Brahm strides down the hall, looking heartbreakingly handsome in his dark, formal doublet—looking like a prince.
Though he seems agitated, he offers his hand as I scramble to my feet. “I see Drake helped you find your way.”
“He did.”
Looking at me, he says, “I hope he knows how grateful I am that he didn’t leave you alone.”
I glance at Drake, my heart twisting over the strange situation. The younger prince merely shrugs as if accustomed to hearing words meant for him directed at other people.
“Your mother let you leave?” I ask Brahm.
He shakes his head. “I told her I was feeling ill, and I excused myself.”
“I thought you couldn’t lie.”
“I can’t.” He brushes my hair behind my ear. “But I’m better now.”
Belated tears sting my eyes.
“You’re all right?” he asks quietly.
I nod, trying to stay composed. This poor family. How have they survived all these years?
Drake bows his head, silently excusing himself, and begins down the hall.
“Thank you,” I call to him.
Drake’s eyes cut to his brother to see how he will respond.
“You can talk to him,” Brahm breathes, saying it as if it was something he knew but only just remembered.
“I can.”
Drake hesitates for another second, and then he continues, eventually disappearing into the door that goes to the stairwell.
Brahm ushers me inside before he turns to me. “Did you speak with Drake?”
“I did.”
“And…he spoke back?”
He looks torn, and I have no idea what answer would ease his anguish. “He did.”
Brahm lets out a long sigh. “I am envious of you, Alice.”
“He spoke at dinner,” I point out. “How is that possible?”
“Drake has always been able to talk—that was never taken from him. But no one could answer. Eventually, he fell quiet.”
“Forgive me,” I say darkly, “but your mother is a wretched person.”
He laughs under his breath. “I am aware.”
I look up at him solemnly. “Don’t give her a reason to hurt you.”
“You sound like Sabine.”
“Then maybe I will get along with your sister.”
“I’m sorry for tonight,” he says, reluctantly stepping away.
“Don’t apologize for something that’s not your fault.”
He sits on a bench near the fire, staring at the dancing flames.
“I am disappointed about one thing, though,” I say, joining him.
He turns from the flames to face me. “What’s that?”
“I didn’t get to see you in your mask,” I tease.
“It isn’t the same one you’re accustomed to.”
“I believe I would have still liked it.”
“I’m sure I would have liked yours as well.” He shakes his head, averting his gaze. When he looks back, he wears a smile. “We can still go. You said you’ve never attended a masquerade, and I hate to disappoint you.”
Suddenly serious, I sit up. “Brahm, no.”
“It’s fine. Mother is too fond of her drink. You saw how tipsy she was at dinner. She was almost passed out when I was leaving the ballroom. She’ll never know, and no one else will care.”
“Then why does it feel like such a bad idea?”
He laughs. “The choice is yours, but I promise it will be all right.”
“If I go, will I be sent away again? Will I be commanded to stand in a corner and forced to watch you spend the evening with Evony?”
Brahm’s expression darkens with the memory. “The only one who outranks me is already incoherent.”
I hesitate. “Regina did go to all that trouble of ordering me this gown…”
Brahm’s eyes dip to the sapphire creation just long enough for me to feel the weight of his attention, and then he meets my eyes once more. “She did.”
“Maybe we’ll go,” I say. “But only for a little bit.”
23
BRAHM
I have two reasons for attending the masquerade—the first is that the people, including my own brother, need to see I will not bow easily. The second is purely selfish.
I want to show Alice more of my world. Some of it is ugly, yes, but not everything. She’s experienced too much of the dark side of Faerie and so little of the magic that often lures humans here in the first place.
I wait for Alice by the fireplace, straightening the uncomfortable half-mask. The molded gold creation always feels foreign when I’m used to the soft fabric I use as the Highwayman.
But I doubt I will ever don that mask again.
Even the thought of my alter ego fills me with revulsion. Mother knew the entire time. Like an indulgent parent, she let me play the part for a while, allowing me to think I had some control over my life.
It plagues me, along with Wallen’s deception. My valet disappeared after Mother arrived at the Gravely estate, somehow slipped away like a snake in the grass.
I thought I might see him here, skulking close to Mother’s side, but there’s no sign of him. No one has seen him either—at least no one who is willing to admit it to me.
The inner chamber door opens, and I turn. Alice looks lovely in deep blue. The bodice hugs her delicate curves before the skirt flares at her hips. The material is sumptuous velvet, and the cut is flattering but modest.
Regina chose well. It only takes one look at Alice to know she’s beloved—not a servant or a pet, not a mistress or a casual plaything.
It’s likely the dress that first agitated Mother at dinner. Alice didn’t realize it, but she wore a quiet battle cry, a proclamation that I refuse to treat her as anything less than my equal.
“Can you tie the ribbon for me?” she asks, holding her mask to her face.
I close the distance between us and fumble with the delicate ties, trying not to catch her hair.
“I’m sorry,” I murmur, feeling clumsy.
