Fair Maiden

by Cheri Schmidt

  Desperate to get the slime off her skin, she tried another tactic. Softening her tone, she said, “Please, Dominic. I’m sorry. But this spell…it distresses me. Please. I will be ill otherwise.”

  He crossed his arms over his chest, and leaned back against the cushion. “You’re remembering, aren’t you? You could not see that before.”

  “Yes.”

  “Then you know why I cannot remove it.”

  “Please. This magic is making me nauseated.” She blinked rapidly, fighting the tears that would only anger him further. “I promise I will not run away. I give you my word. I swear it.” Secretly she berated herself for vowing what was likely a lie.

  After letting loose a big exasperated sigh, Dominic placed one hand over her wrists. She watched with sick curiosity as the magic oozed its way back into his fingers.

  “Thank you.” Tessa bit her lip and massaged the tormented skin. Momentarily she felt hope blossom. He had not confessed to killing her and she had to wonder— what if he had not done it? It seemed he did have a soft spot for her hidden somewhere, however deep, inside that blackened soul of his. She would use this to her advantage…. But then another thought occurred to her and fear returned. Perhaps he cared for her in some odd way, unless, of course, the only reason he released her was because he was imagining the mess she would make if she emptied the contents of her stomach in his fine carriage.

  And this was the way a prince would travel. The interior was upholstered with lush velvet in a rich brown. The cushions were plenty soft, making the many fringe-trimmed pillows unnecessary, even the hinges and handles shone with gold leafing. It was pure luxury and not the practical contraption Christian had. Whilst it too was finely made, it was not overdone like this.

  “I wonder how it was you lost your memory,” Dominic mused aloud, snatching her from her private thoughts. But it seemed he pondered more to himself than actually inquiring of her.

  She could not offer an answer she herself did not have, so said nothing.

  “And how did you get to that castle, I wonder? It is close to your parent’s home, but—”

  “My parents lived nearby?” she asked, shocked.

  He studied her for a beat or two. “You truly do not remember your own home?”

  She shook her head, and other curiosities troubled her. “How did you find me?”

  “I’ve not been able to sense you since after your death…until recently, when you’ve been—and this is the strange part—flickering back and forth back into my awareness.”

  “What?”

  The carriage rocked suddenly to a halt, and Dominic kept her from tumbling to the floor.

  He rebound her wrists and snatched her about the waist. “We’re here. Are you ready to wear another wedding gown?”

  Not for him, she wasn’t.

  Sea air filled her nostrils as Dominic lifted her from the carriage. Memories of his home assailed her. He lived in France, his castle stood right on the edge of a cliff looking out over the ocean. She could hear the water pounding the shore below the edge of the jagged rocks, could see the gothic structure soaring into the sky on either side of her. Perched upon the surface, looking at her from almost every angle was carved rock depicting gargoyles and other beastly faces attempting to frighten any intruder away. She felt like an intruder, more than willing to flee their piercing eyes.

  Contessa tripped on the staircase Dominic dragged her up. The double doors swung open to a gaping entrance of more pillars, stonework and paintings. He pulled her down the length of a long gallery with portraits of him, his parents and his little brother displayed along the west side of it. Most of it was familiar to her. She had been here before, centuries ago. However, there were many more paintings, which she’d not seen, taking up space that had been draped with tapestries before. She was able to watch the progression as his mother and father aged and his brother grew. Then, and it seemed quite sudden, the portraits of his parents ceased, prompting a question, “Where are your mother and father?”

  “Dead.” And he grinned.

  Why had she ever thought he may have had a soft side before? So, she realized, to gain all they had, he’d murdered them too. Dominic was no longer the prince, but the king. She now knew what was going to happen next. She knew he meant to murder her, most likely on the wedding night, so he could then eliminate her family, and therefore gain all they had. She must not have realized in the past that he would kill her anyway, or she may not have been willing to become his bride. She had to find a way out of here. Tessa felt suddenly overwhelmed with the hopelessness of her situation, for her parents would not be able to aid her, and Christian would never be able to find them. And even if he did, he would not succeed in fighting a magical man, king or prince. She was clearly on her own, and quite possibly, in more danger than she’d realized before.

