Regina’s bouts of melancholy are common—they have been since she married her childhood love young and then lost her husband to court politics not even a year later. He made the mistake of disagreeing with my mother, and he was executed for treason.
It was the final straw—I couldn’t bear to even look at my mother, much less remain at court. I left for my paternal family’s estate, donning Father’s title and attempting to abandon the royal one I was born with. I rescued my broken cousin from Mother’s wicked clutches. She and I have remained here ever since, living as peacefully as people can when ruled by an evil, malicious queen.
It’s been five years, but Regina still mourns. I somewhat doubt she will ever shed her black clothing.
“What will we do about Ian?” Regina asks.
I clutch my head in my hands. “I don’t know.”
“If you don’t claim Alice as your illanté, he can take her despite your command to stay away—you know the rules.”
Any human who wanders into Faerie is free game. They are protected for one day only, while they conduct business, but if they remain overnight…
“If I make her my illanté, she can never return home.”
“If you don’t, she is untethered property.”
“She’s not property,” I snarl under my breath.
“I believe that, but you know I’m right. Too long, our people have amused themselves at the humans’ expense. She will be enslaved, caged, tortured…perhaps worse. If you keep her, you must bind her to your side.”
“I don’t want to keep her.” I stand abruptly, sending my chair backward, the legs scratching against the wooden floor. “I want her to go home.”
“Where are you going?” Regina asks, rising with me.
“To speak with Alice.”
“As whom?”
I glance out the window, knowing I only have one option. The evening sunlight filters into the forest, too light for me to bend the shadows to my will.
I’ll have to visit her as Lord Ambrose and hope she doesn’t recognize me.
5
ALICE
I forgot to ask the bandit about Lord Ambrose’s mother.
The thought of never seeing him again makes me feel rather listless, but I try not to dwell on it as I tend the plants in the conservatory. Today, I have been instructed to remove all fading, yellow, or misshapen leaves from each and every plant.
I work quietly, glad to have been given a chore that keeps me away from the others. The marquis appears to be a solitary man. He doesn’t entertain many high-titled Fae, thank goodness, but even his staff looks down on me—and they likely would even if my family name was still in good standing. It’s because I’m a human in Faerie, lingering where I don’t belong, still wearing my torn gown since the others won’t be ready for a week.
Pausing next to a pale yellow rose, I breathe in its sweet fragrance, letting it soothe my frayed nerves as it reminds me of happier times in Grandmother’s garden.
I nearly jump when a man says behind me, “You seem content with your position.”
The bandit.
I whirl around, a broad smile spreading over my face, delighted at the prospect of seeing him in the light…
And then I freeze.
Lord Ambrose stands behind me, hands clasped behind his back, looking rather put out. His deep brown eyes roam the glassed room with an air of distaste. His short hair is perfectly groomed, swept away from his forehead in a crisp style that’s not unlike the human fashion that’s becoming popular in the cities.
He’s so handsome, he’s hard to look at. His shoulders are broad, not slender as I always imagined the Fae to be, and his waist is trim. He wears a tailored jacket in rich, deep green, paired with an amber brocade waistcoat. The colors bring out the warm, golden tone of his skin. Though exquisitely masculine, he’s too beautiful, and that alone makes him look a touch otherworldly.
I let out a peep of surprise, and fear paralyzes my limbs.
The marquis turns his dark eyes on me, narrowing them slightly. “Well?”
“Well?” I repeat stupidly.
“Are you content with the position Regina has chosen for you?”
“Oh, yes,” I say in a rush. “I like it here.”
He studies me solemnly for several seconds, and then he nods toward my hand. “I see my reputation has preceded me. Do you intend to stab me?”
I look down and realize I’m holding the garden shears like a weapon.
“No.” I quickly set them on the ledge of the raised pond. As I straighten, I spot dirt on my bodice. Flustered, I quickly brush it away. “Forgive me. I wasn’t expecting anyone.”
He doesn’t answer.
“Do you wish for solitude?” I ask, already edging toward the door. “I can leave…”
“I’ve come to pay you for your service.” He carries a velvet bag in his hand.
My eyes latch onto it, noting the way the contents bulge against the fabric.
“I don’t understand.” I raise my eyes to his. “I’ve only worked two days.”
As if Lord Ambrose doesn’t want to hold my gaze, he glances around the conservatory once more, looking bored. “Everything seems to be in order here. You did a fine job—our arrangement is complete. Take the money and return to Kellington.”
“And my brother?”
Lord Ambrose’s expression tightens, and he finally looks back. “There is nothing I can do for your brother.”
“You will not show Gustin mercy, yet you would give me a small fortune for a day and a half of work?” I say skeptically.
The marquis’s expression hardens. “I find your presence uncomfortable. Take the money and go back to your side of the bridge, where you belong. Never again will you be presented with such a generous offer.”
The words sting. Lord Ambrose finds me uncomfortable? What have I done to earn his distaste? I’ve barely seen him.
“I cannot accept your charity,” I say primly. “I will work until I may purchase supplies, and then I will paint your portrait, as I promised.”
“Do not let pride blind you,” he says sharply.
