by Dee Garcia
Only reason I haven’t taken my leave yet is because I don’t want to deal with my mother. Not tonight anyway. I’ll handle her and her fury in the morning.
So while Peter rests, I let my mind drift off. It started innocently enough, filled with fantasies and daydreams of what our future could be, but in a mere blink, I was back in the forest with Hook.
Caught in his web like a helpless fly.
Was I really helpless, though?
Sure, he was intimidating, but the thrill? God, the thrill of being in such close proximity, to be regarded so keenly by those arctic eyes. It all rushed through my veins, thundered my heart. And when his lips brushed my cheek...
Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump, thump, thump.
Gasping, a palm flies to my chest. The other sweeps up to my face. My skin burns as if his lips had just been there, heart mimicking the speedy tempo.
“You okay, T?” Peter rasps suddenly.
My eyes widen. “Fine,” I squeak, what feels like guilt rippling through me. I was thinking about Hook. “I just realized how late it is. I should go.”
I’m swiveling my legs over the edge of his bed when he says, “I was going to suggest the same.”
His words immobilize me. Honestly, they sting. I don’t know why, considering statements of this nature aren’t out of the ordinary for him anymore, but I cringe a little. I do every time he shuts down.
It wasn’t always like this.
Was rare enough that I didn’t think anything of it. But lately he either turns over, giving me his back, or he falls asleep on me.
I can’t help but wonder if it’s something I did or said, like suggesting us running off together again. He’s never been receptive of that offering.
What if it’s just me?
Peter rolls over then, the bed dipping with his movement. His hand wraps around my arm, darting my eyes to his touch. It’s warm and trickles through me, but nothing like...
I nearly gasp again.
Can’t believe I’m even thinking such things, comparing him to—
“Tinks.” His voice crashes through my thoughts.
Our stares meet, held steady on both ends for several moments. When I don’t speak, he gives a simple tug that drapes me over his chest.
“What’s wrong?” he quizzes.
You, I think to myself. “Nothing, just wondering what I’m going to say to my mother.”
“I hate to say it, T, but this is why I’m so insistent on coming to you, rather than you coming here. She asks too many questions and you have to lie to avoid another argument about me.”
I sigh. “I know. I just wish we didn’t have to sneak around.”
Peter hums, but he doesn’t say much else, just rakes his fingers through my hair. Yet, judging by the way he studies me, I know he’s deep in his thoughts.
Why won’t he talk to me?
Tell me what’s on his mind?
I would never have known it right then in that moment, but one day I’ll finally have the answer, and the answer will be more than I can bear.
Some secrets are better left in the dark.
Peter
The look in her eyes as she leaves…
It fucking kills me.
I stand there mute at the threshold of my front door as she pads to the middle of the bridge and expels her wings. They glisten in the moonlight, golden flecks of that ethereal pixie dust billowing around her. One more longing, sideways glance and then she’s gone.
No “I love you” or “Until tomorrow.” She simply takes off in the night, leaving me with nothing but the company of my own guilt.
It’s probably better this way.
Tinks wants the world, but all I’ll ever be able to give her is this…
A life of secrecy and a love built on lies.
♫ Duality - Set It Off ♫
“Captain,” a delicate voice coaxes. “It’s time to wake up.”
The curtains swish across the rods, one window at a time.
Peeling my lids apart, I squint through the bright rays now pouring into my chamber and stretch my limbs with a sleepy groan.
“Good morning,” the same delicate voice says.
It’s Violet, my housekeeper. Well, the head of many around here. She delegates the workload amongst the others and sees to it that she attends to me personally. “Attends” is only putting it lightly. She fusses over me quite a bit. It’s amusing, yet heartwarming and, as a result, the woman has come to be a second mother of sorts. I care for her dearly, more than I let on at times or ever admit aloud.
“Good morning.” I offer her a crooked smile. “What’s on the agenda for today?”
“Council meeting in approximately one hour. The rest of your day is clear, unless Samuel failed to mention something.”
“No, that sounds about right. I may head into town after the fact, but it’s nothing of importance.”
Violet nods her silver head dutifully and goes about setting my garments on the recamier before the bed. “I’ll keep that in mind in case the boys go looking for you. Will any of them be accompanying you?”
“That I’m aware of? No. Just getting the mane trimmed before the gala.”
“Ah, yes—the gala. I almost forgot about that. Find yourself a date yet?” The amusement in her voice utterly palpable.
Rising to my feet, I cut my eyes in her direction—where she’s clearly stifling a smile—and shake my head. “I did not. I’ve decided to go stag.”
“And why is that? A Captain should never be unaccompanied, much less a King.”
“No one fits the bill,” I counter with seemingly great nonchalance, striding to the end of the bed. “And for the record, I prefer Captain.”
I may rule this land, one I stumbled upon and saved from sheer pandemonium, but I detest the title. I’m the Captain, end of story.
Violet nods, but she doesn’t utter a single word after the fact. The only tell-tale sign that she thinks my response is rubbish is the smile she’s still attempting to subdue, her lips thinned and all.
She’s not wrong. I’m absolutely, one-hundred percent full of shit because there is one that fits the bill. From head to toe.
