by A. W. Cross
“I don’t mean to be trouble,” she added, succumbing to the words before she understood what she was saying. “A lot has changed all at once. Humans don’t like change. I don’t know if you can relate, but I’m really…quite scared.”
Her lashes fluttered, and her hand shot to her cheek in the instant she realized tears cascaded down her skin. She stared at her damp fingers in horror while everything past the circle of room in front of the fire tripped into a thousand warm shades.
Wordlessly, Auber plucked the empty glass from her hands before she comprehended the wine was gone. Setting it on the floor beside the couch, he rose and lifted her from the chair. Holding her close against his still chest, he settled back into the cushions of the sofa and rubbed her back. “I know you’re scared,” he whispered against her flower-adorned locks. “I also know I don’t make things easy. I am faery, and I see my own amusement before I see the person I’ve toyed with. No, I’m not proud of that. I’m indifferent. And sometimes you make me wonder if that’s worse.” His breath rustled her hair. “You are right, little boar. I blame my monstrosities on inconsequential details. Even without a heart, my mind can dictate right from wrong. Even without a heart, I shouldn’t hesitate.”
Pushing up, she caught his solemn expression. Her fingers were against his cheek when next she blinked, and she didn’t move them when his eyes found hers. Her dark skin clashed with his grey pigment, but the porcelain smooth quality had entrapped her. She stroked his cheek, hypnotised.
He was handsome.
As she rested her head against his shoulder and dared to close her eyes, she blamed the thought on her foggy mind. A beast and monster couldn’t be attractive, at least not to her. Maybe to his own.
Which meant either she was of the same cloth or… “Maybe you’re not a monster.” Her hand laid against his empty chest, and she exhaled over her fingers. “There are many things I’m afraid of right now, many uncertainties and decisions I think I’ll have to face, but one thing I’m not afraid of is being here, in your arms. If you were a monster, even if you were a bad man, I don’t think that would be the case.”
He snorted, pressing his lips against her head. “You baffle me, Fayre. If I may be so bold as to make a request…” Heat swelled in her breast as his lips moved, resting near her ear. He whispered, “Never stop.”
✶
The next morning after breakfast, Auber took her into the front yard and told her, simply, to get rid of the flowers in her hair. Any questions had been met with silence, so she struggled to remove the blooms and keep them gone. Pulling them out only made her scalp sore, and they grew back within moments.
A puff of white left her lips in a cloud while she noted, with unrest, how many snowballs Auber had stacked across the yard in the time she had been fighting with her own head.
“You aren’t going to throw those at me, right?” she asked.
His fangs flashed, but he made no reply.
“Can you at least give me a hint?”
“About the snowballs or your predicament?” He patted another ball out of the fresh snow that had fallen during the night. Setting it atop the mound he had accumulated, he reached for another handful.
“The predicament.” She shuffled her feet, kicking flurries off her boots.
Auber shrugged. “I’m not a dryad. How should I know what you need to do?”
Fayre gaped. “Are you ser—” A snowball hit her in the face, and she startled.
“Can’t you tell? I’m very serious. Always have been. Always will be.” Tossing another ball of snow in the air, he grinned.
Sweeping low, she snatched a handful of slush and packed it together. “Why are you teaching me if you don’t know what you’re doing?” The ball whizzed from her hand, missing him entirely, and she stomped her foot.
“Quite frankly, there was a shortage of staff for the special needs classes.” His next snowball hit her in the shoulder.
A growl rumbled up her throat. “Maybe I should figure this out alone.”
“You act like I’m being distracting or something.”
She narrowly dodged his next attack, a smile pulling on her lips. “Tell me what I need to do!”
“I just said—”
“You just returned my question with a question and followed up with sarcasm. I’ve been here two weeks and I wasn’t born yesterday.” She bit her tongue when he snickered. She was, in fact, born yesterday.
Dropping his weapon, he stepped forward. “Very nicely deduced. I’m impressed.”
“In spite of my humanity?” Her brow arched.
