Midnight Soul (Fantasyland #5)

by Kristen Ashley

  Her hand snaked up to her throat, her eyes wide as saucers, dread wafting from her in physical ways I could not only feel, but could smell and it reeked. My father bellowed, “You’ll rue those words when we’re released, you ungrateful bitch!”

  I shifted, letting go of Noc to approach my father’s cell but feeling Noc move with me, close to my back.

  I tipped my head back to look up at Papa.

  The wrathful, persecuted look on his face and burning from his gaze shared he had not broken. He was quite certain his position and name would change his circumstances in the near future.

  He was misguided.

  No.

  He was a fool.

  “And what, pray, Papa, should I be grateful for that you and Mother have given me?” I asked.

  He tipped his head angrily toward my body. “That fur you’re wearing, for one.”

  “This fur was purchased when the quarterly Drakkar stipend was forwarded to me, something that’s increased now that Frey’s brother is head of the House and managing it capably, rather than your brother running it straight into financial ruin.”

  “And the Drakkar name was given to you by me,” he spat.

  “Alas,” I murmured.

  “The impudence,” he bit off.

  I stared at him.

  Without Mother’s magic, outside of retaining his handsomeness, which had nothing to do with him and everything to do with the strength of the Drakkar line, he suddenly seemed like an old, blustering buffoon.

  And indeed, without Mother’s magic that was all he’d ever been.

  “This is the last you’ll see of me, Papa. Any loving words you wish to say?” I invited.

  “If you don’t speak to the queen on our behalf, Franka—” he began to warn.

  I lifted my brows and interrupted him. “You’ll what, Papa?” I then lifted a hand and touched the bars that separated us with the tip of my index finger, reminding him of his situation. “What will you do?”

  Faster than his years, which had always been the way, his hand darted up and he caught my finger in an excruciating hold, his own fingers tightening, crushing mine against the bar even as he pressed his face between them.

  “I’ll break you, you revolting harlot,” he hissed.

  He was able to get that out before I found my finger suddenly released.

  I heard the terrible noise of bones breaking, then my father’s pained howl sounded against the stone walls, and finally Noc’s order of, “Step back, Franka.”

  He’d torn my father’s fingers from mine and bent them back, using a bar to leverage his hold, a hold he still had on my father so even now I could see they were at an unnatural angle that had to be excruciating.

  I felt it prudent to step back. This I did.

  When I did, Noc released my father and took his own step to return to my side.

  Father retreated from the bars and held his damaged hand in his other, bent over them both at his chest protectively.

  “You might wish to call for a physician to set those,” Frey suggested to the guard.

  “You’ll hear from our solicitor,” Papa snarled angrily, his head bent back to glower at us, but his voice betrayed his pain.

  “And I’m sure whatever he says will be most amusing,” Frey drawled.

  My father sent a scowl his way then asked, “Have you humiliated us enough, bringing the Winter Princess here to see our degradation? The bloody ruler of Bellebryn and his bride? The savage king and his Middlelandian queen? Have you, nephew? For if you have, I’d thank you to leave us to our ordeal further unmolested.”

  Frey didn’t answer my father. He turned to me.

  “Are you finished, Franka?”

  I looked at Papa, pain starting to twist his face, ire still blazing in his eyes.

  I then looked to my mother. She’d retreated to stand against the back wall beside her bed, both her elegant hands lifted and clasped at the base of her throat, her eyes on me.

  Finally, I looked to my cousin.

  “I am indeed, cousin.”

  “Let us be away then,” Frey stated, sounding relieved and proving he was by moving all of us immediately to retreat.

  Neither of my parents called a farewell.

  I did the same, not even giving them my regard as I walked from view of their cells.

  Noc took my hand and curled it at once around his elbow, bending to me and asking, “Your finger okay, sweetheart?”

  “Quite all right, Noc,” I answered, my eyes straight ahead.

  “You kicked ass back there, baby. Wish I had that on video. Fuckin’ brilliant,” he decreed.

  I had no idea what “on video” meant, but I didn’t ask.

  I also did not even try to fight back the urge to do what I next did.

  I simply did it.

  This being turning my head and tipping it back.

  Once that was done and I’d caught Noc’s gaze, I did my last.

  Slowly, and with great delight I did not hide, I smiled.

  Huge.

  * * * * *

  “Master Noc broke his fingers?” Josette asked incredulously.

  “At least three of them,” I informed her.

  She stared at me a moment looking horrified but this dissolved as her body started shaking and then a loud giggle erupted from her mouth.

  I felt my lips curling up.

  When she controlled her mirth, she mumbled, “I wish I was there.”

  “I do as well,” I replied.

  I ignored her blinking at me in shock, having decided over the past days when I did something kind that Josette found unexpected and she showed her surprise, she’d eventually get used to it.

  For I had found that guarding myself from this variety of camaraderie, sharing moments and news and snippets of life, and even feelings with the woman with whom I spent most of my time, was not only draining and tiresome, but also unnecessary.

  Josette had not a cruel bone in her body. She’d remained steadfast to me even when I wasn’t as I’d begun to be.

