The Masked Fae (Royal Fae of Rose Briar Woods Book 1)

by Shari L. Tapscott

  ALICE

  I’ve made a spectacle of myself, but I can’t say that I care all that much. I got my grandmother’s wedding band back.

  Brahm looks like he’s trying not to laugh as he leads me to a moonlit fountain. I pause to rinse my hands, scrubbing them together in the frigid water to rid myself of the goblin’s unique aroma.

  Once I’m satisfied they are as clean as possible, we continue past the manicured beds instead of returning to the ballroom. In the distance, the players begin their music once more.

  Eventually, we end up in a small alcove in the hedge, a spot of quiet respite, with a statue of a winged woman at the center of the planting. Her face is turned toward the sky, with her hand extended, looking as if she’s crying. At her feet appears to be the recently deceased form of a loved one.

  “This is a lovely spot you’ve brought me to,” I say with a smile.

  Brahm fetched my cloak before we left the ballroom, and he drapes it around my shoulders now. “No one comes here.”

  “I wonder why,” I say lightly.

  A glimpse of painted wood in the hedge catches my eye. It’s hidden behind the plantings, but a tiny handle is just visible. I cross the space and pull back the limbs of a weeping willow, revealing a small blue door. “It’s tiny,” I say, wondering if it’s meant for pixies. “Where does it lead?”

  “We can find out if you’d like.”

  “You don’t know?” I kneel to examine the door, and my skirts bunch up around me. A child could fit through it if they crouched, but we would have difficulty. “I see a problem.”

  “You see a human problem.”

  “Forgive me, but that is how I tend to look at the world. How do you pass through?” Then I’m struck with a disconcerting thought. “Do you shrink yourself to fit?”

  Brahm laughs, wickedly amused by the idea. “Certainly not. You only need to touch it, and it will spirit you away. It’s a gate to the human world—it leads to a fairy ring somewhere. But since the rings never show up in the same place, it’s impossible to know where you’ll end up. They’re old magic, and very few utilize them anymore.”

  “So, if we were to touch it, it could take us anywhere in the world?”

  “That’s right, but only tonight.”

  “Why tonight?”

  He nods toward the sky. “It’s a full moon. All of Faerie, and its inhabitants, are at the height of their power when the moon is full.”

  Slowly, I stand, backing away from the door and letting the willow fall into place. “I don’t think I’m that adventurous.”

  “I was terrified of them as a young boy,” Brahm says. “But after Father died, I was desperate to escape. I used one the full moon after his death.”

  “Where did it take you?”

  “To the woods just beyond the bridge.” He scoffs, disgusted. “It could have taken me anywhere, and I ended up right outside West Faerie.”

  “Truly?”

  He nods.

  “Did you resent my sister?” I ask him quietly. “If Drake hadn’t tried to help her, your father would still be alive.”

  Slowly, he shakes his head. “I believe Drake did the right thing. But often, I wish it had been me and not him. I was older. Maybe I could have slipped her away without Mother ever realizing who was to blame.”

  “It’s not your fault.” I step close, wanting to offer comfort but unsure if he’d welcome it.

  “I know that.”

  After a moment, he wraps his arm around my waist and pulls me into him. His mask makes him look too otherworldly in the light of the full moon, and for the first time, I think I can truly believe he is a prince of West Faerie.

  Our gazes meet. Brahm’s eyes fall to my lips, and heat dances across my exposed skin despite the nighttime chill.

  I tilt my head toward him in invitation—waiting, wanting, needing so very much.

  Brahm lowers his head slowly, almost as if he’s about to change his mind. I hold my breath, silently urging him forward.

  Please kiss me, I beg him with my eyes.

  “Alice,” he breathes, beginning to shake his head.

  Gently, I press my hands to either side of his face. “It’s all right.”

  He pauses, searching me for signs of hesitation—and finding none.

  I slide my hands down, letting them rest on his shoulders, counting the seconds as I wait. Tension grows between us, drawing us closer.

