by A C Wilds
“Come in!” I yell to the person outside. The door creaks open, and a boy no older than twelve walks in carrying a tray full of food. He is the same boy who was in the entrance hall yesterday. “Hello,” I say, as I try to cover the shakiness in my voice and the tears still hot on my cheeks.
“Hi. Where would you like me to put this?” he asks, all formal like he is accustomed to speaking to people of higher stature. I wonder if he is also a slave.
“You can put it on the table by the window,” I suggest, as he moves over to place it down. It smells wonderful. I can see a sandwich of some kind and a soup. There is a glass of water next to it and what looks like a piece of chocolate cake. “Thanks, this looks good.”
“You’re welcome. My name is Logan. I am your page,” states the boy.
“What is a page?” I ask. If it is anything like a plebeian, I am sending this kid back to where he came from. There is no way that I will have someone serve me. It’s bad enough that the maids won’t leave me alone.
He thinks about his answer for a minute. He has this cute look on his face with his eyebrows furrowed and his nose crinkled. He has eyes the color of the sea and black hair all messed up in the front. You can tell that he could care less about brushing it. He is a bit short and looks a lot like a certain kidnapper I know.
“A page is like an assistant, just younger. I do what you want, get your stuff, show you where to go so you don’t get lost, and even keep you company when you are lonely. But the last part I made up, so don’t tell anyone. I don’t have friends here, so I thought since you don’t either, we could help each other out.”
I instantly like this kid. He’s got a great personality, and he is right. I do need a friend. I’m curious to know if he is related to Greyson. It would make sense. Maybe this is the reason why he couldn’t just disappear. It makes me rethink whether he is the bad guy in all of this.
“Are you related to Greyson?” I ask.
“Yes!” Logan says, with so much reverence. “He is my big brother. He’s great. He takes care of me and is the best at playing games. He’s all I got, but I don’t mind ‘cause he’s enough.”
This makes me a little sad, but I know the feeling of having only one person to count on. I wonder how Noli is doing and if she is looking frantically for me. I miss her snark and sassy mouth. I miss our weekly movie binges and Taco Tuesdays. I miss our simple life together.
“That’s awesome. Okay, I’ve decided we can be friends, but under one condition,” I say, with a very stern look in my eyes but a smirk on my lips.
“Alright, what is it?” he says back, with the same mischievous grin.
“You have to call me either Az or RaRa, and I get to call you a nickname too. I don’t do full names, and you need a good one if you want us to be friends.”
“Well, Greyson calls me Squirt, but I don’t like that one.”
“Hmm… how about Wolvie for Wolverine. You know, since your name is Logan and all.”
“That’s so cool! You can call me Wolvie! I could be like a real-life X-Men. I miss my comics. When I was in the real world, I had so many. They don’t let us buy anything here, and the library doesn’t have any. It stinks.”
“That does stink. So, you’re from the outside world then?”
“Yup, we moved here like five years ago, but I don’t remember the reason. I was a lot younger then.”
I don’t want to make the kid feel bad, so I change the subject. He must miss all the things about being outside this palace, and me reminding him of them won’t help. I wonder where his parents are. It is odd that anyone would choose to be here, but remembering what Greyson said, maybe they didn’t have a choice.
He leaves with a smile on his face and an erratic hand wave. I can tell this kid and I are going to be fast friends. Maybe, if he trusts me enough, we could find a way out. I wouldn’t be opposed to enlisting Greyson for help. He looked desperate enough to want to leave. There are slaves here. People who have no choice or free will. People who are looked upon as animals and treated close to it. This isn’t right. How can I be a part of a world that is used to treating other beings like pieces of property? There has to be a way to get this to stop, and maybe I am in a position to find it. This is quickly becoming my problem, and I’m getting attached.
I decide that I’ve processed enough emotions for the day and longingly stare at the comfortable bed across the room. I walk over to it and jump into it, just because I feel that the King would frown upon that, and it’s a small way to give him the middle finger. It doesn’t take long before sleep overtakes me. I have a vivid dream of a better life — one where I am once again happy and free. I am fierce and fearless in the dream and seem as if I can take on anything that comes my way. Four handsome men are surrounding me. I can’t make out the exact details of their faces, but I can feel their loyalty and devotion to me. They are the soldiers in Nora’s Death Card. There is so much love and happiness. Also, my belly is swollen with new life, and for once I know true peace.
A Tried Friendship
Azra
Once again, I rouse to a blinding light hitting my face. I can feel the heat on my skin and the brightness through my eyelids. I’m not a morning person. I like to rise after the world has already started. The last few days of waking up this early this is starting to take its toll. I hate everything about getting up, especially if I was comfortable in bed, and this bed is so comfortable. I can feel a difference in the air, and my senses alert me to something different in my room. Opening my eyes, I realize I am not alone.
