by A. W. Cross
“If he wouldn’t believe me either, then he’s not worthy to be my husband, and I’ll happily forfeit his eye.” Anger bubbled in Fayre’s chest as she held her mother’s gaze, but the building fury ended abruptly.
Pain streaked across Fayre’s face, and she blinked to find her mother’s hand raised. The woman’s voice lowered before her arm. “Don’t joke about that. Prince Roald has very nearly sworn to take care of you, even with this attitude. He doesn’t deserve your…your immaturity. Your father raised you better than this.”
Fayre lifted cool fingers to her cheek and swallowed at the stinging heat burning behind her eyes.
“Didn’t he?” her mother added, her tone biting.
Fayre choked back her fear and hurt to reply. “Yes, Mother.”
“And we’ve seen to it you’ve been taught as well as any son would be, in spite of scorn and expense? In spite of your tendency to lose things in that forest?”
“Yes,” she whispered, knowing full well she had never lost anything in that forest. It was the one place that cradled her when her world was spinning out of control. The one place she could rely on. She had found many things beneath the canopy behind her, but never once had she lost something. “I’ll fetch the book tomorrow.”
“You better hope it’s still in impeccable condition.” Her mother sighed again, tucking a stray hair behind Fayre’s ear. “And do try not to assume so little of me.”
“I’m sorry.” The apology scathed as it escaped Fayre’s lips, and after it, she kept her mouth shut as she had been taught. Following her mother home, she dared a final glance at the woods before the town would hide the treeline from view.
Glowing yellow eyes peered back at her within the grey figure of a man. All too soon she blinked. And he was gone.
✶
“It’s not fair!” Adaline protested, brown eyes blazing.
Fayre barely looked up at her sister while she nudged her vegetables around on her plate with a fork. Heat clawed its way out of her ears, and she shook her head, hoping to loosen the pressure. Something felt off in her skull since that afternoon, but she couldn’t place what. Maybe she’d tried to climb a tree in her skirts and fallen again? To forget her favorite book in the woods, she had to have hit her head.
Continuing the less-than-palatable conversation, her eldest sister, Isa, sneered and tossed her black curls over her shoulder. “Either Adaline or myself would make a far better match for the prince.”
“I mean, come on. Fayre still has dirt on her clothes!”
Cutting a dainty piece of meat, Isa scoffed. “It matches her skin.”
Fayre’s eyes dropped to a smudge on her apron, and she splayed her golden brown fingers beside it before shrinking. Unlike her sisters, whose skin sheened near pale as parchment, her time spent outside had darkened her considerably. In the small town, it made her something exotic, limited edition, collectable.
And Adaline was right. It wasn’t fair.
“Girls, please.” Fayre’s father sighed, weariness in his tone. “If you can’t be happy for your sister, at least be unhappy silently.”
“But a celebration in the palace! Why weren’t we invited as well!” Adaline’s nose scrunched, her small face contorting with rage and jealousy.
Their mother remained quiet, smiling almost merrily at the invitation beside her plate. Scrawled in elaborate text upon the letter’s front was a single name, and Fayre’s stomach twisted as she wished it wasn’t hers.
“I’m tired of being brushed aside for my younger sister,” Isa snapped. “Everywhere we go it’s always ‘Fayre, Fayre, Fayre’ while your older daughters are little more than entourage.”
“That’s not true, Isa.” Their father dropped his fork with a clatter.
“It feels that way.”
The man’s eyes went wide. “Hold your tongue, Adaline.”
Fayre pushed back her chair, the wooden legs scratching across the floor. “If you want to go so badly, you’re welcome to my invitation.”
“Fayre!” Her mother finally spoke.
Fayre’s fists clenched, her stomach dipping as she met her mother’s disapproving glare. She forced away apprehension and took a deep breath. “With utmost respect, I’d rather not be a rich man’s plaything.”
“That is not for you to decide.”