  My eyes flutter closed when his mouth brushes against mine. Though the kiss is sweet and short, it’s followed by an oh-so-slow retreat that leaves me swooning.

  But when I think we’re going to part, Brahm kisses me again, firmer this time, his lips lingering just a little longer before he draws back. I lean into him and loop my arms around his neck, pressing close.

  “Alice,” he says, this time breathing my name like its precious air. He flattens his palm against my back, dragging me against him, and his other hand grips my waist firmly.

  I pull off his mask, needing to see him, and then I remove mine. We come together once more, the time for hesitating long past.

  I’m lost to Brahm, my heart full to the brim. I kiss him back, meeting his growing intensity, feeling the air crackle with magic around us. It sweeps over my skin, addictive and new.

  Perhaps Brahm was holding back before, or maybe it’s the full moon, but it does feel magical in Faerie tonight. The garden is alive around us, and I’m suddenly aware of it.

  When we do part, Brahm’s eyes fall to my finger. I discarded the filthy leather when I washed my hands, and then I slid on grandmother’s ring.

  “You seemed happy to have it back,” he says quietly.

  I look down at it now, rotating the gold band around my finger. “It was special to my grandmother. She wore it every day, even though she’d lost grandfather before I was born. She spoke about him like they’d only parted the week before—like she still loved him as much as she did the spring evening they exchanged their vows. It always seemed so beautiful to me, so pure.”

  Brahm is quiet, waiting for me to go on.

  “The ring technically belonged to Gustin, but I smuggled it into my things,” I admit, giving him a guilty smile. “Like everything else, it was supposed to be auctioned to help pay the debt. Forgive me, I suppose I stole it from you. But I couldn’t bear to see the token of their life together sold off to the highest bidder.”

  A strange look crosses Brahm’s face. “We should fight for the things that are precious to us, shouldn’t we?”

  Slowly, I nod. “I believe so.”

  “You’re precious to me, Alice.” Brahm pauses. “The most precious thing in my life.”

  I stare at the ring, letting his declaration heal wounded parts of my soul. I’ve never been precious to anyone. Not Mother or Father, and certainly not Gustin. Grandmother loved me, but even she worried over Gustin’s growing recklessness too much to give me much time. I was always there, quiet and obedient, never demanding anyone’s attention…and therefore never receiving much of it either.

  And now here I am, in an enchanted garden, hearing words I’ve been so desperate to hear, and from a prince of Faerie.

  I’m precious.

  I’m not just Eleanor’s sister or Gustin’s unfortunate problem. I’m not the quiet daughter of poor Lord and Lady Gravely or Prince Brahm’s illanté.

  Tears blur my vision, but they don’t fall. Even if we can never be anything more, this is enough. For the first time in my life, I feel cherished.

  “I want to take you somewhere,” Brahm says quietly, suddenly looking very sober.

  Nodding, I loop my arm through his, allowing him to lead me wherever he wants. We meander through the garden, startling drowsing flowers. They bloom when they spot us, putting on a show.

  “That’s the strangest thing,” I whisper to Brahm, eyeing them with great interest.

  After we pass, their petals fall around their heads as they drift once more.

  There are pixies in the bushes, along w
ith the creatures with the golden eyes. They’re getting braver now, and a few let me glimpse a peek at their furry faces. They look a little like cats hiding amongst the flowerbeds. They watch us, terribly interested in our meanderings.

  We walk until the gardens grow wild, and I begin to wonder if we haven’t gone past the castle grounds. And then, we stop.

  “What do you think?” Brahm asks, gesturing toward a tiny one-room cottage in the trees. It looks like a caretaker’s shed, or perhaps a child’s playhouse.

  Overgrown trees nearly cover it with their limbs, and massive peonies spill light pink blooms onto the stone step.

  Brahm pushes through the brush at the side of the small building, looking for something. A moment later, he returns with a key. After he unlocks the door, he pushes it open and gestures for me to go in first. “You’ll have to lean down to enter, but I promise this doorway is passable.”

  “It’s dark,” I point out.

