by D. L. Boyles
“A terrible one, at that. And your accent. Your demeanor. All of it. It’s all a lie. I don’t know what you are doing in this part of the castle, but I do know that you are not a maid nor are you the meek little mouse you are pretending to be.”
“And what about you?” she asked, dropping all pretexts and the fake accent, eyeing him cautiously as he stalked closer to her. “You are clearly not in a soldier’s uniform nor are you wearing the uniform of a guard. What is your business for being here in the castle at all?”
He stepped closer to her and she could sense the hint of amusement from him even before he spoke, and it filtered out in the tone of his voice. “Unlike you, I have been invited here by the queen.”
Voices sounded from the hallway and without thinking, she grabbed hold of the man’s arm and swung them both into what she thought would be a nearby room, but it turned out to be a closet. Her memory of the castle’s layout was much foggier than she’d anticipated. One moment, she knew exactly where she was and the next, she was throwing herself into closets she didn’t recall existing. The Hunter began to speak, but she pulled her blade out and pressed it to his throat. He stilled and said nothing, nor did he attempt to move. The voices and footsteps faded, leaving them in silence once more.
“What are we doing in the closet?” he whispered, that hint of amusement increasing in his tone.
“Did you wish to be caught by the guards?” she hissed.
Even in the dim lighting of the closet she could see him shrug his shoulders. “As I said, I have been summoned here by the queen. Those guards would not have delayed me. You, on the other hand…”
He moved and she pressed her blade more firmly to his throat. “I am currently holding a blade at your neck, good sir.” The Hunter shifted his weight and she could feel his hands moving. Was he reaching for his sword? “I would caution you to better control your hands. I am well aware of your sword and though I cannot see them, I’m also well aware that you’ve other weapons on your person.”
He pressed his body forward so that the heat of his chest—and its firmness—was uncomfortably in contact with hers. She knew that her blade nicked his throat, but he did not even flinch. She swallowed, feeling off kilter by his nearness and uneasy by a burning sensation in her hand and that persistent tug in his direction. Then, to her surprise, he inhaled deeply, the shock of it nearly causing her to laugh as his breath tickled her neck.
“Are you…smelling me?” She stuttered out her words, inwardly chastising herself for sounding so foolish.
“I am.” The tickle of his breath so close to her cheek was almost her undoing. She should have shoved him away, sliced that blade across his throat, and left him to lie there, suffocating in his own blood on the closet floor. Eventually, someone would find him, but not before she managed to accomplish what she’d set out to do. All of the things she should do crossed her mind in a whirling mess, but she found that her body did not—or could not—do what her mind knew she ought. “You smell…familiar. Of campfire and evergreen and…dirt.”
“Dirt? Good sir, you will need to polish up on your flattery if you are to answer the summons of your queen. I do not know her myself, but being well acquainted with the fairer sex, I can assure you that telling her she smells of dirt will not further your cause.”
He laughed, the sound vibrating through her. The lift of his chin suggested he was smiling beneath his hood. “My summons has little to do with pretty words but more to do with other…skills I possess.”
She sucked in a breath, too shocked to argue or say anything else. It was then that she attempted to knee him in the groin. Why she didn’t just slice him open she didn’t know, but the movement she attempted was blocked and he grabbed hold of her wrists easily, launching her backwards and pinning her to the wall, his body pressed even more firmly against hers than before. A spark of heat traveled from his body into hers and she gritted her teeth against the shock of it.
He tisked again, this time much more loudly, clicking his tongue as though she were a naughty child. Her dagger was still clenched tightly, burning the flesh of her palm, but she refused to drop it. His head tilted slightly as he stared at it then turned to look at her. The hood over his head shadowed his features, but she could make out the powerful chin and jaw lightly covered with stubbled hair. It was hard to tell, but he could be rather handsome beneath it all.
“That’s an interesting blade you have. Where did you get it?”
“From my father when I was a little girl. He taught me to use it, too, and I’ve not spent a day without it since.”