  She was now blossoming under my warm regard.

  And I found witnessing it most pleasant.

  Thus it was late afternoon and we were now sharing prior to her assisting me in my preparations to attend another dinner with the queen and the others.

  “Now, tell me, how goes your search for a new maid?” I asked.

  She settled her behind deeper in the chair opposite me and stated, “I’ve narrowed it down to three, Lady Franka. They all seem quite capable, have much experience, excellent references, good dispositions and are keen to go on an adventure by crossing the Green Sea.”

  At her words, I frowned.

  I’d found of late (that “of late” being the last several days) that the “Lady Franka” business, something of which I hadn’t thought of in the slightest in the past, was grating.

  I was, of course, a lady.

  Josette reminding me of it every time she spoke my name was superfluous.

  I didn’t call her “Maid Josette.” The very idea was ludicrous.

  “Josette, if you please,” I said on a sweep of my hand in front of me, “I’m tiring of ‘Lady Franka.’”

  “I…well,” her expression turned perplexed, “what, milady?”

  “That too,” I replied. “‘Milady.’ Of course when we’re in company, you’ll need to continue to address me thus. But when we’re on our own, I see no reason for you to consistently utter my title. Franka will do.”

  She said nothing, likely because her mouth had dropped open and her stare had become vacant.

  “Is this something that offends you?” I asked when her look persisted, as did her silence.

  She snapped her mouth closed, opened it, closed it and finally got down to it.

  “As you know, my, uh…well, as you know, no other maid I know addresses her lady that way. It just isn’t done.”

  “I’m not just any lady and you are definitely not just another maid. If the Winter Princess herself knew
of your talents, she’d try to steal you from me.”

  A blush of pleasure pinkened her cheeks as she said, “I’d never leave you.”

  I tipped up my chin. “And I know this and prize it. So let’s dispense with some of the formalities, shall we?”

  “I…all right,” she agreed, a tentative smile forming on her face.

  “Excellent,” I murmured. “Now that’s done, I’ll meet your final candidates tomorrow. Once I do, we’ll discuss them and decide. But I need to give you another task.”

  “And that would be?” she asked.

  “Your gowns, stockings, cloaks, boots, slippers, etc. You’ll need to visit a local clothier, cobbler and milliner as you’ll require clothing suitable for a variety of climes and a good deal of it. When we’re aboard a ship, I’m not certain there are laundry facilities, and I don’t like the idea of you donning dirty clothing because you have no spare. And please, increase the quality of the pieces you choose. You are a maid of a lady of the House of Drakkar but further, we’ve no idea what we’ll be encountering. It would be good for those who look upon us to think you’re my ward, and thus have some protection of a certain class, rather than my maid.”

  “Really, Lady…I mean, Franka?” she breathed, her mouth now working, but her eyes had again gone wide.

  “If I didn’t mean it, I wouldn’t say it,” I retorted.

  “I would…would…would…” she finally spit it out, nearly bouncing in her seat, “adore that.”

  “I change my mind,” I stated and her face fell. “We’ll go together. I want to make certain you don’t do anything frugal out of habit. Once my brother has arrived and I’ve greeted him, he’ll want to settle his family and probably rest. We’ll go out after he arrives.”

  Bright-eyed again, Josette replied, “That would be most lovely, erm, Franka.”

  “Indeed it would,” I agreed, regarding her thoughtfully. “With your coloring, I think greens. Perhaps pinks. You’ve excellent skin, roses and creams, pink would suit you.” I tipped my head to the side. “I do believe red would also become you, but we’ll have to see.”

  She sniffled and I stopped scrutinizing her and looked in her eyes.

  They were wet.

  “Josette,” I chided softly. “You really cannot rush from the room under the threat of tears every time I show a kindness.”

  “My Lady,” she said in a choked voice.

  “I thought we dispensed with that,” I reminded her gently.

  “No,” she stated. Lifting her hand and coughing delicately behind it, she dropped it and straightened in her chair. “That’s the last time I’ll say it, I promise. But I just want you to know, you’re My Lady.”

  These words made me blink rapidly three times, feeling the sting hit my eyes.

  I then straightened in my own chair and declared, “It would vex me greatly if our growing relationship meant we degenerated into simpering ninnies, weeping at every pleasantry that passed between us.”

  “I’ll endeavor to be more hardened, Franka,” she promised.

  “See to that,” I ordered smartly.

  She fought it. I watched it. But she couldn’t control the strangled giggle that passed her lips.

  I smiled at her indulgently.

  I did not berate myself on doing this or doing it indulgently.

  I was getting used to it.

  Chapter Seven

  It Was Gone

  Franka

  I was abed with my breakfast tray the next morning when there came a rap on the door.

  I turned my head that way only to see said door open and Noc stroll through.

  I narrowed my eyes at him.

  Truly.

  The nerve.

  I wasn’t even out of bed yet!

  “I’m having my breakfast,” I snapped.

  “Good morning to you too,” he replied, not hiding his amusement in the face of my frustration and sauntering across the room but not coming to my bedside.

  No.