  Nodding, Brahm extends his hand toward the cottage. Light suddenly glows from within.

  “Such a useful trick,” I tease him. “I think I’ll have to keep you.”

  He laughs under his breath as I duck down and step inside. When I straighten, I inhale slowly.

  There are books everywhere—stuffed into a tiny bookshelf, piled onto the floor, even stacked on a chair in the corner. There’s an old coat-of-arms on the wall, and a group of hand-carved figurines that look like they were crafted by a child. An assortment of daggers and a short sword. A golden cup and a wooden plate. It’s a strange collection of eclectic things, and yet it seems everything here was treasured.

  “What is this place?” I ask, my eyes sweeping over the space.

  “Father built it for me when I was young,” he says. “Drake and Eleanor had their garden, and Sabine has a hidden room in the sapphire wing. This was mine.”

  The place where Brahm spent his childhood.

  I venture deeper inside, looking at all the things he collected as a boy.

  “May I?” I ask, pausing in front of a small silver box.

  He’s preoccupied with the contents of a basket, but he waves, giving me permission.

  I open the box, wondering what he might keep in something so precious, and I nearly laugh out loud when I discover its secret.

  “Acorns?” I ask.

  Brahm glances over, smiling though he doesn’t answer.

  “Are they magical?” I prod. “Enchanted, perhaps?”

  “They’re just acorns.”

  Another container holds small rocks, and then I find a pile of pinecones.

  “Why did you collect all of this?”

  “The natural world holds its own sort of magic. Seeds, like acorns and those found in pinecones, contain raw energy. Rocks are connected to the earth.”

  “Do the Fae pull all their magic from the world around them?” I ask.

  Brahm shakes his head, still shuffling through the basket. “No. We have our own. Those things just act as a booster. They’re more helpful when we’re young and still clumsy with our magic.”

  “What did you use them for?”

  “I enchanted trinkets, mostly.”

  “Like the things the Fae merchants sell in Kellington?”

  He nods. “Nothing with true magic—just little charms, more amusing than useful.”

  “Gustin used a Faerie love charm on a girl he fancied once,” I say absently. “She kissed him in front of the main square on Spring’s Eve. Once she found out what he’d done, she punched him right in the face. He had a black eye for almost two weeks.”

  Brahm grins to himself, perhaps liking the idea of Gustin getting maimed. “Most of the charms the Fae sell don’t have lingering effects.”

  “This one lasted all of two minutes,” I say with a laugh, wondering where Gustin is now. I’m not sure I should care, but I do a little. I can’t help it.

  “What kind of charms did you make?” I ask Brahm, pushing thoughts of my brother aside.

  “Mostly things to amuse Sabine and Eleanor. Little dancing dolls, flowers that never faded, candles that sparked and burned in different colors. Trivial things.” He hums with pleasure, making me think he’s found what he was looking for. “Sabine always liked it when I’d charm human trinkets—instruments, games, things of that sort. She wouldn’t admit it to a soul, but she’s desperately obsessed with your people.”

  I browse the books, hoping to learn something about Brahm from the selection. But if I glean anything, it’s that his taste is eclectic. He has everything, from journals to epics, to stories of heroic adventure.

  “Are these all human authors?” I ask, running my finger over the printing date on the front page of Birds of Prey: Falcons, Hawks, and Owls of Northern Illusa and the Arctic Hold.

  “Most.” Brahm unwinds a spool of thin silver wire, snipping it into three equal pieces before he begins braiding it together. “The Fae of the high courts don’t often write books. Our history is passed through songs and poems, recited by bards and court jesters.”

  “But you have your own language—I’ve seen it.”

  “It’s archaic, rarely used anymore. Through time, we’ve adopted the human languages. Some Faeries still believe there’s power in written incantations, but that’s an outdated ideology.” He gives me a look. “Often, random words are etched onto things sold to the humans to make them seem more magical than they truly are.”

  Laughing, I step up beside Brahm, watching as he creates two more braids from the whisper-thin silver. He then begins to twine them together, making an intricate twist.