He pressed a hand against his chest. “Don’t tempt my insults. They will come naturally, I assure you.” Stopping before her, he clasped her hands and closed his eyes. A rush of breath left him.
Fayre hesitated, staring up at him. Smooth calm had washed over his features, chills tingling from his fingertips to hers. Forcing herself to release a breath as well, she mimicked closing her eyes before her thoughts could run away from her.
“Without becoming a tree, think of yourself as a tree.”
“I can become a tree?” She cracked an eyelid.
He cracked one back at her. “You’re a dryad. That is your whole thing.”
Her cheeks heated, but she ignored them as they both closed their eyes again. The cool world stung her nose while she inhaled and exhaled with him. She pictured herself as a great pine first. Tall. Formidable. Weak roots. Shaking her head, she thought of a cedar, then decided on a wisteria sapling. Already flowering, but small and burdened by the weight.
“Now,” Auber whispered into her picture as though he could see it himself, “it’s winter.”
The image before her eyes shivered, shedding everything and turning bare. Her eyes snapped open, and she pulled a hand from his grasp to touch her head. Only smooth hair brushed her fingers. “It’s that simple? Wait, what about maintaining it?”
“You are maintaining it.” He dropped her other hand, setting both fists on his hips. “It’s such a waste of beauty.”
The comment stung, and she couldn’t tell why, but she asked, “How do I bring them back?”
“Tell yourself it’s spring. For now, however, you should work on retaining the feeling of them being gone. In a few days, we can work on switching between, to strengthen your control.”
Unnatural excitement sprouted in her chest, and a small smile unfurled on her lips. “Thank you for this. For helping me despite everything.”
Auber’s expression gentled, and he sighed. “Beware about thanking a faery. It indebts you, and some would use that debt over your life. While on this tangent, never give a faery your name. Never take something from a faery. Never wear a faery’s shoes. And never trust a faery, even one you’ve grown close to. Or rather, especially. Faery folk grow closest to their enemies.”
“Does that go for you as well, Beast?”
A smirk was her only reply.
9
Several days passed without much event while Fayre learned to control the flowers in her hair. Practice and lessons filled each morning; each evening led them to the quiet parlor where they would read together. Auber sat with his legs dangling over the side of the clawfoot chair, a wine glass in one hand, a book in the other.
“You’re blooming,” he murmured, turning a page.
She paid the comment no mind and kept her gaze focused out the window, on the black trees. A glistening layer of ice coated each branch, making them burn in the purple and orange tint of dusk. The vivid colors called to her more than the open book on her lap. “I want to go into the woods.”
Auber paused, and his lips parted, and he closed them again before shaking his head. “Now, that’s a very bad idea. A very bad idea indeed.”
Half aware of herself, Fayre let a breath fan against her fingers. The fire roared in response, but the chill running through her didn’t come from the cold. “Why?”
He chuckled, and it was something deep, dark, alluring. “That lovely human mi
nd of yours, always asking questions, obvious or unnecessary. I would suggest you find out yourself, but as I’ve grown somewhat familiar with your presence, I won’t suggest that at all.”
She blinked out of her daze and turned to face him. He kept his eyes on the book before him, lifting the wine glass to his lips. She said, “Beast, I think I need to go into the woods. How long has it been since I was in the woods?”
Auber glanced up. “Are we referring to when you nearly died at the grimy hands of goblins the morning of your birthday? Trust me this once, dear little boar, you do not want to discover further what is in those woods. This palace is surrounded by an iron gate for good reason.”
The flowers in her hair thickened, weighing against her scalp. Panic made her heart pound. Would he really not take me into the woods? pounded in her skull on repeat. Wide-eyed, and trying very hard not to scream, she stared at him. “Please.”
His brows lowered. Closing his book, he stood and approached her, sitting uncomfortably close on the couch. He tilted her chin and looked into her eyes, the full-bodied scent of his wine close enough that she could almost taste the rush on her tongue. “By all the fae,” he grumbled, “you’re trying to bewitch me.”
She blinked fast, jolting back. “Not on purpose.”
