It’s now that Brahm’s people will decide what kind of illanté I am. I’m obviously not a servant or a drudge in such a gown, so I must be Brahm’s mistress or one of those pampered pets Regina mentioned.
Either way, we are the subject of gossip, and I have no doubt Brahm’s name will pass nearly every pair of lips before the night is over.
The dining room is a massive space, though its name makes it sound deceptively small. There are dozens of round, cloth-covered tables, each with ten chairs. As Brahm leads me toward the front of the room, I peek at the place settings. The plates and utensils are silver, and the drinkware is cut crystal. A teacup sits atop each plate, with a large, multi-petaled red flower resting in the bottom.
The tables have several steaming porcelain teapots at their centers, all nestled amongst boxwood and rosemary garlands. Place cards with scrolling names written upon them inform guests where they are to sit.
With growing dread, I realize that most names have titles attached. Not only is this the largest gathering of Faeries I’ve ever been amongst, but they are the most powerful citizens of West Faerie.
I return my attention to the front of the room, where Brahm’s family is already seated.
Queen Marison watches us with narrowed eyes, and a small, twisted smile graces her lovely face. She is truly a beautiful woman, looking somehow timeless. She and Brahm share the same hair color, but her eyes are green.
Ian stands behind her, resting one hand on the back of her chair. He speaks with a man who came to give his greetings to his monarch, smiling like he’s already the queen’s new consort.
To the queen’s right sits a woman so beautiful, she looks as if the sun lent her its light to wear as a cloak. Her hair is golden and long. Her lips are the color of the roses her mother now despises, and her lashes are dark. She’s dreadfully intimidating, especially when she watches me with an expression that says she resents my presence next to Brahm.
I lean close to him as we walk. “Is the blonde woman, perhaps, one of the women whose hearts you mentioned stealing?”
“Worse,” he says. “She’s my sister.”
Softly, I ask, “And why does your sister look as if she’d like to behead me?”
“She always looks like that when she sits next to our mother. Try not to take it personally.”
My eyes shift to a man dressed in full black who stands just behind the table. He’s leaner than Brahm, but just about the same height, and they share similar hair and eyes. He’s startlingly handsome, with a dark, haunted expression.
And he watches me intently.
I feel as if I’ve become the ghost of my younger sister—a girl this family knew far better than I ever did.
“Is that your brother?” I whisper. “The one who grows the roses?”
“That’s right. I won’t be able to introduce you, but his name is Drake.”
“Why can’t you introduce me?”
Before Brahm can answer, Ian interrupts.
“Wasn’t Brahm the one who said he’d never take a pet?” the count asks the queen offhandedly. His nasty smirk makes my skin crawl.
“Yes,” Queen Marison responds, pulling her eyes away from me as if bored. “He said it was an ‘appalling tradition’ that he wanted no part in.”
“Have you changed your mind now that you’ve found one who appeals to you, Brahm?” Ian asks snidely. He then slides his eyes over me, making me want to hide behind Brahm’s back. “You’ve certainly decorated her, haven’t you? Is she a pet or a doll?”
“Enough,” Drake says through gritted teeth, making everyone at the table jump, including his mother.
No one responds to him, but Ian shoots him a guarded look before returning his attention to us.
“Sit down, Brahm,” Queen Marison commands, gesturing to the empty spot next to Brahm’s sister.
One empty spot.
“Move down,” Brahm commands the others at the table. Though they look like high-titled Faeries, they scurry to do the prince’s bidding. Satisfied, Brahm pulls out the chair next to his sister for me.
People watch the display. Their murmurs are like a flock of birds winging about the room, and they make me anxious. I reluctantly lower myself into the chair.
The queen watches without a word, but I can feel the weight of her stare.
“Alice, this is my sister, Sabine,” Brahm says. “Sabine, this is Alice.”
He then gives her a look that plainly says, “Be nice.”
“Hello,” I say quietly, terrified of the pretty Fae woman.