  After taking her up a number of narrow, spiraling staircases, he shoved her into a bedchamber. The walls were rounded, signaling that this was a corner tower. She looked toward the window and figured it was also quite high, because of the number of stairs they’d climbed and she could not see the tops of trees.

  “The maids will bring supper to you,” was all he said before turning on his heel, muttering a spell that released her wrists, and leaving. She heard the scrape of metal against metal as he then locked the door.

  Contessa felt a shudder coil around her spine and bring gooseflesh to her neck. She cupped a palm over her mouth to cover a silent scream. The walls crawled with the same magic that had held her before. She could feel it sapping away any fey magic she might be able to wield. Whatever magic Dominic used, it was a dark, evil kind of magic, and it repulsed every inch of her being, right down to her quaking soul. This is where he was going to keep her? Would she ever figure out how to get past that twisted incantation? Would she ever be able to escape?

  Another scraping noise was heard, and then the door opened. Contessa jumped. A stern-looking woman entered carrying a silver platter with a domed lid covering what she figured to be food. Her gray hair was slicked back into a tight chignon. Her black dress was stiff, except for the ruffled trim around the white apron she wore.

  Tessa’s gaze shifted to the equally unkind-looking girl following her, who carried service for tea. She wore the same black dress and apron, but her hair was more loosely knotted at the back of her nape.

  After offering a curt curtsey, the woman said, “Your supper, Your Royal Highness.”

  Backing away, Tessa’s legs bumped against the bed in the chamber and, losing her balance, she dropped onto the mattress. The two closed in, one smirking as though she looked forward to performing acts of torture upon her person, and the other’s eyes glinted with the same kinds of horrors. What had she gotten herself into? She would find no ally here. As she considered it, she supposed anyone serving Dominic Renard could become that scornful and bitter just being forced to work for such a man. Who knew what the punishment would be if they did not please him....

  “Eat,” said the older woman, setting the tray upon the bed beside her.

  “Enjoy the tea, Your Royal Highness,” said the other, still grinning wickedly. She set her tray next to the first. They left promptly after that.

  Tessa could smell the food, and that part was pleasing. She lifted the lid which revealed a hot meal of pork filet mignon with onions, and gratin potatoes. In a small, glass dish beside that was chocolate mousse. She put the cover back as her stomach churned and reached for the tea instead. Even if it smelled nice and looked appetizing, she could not stomach any of it.

  She poured herself a cup of tea, and the aroma of mint rose to her nose. There was no sugar to sweeten it to her spoiled tastes. Pouting, Tessa drank anyway, deciding Dominic would not likely poison her yet.

  A routine, such as that continued from then on. The two servants fed her meals and tea, always with threatening expressions written upon their plain faces, always bringing elegant, tasty food. After that first supper, Contessa had decided to eat i
f only to keep up her strength for an escape, constantly praying and hoping to discover a way to get past the disturbing inkiness creeping along every inch of the walls.

  There wasn’t much to do in this well-furnished bedchamber, and the only things to look at were the fancy wardrobe, the enormous bed with its heavy velvet bedcovers, its matching embroidered counterpane, and a carved table beside it. No artwork of any sort, no tapestries of any kind adorned the stretch of rounded walls. There was only that creepy magic to embellish it. Contessa spent a great deal of time gazing out the lone window.