“Why not? I know more than half the men in this town. I can handle myself wherever I am no matter what happens. Why is it daughters are paraded, hoping to catch someone suitable’s attention, while sons are allowed to pick anyone who can bear children, if they feel like it? If not, they can find their wealth, learn a trade, go on adventures!”
“Not this again…” Her mother covered her face.
Fayre turned to her father, forcing herself to peer directly into his cold blue gaze. “Please. I don’t want to get married, at least not yet. I don’t need anything more than your blessing. I want to see all the places I’ve read about. I want to experience so many things. I—”
“Fayre.” The warning in his tone made her freeze. “We’ve discussed this. Our family simply can’t allow you to do that. Prince Roald has all but proposed. He’s chosen you, and we can’t deny his claim.”
Tears burned behind Fayre’s eyes, but she shoved them back, looking at her mother.
The woman didn’t grace her daughter with so much as a glance when she whispered, “Perhaps your husband will pay for an adventure on your honeymoon.”
Standing, Fayre dropped her linen napkin beside her plate. “I think I’ll go find my book.”
“This late?” her father called, but Fayre was already out of the room. The front door closed behind her, and she leaned against it, staring at the sky to hold the emotions bubbling inside her at bay.
The cool evening air caressed her brown skin, but it did little to calm her. She wanted to scream. To scream and run away until this little kingdom was miles behind. A faint dream. Or the outline of a nightmare.
Couldn’t she just leave? She lived and breathed in the woods. She knew what she could eat, what she could touch, what herbs healed and what animals stung. She could survive.
But would they let her? Or would they hunt her down, drag her back, punish her, and force her on the same path once again, beaten and broken for all her trouble…
Her family might not. The prince, though, he wouldn’t accept that his prey had fled him. Unless she could vanish, she would never be free.
Turning her back away from the monolith of a castle that overlooked the town, Fayre trudged toward the forest, handling one breath at a time to keep her mind at ease. Was she forgetting something? Something that made the woods dangerous tonight? Or was that uneasiness the usual ever-present feeling that something was missing in her life?
She didn’t get much time to dwell on the uneasiness. A carriage rattled down the lane, shadowing her before she could make it two blocks.
“Fayre!” Prince Roald’s strong voice halted her in place, and she closed her eyes. The carriage rocked to a stop, a spotless white horse whinnying at its front. Arms outstretched, Roald exited the cab. “What a pleasure to have caught you alone.”
Turning, she met his sparkling blue gaze, instantly small in the presence of his overwhelming stature. “Definitely a surprise so late,” she offered, stepping back. A building stood in the way of her retreat, and chills skittered down her spine when he advanced.
His hand raised, skimming her neck, and she fought to hold herself still. “I hope my letter found you well. I was just coming to see to it you would be coming.” Words caught in her throat, but he continued without her reply, “I look forward to being your dance partner come month’s end. Though, of course, we needn’t wait that long to spend time together.”
Fayre’s back pressed against a solid wall, and she glanced down the empty cobble road, toward the escape of the forest. “I’d really prefer if we did.”
Shock slackened his chiseled features, a spark of anger lighting in his irises. “Pardon?”
&n
bsp; “Yes, pardon.” Shoving out of the cage of his arms, she started off at a walk that tumbled into a run. Her legs carried her out of the town, following a muscle memory she couldn’t resist. Soon enough, she stood on the edge of the woods, staring out into the murky depths of night. Her heart pounded an anxious beat throughout her body.
Gasping, she rocked forward, pressing her palms against her eyes. Sludge filled her head, thickening, but there was something she had forgotten in the mess, the mire. Something important. Something that deemed it unsafe to be here staring at the trees in the dark.
She needed to get her book. She could find it by moonlight—darkness never seemed so bleak after her eyes had forgotten the oil lamps of the town. But…but…
Fayre wrapped her arms around her chest and kept her eyes squeezed shut, desperate to capture what she had lost. A long whine, like a baby’s cry, filled her ears.
Then glowing yellow eyes sparked on in the darkness.