The princess turns in her chair, assessing me. “I don’t know what all the fuss is about. You do resemble the girl, I suppose, but your hair is clearly wrong.”
I twist my hands in my lap, forcing myself to give her an answering smile.
“I’m sure you have no idea, but you’re quite fortunate to be tethered to Brahm,” she says. “He is the kindest master you could ask for—do not forget that.”
“That’s enough, Sabine,” Brahm says shortly.
The princess’s eyes move beyond me to her brother. “It’s been a month. Are you still in a foul temper about it? If you’ve grown tired of her, give her to Ian and be done with it.”
“No,” Drake says from behind us in a rough, oddly unpracticed, voice. “Not Ian.”
Both Brahm and Sabine turn to look at him, their shock apparent.
Brahm’s face contorts, looking like he’s fighting something before he finally surrenders.
Looking defeated, he turns from his brother without acknowledging him and leans forward to speak with Sabine. “I have no intention of giving Alice to Ian or anyone else. She’s mine, and I am hers, and it will remain that way.”
Though I didn’t like Sabine’s use of the word “master,” my heart dances when Brahm claims we belong to each other. But the announcement must be a dangerous one.
People in attendance shift and whisper once more, and from the way Queen Marison’s eyes flash, I know Brahm crossed a line.
Suddenly, the queen laughs. The sound is sweet and bright, but a mockingly benevolent smile passes over her lips. “It’s so like you to cherish your first pet, Brahm. If I’d known it would please you so, I would have gotten one for you sooner.”
Brahm’s hand fists around his napkin.
“But I’m afraid you must remember her place,” Queen Marison continues, “lest you give her too much leash and make her unruly. Alice, stand with Drake while we eat.”
Except for Sabine’s sharp inhale, the room is silent.
As I begin to stand, Brahm catches my shoulder, making me pause. “It’s my choice whether or not I bring my illanté to dinner, is it not?”
The question echoes in the room, the hush making it sound much louder than it actually was.
His mother’s eyes flash, and a terrifying smile tugs at her crimson lips. “Are you defying me, Brahm?”
“He’s not,” Sabine says before Brahm can answer, knocking his hand from my shoulder and urgently pushing me to my feet. “She’s going.”
I immediately rise, not daring to look at Brahm, knowing what’s at stake.
Brahm begins to argue, but Sabine hisses to him under her breath, “What do you think will happen to her if you’re dead?”
That’s all it takes for Brahm to relent. Jaw rigid, he sits back in his chair, staring straight ahead.
Hating that I’m on display, and terrified for Brahm, I join Drake. The prince watches me, looking almost as angry as his brother. But when he meets my gaze, he looks away.
He’s the only one. Too many eyes are on me. Some of the attending Fae nobles look like they’re enjoying the display, but most appear uncomfortable.
And a few seem as quietly outraged as the royal siblings. The queen was purposefully baiting Brahm, but why? Does she want an excuse to execute him? How could she feel so venomous toward her own blood?
“Evony,” Queen Marison calls into the room, looking somewhat displeased that Sabine convinced Brahm to s
tay quiet. “Come sit by my son. He has regretfully lost his dining partner.”
My stomach falls when a beautiful woman stands.
Sabine stares at Brahm, begging him to stay silent. Thankfully, his stony expression is his only response to his mother’s manipulations.
The Faerie walks to the front of the room, looking terrified of her queen. She averts her eyes to the floor, glancing at Brahm only briefly as she approaches the table. Her long auburn hair falls around her shoulders in soft, uniform curls, vibrant against her white gown.
She looks like a reluctant bride, and the thought makes my stomach knot.
Resigned, Brahm pulls out my recently departed chair with a heavy sigh, mannered to a fault.
Evony’s eyes flicker to him, her face soft with sympathy as she takes my place. Soon, their backs are to me, and all I can see is the two of them together, making a handsome pair.
And then, the meal begins.
It doesn’t take long before I grow fatigued from remaining in the same position. Drake barely moves. He doesn’t fidget or shift, likely used to standing for long periods of time.