“I am well acquainted with what that blade can do—and what its wielder is capable of.” She had been squirming against him but at his words, she froze, ducking her head to try and see beneath the hood. He laughed softly. “It seems I’ve caught you much more easily this time, little rabbit, and there are no briar patches to aide in your escape.”
Little rabbit. That phrase sent a cold dread through her being. “I’ve no idea what you are talking about.”
“Lie.”
She stiffened and tried to pull away from him, but the wall did not bend and her movements only drew him closer. In a panic, not knowing what to say or how to react— especially since her body was rebelling at not only his nearness, but her desire to pummel him— she tried to clear her mind, remember her training, and get herself out of there. Her mind was a whirling mess of things she should do but her body was a rebelling, unresponsive traitor, so when the closet door opened suddenly, allowing light to filter in, nearly blinding her with its brightness, she almost sighed with relief.
“What is going on here?”
If ever there was a moment when she was thankful for the arrival of another maid, it would be now. Yet, the glaring dislike from the woman standing there gave her reason to fear her deliverer might also become her captor. She hoped that the shock of recognition—for she knew this woman—did not show on her face and that the years had aged her enough that the angry fairie standing before them would not recognize her.
The hooded man seemed not the least bit disconcerted. “Forgive me, Miss Merriweather, but I saw this young maid and was overcome with a need to be alone with her.”
She turned from Merriweather and gawked openly at the man. He should not be able to lie so easily, yet she was certain he had. How was that possible?
“Judging by the weapon in her hand, your attentions were not welcomed,” Merriweather scolded him. “And how the guards missed a maid having a weapon, I cannot imagine.” The older woman glared between the two of them then snapped, “Take her blade,” to The Hunter. “You’ve no reason for a weapon now, young woman, and this male will be no further threat.”
Free of the man’s grasp, she tried to shift back into the demure persona of a maid. Her shaking hand was not an act, however, as she attempted to straighten her hair and clothes. Then, she curtseyed and replied quietly, “In this case, mistress, I am glad for it, or I may have lost my maidenly virtue to this scoundrel.” She did not feign the glaring dislike she radiated towards the hooded man.
The fairie studied her a moment, making her feel exposed and on display. “Be gone with you. Back to the kitchens or wherever your duties require you.” Merriweather shooed her away like a stray cat without a word of sympathy. As she hurried towards the staircase, she heard the woman grumble to the hooded man, “If she’s still in our employ by the afternoon, it will be a miracle. The queen will not be pleased with your delay.”
There was no pause in her step; she fled the royal wing as quickly as her feet would carry her. Only once did someone call out to her, but she did not stop. Winding her way through the lower servants’ hallways, she slipped into the laundress’s keep, slid beneath the loosened floorboard, and shimmied her way down the ladder to the forgotten wine storage. The previous king and queen had it made specially for the faerie wines they stored, none of which had been touched in nearly two decades. Hers were the only footprints in thick layers of dust and webb
ing.
After the royal couple was usurped, the castle staff was slowly replaced until there were likely none who remembered this cache of ancient wine. She remembered, though, and it was here that she set up to enact her current plan: get close to the princess. If she could manage it, she might be able to get the princess to cooperate. It was rumored the princess was friendly and that she loved horses—that was something Snow could work with.
She sipped on a bit of wine. No one would even miss it, but she didn’t dare drink too much. Fae wine was much stronger than the wine humans squeezed from their grapes and berries, but it was sweeter and left a liquid trail of cool flavor in one’s throat long after it was gone. What was once a brilliant red plum color was now tinted with a golden haze, but its taste was hardly diminished.
Her mother had taught her to sip her wine, allow it to fill her mouth, and nonchalantly spit it back into her cup without anyone being the wiser. It was the way her mother managed to look as though she drank copious amounts of wine without ever getting woozy. Some chastised her mother for teaching her such things at a young age, but Snow was not the same as human children, a fact her mother reminded her of often.