I stand taller, disregarding the bandit’s warning. “Give me my brother instead, and I will go.”
“Your brother bound himself to Faerie,” Lord Ambrose says impatiently. “He made a wager he could not afford, and now he’s paying in years.”
“Count Treald asked why you wouldn’t release him,” I say, stepping forward. “I heard him! Doesn’t that mean it’s in your power to forgive Gustin’s debt?”
“Ian also wants to claim you as a pet—he cares nothing for you or your brother. He would crush you in the palm of his hand, and then he would move on to the next amusement. He was taunting me, not showing you mercy.”
I stare at him, breathing hard. “Give me the money once I’ve earned it.”
“Why are you so determined to stay?” he demands.
“Why are you so determined to get rid of me? Is it that miserable to have a human in your midst? Am I that repulsive?”
I hold my breath when his hand tightens on the bag.
Perhaps I should accept his offer and flee, but what about Gustin? I can’t just leave him in Faerie.
“Fine,” I say when he doesn’t answer. “Give me the gold. I will go to the debtor’s prison and pay for Gustin’s freedom myself.”
“You will do no such thing,” the marquis says curtly, and his eyes flash with warning.
“Why do you care?” I exclaim, frustrated.
His jaw hardens, making the slight cleft in his chin more prominent. “Is your life worth his?”
“What?”
“That’s the only exchange the jailer will offer you—no amount of gold will buy your brother back. I am the only one with the power to release him, and I cannot do it.”
“Cannot? Or won’t?”
He pins me with his dark eyes. “Won’t.”
I think about it, coming to a decision. I nod to myself, determined.
> “What is it?” he asks, sounding like he wishes he hadn’t instigated the conversation.
“I simply have to change your mind, and I cannot do that if I take the gold and run away. I will stay, tending the plants and eventually painting your portrait, working diligently until I can win your admiration, hoping your heart will eventually soften toward my plea.”
“Alice,” he says, sounding genuinely exasperated now. “Go home.”
His change of tone catches my attention, and I quirk my head to the side as I study him. My eyes land on the subtle points of his ears.
“Not yet,” I say slowly.
Letting out a frustrated growl, he narrows his eyes. “Have it your way, but be warned—the full moon is tonight. The creatures of Faerie become wild—including the ones in my own household. I will not be here to ensure your safety. Lock the door to your room, and do not answer it for anyone.”
He turns to leave, but I call to him, “And my balcony door? Should I lock it, too?”
Lord Ambrose stops abruptly and turns back, giving me a look I cannot read. “Every door, every window.”
“When will you return?”
“Tomorrow afternoon.”
“Have a good trip.”
“Not likely,” he mutters, and then he leaves the conservatory.
I sit on the edge of the fountain, thinking very hard about Lord Ambrose.
Deciding my head is playing foolish tricks on me, I brush aside my rogue thoughts. I then pick up my shears and return to my chores.
I lock all my doors and windows, as Lord Ambrose commanded, but I wait for the bandit’s knock.
I fall asleep at the tea table, roused in the middle of the night by a wail that comes from somewhere on the grounds.
Unnerved but curious, I walk to the balcony door and peek out the window. Below, in the middle of the grass near the forest's edge, a large fire glows. I recognize several members of Lord Ambrose’s staff, along with many Faeries I’ve never seen before. There are at least twenty of them gathered. Many laugh loudly, and another shrieks, though it’s obvious no one is in peril. They’re most likely drunk on the Faerie wine they pass between them.
One couple is twined around each other, kissing like they fear the world is going to end. I frown at them, unsettled at the public display, never having seen something like it in my life.
One of the maids sees me at the window, and she grins and nudges her elbow into her friend’s side.
“Come down, human!” the second girl yells with a sharp giggle, holding up a bottle that glows green in the firelight. “Join us!”
Most laugh, but someone appears to shush her, and the two maids reluctantly turn from the window.
I let the curtain drop, wishing I hadn’t let curiosity get the best of me. What are they doing out there? The marquis said it’s a full moon. What does that symbolize in Faerie?
Disconcerted, I go to bed, hoping morning will come quickly.
It does not.
The night drags on until dawn finally chases Lord Ambrose’s staff to their beds.
Regina doesn’t wake me as she has the last two days, so I stay in my room, unsure if the marquis is back yet and not daring to venture into the halls alone after last night’s display.
The day passes. Dusk falls on the forest, and still, no one has come for me. No meal is delivered; no one tells me I must tend to the plants.
Soon, night blankets the sky. The moon is hidden behind clouds tonight, and the landscape is dark. There are no fires or gatherings.
All is eerily still.
I pace back and forth before I decide to do something that could be remarkably foolish. Before I can change my mind, I step outside and study the distance between Lord Ambrose’s balcony and mine. It’s not far, not really. If it can hold the bandit’s weight, surely it can hold mine.
Nodding to myself, determined, I pull up my skirts and loop them over my arm. I swing a leg over the side of the balcony, telling myself I will not look down.
I find a foothold, pressing down to test it before I reach for the lattice with my left hand. The rough wooden slats dig into my palm, making me worry about splinters. But I don’t have gloves to fetch, and I’ve already come too far to change my mind now.