“I know that, human. You can’t even hold onto your hair right now.” He sighed, releasing her. “Come along then. Let’s get your sense back.”
Her heart leaped. She followed him when he left the room and paced down the halls. Wine glass still in hand, he ticked off each mirror he passed, then paused. Throwing back the rest of the liquor, he set the cup on the floor and held out a hand for her.
She took it immediately, ready for the sensation of skimming through glass. It washed over her, heat following, and they stepped out of a large tree in the middle of a forest.
Familiar, the scent of pine and oak encompassed her, breathing into her veins and settling her racing heart. She inhaled deeply, letting each breath go as she stepped away from Auber and the mirror hidden within the tree.
He trailed along beside her, and the wood wound its way about the looking glass, concealing the passage.
Moments passed, each slipping away into the glimmering night. After gathering herself, Fayre’s lashes fluttered, and she turned. “I…I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me.”
Auber shook his head. “You were lonely, that’s all.”
“Lonely?” Her fingers brushed the grain of a nearby branch, but she pulled back when it brightened at her touch, growing fuller in an instant.
“It’s natural for a dryad to heed the call of the woods. Just like a selkie must heed the call of the ocean. Don’t apologize for this piece of yourself.”
Returning her hand to the tree, she listened to the crackle of its growth and melted into the sensation. “Should I apologize for that other piece of myself then?”
He huffed. “Don’t antagonize me.”
She grinned back at him, and he scoffed.
“In this moment, bathed in moonlight and washed in the scent of the Myre, you hardly appear human.” His steady approach resounded in her chest as thundering beats of her heart. When his hand lifted, she froze. His fingers hooked a coiling strand of pink flowers, drawing it away from her head. “Yet how weak your mind remains to the wiles of a faery.”
She sighed, turning so her hair slipped from his fingers. “I should never expect your kind words to come without insult. I will never be more than a tainted faery, so you can stop reminding me I’m human. Your jeers and slights won’t change the facts.”
“No, I suppose they won’t.” His fingers brushed hers, his thumb trailing along her knuckles. “Leave your shoes here.”
“Why?”
He smiled, clasping her hand, and she looked down to find her laces coming undone. Rolling her eyes, she stepped out of her boots and discarded her stockings beside them. The cool earth touched her toes, stemming through her whole body, and she had to remind herself not to take root.
Oddly, little worry accompanied the knowledge that she could.
When Auber turned and ran, her feet found the path on their own, skipping over rocks and twigs beside him. Instinct made their race silent. And in the silence, the world sang.
Freedom coursed on the breeze, teasing her hair. Animalistic eyes peered at them from the brush, unafraid. The calls and cries of midnight larks serenaded the quiet, pouring into her blood.
Fayre’s grip on Auber’s hand tightened, her eyes alight, and he grinned before yanking her arm. Her body lurched into his hold, and he scooped her up, skirts and cloak and all. His legs bounded, and they were soaring from branch to branch up through the trees.
Bursting from the canopy in a shower of leaves, they touched the sky. Stars gleamed, speckling the dark expanse all around. Auber slowed and stopped on a high, thick, curling branch. The tree rocked beneath them in the wind as he set her down.
When he let go, she clung to the trunk, but he balanced casually, arms folded, while he peered at the sky.
A distant light on the ground caught her eye, and she squinted. Her stomach twisted when she recognized the far-off rooftops. “Is that… Is this—?”
“Your town and your forest.” He exhaled, cupping her chin without looking at her. Turning her gaze back up, he whispered, “And your sky.”
His marked skin drew away as her lips parted. Thousands of silver lights winked at her, spattering Auber’s grey skin. It was breathtaking. She could hardly recall anything remotely as beautiful. When he glanced back at her, she realized at some point her attention had fallen on him.
Smiling, he said, “My favorite things about the human world are the ones humans have not touched.”
Feeling the pulsing life of the oak and watching the neverending picture stream around her, she let her body ease. “Mine too.”
His lips quirked, and she tensed, protesting, “I’m not like you, though.”