There was no crystal goblet or golden chalice now, so she sipped it straight from the bottle. The fruity smell triggered memories of happier days, but she did not allow them to surface. She’d kept them securely tucked away for years; so many that she was well-practiced with the habit and barely missed a beat as she stretched and paced around the room. It was dark, but she could see well enough. The astringent smells from the laundry covered up the smell of her tiny candle she lit but that barely chased away the shadows. It would have to do, however. In a few hours, the castle would be opened to the guests and the birthday party for Princess Audora would begin. How fortuitous that it was a masquerade ball. She could easily slip into the party and not have to worry at all about anyone noticing her.
Moving closer to the candle, she opened her palm, looking down at it suspiciously. Her hand was burnt, an angry redness throbbing slightly. What had caused that? She’d had that dagger for a very long time and it had never heated up the way it did today. It was a gift from her father. He began teaching her to use a dagger at the age of seven, but this dagger with its ornate handle was something he gave her just before he was gone, instructing her to keep it with her always. There was more he told her about it, but that was lost with other memories she could just barely recall, moments and blurs of a life she once had and that was no more. But, if she were successful in befriending Princess Audora, she could find herself on the road to reclaiming what she’d lost.
∞∞∞
The Hunter received the queen’s directives and, though he had no true desire to accomplish the mission he’d been given, he would do as she asked. And once he was done, he would search for the girl. No, not a girl. She was a woman now. And a beautiful one at that. Luckily, seventeen years had changed her, or Merriweather might have recognized her and there could have been plenty of trouble for them both.
Choosing not to reveal her had been about self-preservation as much as intrigue. Right? He had no obligation to her; that’d been paid many nights ago in the Northern Wood when he allowed her to escape. She’d saved his life and so he’d saved hers. Yet, today, she thought he was…well, he wasn’t sure what she thought he was, but even though he could have posed a threat to her, she pulled him into that closet in an attempt to save him once again. While his perceived dalliance with a maid in a closet was not entirely a lie—he was incapable of lying—it was also not entirely the truth. He had been overcome with a need to be alone with her. The moment he saw her lurking in the hallway, he’d felt an overwhelming need to go to her, to touch her, to look at her. Just the sight of her stirred emotions in him he thought he’d never feel. Feeling them for a human…well, that was just…dangerous.
They were even now. She’d saved him—or at least thought she should try—and so he’d returned the favor by not exposing her. Their business was done. Yet, he still felt called to find her.
He glanced down at the ornate blade in his hand. It was a well-made dagger made from Malesian steel. He wondered how she, or her father, had come across it. It was quite rare for the fae to give such gifts to humans and even more rare for a human to be able to wield it. Fae metals responded to fae blood; there were rarely exceptions. From the scent of her, she was not a fae. Though, there was the possibility that she was of mixed blood. The Hunter shook his head. It was unlikely. The two races rarely mixed; the distrust between them too great. He only knew of one such alliance and that was a well-guarded secret.
The Hunter passed unhindered through the courtyard and into the stables. An old man with a balding head and missing teeth spat tobacco in a wooden bucket, barely acknowledging his presence as he meandered through. He liked to get a feel for his prey before the chase, so he sized up the man whom the queen wished him to pursue. Usually, the queen asked for their hearts or their heads, but this time, she wanted him to ensnare his quarry and bundle him up as though he were a gift. He only briefly wondered what the man had done but dismissed those thoughts almost immediately. It did not matter. The only thing that mattered was the neatly folded piece of paper in his pocket.
IN THIS PLACE THE WORLD WILL SHATTER SHOULD HE FALL.
Another cryptic clue that he could not decipher. He’d share it with his comrades later, but he mulled it over as he walked. What did it mean? Was Mazin in some sort of tower? The Hunter had searched each of the towers in Wessix, but there were other human kingdoms he could search. For that, he’d need assistance. In a few days, he would meet with the other hunters and discuss this latest clue.
