The residents and staff. Perhaps…a certain servant she mentioned last night? I catch a glimpse of Lorelei still digging through the wardrobe, back facing us. I lower my voice. “I didn’t hear you come in last night.”
“Ah, well I didn’t want to wake you. I was quite discreet when I came to bed after dinner.”
Her words weave double meanings in my mind, and I wonder if what I’m reading between the lines is truly there or simply my imagination. “How was last night’s dinner, by the way?”
“Oh, very pleasant. I wish you would have been there. The food was divine, and the wine was even better.” Her eyes take on a distant look, one that tells me more than her words can. I’ve seen this look before, many times. Amelie is in love.
The question is, with whom?
* * *
I watch my sister like a hawk as we arrive at dinner later that night. We’re dressed in flowing fae gowns—I in coral and Amelie in sky blue—with our hair expertly piled on the top of our heads, thanks to Foxglove. We meet the two royals in the dining room. Aspen and Cobalt sit at opposite ends of the long table, while Amelie and I sit across from each other. Like the first night, Foxglove and Lorelei sit with us, although this time they don’t wait for Aspen to invite them. The mood feels much lighter than it had the first time we were here.
Well, I should say the mood of everyone around me seems lighter. I’m once again a ball of tightly wound nerves. It doesn’t help that I can hear the rhythmic crashing of the ocean far below the palace, the sound coming through the open expanse at the other side of the room. A shudder crawls up my spine.
Amelie whispers something in Lorelei’s ear, prompting a giggle from the fae. I feel that squeeze in my chest again. It’s not that I dislike the friendship that seems to have bloomed between them. It’s more that I hate feeling left out. My sister has always been my best friend. And I’ve always been her confidante.
Amelie catches my stare, then reaches across the table and puts her hand over mine. She turns her smile to Aspen. “Doesn’t my sister look so much better, Your Majesty? She’s like a rose come back to life after a winter frost, isn’t she?”
Aspen doesn’t so much as look up from his plate as servants pile it with one food item after the other. A second servant—the same wood-like fae from before—takes a dainty bite out of each piece that lands on the plate. “She looks the same as ever.” His voice is flat, disinterested, with none of the seething danger I’ve heard when his words were meant only for me. Perhaps Amelie’s perception of Aspen isn’t too far off. Maybe for her, he really is as dull and harmless as she said.
Amelie laughs as if he’s made some silly joke. She turns her smile to Cobalt next. “What do you think, Your Highness?”
With some trepidation, I lift my eyes to meet the prince’s. It’s the first time I’ve dared look at him since arriving to dinner. I’ve been too afraid to read what his expression might say. Too afraid I’ll see none of the warmth I saw last night.
His lips pull into a shy smile and his eyes lock on mine before he answers. “She looks positively radiant. As much as I missed her presence at dinner last night, I’m glad she got some more rest.” His eyes move from me to my sister. “It’s just as you said. She’s like a rose come back to life. I couldn’t have put it any more eloquently myself.”
My sister beams at him. “You’re too kind, Your Highness. Now, how about some wine?”
I sit upright in my chair, eyes locking on the approaching servant. Is this the one Amelie was gushing over last night? The fae male steps forward and fills her glass. He’s tall and slim with boyish good looks, pale golden eyes, and brown, tousled hair that brushes past his pointed ears to his shoulders. I watch the way Amelie smiles up at him, the way her gaze lingers on his when he bows to her. Is he the one? The one she’s in love with?
“Evie, you must try this wine.” My eyes flash to Amelie as she takes a sip. I didn’t even catch if she salted it first. “I can’t get enough these days.”
The handsome servant lifts the decanter questioningly. I shake my head, but Amelie insists. The servant circles the table to fill my cup. I expect Amelie’s gaze to follow his every move, but her eyes are on me, all innocence. Why is she being so difficult to read?
Once my cup is full, the servant returns to the far wall, and I lean toward my sister, lowering my voice. “Did you bring salt? I lost mine at the picnic.”
She lifts her chin, a haughty grin on her face. She pushes a silk pouch across the table toward me. “Of course I did, silly.”