Holding tight, I transfer my weight to the lattice, thankful the ivy that grows up the wall doesn’t have thorns. Slowly, moving like a crab on a net, I make my way across the short distance. It doesn’t take long, but it feels like I’ve been up here for ages.
Finally, I reach Lord Ambrose’s balcony. I grab hold of the stone railing, holding on for dear life as I attempt to swing my leg over. But I’m not quite high enough. Somehow, I went down a little on the way across.
My arms begin to tremble as I hang here. What was I thinking? I’m not an adventuress, brave and full of spirit.
I’m a painter accustomed to afternoon tea and leisurely walks through the park.
“Surely you didn’t come all this way to give up now?” a man asks from the balcony.
I yelp, nearly losing my grip on the lattice.
Before I fall, the bandit wraps his gloved hands around my waist. He then pulls me up and over the balcony rail as if I weigh no more than a ragdoll and sets me on my feet.
Shaking, I loop an arm around the man’s waist and hold tight.
“You startled me,” I say, smacking his chest with the flat of my palm.
“I’m sorry.” He clears his throat, trying not to laugh.
I rest my forehead against his fitted leather jacket. “You almost made me fall.”
“I don’t think I should take all the blame for that,” he says, attempting—but failing—to nudge me back. “In fact, I think I am the reason you didn’t tumble three stories to your death.”
Shivering at the thought, I hold onto him tighter, waiting for my pulse to return to its normal pace. “I’m very grateful for your existence.”
“You and few others,” he says with a quiet laugh.
After one more deep breath, I finally compose myself and step back, staring up at his shadowed face. “What are you doing here?”
“I could ask you the same thing.” His tone is lighter than I’ve ever heard it, making me think he’s still amused by the predicament he found me in.
“Lord Ambrose told me to stay in my room until he returned, but I didn’t know if he was back, and I was too spooked by last night’s events to go into the hall. I just wanted to knock on the door to see if he was in.”
“So, you decided to scale the lattice?” he asks incredulously.
“You did it first!” I exclaim, and then I lower my voice. “And we should be careful. Lord Ambrose might hear us.”
The bandit jerks his head toward the room. “He’s not in.”
I turn toward the dark windows, deciding he’s likely right.
“Truly, why are you here?” I ask again. “Were you stealing something from the marquis?”
In the woods, he said he wasn’t a thief, but I find that very hard to believe. Who else dresses in black and masks their face?
“What happened last night?” he says instead of answering.
I shrug, feeling foolish. “Nothing really. Lord Ambrose’s staff was having a gathering of some sort. They tried to get me to come down, but I went to bed.”
“Did they?” he asks stonily, again making me question something that I shouldn’t be questioning.
But his voice.
I mean, their voices…
And he and the marquis are both so tall, with such broad shoulders.
“You are human, aren’t you?” I ask suddenly.
Looking startled, the bandit takes a step back. “Why would you question it?”
“Let me see your ears.”
“My ears?”
I set my hands on my hips. “I know you’re desperate to conceal your identity, but surely you don’t think I can recognize you by your ears alone?”
Shaking his head, the bandit sweeps his hat aside. With the moon beh
ind the thick clouds, it’s too dark to make out his exact hair color, which is a shame. But it’s dark, like Lord Ambrose’s.
“I can’t see anything,” I complain with a huff.
“Just remember, this was your idea.” Suddenly, the bandit loops an arm around my waist and tugs me against him, closer than we were even a moment ago.
I draw in a sharp breath as he runs his free hand down my bare arm. When he finds my hand, he raises it to his head, guiding my fingers across the rounded top of his ear.
“You’re human,” I breathe.
“Did you think I was one of the Fae?” he asks, still holding me close.
“To be honest, I thought you might be…” I laugh to myself, too embarrassed to admit it. “Never mind. You can let go of me now.”
“And if I don’t want to?” he asks lightly, making my stomach flutter.
I suddenly remember what he said when we first met—that the only things he’s ever stolen are hearts, and if I’m not careful, he’d be tempted to steal mine. Desperate for a distraction from this strange world I’ve found myself in, just for a moment, I imagine what it would be like to be wooed by this man.
But I can’t think these sorts of thoughts about a masked bandit who refuses to give me his name.
I reluctantly pull away from him. When he doesn’t resist, I decide he is only playing anyway.
With a sigh, I look across the expanse between Lord Ambrose’s balcony and mine. “How am I going to get back?”
The bandit opens the marquis’s door. “Come on.”
I latch onto his arm, tugging him back. “You mustn’t!”
“Why mustn’t I?”
“What if we’re caught?”
“I told you—Lord Ambrose is not in.”
I hold firm. “But what if he comes back?”
“He won’t,” he says confidently. “Trust me. Have I misled you yet?”
Slowly, I drop my arm. “Fine…but be quiet.”
The bandit presses a finger to his lips, promising to stay shushed. He then motions for me to follow him.
I stop short in the marquis’s bedchamber, looking around.
“What is it?” the bandit asks, sounding a little unsettled.
The Masked Fae (Royal Fae of Rose Briar Woods Book 1) Page 5