∞∞∞
Snow slipped easily amongst the crowd of people and curtsied sweetly in front of Duchess Leah. “Duchess Leah, you look absolutely stunning. Red is most definitely your color.” The duchess, vain as she was, beamed at her, the black lace mask she wore framing her brown eyes like a racoon. It was hard to compliment someone who was so clearly lacking; it made Snow’s throat burn with bile. Thankfully, the woman had been prattling on and on to her husband, Duke Hubert, who sullenly refused to put on a mask, which made it possible for Snow to recognize the pair. Thankfully, the duke had wondered away, leaving the duchess floundering at the identity of her admirer.
“Thank you…my dear. You look lovely yourself.”
Snow was about to begin a litany of compliments and idle chatter when a voice interrupted her thoughts. “Duchess Leah,” Prince Audora greeted. “You look as charming as ever.” Snow heard the sarcasm in Audora’s voice, but the duchess batted her eyes, sufficiently complimented.
Oh, the luck…She could not have planned it any better—the princess showed up all on her own. This was turning out to be better than the earlier plot to infiltrate the queen’s rooms. Snow turned her attention from the duchess. The princess, resplendent in a teal dress and peacock feathers strewn in her hair and mask, smiled sweetly at the pair of ladies. “And who is your friend?” she asked the duchess.
“Oh, Princess Audora, if I were to tell you, it would ruin all the fun of a masquerade.” The duchess fanned herself with her red and black checked fan, clearly trying to hide her embarrassment for not knowing who she had been speaking to. Snow wondered if Audora would pick up on it, but the princess paid it no mind. The duke reappeared then, his bloodshot eyes an indication that he’d already consumed more alcohol than was entirely prudent at such an affair. His condition resulted in the duchess’s face flaming to match her dress and murmured excuses for their quick departure. Duchess Leah did not wait long enough, however, for her scolding because everyone within ten feet of their wake could hear her chiding Duke Hubert.
“Well,” Princess Audora laughed, “I wonder if she will beat him with her fan or if he will escape her again.”
They laughed together. “Or, perhaps she will find a closet to lock him in until the evening is done,” Snow suggested. Again, the princess laughed.
She was just
opening her mouth to say something more when she felt the air shift in the room. Turning, she discovered the cause. Her heart picked up its rhythm, that unfamiliar sensation in the pit of her stomach growing to a measure of discomfort. She had an inexplicable desire for him to look at her, to come closer.
“What is he doing here?” Princess Audora asked.
Snow’s body trembled and her voice caught in her throat because at that exact moment, he turned towards the two of them and before she knew it, the man was standing in front of them. In front of her, rather. “Princess Audora.” He bowed to the princess but shifted his face immediately to her.
“I am surprised my mother invited you,” the princess told him.
“Yes. Well, what is the point in having a hunter for an acquaintance if no one knows, hmmm?”
Princess Audora pressed her pretty lips into a flat line. “And will you be harassing the ladies this evening? I heard rumors today of you locking yourself into a closet with one of the maids earlier.”
The Hunter, dressed in well-tailored black pants and tunic said nothing in response. He only stared in Snow’s direction. At least, she thought he stared. Over his tunic he wore a silver jacket embroidered with black whirls that made him look like a foggy night. A mask of pure black glass glistened over the entirety of his face. Even the place where his eyes should have been was covered with a black mesh that made him appear gruesome. She shuddered.
“If you would permit me, Princess Audora, I would like to ask your friend for a dance.”
Princess Audora paused only for a moment. “Well…” she drawled. Glancing at Snow, the princess smiled. “She does not seem offended by the suggestion. By all means, Hunter, the lady is yours should she accept your offer.”
Before she could protest or respond in any way, the man slipped his hand into hers. She jumped. He shocked her. There was a literal spark between them when he touched her. What kind of magic did he have? “Why did you do that?” she asked him between her teeth as she forced herself to smile.