Alice turns when I’m finished, smiling under her ornate, black mask. Like mine, it covers the upper half of her face and leaves her lips and the graceful curve of her jaw visible.
Her blue eyes sparkle at me, making me believe she’s already enjoying the intrigue that surrounds the masquerade. “I would think you’d be used to tying such things.”
I smile. “These are different.”
She studies me. “But you’re just as dashing in this one.”
“Am I?”
“I was doomed the day we first met,” she says, not quite meeting my eyes. “How couldn’t I fall for you?”
“I dragged you into the brambles,” I say skeptically.
“You saved me.” She lifts her eyes, and my heart stutters.
Alice doesn’t realize it, but I was doomed that day as well. One smile from her was all it took to capture my attention.
And she still has it, though I tried to pull back after Mother cornered us into the illanté agreement. But today, we’ve trampled the line I created between us. It might as well be drawn in sand for how stable it is. Though I knew staying away from Alice would be impossible.
She’s right—the arrangement is cruel for both of us. My convictions are strong, but she makes me weak.
I’m afraid we will eventually fall into each other’s arms, and I will be no better than the Fae I’ve so despised.
But that’s a worry for another day.
Tonight, we’ll dance together in the candlelight and pretend the rest of the world isn’t waiting and watching for our imminent demise.
The ballroom is awash in firelight. Thousands of flames flicker from the tapered candles burning in the golden chandeliers fixed to the high ceiling. They lend a moody ambiance, just enough light to see by.
The glass skylights reveal the night sky. The moon hangs above us, a pale and lonely guest of honor, and its dim glow passes through the glass.
Clut
ching my arm, Alice stares up at it. Her long blonde hair falls down her back, silver in the light, just as it was the first night we met. She could be a Faerie for how lovely she is, with only the tips of her ears betraying her heritage.
The proof of our tether shines like a golden bracelet around her delicate wrist, visible only to those with magic unless it’s coaxed to light. Like a wedding band, it proclaims she is mine.
Unlike a wedding band, it also warns I must keep my distance if I care about Alice’s virtue.
And I do, though a dark part of me voices its displeasure far too often, especially when Alice says things like she did earlier in my quarters.
Especially when she touches me.
Tables line the edge of the room. Beyond them, doors are open to the night, letting in the mountain air and the perfume of the night-blooming vines that climb the outside walls.
People freely go between the garden and the ballroom, some pausing by the great fire urns that are placed near the doorways to chase away the mountains’ evening chill and warm their hands.
“You have a masquerade every month?” Alice asks, her attention moving to the wall of open doors.
“Every month,” I confirm, hoping to hide my weariness.
Even though I’m finding it’s far more pleasant to attend with Alice on my arm, in the past, the balls have been tedious affairs I would have rather missed.
“I suppose it’s cold in winter,” she says absently.
“We have no winter,” I remind her.
She turns back to me, surprised when she realizes her mistake. “Of course.”
“There’s a winter court, though,” I tell her. “Tunder, in North Faerie. The palace is made of ice.”
“That must be frigid,” she says with a laugh, allowing me to escort her onto the dance floor.
“Mmm.” I turn and take her waist. “I’ve only been once. If I weren’t Fae, I would have frozen to death.”
A strange expression crosses Alice’s face, but she appears to brush the thought away as she sets her hand on my shoulder.
“What is it?” I ask.
“I don’t suppose I’ll ever be able to see it. No human could.”
“They have illantés as well. They’re protected by magic.”
She slowly nods.
“But you’re right—I don’t have that kind of power. I can protect you from goblins…but not ice.”
We fall into step with the other couples, and Alice easily picks up the foreign steps as she follows my lead. A quartet of players sits on an elevated dais in the corner. They create a dark, haunting melody with their stringed instruments, setting the mood.
“What other courts are there?” she asks.
“There are five high courts, of which Auvenridge is one. Eilonwy in East Faerie is another, as is Tunder.”
“And the other two?”
“They’re both in South Faerie. The Sionna court rules the archipelago, and the Cavonshim court rules the southern mainland. Then there are several lesser courts scattered amidst the human territories. Though they are self-governing monarchies, like the high courts, their territories are smaller, usually confined to small land features, such as valleys, forests, or islands.”
“I’ve read that in the past, in some places, Faeries and humans coexisted,” Alice says. “Is it true?”
“Are you speaking of the fairies of the warring kingdoms of Draegan and Renove?”
She nods.
“Fairies are another high race of Faerie, originally from a small court in northern Evelsa, high in the mountains. They’re shapeshifters—highly attuned to the natural elements, arguably the most powerful of our kind. They can live hundreds of years. They believed humans and the Fae should live together—supporting one another with natural talents. But when the tragedy befell Draegan and Renove, their ideology was shunned by most. After that, the fairies all but disappeared.”
“Where did they go?”
“Many still reside amongst humans, usually preferring the outskirts of small hamlets and villages, where they can quietly live their long lives. I’m sure many reside in our courts as well, and we simply don’t know it.” I carefully steer Alice clear of another couple, pulling her just a touch closer as we maneuver around the dance floor. “It’s rumored that many have returned to Draegan and Renove now that they’re back on the map.”