But we all know whose arm she’ll be hanging on...if she decides to brave the questioning stares, that is.
“She’s clearly in love with him,” Marlena, head of the sirens, states around the circular table of the drawing room, as she rakes a hand through her flaming red locks. “And if she isn’t yet, she will be quite soon.”
“Oh, she is,” Beatrix confirms, grand wings sparkling behind her. “I can assure you she is. My motherly instincts are through the roof and her constant lies only confirm them.”
“Lies about?” I hedge, though I already have a clear idea based off my...findings.
I just want to hear her say it.
Beatrix flicks her familiar aquamarine gaze my way. “Her whereabouts. She rarely admits she’s off to spend the day with him, and recently, she’s been sneaking him into the house late at night.”
“She what?!” Phillipe roars, honeyed eyes flashing with instant rage. “Why haven’t you shared this with me?”
Beatrix sets a hand to the Fae Lord’s arm. “Nothing to worry about, dear. Our daughter knows better than to—”
“Sleep with him?” Marlena interjects on a chuckle. “I hate to break it to you, Beatrix, but if she’s lying about simply going off to see him, what do you think is happening when she sneaks him in? Especially if she is, in fact, in love with him as you claim.”
Tinksley’s mother doesn’t respond.
Her mouth remains ajar, but she doesn’t make a sound, eyeing the fiery siren with wide eyes. I’m not sure how she didn’t think this was a possibility prior to this moment, but beside her, Phillipe grows more enraged by the second.
As he should be, for multiple reasons.
Some of which are unbeknownst to his wife.
We exchange a look, one to which I nod right as Chief Natano chimes in, his voice even an
d serene as always, “Whether they’re sleeping together or not, I’d say this means the plan is right on schedule.”
Persia hums and reaches for her glass of water. “It is, but we need to get this moving again. We’ve been in phase two for too long.”
“Two years is hardly that long considering how quickly fairies age. Besides, we knew this wouldn’t be an overnight process. To execute this properly, we must have patience,” Natano counters.
“Exactly my point. Her lifespan is a concern. ”
“All in due time,” I cut in, because the plan is not what we congregated for today, and if I let it go on any longer, it’ll get out of hand rather quickly. “We’ll discuss how to move forward during our next meeting. As Natano said, we knew this wouldn’t be an overnight process nearly a decade ago and that’s not about to change any time soon. For now, let us turn our attention back to the task at hand—little N’Isabelle’s grand celebration.”
Silence.
Persia’s chocolate brown eyes meet mine at the mention of her daughter’s name, as does everyone at the table. She and the Sacred Six may be the most powerful witches on our island, but in a few short years, N’Isabelle will be able to trump them on her own, without batting a single lash. Bred from two legendary, sovereign bloodlines, the girl’s existence is well known, not only on our land, but those far, far away as well. Her magic, though not yet developed, is already a highly coveted weapon...and a massive threat. It’s no secret she’ll always be in some sort of imminent danger, and Persia realizes that, especially with N’Isabelle’s father overseas, proudly ruling over the island of Tempeste.
So the witches and all of Rosewood take great care in seeing to the little witch’s safety, myself included, and as we protect her, we celebrate her greatness, too.
But to celebrate, there must be cooperation.
“I doubt I need to say this but, everything better remain in order during the festivities.” I point my statement around the table. “Your people should know how this works by now. Civil amiability is expected. Any bad blood they may share with another should be left behind the moment they waltz through my doors, and should the slightest notion of a mutiny arise, make no mistake—I will control it for you. I can guarantee my methods will be far from fair or gentle, either.”
No one dares to counter or speak out. They simply hum in agreement, exchanging glances between one another. As appointed heads of their factions, they know better than to cross me. The power, for lack of a better word, they’ve been given is a true privilege. They’re fully aware of the laws set in place and strive their hardest to keep their kind in line; a common goal we all share for the sake of this amended monarchy. And because of their efforts, Rosewood is a peaceful land most of the time.
But every now and again, history serves to reawaken grudges at the worst times possible, and we certainly don’t need that happening during the gala.
“My people won’t be an issue,” says Phillipe. “But I’m sure you already knew that seeing as they aren’t free to roam.”
Soft gasps resound at his candor, drawing stares of all shapes and colors back and forth between us. Even Marlena, who’s known for her smart mouth, seems genuinely shocked he’d speak up in such a manner.
Phillipe, on the other hand, seems pleased with himself. Amber irises gleam almost victoriously, a challenging smirk adorning one corner of his mouth.
I should’ve let him rot in the Hollow.
A low growl builds deep in my chest as I square my shoulders and savor my words. I can be an impulsive bastard at times, especially when provoked, but I refuse to be reduced to such by a noxious ingrate who should be worshipping my feet for his freedom. “If you’d like to ensure you’re no longer able to roam, either—please, do continue with your waggish remarks.”
His face falls instantly.
In seconds flat, his entire demeanor darkens, too. The way his eyes flash, narrowing to slits as the golden markings gilding his forehead come to life, I’m positive the monster within is about to unleash.
