where several guests were seated at one long table enjoying a late morning repast. “Come, let’s sit by the hearth. It’s a little quieter there,” he said, ordering tea and honey cakes as the innkeeper hurried over to greet them.
“Good day, Miss Hargreaves. I hope ye’re enjoying our quiet village.”
“I am, Mr. Stevenson,” she replied, but her gaze darted to the enraged faerie standing by the front door, which was open for the moment. Thunder rolled in the distance, and she wasn’t sure if it was merely thunder or an emanation of Cadeyrn’s rage. She’d have to do something to make amends … perhaps allow him to kiss her again … and again.
Stop it, Melody! You can’t let Cadeyrn kiss you.
“You seem ill at ease,” Lord Babcock remarked, startling her back to attention.
“Just a little preoccupied, that’s all. My mother has been under the weather lately and I do not like to be apart from her for too long. She isn’t seriously ill, but you know that, for you were with us only last night.”
“I enjoyed our little supper party, but noticed that you were distracted last evening as well. I suppose it was concern for your mother.”
She hastily agreed.
Lord Babcock settled her next to the inn’s large hearth in one of a pair of comfortable, tufted chairs facing each other across a small, pie-shaped table. He sat down in the other chair. “I don’t often speak to gentlemen outside of my mother’s company,” she admitted. “I’m not certain I should be talking to you now.”
He laughed. “You are delightful, Miss Hargreaves.”
She smiled politely, knowing she had said nothing particularly clever or delightful, though one wouldn’t know it by Lord Babcock’s expression. “Tell me about yourself,” he said, his gaze a little too intent on her to be proper, though she had no experience in such matters and wasn’t certain what was or wasn’t proper.
Perhaps she ought to ask the innkeeper to allow Cadeyrn in after all?
She dismissed the notion at once. How would one start such a conversation? And even if Mr. Stevenson did not immediately think her dotty to make such a request, allowing in an angry faerie was not a good idea. “There isn’t much to tell,” she replied. “I was raised in Eastbourne on the southern coast of England. Do you know Lord Eastbourne?”
He nodded. “We travel in the same circles. I’ve seen him in town a time or two.”
Melody knew that town meant London, for Lord Babcock and Lord Eastbourne enjoyed the finer society that London had to offer. “I’ve never been,” she admitted.
“That is an oversight to be remedied at once. I’ll invite you and your family to stay at my London—”
“Really, my lord. You’re far too generous. I fear I would be a duck out of water there.”
He cast her a tender smile. “No, my dear. You would be a swan among the pigeons. You lack nothing that an elegant wardrobe won’t fix.”
Fortunately, the innkeeper returned with their tea and cakes at that moment, preventing further conversation. Melody would have liked to gulp down her tea and make some excuse to leave, but Lord Babcock wasn’t having any of it. “Tell me more about your life at Eastbourne,” he insisted.
She took a bite of cake in the hope of giving herself a moment to think. “It was quiet and uneventful,” she said finally. “My father held the living at Eastbourne. It was a fine vicarage, much larger than St. Lodore’s, and overlooked an inlet of the sea. I loved waking to the salty morning breeze and often took early morning strolls along the windblown paths. It helped to clear my head and ready myself for the day’s duties. Mother and I often assisted my father in his work, for the vicarage was a center of activity within our seaside community. But he died five years ago.”
“I’m sorry, my dear. Was he ill very long?”
“No, he died quite suddenly. Woke up one morning with his usual cheerfulness, ready to take on the new day, and was dead by noon. His heart failed, or so we were told. I refused to believe it at first, but that is how it happens sometimes. My mother met Vicar Axwell shortly afterward. He came to Eastbourne as my father’s replacement and was very kind to us. They married a little under a year ago. They’re quite happy, which pleases me. How do you know Vicar Axwell?”
“We have mutual acquaintances. Though the vicar and your mother have been here for several months now, I understand you arrived only a week or so ago.”
She nodded. “I stayed for a while with my father’s relations in Portsmouth.”
“But you’re here now, and that’s what counts. How do you find this quiet little district?”
“I love it,” she admitted, “though I do not think I will stay long. My mother seems well settled and I’ve been invited back to Portsmouth.”
Lord Babcock smiled. “Much of my travel is between here and London, but I’m certain I will soon have pressing business in Portsmouth. May I call upon you there?”
“Of course. With pleasure,” she said, though surprised, for she and Lord Babcock had nothing in common.
“Good, but I hope you won’t leave before I next return here. Promise me you’ll wait.”
She was spared a reply by Mr. Stevenson’s return with a fresh pot of tea and more honey cakes, which she politely declined. “Lord Babcock, I really must be going.”
He rose along with her. “I know. You came to Borrowdale to shop and I’ve delayed you. You’ve been most patient with me, Miss Hargreaves. I’ll have my driver accompany you on your errands. Just hand him your purchases and he’ll stow them in my coach. I have letters to write that will detain me here for at least another hour.”
He
leaned closer, as though he meant to kiss her on the cheek, but caught himself in time and drew away with a gruff laugh and a shake of his head. “I hope you shall miss me, Miss Hargreaves.”
She nodded back, casting him a courteous smile. “I shall, my lord.”
“I suppose that will have to satisfy me … for now.”
*
“I shall, my lord?” Cadeyrn ungenerously mimicked what Melody had told Lord Babcock at the Ashness Inn. They were back in her bedchamber now. She had just returned from Borrowdale in Lord Babcock’s sleek coach. Cadeyrn had made his own way back to the vicarage, refusing to go anywhere near that conveyance. She found him waiting for her, his arms crossed over his chest and scowling. “And you fell for his hogswallop?” He began to pace back and forth in front of her bed.
“It was the polite thing to say,” she shot back, sitting on the bed in a huff. She propped her back against the headboard and mimicked him by folding her arms across her chest. “Besides, I will miss him. He was polite and—”
“So you’ve just said. I’m sick of hearing it.”
She sighed, wondering how she was going to put up with Cadeyrn and his foul humor for the rest of the day. The hours in his company seemed to pass with excruciating slowness. “Unlike you,” she said pointedly, “he was very pleasant company.”
Cadeyrn stopped pacing and frowned at her. “You can’t be serious.”
“I am. And I never knew Fae kings could be so ill tempered. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were jealous.”
He regarded her with a vacant expression. “Jealous? What does that word mean?”
“It describes one of those unpleasant human feelings you Fae disdain.”
“Jealous,” he repeated softly. “Tell me more about it.”
“It is sometimes referred to as the green-eyed monster, but it isn’t related to dragons,” she hastened to add, knowing that he was about to ask, for he had the same concerned expression he wore when discussing dragons. “Jealousy is … love denied, but also involves lack of acceptance and wishing ill to those who have found love.”