  He walked across the foot of the bed to the other, vacant side, and I watched in stunned silence as he put his arse to it, twisted, put his whole body to it, stretched out and settled on his side but with his body up on his forearm, facing me.

  Noc in those bloody trousers and a blue shirt that did nice things to his eyes, stretched out in bed beside me.

  He was impossible.

  Once settled, he then reached out and selected a cantaloupe ball from my crystal bowl of fruit and popped it into his mouth.

  “That’s my melon,” I kept snapping.

  “Chill, baby,” he murmured, grinning at me.

  “Chill?” I asked, knowing this was his-world slang, just not able to fathom what it meant.

  “Relax,” he explained.

  Oh.

  Hmm.

  That was actually quite clever, considering my ire was heated.

  I didn’t relay this sentiment to him.

  I declared, “I’ll relax when you get out of my bed, leave my room and allow me to eat my breakfast in peace.”

  “I’ll do that when you tell me how you’re doin’ this morning and what’s up for your day,” he returned.

  I turned slightly his way and queried, “Has it occurred to you how irritating it is that you consistently ignore my wishes?”

  “Has it occurred to you that I know your act is bullshit so I’m gonna keep ignoring the bullshit and get on with things?” he retorted, but he wasn’t quite finished. “You like me. You like spending time with me. Stop pretending that you don’t.”

  He was correct, of course. He was excellent company. Engaged. Amusing. Affectionate. Attentive. Thoughtful. Caring. And very much not hard to look at.

  I was not about to share those sentiments with him either.

  I turned back to my tray, picked up a triangle of buttered toast and my knife and started slathering marmalade on it as I mumbled (me! mumbling!), “It’ll be good when I’m away on a ship.”

  “What?” Noc asked.

  “Nothing,” I kept mumbling and continued spreading as I raised my voice and answered his question. “I’m quite all right this morning, Noc. As concerns my back, better than yesterday. And I would imagine, just in case on the morrow you find yourself curious about the same, it will be even better as healing tends to go that way.”

  “Glad to hear it, sweetheart,” he said softly. “But I meant that gig with your folks yesterday and your brother probably showin’ today.”

  I turned my head his way, lifting my toast and inquiring, “The gig with my parents, if I’m to understand you, is done. Behind me. And my brother and I might not have a close, loving relationship, but we’ve been through a good deal together so I’m looking forward to his visit.”

  I then put the toast between my lips, sunk my teeth into it and munched.

  “Big stuff like what happened yesterday can mess with your head, Frannie. Feels like a relief at the time, then the demons everyone fights in their heads start playing with you,” he noted.

  The demons everyone fights?

  He had demons?

  This I found surprising. And intriguing. He seemed confident in all matters. The way he held and used his body. The way he spoke. The way he communicated with others.

  I suddenly felt hungry for something I’d given up on doing.

  This being gathering all the information I could on a certain subject and not caring how I had to obtain that information.

  This time the subject was Noc.

  Fortunately, after Kristian left, Josette and I would be away so I couldn’t indulge in this pastime.

  “There are no demons playing with my mind,” I assured him. “I had some unease prior to yesterday’s visit but it couldn’t have gone better if I’d planned every second prior to entering that jail.”

  “Good to hear that too,” he muttered, reaching out and snatching more of my cantaloupe.

  I sighed.

  I then shared, “As you’ve spoken it repeatedly, you know my name is pro
nounced Frahn-kah.”

  His brows drew together, he swallowed my melon and he said, “Well…yeah.”

  “So should I wish to have one, which I don’t, the nickname Frannie is not only abhorrent, it doesn’t make sense. It should be Frahnnie and that’s just ridiculous. Or more ridiculous than Frannie.”

  “Could call you Koko,” he remarked, and I felt my lip curl. I then felt the bed slightly shake with his chuckle as he said, “Okay, that’s out.”

  “How about calling me Franka?” I suggested.

  “Can’t call you Kaka because that’s just wrong,” he went on his own bent, as was his wont, completely ignoring my suggestion because it went against what he wished to do.

  But my curiosity got the better of me.

  “Not that I desire you to call me Kaka either, but why is that just wrong?”

  “In my world that’s shit. As in it means shit, crap, excrement.”

  The lip curl that earned was more pronounced.

  Noc exploded with laughter.

  I sighed yet again and nibbled more toast.

  “So it’s Frannie,” he said when he was done laughing.

  “I suppose,” I murmured, finishing my toast and going after my fork to spear some scrambled eggs.

  “So you’re good with the visit to your folks and you’re lookin’ forward to your brother showin’. What else is up for your day?” Noc asked.

  I chewed and swallowed eggs (it must be said, the queen’s cook was superb, even the eggs were delicious), still curious.

  “May I ask why you wish to know?”

  “Why wouldn’t I wish to know?” he answered my question with a question.

  Yet it was still an answer.

  He was interested in me. Even the mundane goings-on of my day. He came in first thing in the morning for no reason whatsoever, except, it seemed, to be in my company.

  I felt my throat start closing, cleared it daintily and turned my attention back to my tray.