“Good morning,” drawls Cassiel, like he is bored with me already. His eyes are a bit dreamy as if he is deep in thought about something. He is dressed in riding gear; a white polo shirt, grey breeches, and tall riding boots. His riding boots are made to fit him and look like they are made from the softest leather. Does anyone here wear any colors besides white and grey? He is holding a crop and lightly tapping it against his thigh. My cheeks flush, and an odd sensation creeps up my body. I wonder, just for a second, what it would be like to be on the receiving end of that crop. Ugh, this is not how I wanted to start my morning.
“Um, Good Morning. What are you doing in my room?” I question. I can’t help to stare at how good he looks in his outfit. His polo is just tight enough to see the definition in his chest and arms. The breeches are a smidge too tight, and from this angle I can see quite an impressive bulge. I have to stop this train of thought. He is a monster who holds people against their will and has forced others into slavery. There is no way I would break my no-relationship rule for a douchebag like him.
“I’m the prince, the heir to the Seelie throne. I don’t knock.”
“Nope,” I say, as I get out of bed. Realizing that I went to bed in a tank top and shorts, I am showing off more skin than I would have liked.
“What do you mean, nope?”
“I mean get the fuck out of my room with your pompous attitude. I am not one of your servants or slaves.” I say the last word with as much sneer as someone can muster this early in the morning. “And furthermore, you're a dick, and not even the good kind.”
An audible sigh loudly escapes his mouth, like I am the most exhausting person he has ever had the displeasure of meeting. “I can’t leave. Unlike you, who thinks she has no responsibilities, I do. I have a kingdom to protect. I was ordered to watch over you, and that’s what I am going to do. It’s up to you whether we spend the day in bed.”
I’m pretty sure my eyes look in danger of popping out of their sockets. I am slack-jawed again for the second time with this infuriating man. I need to get away from him before I throat punch this asshole.
“We are not staying in my bed. Not now — not ever!” I yell, and rush straight into the bathroom. I know I’m lying a bit to myself, because he is obviously hot and my primal urge gets excited at the mere thought, but my practical side knows I could never have sex with someone who cared so little for human life.
Trying to catch my breath, I w
ash up and step into my walk-in closet through the bathroom entrance. It is filled with fluffy dresses and expensive suits. I guess the tailor will be coming later to make alterations. None of it is anything I would usually wear or could afford. Scrounging through the drawers, I manage to find riding breeches and a polo, very much like the one that Cass is wearing. I see no t-shirts anywhere. There are riding boots on the shoe rack, but no paddock boots. How am I supposed to muck stalls in expensive leather? They will get destroyed. They must think I am one of those riders who doesn’t take care of the horses I ride. Of course, these high and mighty pricks have their slaves to do all of the dirty work around here.
I grew up mucking stalls and grooming horses as trade for lessons. We were too poor to purchase my own horse, so I rode the practice horses and took care of rich people’s mounts. Then, when I was old enough to get a job, I became an exercise rider for them. They were too busy to make it to the stables to work the horses, so it was up to me to fill in. The money I made went to jumping lessons and gear. For the first time since I was ten, I was able to afford my own stuff. Mother never cared what I did, so I was there almost seven days a week. It was my escape from the shitty home life I had with a mother devoid of love. It was my therapy. The only way I could process all the shit that happened to me.
I’m looking forward to going to the stables, even if I do have to go with this asshole. I miss riding, and it seems like anything I could ever want would be there. I hope I don’t run into Barty Crotch. I can’t promise I’d be civilized around that man.
Stepping out of the bathroom, I see Cass is still sitting in the chair next to the bed. His eyes heat as they see me in my tight breeches. He follows my curvy body up and down inspecting as he goes.
“That outfit is making me want to change my mind and stay in bed,” he says with a smirk. He looks flustered, like he can’t control himself.
“You must not see a lot of girls in riding gear then because this is just a practice outfit. A bit formal, as I tend to ride in t-shirt and tights, but this is all I could find. And these boots are a bit much. Where can I get paddock boots and half chaps? I can’t muck stalls and groom horses in thousand-dollar competition boots,” I say.
“Why would you be mucking stalls or grooming horses? We have humans for that.” His voice sounds snobbish, but I have a feeling this is all he knows. He thinks this is normal. I don’t know whether to be infuriated about it or to feel sorry for him.
“If I am to ride here, I will take care of the horses as well. I don’t do handouts. I am no better than the humans who live here. I certainly won’t have someone cleaning up after me. It’s bad enough I have maids who clean in here and bring me clothes to wear. I am perfectly capable of grooming and mucking stalls.”
“I can see if the stable hands would be open to letting you help out. I don’t know how much Bartholomew is going to like it, but if that is your wish, I will see it done,” he says, like I am genuinely trying his patience.
“Great, now that it’s settled, lead the way to this very impressive barn I didn’t get to see yesterday.”
We walk out of the room, but before I get to the threshold, I turn around to look in the room and notice that the crop he had in his hand is now resting on the side table by the bed. My cheeks get red thinking about what that could mean.
We walk together down the long corridor and take a right at the big entrance way. This leads to what looks like the back of the mansion toward the kitchens. He takes me thru the massive cooking area and grabs a basket filled with food on the way out. I glance at him from the side quizzically. This seems out of character for the arrogant royal.