Fear made her jolt upright.
Eyes wide, she back-stepped, but shadows coiled on the edges of her vision, crowding close. She whipped her head to one side, then the other, but nothing definite appeared in her line of sight. Her spine arched, terror raking down her skin like hundreds of tiny claws.
Whatever she wasn’t seeing was right behind her.
A finger snap sounded in her head, ringing through the night and sending birds from their perches in the canopy before her. She lost the ground, began to fall, then dropped off into a pitch darkness.
Yellow eyes glimmered in her dream, right above sensual lips that split into grinning fangs.
2
Fayre gasped awake, inhaling a spike of whiskey and sweat. Several flickering candles lit the dark room, blurring the edges of the man seated across from her at the rough, wooden table. Beyond the space, laughter and noise swirled, heady in the air. She blinked at the man, hoping to clear her head, and whatever wasn’t quite right about him.
He grinned, displaying a full set of fangs.
Larger even than Roald, he commanded the whole of the room, his broad chest bursting from his linen shirt. Leaning forward, he threaded his fingers beside a glass of bitter-scented liquid and stared.
Fayre squinted, her head aching just to look at him. “What— Who—” Vomit rose in her throat, so she caught herself on the table and covered her mouth with her hand.
“Humans,” the man before her stated, the word deep and animalistic. “So articulate.”
“I had expected more of my seed.” An older man stepped out from beside the mammoth, his dark arms folded and his green eyes alight, almost glowing in the space. Something about him made Fayre’s stomach twist more violently, but she couldn’t pinpoint what.
The giant man laughed shortly. “Pity for you, I’m sure.”
Fayre took deep breaths of the putrid, stale air, attempting to cool her head. “Who are you people?”
Silence encompassed the room for the span of a second, then the younger man leaned back in his chair. “I suppose she’ll suffice, Leth.”
Leth’s brow jumped. “You mean you’ll accept her?”
“I don’t know what I’ll do with her, but consider your debt paid with your daughter.”
Daughter. Fayre’s head cleared instantaneously, and her gaze darted to the older man. His eyes. Those brilliant green eyes. She had seen them before in the lake, in her own reflection. And his skin was the same shade as hers, flickering in a blur from smooth to rough. But—
“What?” she choked. “That man isn’t my father. What’s going on? Where am I? Who are you?”
“Ah, she has discovered a mastery of language. That does make her more appealing.”
Fayre started to her feet, thought better of it when her head tripped, and slowly lowered herself back into the chair. “Explain,” she growled, bracing herself to remain upright and hold the man’s dark gaze. It teetered yellow within a sea of black for an instant, then the brown and white returned.
Without hesitation, he placed a slip of paper on the table, and her eyes dropped to it. Several thousand pounds of deeds piled upon the ledger, acquitted with her name. “What is this?” she whispered. “That man has no right. I’ve never seen him before in my life.”
“Yet he is your father.”
Bile rose. “He is not.”
“If you’d like, we can use magic to determine your heritage. I won’t guarantee it’ll be painless, though.”
Blood rushed from Fayre’s cheeks as her skin went cold. “Magic?” Her heart thudded, accelerating. She looked around the room, finding two guards stationed at the door behind her. They stood tall, their eyes focused ahead. “You’re that man…the charlatan who travels the country and claims to sell magic.” A criminal who had evaded the crown for decades. Panic rose. He didn’t look a day over twenty-five.
“Magical goods. Spells. A little luck here and there. Perhaps a deed or two.” His grin flashed, something feral and appalling. “It’s so nice that you’ve heard of me.”
“This is human trafficking.”
“Nonsense.” He waved a hand, snatching the ledger before she could read what the man who claimed to be her father had bought. “Think of it more like an arranged marriage.”
Fayre’s body revolted at the thought, bitterness meeting anxiety, and she clasped her hands to keep them from shaking. Voice small, she asked, “What’s the difference?”
“Unless you’ve tried both, I suppose we’ll never know.”