The meal stretches on, each tiny course followed by another, until my feet ache from standing, and my muscles protest the uncomfortable position.
When dessert is finally served, I hide a yawn behind my hand, shifting my weight from one leg to the other.
The queen’s gentle laughter becomes harsh and grating as the night wears on. Again, she waves a servingman over, commanding him to refill her empty chalice with the ruby red wine most drink in moderation.
I’ve heard tales of Faerie alcohol. If half of them are true, the queen might be dead by morning. Though I suppose the Fae are immune to the drink’s extreme potency, and we aren’t likely to be fortunate enough to get rid of her so easily.
“It’s almost midnight,” Drake says so quietly I almost can’t hear him. “The masquerade will start soon. If you’re careful to stay out of the queen’s line of sight, you might be able to slip away undetected.”
He looks straight ahead as he speaks, making me believe I should do the same.
“What about you?” I ask softly.
The prince looks over so sharply, I’m sure it must have drawn the attention of at least a few people in the room. His dark green eyes are wide, and his mouth hangs open.
Startled, I stare back at him, unsure what I did wrong. After a moment, I say, “I’m sorry.”
Looking as if he’s thinking a thousand things at once, he drags his attention to the wall across the room. After a long moment, he says in a jagged voice, “We’ll go together.”
I watch Drake from the corner of my eye, growing concerned. He’s gone pale, and his hands appear to tremble despite the way he clenches them at his sides.
As soon as the queen rises, others follow her lead. Immediately, Brahm leaves his dining companion and turns toward me.
“Brahm,” Queen Marison says harshly, her voice slightly slurred. “Escort Evony into the ballroom.”
“I—”
“Your human will be fine on her own,” she says, stumbling against the table when she loses her balance.
“I’m all right,” I say to Brahm quietly, jerking my head toward the doorway, telling him to go.
Those who are still in attendance pause halfway out of the room, watching the exchange.
Brahm's eyes find mine, their deep brown depths sparking with defiance. I shake my head subtly, begging him not to fight.
Brahm’s gaze moves to Drake. After a long moment, he relents. Turning his eyes away, he stiffly offers his arm to Evony. I watch as she slides her hand into the crook of his elbow, feeling like a part of me is dying.
Satisfied, the queen collects Ian and sweeps Brahm and Sabine from the room, forgetting all about her second son and Brahm’s illanté.
Drake clears his throat next to me. “We should go…while she’s preoccupied.”
He pauses, perhaps debating whether he’ll offer his arm. After several seconds of indecision, he lowers his head and begins walking to an unimposing door off the side of the room—the same which the serving staff used throughout the meal.
I follow him, feeling small.
If it was Queen Marison’s goal to put me in my place, she certainly accomplished her task. I’ve never felt so insignificant in my life.
“I’ll take you to Brahm’s rooms,” Drake says as soon as we’re in the empty hall, still not looking at me.
I follow without speaking, sensing I unnerve him.
The halls feel longer and darker without Brahm.
I know little about his brother, except he tried to save my sister when he was just a child, and he paid dearly for it. He also seems bizarrely fond of roses.
We pass the colonnade, and I follow him up the winding stairway, growing more uneasy with every step.
A shadow cloaks Drake. It’s not visible, but it’s there all the same. Whether it's sadness or something more sinister, I don’t know.
Perhaps I was a fool to go with him, but what choice did I have? My only alternative was to wander the castle and hope something worse didn’t find me.
Besides, Brahm said the illanté tether will protect me. It seems as good a time as any to see if he’s right.
When we arrive at the last scarlet door, Drake pauses as he reaches for the handle. Slowly, he lets his hand drop, and then he turns to me.
As if it’s painful, he forces his gaze to mine. I stand very still, my heart beating too quickly.
“I’ve only overheard bits and pieces of the story,” he says roughly. “You’re Alice?”
Slowly, I nod.
“And she…my Alice…was your sister?”