  The French countryside was lovely, lush and green. The ground was flat around the castle as the earth tapered down to the ocean, but off in the distance she could see purple-cast mountains tipped with white. Her torso jerked with a single sob. Oh how she longed to feel Christian touch her face, feel his mouth upon her cheek, upon her hair. Her fingertips rose to her lips and another sob broke free. This one came out sounding like a cross between a sob and a laugh. She wished to hear him call her any endearment, even if it did not show proper respect for her title. She longed for his urgent, nearly overwhelming kisses, and she longed to gaze at that handsome dimple of his. Feeling so angry, feeling so alone, feeling so frustrated and helpless, Tessa buried her face in her hands and cried.

  The sound of a bird chirping with joy from the window ledge awakened Contessa the next morning. She rubbed her swollen eyes and turned a scowl upon the plump, blue-feathered creature. If only I could fly like you, she thought angrily, resenting the bird for being what it was, for the freedom it most likely did not know it had.

  Tessa stretched, moaned, and pushed herself into a seated position. Another day. Another day closer to a wedding she feared, and dreaded. And she still had not come up with a way to escape. She combed fingers through her disheveled tresses, her fingers catching on a tangle. Working it loose without a brush, Contessa swung her legs over the edge of the mattress.

  In came the belligerent maids.... Without conversation, they dressed her in a red, silk gown, brushed and styled her hair into a tight chignon, and then left her to eat a breakfast of fresh fruit, sugarless tea, crackers and aged cheeses.

  After staring ponderously out at the beautiful landscape for what felt like an hour or two, she decided she would not sit quietly whilst she was held prisoner. Contessa pushed away from the windowsill and studied the nauseating magic wriggling upon the stone walls.

  It was difficult, but she managed to work up the nerve and tried to touch the spell-poisoned surface. Watching in horror as it sucked at her strength before she even made contact, her knees buckled and it was several moments before she could stand again. In frustration, she muttered the witches revealing spell at it. Oddly, it did not like that. Part of it cracked and crumbled to the floor as though…dead? But just as quickly as a portion of the wall had cleared, the poisonous magic surrounding it filled in the empty space.

  “Curious.” Perhaps the magic of a human witch would work against Dominic’s darkness. She had remembered some of her own magic, but it was not black like his, and she remained unable to access the power because of his spells.

  She moved toward the door, and was just about to whisper the opening spell Tabitha had used upon her trunk when she heard a key enter the lock. She ran to the bed and sat upon it, watching the knob turn.

  It was the servants bringing her noonday meal. Apparently she’d pondered quietly, looking beyond her prison, longer than she’d first thought.

  Contessa ate the cheese-garnished onion soup and the purple grapes beside it, but saved the bread, smiling at the hope her idea offered. Perhaps she could slip away unnoticed, for Dominic never did visit. If only she could get far enough away before the next meal…before they discovered her missing.

  They’d brought afternoon tea the day previous, and whilst she did not have a way to tell time, she knew she had perhaps four to five hours before they visited again.

  This was her chance. Tessa wrapped the bread in her napkin, knowing she may need something to eat on her journey away from here. She slipped on her shoes and moved to the door. Taking a breath, and uttering a plea to God, Tessa spoke the words of the opening spell she’d heard Tabitha use. The lock made a clicking noise; she curled fingers around the doorknob and twisted. It opened.

  Sending up words of gratitude, Contessa pulled, but as the door swung toward her, she saw the guard who was watching her with irritated curiosity. “How did you open that?” he asked in a deep gravelly voice.

  She did not reply, but pushed to close the door. He caught the edge of it and held it open. “How did you unlock the door?” he demanded in a harsher tone.

  When again she would not respond and backed away toward the window, it seemed he gave up and tugged it shut, relocking it from the outside.

  Hours later, the meal she was hoping she would not be here for arrived.

  Contessa tried to ignore the servants as she’d ignored the guard, and was quite startled when the older maid seized her about the arms and shook her. “How dare you! His Majesty thought we’d left your door unlocked, and punished us for it.”

  Her eyes traveled the bruises upon the maid’s face and she swallowed.

  The woman gave her another shake. “How did you open the door?”

  Unwilling to give away her secret, she said, “You did leave it unlocked.”