  “Silver doesn’t bother you?” I ask.

  He shakes his head, working deftly. “All metals respond to magic. Silver is an amplifier, and gold is a vessel for storing a surplus gathered from nature. Tin holds memories, and copper reacts badly.”

  “Badly?”

  “It burns.”

  “And iron?”

  Brahm cringes. “Iron is uncomfortable. It’s hard to explain. It’s similar to the sensation you get when you hit your elbow on something hard, but it’s more intense and not as localized.”

  “So copper is your true weakness?”

  He glances over as if amused by the question. “Should I be worried?”

  Laughing again, I shake my head.

  “What are you doing?” I finally ask, realizing Brahm came here with a purpose, and it wasn’t just to give me a glimpse of his childhood.

  He doesn’t answer. Instead, he pulls on a thick pair of leather gloves and rifles through the basket once more. He chooses another tool, this one a long metal mandrel with an iron handle.

  Using it to coax the silver to bend, he creates a loop in the braid.

  Intrigued, I pull out the short stool and sit, waiting for him to explain what he’s making and why he brought me here at this time of night to create it.

  Next, he chooses a heavy pair of shears with a blunt tip. Eyeing the intricate braid with a solemn expression, he clips away the straight sections and tosses them aside.

  He’s left with a ring, and my interest grows.

  After coaxing the ends to meet, he chooses another tool—this one long and narrow, with a sharp point.

  I lean a little closer, realizing he’s using magic now. Brahm barely touches the loose silver strands with the point of the tool, and they meld together as if soldered. When he’s finished, the braid flows in a continuous loop, impossible to tell where it once began and ended.

  Satisfied with his work, Brahm slides the ring onto the mandrel once more, shaping it into a perfect circle.

  He then runs his finger over and around it, polishing it, his magic shimmering slightly as he works. When he’s finished, the silver gleams in the dim light.

  The entire process takes him less than five minutes. When he’s satisfied, he turns, looking somewhat unsure of himself. He studies the ring, rolling it between his fingers.

  I wait, and my stomach grows anxious as the seconds stretch between us.

  “Is it
for…?” I ask.

  He traces the metal band with his fingertip. “If you’d like it.”

  My pulse quickens. “It’s beautiful.”

  “Rings have fallen out of tradition with the Fae,” he says, still looking at the piece of jewelry he created so quickly. “Hundreds of years ago, they were used in marital binding ceremonies before we adopted the human tradition of weddings. A vow is sufficient now, without the added binding magic, especially amongst the people of West Faerie. Rings have lost their meaning, and some snub them altogether because of what they represented in the past.”

  “Because of what they represented?”

  “The traditional binding ceremony is considered archaic. When you enter into it, the magic literally binds your existence to your partner’s. You can’t stray far without enduring physical pain, and when one dies, the other perishes as well. A ring seals the vow.”

  I nod, unsure what to say.

  “But when you speak of your grandmother’s ring, you make it sound as if it’s a symbol of love. Of devotion and honor.” He looks up, and his dark eyes meet mine. “Because of the illanté tether, we’re bound for life, Alice. Perhaps there is a way to break the oath, but the truth is, I don’t want to let you go.”

  My breath quickens, and I wait for him to continue.

  “You and I will never be allowed to marry in Faerie. Even if we put aside the tether, it’s forbidden for a Faerie to marry a human.”

  “Why?” I whisper.

  “Because my people believe it dilutes our magic. Eventually, if we intermarried with humans, there would be no Fae left. We, as a people, and our magic, would cease to exist.”

  “But you said Fae men have human mistresses. Aren’t children inevitable?”

  He shakes his head solemnly. “There are charms and spells to prevent it.”

  “Oh,” I say softly.

  “If we’re together, then I want our union to be legal, lawful, and right. I want a family, and eventually children…and you.”

  I swallow as my heart begins to race. “If we’re together? But you just said…”

  “Marry me, Alice,” Brahm says softly. “Let’s go into Valsta and elope. No one will marry us here, but that doesn’t mean we cannot be married in human territory.”