“You are.”
“No.”
“Just a little.”
She glared.
His fangs glinted. “It’s not so bad, being a monstrous faery.”
“You’re hardly monstrous,” she grumbled.
He raised three fingers, his lips curling back in a sharp grin. “Three seconds and I could snap this branch, push you off, leave you here—”
“Do it.”
His head whipped toward her. “Which?”
“Any. All. I dare you, Mr. Beast. Just how beastly are you?”
“Challenging a faery far older than you is very unwise. Haven’t you been listening to any of my lessons?”
Girding herself, she moved away from her hold on the trunk and faced him, standing tall. “I have been.” She stepped forward, and slipped.
His hands jolted to her waist, holding her steady, then his face twisted. “Why you little…”
“Yes?” she taunted, a brilliant smirk brightening her eyes as she gripped his arms.
“You little faery.” He crushed her waist tight against his body. “I best get you down from here before you fancy shoving me.”
“It did cross my mind.” She glanced away, the portrait of innocence. “More than once.”
His laughter caressed her skin as he scooped her up and slid from the branches, back to the welcoming ground. He landed softly, smiling at her and tracing a stray curl against her cheek. Then his muscles tightened.
The world whirled when he yanked her into the brush behind a large trunk. Clamped tight against his body, an intoxicating musk enveloped her. Something sweet. Something spicy. Something forbidden.
“What is—”
His cold fingers covered her lips, and he stopped breathing.
Clomping footsteps met her ears before she could wiggle out of his grasp, so she stilled.
As the human party drew closer, smoke stung Fayre’s eyes, and the shadows before her danced in the firelight of torches. A chilling unease prickled her spine.
“Listen well, Cain, we are
going to find her. And we are going to do so before the ball.” The familiar voice sickened Fayre’s gut, and she pressed closer against Auber’s chest. Roald continued, “The vixen will learn that she can’t toy with me. That she can’t deny me.”
“But, Your Highness…” Cain’s voice wavered, and a throat cleared. “We came this way when we first set out. Finding her boots now, in the area, must mean that she—”
“Is nearby.”
“Is…hiding. On purpose.”
The footsteps clamored to a stop, just beyond the tree trunk, and Fayre fought to control her breaths as they shortened. “Are you suggesting she would hide from me?” Roald growled.
Silence responded.
“I staked my claim on her years ago. She can neither run nor hide from me now. I will have the most beautiful girl in my kingdom as my wife. I deserve no less. Her family has more than provided their approval. She. Is. Mine.”
Stark silence continued, then a short, “Yes, sir.”
“We’ll rest at home this evening and scour the nearby woods come sunrise. I want no more complaints—from anyone,” he spat, and mumbled replies drifted away, along with the boot steps, along with the flame light.
Auber removed his hand from Fayre’s mouth when the calm of the woods resumed, but his hold at her waist kept her body against his. “Little boar,” he murmured, close enough she could smell sweet wine on his breath, “can you explain this?”
She blinked her eyes open, staring at his hand. A droplet rested along his finger. Her lips parted, and a tear touched her tongue on its way down her cheek.
When no reply came, he added, “Or perhaps why the flowers in your hair have turned a striking shade of black?”
“Why are you asking? You already know.” Her voice shook.
“A mere human rabble shouldn’t frighten you to tears.”
“You’re right. Of course you’re right. It’s behind me now, isn’t it?” Fayre rubbed her cheeks, inhaling and exhaling deeply. Panic lingered.
“Who was he?”
“My betrothed, in his mind and my parents’. Also, the prince.”
Auber scoffed, his body relaxing behind her. He wiped her tears off his hand on her cloak, then toyed with her hair. “The peasants were unaware a goddess slumbered among them. If you would just shed your repulsing human skin, none could look upon you—lest touch you—without your permission.” His hand slid up her throat, tilting her head back, and he stared down at her. “Do you hear me, Fayre? You are a myth wrapped in a legend. They hold only the control you allow them over you. Allow them none.”