I retrieve the bag of salt and sprinkle a dash in the wine, then over my plate. When I return it to my sister, she does the same. “Now try the wine already!”
Amelie watches eagerly as I take a sip. The flavor is sweet with just the right hint of bitterness, and the texture is as smooth as velvet. I can’t help but close my eyes as I savor it.
“See?” Amelie winks. “Isn’t it divine? It’s one of the many pleasures I’ve enjoyed since coming here.”
I narrow my eyes at her over the rim of my glass. “What other pleasures have you enjoyed, dear sister?”
“Oh, food, dresses, delightful conversation.” Her eyes fall on each of us sitting at the table, ending with King Aspen, who has finally taken a bite from his fully tested plate. “And, of course, my time spent getting to know the king. He’s been quite the gracious host, Evie.”
Aspen looks up from his plate, as if only just remembering our presence. He grunts as he finishes chewing. “Now that you mention it,” he says to my sister, “I’d like to request your presence tonight in my study after dinner.”
Amelie smiles and bows her head. “Of course, Your Majesty. Will there be more wine? And chocolate?”
“Whatever you like,” he says flatly.
She turns her grin to me, eyes sparkling. “See? Isn’t he just a dear?”
I furrow my brow, trying to decipher my sister’s tone. She’s emphasizing her words, exaggerating her contentment. Is she trying to tell me…could Aspen be the one she’s in love with?
I can’t decide whether that’s better or worse than her being in love with some random servant. On one hand, being in love with the man she’s forced to marry is ideal. It means she has a chance at happiness, as opposed to risking her life while trying to hide an affair. On the other hand, I don’t trust Aspen. He killed his last fiancée. And his brother’s too.
“No, sweetie, he’s a stag.” Foxglove’s words startle me from my thoughts.
Amelie lets out an easy laugh while I cock my head at him.
He rolls his eyes as if I’m daft. “She said, ‘isn’t he just a dear?’ But he isn’t a deer. He’s a stag.”
I blink, then realize the joke too late. My eyes meet Aspen’s and find an amused smirk on his lips. When he looks at me, he wears the same smug expression I’ve seen before. The same irritating pride. The same stunning beauty. The kind only a blade can keep at bay. I pat the dagger strapped to my thigh. Control. I’m in control.
The king burns me with his stare a few moments longer, then returns his gaze to his food, bored again, as if I’d imagined the silent exchange. But I hadn’t imagined it. He’d stared. Taunted me with his eyes.
Perhaps the Stag King isn’t as dull as he’s been pretending to be in front of my sister.
But why pretend at all?
What are you hiding, Aspen?
Chapter Eighteen
After dinner, Amelie and I walk arm in arm through the dark yet elegant halls toward Aspen’s study. The king left dinner while the rest of us were still enjoying dessert. Now that every course has been served, it’s time for Amelie to join her betrothed for their daily chat.
“You didn’t have to come with me, you know,” Amelie says. “Lorelei could have walked me here.”
She’s right, but there was no way I’d let her out of my sight until the last possible moment. Even though it meant I had to turn down Cobalt’s company back to my room. “I know. It’s just…after three days of u
nconsciousness, I missed you.”
“How could you miss me if you weren’t even awake?”
I shrug, then watch her out of the corner of my eye. A dainty smile pulls at my sister’s lips while her free hand contentedly lifts and swishes the hem of her blue skirts, as if she’s moments from spinning into a twirling dance. “Are you actually looking forward to spending time with Aspen?”
“He isn’t as awful as you make him out to be, Evie.” I’m surprised at the defensiveness in her tone. “You shouldn’t be so quick to judge. You’d like him if you gave him a chance.”
I slow our steps and gently turn Amelie to face me. “I didn’t mean it like that, I swear. I’m merely curious how you feel. Do you like him then?”
She smiles. “He’s boring, but he’s not bad.”
Not bad. That doesn’t sound like something one would say about a lover. Unless she’s trying to hide that she’s in love with him. But what would be the point? Surely, she’d know I’d be happy for her if I knew there was love involved. Wouldn’t she? “Ami, tell me honestly. Are you in love with Aspen?”