“I wouldn’t worry about it so much, Fayre.” Leth stepped forward, stopping when the mammoth held up a hand.
“And I wouldn’t give her false hope.” His form shifted, blurry in Fayre’s eyes, and her head boiled. She had to get away. Far away. The pale skin on his palm appeared grey as he lowered his hand, and she saw a monster in the same moment she stood.
“You’re both mad if you think I’m going to cooperate.”
The monster tutted. “I don’t believe either of us asked you to.”
Fayre whipped around, forcing herself to move. The guards at the door didn’t flinch when she barreled toward them, and she fooled herself into thinking she could fight her way into the bar beyond. A snap echoed in the fusty room, digging deep into her skull.
The man murmured, “Then again, I didn’t say you had much choice either.”
For a second time, her mind flipped. She held on longer than she had before, but as the men at the door contorted into thin grey creatures with elongated fingers and beady eyes, she wished she hadn’t.
Darkness surrounded her, and she fell into their horrifying claws.
✶
Fayre groaned awake, her whole body a pile of goo, her eyelids burning. She had to be ill. The dream swirling in her mind made less sense than the hooved woman in the forest. Her eyes snapped open on a lace canopy, and her breath caught.
She remembered the girl in the forest. The shadow too. Even though she distinctly remembered forgetting them. “What?” she whispered, turning her head to take in the room.
It was spacious, dark, and circular. A large, barred window rested on the far wall, silver rays of moonlight cutting between the metal poles and lying across the stone floor. In the dimness, she could make out a dresser beneath the window, a standing mirror beside it, and two doors. Nothing more.
Peeling herself out of the downy blankets, she held a hand at her head and deepened her breaths. Had that man, Leth, really kidnapped her and sold her to the magic peddler? Did the magic peddler sell real magic?
Nothing made sense. Was she going mad two weeks before turning seventeen?
Wobbling to her feet, she crossed the room and braced herself on the dresser to look out the window. Wherever she was, she had never seen it or read about it before. How could they have taken her so far away? How long had it been since last she remembered?
High above the world, she stared down on a craggly forest of black trees. Gnarly branches lifted into the sky, blanketing the land as far as she could see. Hand trembling, s
he lifted her fingers to the iron bars and pulled herself as close as she could.
“Interesting. The human is awake,” a low voice mused behind her. Recognizing it instantly, Fayre jolted, spinning around atop the dresser and pressing her back against the bars. A shadow of a figure towered in the doorway, too far from the light to make out clearly.
Fayre clenched her fists to keep herself from shaking as the man stepped forward. “Who are you?” she asked, her voice surprisingly steady.
“Auber.” The name drifted from the darkness as he set foot into the moonlight. Silver washed his grey skin and black hair in a ghastly hue, highlighting a sleeve of white markings that adorned his left arm from his elbow to his fingers. Auber grinned, and his fangs glinted, drawing Fayre’s gaze up to his yellow eyes. Like two amber marbles they sat in pools of jet oil, watching her.
Fayre gasped when she realized she had stopped breathing. The inhale left her lungs in a quivering puff, and she whispered, “So you really are that charlatan who sells magic.” But what was he?
“I wouldn’t say I’m a charlatan. I do sell magic.”
“How?” she held her quivering breaths in check.
The man smirked. “Like most things, for the right price.”
She tried not to focus on his slow steps toward her, each pace a reverberating thud in her chest. “What do you want with me?”
He stopped, close enough that she could reach out and touch him, or close enough that he could do the same to her. “I haven’t decided yet. There is very little to want from a human, especially one from such a dull life as yours.”
“Then why—”
“Because,” the word rumbled near a growl, “a debt was owed, and you were all your father had. I nearly didn’t accept; you should be grateful.”
Grateful! “That man is not my father!” Fayre’s hands shook. From her resentful sisters to her opportunist mother, her father, though stern, had always seemed to care about her the most. Even when she looked nothing like him.