“I figured we could eat breakfast in the gardens before heading to the stables,” he says, walking out the door and over to a fountain that has a ledge around it, perfect for sitting.
The morning sun is starting to warm up the day. The gardens are meticulously manicured with flowers in bloom and sculpted trees. It reminds me of the Queen of Hearts’ rose garden in Alice in Wonderland. Too perfect, too beautiful, and full of red roses.
Cassiel pulls out two breakfast sandwiches, fruit, and pastries. After setting that down, he takes out a thermos and pours strong scented coffee in two mugs. He adds a splash of milk to his own and creamer to mine.
“How do you know what I like to have for breakfast?” I ask, as he has chosen all of my favorite things, down to the creamer that I put in my coffee.
“I know everything about you. Your likes and dislikes, what your schedule is. I even know you received a bright pink bike for your tenth birthday,” he says calmly, like he is talking about the weather.
“You do realize the more you talk, the more I think you are one of the creepiest, insane, stalkerish men I have ever met?” I tell him plainly, because this is starting to get out of control. I’m also lying, because if I’m honest, he’s not creepy at all.
“I think you're too judgmental. I wanted to know everything about you, so I did some research.” It seems like I hurt him a bit. He looks away from me, and I almost feel bad for him.
“That’s not how you get to know someone. It’s an invasion of their privacy. What if I didn’t want you to know about the bike or how I take my coffee? I’m going to assume you don’t have a lot of friends, and you don’t leave here much.”
He snaps his head back toward me and stares for a full minute trying to figure out what to say. His jaw is set, and he’s grinding his teeth. I can tell he is frustrated, but this is my life. In the last two days I have been drugged, kidnapped, and thrown into a world I have no idea about. I found out the Fae are real and that they sometimes are angels. Or not? I’m so confused.
“No, I don’t. I have never left the palace grounds,” he says, with a sadness I haven’t seen before. It almost looks genuine. Maybe this isn’t the life that he would choose if he could. Maybe he is just as much of a prisoner as I am.
“That explains a lot. You need to broaden your horizons, so to speak. You people do some fucked up shit here. It’s not ok to have slaves and treat people like dirt. Everyone deserves to be equal, and not kept against their will. What you are doing is wrong.”
I glance at him for a second before turning away again. People like him can’t be persuaded so easily. It’s ingrained in who they are. To be pompous. To think they are superior. I want for him to be different, and to not be ok with the status quo in this place, but I don’t know if he can be. We don’t always get what we want.
We eat in silence. There is nothing left to say. It’s not uncomfortable, but more pensive. We are both seemingly lost in our own thoughts. I hope I get to ride today. Ever since the glance I had yesterday at the barn, I have been foaming at the mouth thinking about coming back here. I know it’s fucked up to want to do anything fun here, but horses are my weakness.
I get up from the fountain and clean up my area as best as possible. “Ok, show me the way to the stables. I am excited to see the whole thing this time.”
Cass gets up looking at me like he’s surprised. He is genuinely handsome, with his strong chin and straight nose. His blond hair is perfectly combed, and his grey eyes sort of match my own. It’s weird, because I have never seen anyone with my color eyes before.
“This way,” he says, leading us through a gate that leads directly to the stables.
The smell hits me first: hay and horses. The sweet, fragrant scent of dead grass mixed with the natural scent of large beasts. Pure heaven!
The stable is massive. One of the biggest I’ve ever seen, and I’ve seen some pretty impressive ones, especially in Florida where people have nothing else to do with their money except spend it on their horses. There is a courtyard in the front with another tall fountain. What is with all these damn fountains?
There are three branches of stalls leading directly in front and splitting off to the left and right. There is a practice area down one corridor and a substantial outside paddock behind it. I can only see it because someone has left the door open, and the br
ight morning sun is shining through. It’s like an equestrian wonderland. Everything is polished and spotless, which is no small feat. Most people think that horses are naturally majestic, when really, they are slobs. My excitement is growing the further we walk in. I am practically vibrating by the time we enter the first corridor.
Along the main artery, horses stick their heads out in curious greeting — some munching on hay, and others too arrogant to offer a second glance. There is one horse in particular that stands out right away. He, because his presence is too male to be a mare, stares out at us. His eyes are a clear chocolate brown with intelligence that almost seems mocking. His coat is the color of freshly pooled blood from a sliced vein. He has no markings, but you would know this horse anywhere. He is…perfect.
I stop in front of him and let him adjust to my presence. He paws his hooves up and down in greeting and nods his head almost to say hello. My hands itch to reach out and touch him. It’s nearly too much to control — this urge. I’ve never felt this pull before. It’s intoxicating and otherworldly. I feel a connection. Something I’ve never felt with another horse before.
“What’s his name?” I say in a hushed whisper, because all my breath is gone. I am captivated and in awe of this beast. And he is a beast. At least 18 hands, but not a draft. His body isn’t built that way. He’s muscular and toned but doesn’t carry around the bulk of a draft horse. He would make an excellent show jumper.