I feel my own inner beast unfurl at the possible threat, fangs elongating, veins beneath my eyes engorging and rippling as my vision tunnels on his form.
“My apologies that the truth seems to trigger you, Captain, but do you really expect me not to speak out when my people are starving?” he growls in argument.
“They’re starving of their own accord,” I counter. “One too many times you were warned to keep them in line, and you did nothing but stand there as innocent lives, children’s lives, were lured by magic and taken for sustenance. That’s some sick, pedophilic—”
I’m cut short by his venomous chortle. “Pedophilic, are you serious? You act as though we’re defiling them prior.”
“Whether you are or not, it’s the principle of the matter. Children are off limits and yet your kind continues preying on them!”
Slamming his fists on the table, the Fae Lord shoots to his feet, his chair clattering back several feet. “Can none of you see this logically, from our point of view?” he asks around the table. “Children are pure. Their purity is the ultimate sustenance. It cleanses us, allows us full access to our—”
“I don’t care if it makes you the strongest species on this goddamned island! Children. Are. Off. Limits,” I grit, barely withholding myself from abandoning my seat and tossing him into the nearest wall. “Perhaps this boundary spell will finally teach you all a valuable lesson.”
“Gentleman, please,” Beatrix’s kindly voice erupts before her husband can fire back, grand wings fluttering behind her. “This topic has been and will always be sensitive. It’s not something we’re going to agree on right now, if ever at all.”
“Agreed,” Persia chimes in. “Again, also not what we came here to discuss today. What’s done is done, Phillipe. I understand the situation isn’t pleasant but—”
“Easy for you to say when you’re the one responsible for the spell,” he sneers.
The witch doesn’t react, she doesn’t so much as flinch. Instead, she cuts her gaze my way, questioningly.
Requesting permission to drive the stake further.
Without hesitation, I motion toward Phillipe and tip my head. “Be my guest.”
Probably shouldn’t have, but—he asked for it.
Satisfied, Persia smiles gratefully and returns her fire on the Fae. “Sit,” she commands, tapping his end of the table.
He moves instantaneously, reclaiming the strewn chair to take his place, but the befuddled expression formed on his face reveals it’s not so willingly.
Marlena and I share a chuckle in realization.
Natano, the chief, doesn’t seem too amused by her tactics, but then again he never is. Now more than ever given I have his daughter.
The moment Phillipe plants his ass in place, Persia goes in, her voice deathly quiet. “If you for one moment think you can guilt me, you’re highly mistaken. My daughter’s life was in danger—you’re damn right I’m responsible, proudly so. If you have any hope of freeing your people from damnation, I suggest you demand change and find proper nutrition elsewhere. As the Captain said… Children. Are. Off. Limits. Especially mine, and I have absolutely no problem with maintaining that spell for years to come if it means their safety is assured.”
The severity of her words is so chilling, even I can sense it, and it’s clear Phillipe does, too. Not that he likes it, of course—if the narrowing of his golden eyes says anything—but it seems he may finally understand his plight will continue going unheard until something gives.
“I hate to interrupt, but my time is running out,” Marlena advises. “Can we perhaps revisit this another day and move along before I wither away here?”
“Yes, lets,” I concur, pointing my stare at Phillipe who remains tight-lipped. “As I was saying...little N’Isabelle’s grand celebration. Everything better go off without a hitch, or there will be consequences.”
♫ Wildest Dreams - Taylor Swift ♫
“You look so prett
y, Tinksley. Like a princess!” N’Isabelle exclaims from her place on the floor of the dress shop.
She has awed, gleaming stars in her big, brown eyes as though I were truly a princess and I can’t help but beam at her. It’s precious and heart-warming.
“Thank you, Izzy. I like this one, too. A lot.” My hands roam the dips and swells of my figure over the emerald lace of the gown. It really is a gorgeous dress and I feel beautiful in it.
I wonder if Peter will like it?
“It fits you seamlessly,” Mrs. O’Malley, the shop owner, agrees with a smile, “but I’m not sure your mother is going to like it very much. The back is quite low, dear.”
I pivot away from the mirror and point my stare over my shoulder at my reflection.
Damn it. It is quite low. Lower than I’d expected when I plucked it from the front of the shop.
Can she really say no, though?
I’ve worn semi-worse pieces in past, shorter even. I know she has a spot on the council and appearances are everything, but what would my appearance have to do with it?
Besides, I’m not a child. I should be free to wear whatever I want.
The shop bells ring and sheer seconds after follows my mother’s disapproving voice. “Absolutely not. The back is far too revealing and it’s skin tight. Not exactly the impression you want to be giving eligible suitors.”
My eyes spin toward the heavens.
Of course. Here we go again with this ridiculousness.
Sighing, I turn my head toward her—and Persia, who’s strolling in behind her—and throw out my arms. “What suitors, mom? Last time I checked, there wasn’t a line of young, strapping men waiting to have my hand.”
Mama chortles and tucks a loose strand of her golden hair behind her ear. “You’d be surprised, sweetheart. That said,” she holds me at arm’s length and inspects me up close, “the answer is still no. Let’s find something else, shall we?”