The smile still plays at her lips, but she turns away from me and continues her slow steps down the hall. Again, she swishes the hem of her dress and spins in a circle. “Wouldn’t it be for the best if we loved the men we were to marry? If we could find happiness in the best possible way?” Her voice is light, whimsical. Heavy with the adoration she’s trying to suppress.
I catch up to her, tugging on the sleeve of her gown until she stops and faces me again. “Yes, I agree with you. And I know you’re hiding your true feelings from me.” She opens her mouth, but I continue before she can deny it. “I understand why. You feel like I’ve been judging you, underestimating you. Criticizing this place that you’ve already come to love. I need you to know that, while I may not trust Faerwyvae, or the king, or the creatures here, I trust you. Whatever brings you love and joy, I support it. You know that right?”
Tears well in my sister’s eyes, and her face crumples. She reaches for me, pulling me into a tight embrace. “That means so much to me, Evie. You have no idea how much.”
The longer we remain locked in the hug, the more ease I feel. The tension melts out of me, the warmth of my sister’s arms like a blanket.
When we finally pull away, Amelie grins. “Everything is going to work out perfectly for both of us, I promise. You’ll see.” Her tone seems conspiratorial, but perhaps I’m imagining it. Before I can analyze further, she links her arm with mine and pulls me down the hall, a spring in her step. “Then when we’re married, we’ll have to compare notes. See whose kingdom really is bigger.”
A burst of laughter escapes my lips, and we take turns hushing each other as we make our way down the quiet hall. We’re still giggling when we reach a closed door flanked by guards. My heart sinks as Amelie pauses before it. This must be Aspen’s study.
“Time for me to go,” she says as she faces me. “I’m glad we talked.”
I reach for her hand and squeeze it. “Me too.”
As if he could sense our presence, the door sweeps open, revealing Aspen. He barely looks at us before he turns away and takes a seat behind a large, ornate desk, leaving the door open between us. “Come in,” he says.
Amelie gives my hand a final squeeze, then enters the room. I watch as she takes a seat in a throne-like chair opposite his desk, next to a table laden with plates of chocolate and a decanter of wine. She squeals with delight as she pops a truffle into her mouth.
I’m about to remind her to salt the chocolates when Aspen’s drawling voice startles me. “You may go. Unless you’d prefer to stay, of course.”
I meet his eyes, finding that dangerous glint, that half-smirk. A blush creeps up my cheeks as I realize the absurdity of me hovering in his doorway, an uninvited onlooker on his private time with his betrothed. I tear my eyes away from his to light on my sister. She gives me a reassuring smile.
I barely turn away before I hear the door close behind me.
* * *
When I return to my room, I can’t figure out what to do with myself. I pace the length of the room, trying to occupy myself from thoughts of Amelie and Aspen. As much as I meant what I said to Amelie about supporting her, I can’t shake my suspicion of the king. I can’t fight the way my skin crawls when I think about the two of them as lovers. There’s something so wrong about the pairing, although I can’t say exactly what or why. Is it just because I know Aspen is dangerous? Or is it something else? Some fact I’m forgetting?
My door opens and I jump, startled from my thoughts. Lorelei enters and gives me a half-hearted curtsy. “I came to see if you needed help dressing for bed. I assume you don’t, but—”
“Yes,” I say, surprising myself. I’m eager not to be alone with my thoughts right now. Not to mention, I may be able to probe the fae for information.
Lorelei looks equally as surprised. “Very well. I’ll find you a nightdress.”
She goes to the wardrobe while I take my place behind the dressing screen. I quickly remove the belted dagger from my thigh and slip off my gown. I’m in the middle of hiding the dagger beneath the discarded dress when Lorelei approaches.
She pauses, studying me, then raises a brow at the heap of dress at my feet. “You don’t need to hide it. Everyone knows you carry it. Same with your sister.”
The blood leaves my face. “Oh?”
She hands me a nightdress in a blush-pink lace. “I mean, did you think we can’t smell the iron on you? Besides, you weren’t hiding much when Prince Cobalt carried you in from the ocean. The dagger around your thigh is no longer a secret, if it ever was before.”
I pull the nightdress over my head to avoid meeting her gaze. “And you say everyone knows? That we carry blades among your kind?”