“Have you been to the isle?” Alice asks, her eyes lighting. “Have you seen the healed rift between the kingdoms? Or visited their medieval villages?”
Trapped under a curse for more than a hundred and thirty years, separated from the rest of civilization, the sister kingdoms’ people lived as if frozen in time. People say that visiting their isle is like taking a holiday in history.
Laughing, I shake my head. “I have not.”
“Maybe we’ll go someday,” she says, grinning up at me.
I smile back, intrigued by the idea of traveling the world with Alice by my side. “Maybe we will.”
We dance until it’s late, well past the hour I usually excuse myself.
I’m lulled to a state of complacency, paying little attention to those around us. So when Alice’s hand tightens on my shoulders, it takes me by surprise.
“Brahm,” she says urgently.
“What is it?” I ask, falling out of step. I follow her eyes, and then I nearly laugh. “They won’t bother you.”
“They’re goblins,” she hisses.
“I’m aware.”
“What are they doing here?”
“A few always show up—they come for the food.”
And sure enough, the beasts linger in the shadows near the refreshment tables, likely thinking they’re stealthy. They wear an odd assortment of pilfered items. One is in a waistcoat that falls to his knees. Another wears a human maid’s cap, along with a wreath around his neck that he must have stolen from a lamppost in the garden.
They’ve adorned themselves with other bits and trinkets as well—jewelry that catches the light, bunched up stockings worn as ill-fitting gloves, and ribbons tied around their necks like chokers.
I watch with disinterest as one sneaks to a platter of tartlets and tilts it into a grubby bag—tray and all.
The creatures near him shake with laughter before they make their way down the table, stealing anything and everything that will fit into the bag.
“Shouldn’t we tell someone?” Alice says, aghast.
“No one cares,” I assure her.
She looks back as if she’s going to scold me. “You said they are dangerous.”
“They are dangerous—if you’re an untethered human. They wouldn’t dare touch you now.”
“If you’d confronted them in the woods, would they have known you are their prince and run away?”
“Yes, though it’s likely they would have caused trouble when they saw I was alone. They’re wicked opportunists. They’d try to dispose of me if they thought they could.”
“But they can’t hurt me now?”
“The tether would likely kill them if they tried, and they are aware of that.”
Alice looks as if she’s thinking about it. “You’re certain?”
“I am.”
Nodding to herself, she suddenly marches toward the refreshment tables, her arms swaying with determination.
Startled, I hurry to catch up with her. “What are you doing?”
One of the goblins spots us and nudges his friend in the ribs. Quickly, the small monsters dart under the tablecloth.
Instead of answering me, Alice pulls up the cloth and leans over.
Stupefied, I watch as she grabs one of the goblins by its flabby arm and yanks it out from the protection of the table.
“No, not you,” she says almost immediately, shoving it away and going back for another.
The goblin shrieks and runs for the closest door, drawing the attention of nearly everyone in the ballroom. Even the players go silent as Alice drags another goblin from under the table.
T
he others cower in the corner, squealing like terrified piglets.
“You,” she says darkly, bringing the goblin into the light. He wears a woman’s corset on his bulbous body, along with several satin ribbons and an assortment of jewelry.
His eyes go wide with terror. He could easily shred Alice’s exposed skin with his sharp, jagged talons, but he doesn’t dare.
“Give me back my grandmother’s ring,” Alice demands, pointing at the band that hangs from a piece of leather around the goblin’s neck. “Now.”
Shaking, the monster quickly does as it's commanded, thrusting the ring, leather and all, into Alice’s hand. It then prostrates itself on the floor, babbling a string of guttural nonsense that can be nothing but a desperate plea for forgiveness.
Alice kneels in her elaborate ballgown, looking down on the miserable creature. “Do you know what I am? Do you know who I belong to?”
The pathetic creature nods.
“Good,” she says hotly. “Then you know why you will return to your lair or den or whatever your kind hole up in, and you will fetch every last thing you stole from my trunks and return them to Prince Brahm’s estate. Do you understand?”
He nods, nearly smacking his forehead on the ballroom floor.
Alice stands, wiping her hands, likely regretting touching him. “Get out.”
The goblin stumbles to his feet and runs from the room as if a dragon is on his heels.
When Alice turns back, she goes still. Perhaps she didn’t realize she’d drawn such a crowd.
People gather around us, amused by the display. They watch Alice, wondering if she’s something a little different—something they could embrace.
Mother would be livid, but she’s passed out on her throne, fast asleep like she always is by this time of night.
Alice scans her audience, and then she straightens her spine and walks to my side. Concealing a grin, I offer her my arm. “Would you like to wash your hands?”
“Very much, thank you,” she answers primly.
Leaving Alice’s spectators behind, we go into the garden.
24
The Masked Fae (Royal Fae of Rose Briar Woods Book 1) Page 19