  “I did no such thing,” growled the woman. Releasing her, the maid backed away with fists held at her sides as though she longed to strike her. “Your tea and crumpets, Your Royal Highness.” The proper address was spat like a vulgarity.

  They left after tossing vicious glares her way.

  Contessa braced herself on the edge of the armoire, and released a breath slowly. If only she could turn back into a spirit, she could drift away without anyone knowing, without anyone stopping her. She could fly away from the great height of this chamber just as that little bird had. No one had spoken her name for days, why had she not turned ghostly?

  Chapter 28

  The Mist

  Christian could not believe his eyes. He was really seeing her parents. In the mirror? How was that possible? Of course, with them being fey, who knew?

  “Come to us,” the man implored.

  Christian was still reeling from the sight before his eyes and couldn’t quite grasp what they were asking. “What?”

  “Come and we can help you rescue her,” said the woman, or rather, the queen. Annabelle?

  “You know?”

  “We know the spell has fractured and that he has found her. Please, you must hurry,” said the man. What was his name? Oh, yes, James. Contessa’s father—the king.

  “Where are you?”

  “Go into the mist.”

  Where the devil is that? he wondered. And apparently the questions showed through his expression, because they answered.

  “The day you went into the woods. Do you remember?” asked James.

  How could he forget? Oh, no…that choking fog that raised the hairs on the back of his neck and spooked his horse.

  “We are there. We’ve been imprisoned, but you will be able to get through because you’re human. The closer you get, the windier it will become, the more stifling, but you must push ahead. Watch the ground and find the path. It will take you to the door.”

  “When?”

  “Now. And bring the witch.”

  “How do you know all of this?”

  “We will explain all when you arrive.”

  Then they were gone, and Christian was left staring at himself. In a daze he picked up the sketch of Contessa and looked at it. Could he get her back? With care he placed the paper onto the table in the hallway and called, “Tabitha!”

  He ran toward the witch’s chamber. “Tabitha!”

  “What is it?” asked the witch, clearly shocked at his sudden bellowing of her name.

  “We must go now!”

  It seemed his urgency was visible enough for Tabitha not to question him. She gathered her coat and
asked, “Go where?”

  He explained while the horses were saddled. They set off toward the forest. The sun was setting. Light cut across the landscape, painting the world a dark orange. But as they moved beneath the heavy canopy of trees, the greenery swallowed the sun along with any illumination it provided, plunging them into darkness.

  “Goleuni,” muttered Tabitha, and a ball of light filled her hand. She held it up like a lantern.

  There was a green tinge to the glow which caused eerie shadows to dance about as they moved ahead.

  Chills crawled along every inch of his flesh when they reached the mist. Prince bucked and backed away. “Easy.” He patted the horse’s neck and urged the beast forward. The animal was well trained, and even though it obviously didn’t want to continue, it obeyed.

  Hours passed as they searched for the path, and Christian began to fear they may never find the castle. Just as they had warned, it became windier, to the point he realized if he were not upon a horse, which was stronger than him, he would not be able to push against it. He struggled to just keep his seat, and knew not how the frail Tabitha was managing.

  “There!” shouted Tabitha.

  Shifting his gaze to her light, he saw it, a cobbled path barely visible beneath the swirling fog.

  They followed the rounded stones until they came to a bridge. They could not see farther than a couple of feet ahead of them, and the pressure of the mist upon them was stifling. The tiny woman with him appeared to be coping with it better then he felt he was. Christian was near giving up. His muscles shook and a sweat had broken out upon his skin, but he was freezing. His horse was getting skittish, and he wanted to scream for mercy. He’d had a taste of this magic when Dominic held him with his dark spell, and he’d decided he did not have the stomach for such wicked machinations. It was no wonder Contessa’s parents had not been able to escape for centuries. If it tormented a human like this—a human who this was not meant to stop—what would it do to anyone who was fey?