“Yes.”
He closes his eyes when I answer, making me think it’s difficult for him to carry on a conversation. “What was her name?”
“Eleanor,” I whisper.
He swallows hard, taking a moment. “And apparently you can talk to me.”
Confused, I say, “It appears that way…”
“Of course you can—you’re human,” he says darkly, rubbing his hand over his face.
Suddenly, he laughs. It’s an agonized sound, seeming to come from the darkest, rawest parts of his very being.
He leans against the door and rests his head on the wood. “I haven’t had a conversation with a person since I was ten.”
His words confuse me until I remember what Brahm said when we entered the dining hall.
“Brahm told me he couldn’t introduce us,” I say carefully. “I assumed it was merely a way of saying he wouldn’t have a chance…”
“He meant he couldn’t. Years ago, after Eleanor, Mother decreed that no one was allowed to speak to me. The command was sealed with magic, impossible to fight.” He huffs out a scoffing breath. “At least if you’re Fae.”
Ten years—that’s how long he’s lived as an apparition in his own home.
“Why didn’t you leave?” I ask, aghast. “You could have gone somewhere your mother doesn’t have jurisdiction.”
“I’m tethered—same as you. This silence is my punishment, my prison.”
Overwhelmed, I fall quiet, staring at the floor between us.
“I must ask you something,” Drake says heavily. “But I’m afraid of the answer.”
Gently, I say, “But perhaps it would be worse to pass up the opportunity?”
He looks at me again, his heart bared and bleeding. “Did Eleanor find her way home?”
After all this time, after everything he’s been through, Drake wants a confirmation that my little sister made it back—that he was successful. That everything he lived through was for something.
How can I tell him?
“I’m sorry,” I say softly, shaking my head.
A deep, guttural sound escapes him—like a sob wrenched with a moan. He slowly slides down the door and sits on the floor, one knee drawn to his forehead, looking like a man destroyed.
Unsure what else to do, I sit on the floor a
cross from him, fighting with my many layers of skirts.
“Why roses?” I ask softly.
Drake meets my gaze. “Alice—” He shakes his head. “Eleanor loved them. Everyone says she knew what they were when she arrived—she pointed to them and called them by name.”
“How old are you?”
“Nineteen.”
“So, you must have been about four when Eleanor came to your family.” I swallow, feeling lightheaded. After all these years, I have answers, but they only add a layer of heartbreak.
Drake stares at his hands. “Probably.”
“We’re the same age.”
“Do you remember her?” he asks quietly.
“A little,” I say with a sigh. “Just fleeting memories—nothing substantial. But…I think I know why she liked roses.”
He looks up, desperate to know more about the friend he lost so long ago. And maybe talking about her—or talking to anyone about anything—is cathartic.
“My grandmother grew roses,” I say. “The horticultural society in Davon even gave her an award for a hybrid tea rose she created. Some of my earliest memories are of walking with her through her gardens. Maybe when Eleanor was little, roses subconsciously reminded her of home.”
“She liked visiting Father’s rose woods the best,” Drake says with an absent nod, looking as if he’s lost in memories. “But when we were here, as we were most of the time, her favorite place was the garden Brahm planted for her. It was a secret spot, hidden in the hedges, the entrance concealed behind a massive weeping spruce.”
“I didn’t see any roses on the castle grounds.”
“The queen had them removed.”
That’s twice he’s referred to his mother that way. Does he no longer claim her? Not that anyone could blame him.
“Thank you,” I say softly. “Thank you for loving Eleanor, for risking all you did for her.”
Drake watches me, and his eyes grow glossy.
“I think…” I blink several times, overwhelmed by his reaction to my words. “My parents would have been so relieved to know she had you caring for her.”
Drake studies me for several long seconds, and then his eyes move behind me. “Brahm.”
I turn, relieved to see him this soon but anxious about what his early arrival could mean. “You’re back already?”
The Masked Fae (Royal Fae of Rose Briar Woods Book 1) Page 18