“Sure. Yet, the king doesn’t seem to hold it against you. Which is surprising, considering his history.”
“You mean his temper?”
“No, I mean the threats to his life.”
I furrow my brow. “Do you really believe the last girls tried to kill him unprovoked?”
She shrugs, arms crossed. “I believe humans can be dangerous. I can say that from personal experience.” The bite in her tone reminds me of the confrontation we had over Mr. Osterman. Lorelei may have become friendly with my sister, but there’s still a chasm between us. The fae turns away. “Will that be all?”
She doesn’t wait for me to answer before she begins to head toward the door, each step slightly uneven from her limp.
“Wait,” I say as she reaches the door.
She pauses, then turns to face me.
I hesitate before rushing to ask, “Can I look at your leg?” She narrows her eyes at me, and I rush to add, “I’m a surgeon’s apprentice. Well, I was, at least. I can’t help but want to check on your leg and make sure it’s healing well.”
Lorelei doesn’t move. “It’s healing.”
“I know, but…can I check on it? Please?”
Her expression softens, and she lets out a sigh. “Fine. What do I do?”
“Go ahead and lie on the bed.” As she does so, I retrieve my surgery kit.
“What is that?” Lorelei sits upright, eyes on the kit as I make my way toward her.
“It’s my surgery tools, although I doubt I’ll need them. It just helps me feel more professional to have it by my side.”
Her eyes go wide. “Don’t you dare use them on me. I can smell the iron from here.”
“I won’t then.” I push the kit away from me, and Lorelei settles back on the bed. A question I’ve had hovers in my mind, and I try to find a tactful way to ask it without making her suspicious. “My tools are carbon steel, an iron alloy. Is such a metal harmful to fae?”
“Normally only pure iron is lethal to us, especially if it maintains contact with our flesh for too long, but any iron injury weakens us until we fully heal, making even weaker human metals unbearable to touch.” She lifts her head and eyes me with a scowl. “Don’t g
et any ideas.”
I kneel at the side of the bed next to her and adopt my most soothing bedside manner. “I won’t hurt you.”
Lorelei lets out a resigned grumble as she lifts the hem of her silky bronze dress to reveal the injured leg. My stomach churns to see her battered flesh again, to see the pink, puckered skin where iron teeth had torn it to shreds. I inspect every inch of the leg, looking for signs of infection. Although, I’m not entirely sure what to look for, aside from what I’m used to seeing in humans; I have no idea what to expect from fae infection.
Next, I gently prod the skin in places, asking Lorelei to tell me if anything feels tender. There are a few painful areas, but for the most part, her leg appears to be on the mend. Her bones seem to be set correctly. I’m almost certain I detect stitches in places, although they look nothing like the stitches I’ve seen. Hers are fine and delicate, weaving the skin together with little evidence of intervention.
“Who tended your wounds?” I ask.
She turns her head to face me. “I did some on my own. As a wood nymph, I was able to speak to the vines and roots to brace my leg and hold my torn flesh together so I could make it to Bircharbor. Gildmar did the rest.”
“Who’s Gildmar?”
“She’s an Earthen fae employed by the Autumn Court for healing. She cleansed my wounds with herbs and stitched the deepest ones with spider silk.”
“It looks like she did well. I’m going to check your range of motion now.” I lift her leg, easing her to bend slightly at the knee. “Does it hurt when you walk or put weight on the leg?”
“A little.” Her words are still laced with a bitter edge. “Other things hurt more. Things no one can ever heal.”
My stomach sinks. I rotate her ankle slightly one way then the other. “What was she like?”
She furrows her brow. “Who? Gildmar?”
“No. Your lover. The one you lost.”
Her eyes turn to the ceiling, a blank expression on her face. The weight of her leg seems to grow heavier, as if the question drained all the strength from her. I think she might ignore me, until she finally says, “Malan was beautiful. A pixie from the Spring Court with wings as pink and fine as cherry blossom petals. Her hair was the same color, a silvery-pink that always smelled of roses.” She sighs. “Malan was the best part of me. She kept me kind. Made me laugh. I loved her.”
To Carve a Fae Heart (The Fair Isle Trilogy Book 1) Page 12
