Disenchanted

by Brianna Sugalski

  It never occurred to the princess that the inn would serve anything to eat; it did double as a tavern after all. The news immediately perked her up. She chewed on her lip, hoping to God they served human food. Or anything palatable. Frowning, she realized there didn’t seem to be a menu up anywhere.

  “Erm… Toast? Eggs?” The words came out like questions.

  “Toast. Eggs. Anything else?” Lorietta repeated with a nod.

  “Ham?”

  “No ham this week. Only thing we have is partridge, I’m afraid.”

  Lilac smoothed out a grimace with a clear of her throat. A common peasantry dish. “Is that… roasted?”

  “One roasted partridge. Anything else?”

  Lilac bit her lip. She could see Garin’s jaw hanging in shrewd shock within her peripheral, but she ignored him determinedly. “Pastries?”

  “Sorry, dear. Sweets were all cleared out by this afternoon. We’ve had quite a large group of faeries here tonight.”

  “The tragedy,” Garin said quietly.

  “That’ll be all for me,” Lilac murmured, ignoring him. Plus, her mood had substantially lifted after learning she’d soon have something to eat.

  She smirked and turned to Garin. “You know, it would really be kind of you to paint Lorietta a nice menu board or something. You know, on your off time.”

  “And I’m not hungry,” he added annoyedly, sliding Lorietta a handful of gros.

  With that, the witch disappeared through the kitchen door suppressing a smile. Garin wordlessly led Lilac to a cramped stone alcove on the northern wall, right next to the stairwell. Lilac slid into the end of the wooden bench closest to the bar, giving her a better view of the tavern’s open floor. She knew better than to turn her back on a roomful of Darklings.

  By then, the crowd had cleared most of the tables and chairs out from the middle of the room. They surrounded around the trio of korrigan bards, who’d somehow procured fiddles and used one of the wooden chairs as a drum. The group of faeries were the true center of attention, writhing their torsos to the beat. The dresses they wore were enchanting, crafted intricately from precious metals and jewels strung through mesh. The material clung to their voluptuous curves like a scintillating second skin as the korrigan sang in mesmerizing harmony.

  “Lurking faerie in the tree

  Turned his guiling face at me

  He put aside his mirth and minx

  And sang about a stubborn prince

  Who, on a midnight like tonight,

  Gave the Fair King quite the fright

  An arcane weapon was amiss

  Though his dastardly deed repaid with

  the midnight monster’s troubling kiss…”

  It must’ve been a Darkling bard song; she’d never heard it before. Lilac pretended not to understand, blinking and refocusing on Garin.

  He, who sat across from her on the alcove bench, was still fixated on the gyrating faeries. One hand tousled in his hair with his other arm leaning on the table, his gaze was distant. He didn’t seem to be looking at anything in particular.

  “Are you all right?” Lilac asked. When he didn’t respond, she grunted and reached across the table to tap his arm.

  He started, then threw her a sinful grin. “Thanks.” Then seeing Lilac’s glare, he added, “Their… aura tends to give off a powerful magnetism. One gets lost in their presence if he or she watches too long. I got carried away. My apologies.”

  Lilac pursed her lips, miffed. “Oh, I don’t care,” she replied coldly, purposefully sounding as ungenerous as possible.

  "I overheard the tail end of your and Lori’s conversation, and gathered that you were new to the woods. I don’t mind explaining,” he offered. His smile turned sincere. “You would be at risk too, say, if there were a male fae present—”

  “Assumptions,” Lilac snapped, growing more annoyed by the second.

  This seemed to catch him off guard. He cleared his throat. “Oh, erm. Is it the women, that would do it for you, then?” He shifted in his seat, unable to help himself as his upper lip curled into a wolfish grin.

  “That was not what I meant,” she replied, turning scarlet. She wasn’t here losing sleep to entertain his perverse fantasies. Not in the slightest.

  “I’m serious,” Garin insisted. He cocked his head sideways. “Have you… never seen a faerie before?” he inquired curiously.

  “Can’t say I have.”

  “That explains it. So, it’s not just me—these creatures will affect everyone. Darklings and humans alike.

  Get too caught up in their aura when they dance, and they’ll be able to convince you to do their bidding. Almost anything they want. Commit murder and flee the kingdom. Leave your spouse for a horned toad. Slit your own wrist… It’s brilliant, actually.”

  “Like vampires can?”

  Something had caught in Garin’s throat, and he took a moment attempting to dislodge it. “Yes, it’s similar. But far more powerful than a vampire’s entrancement.”

  Just then, Lorietta appeared at the edge of the table with a tray. She placed Lilac’s plates and both their drinks onto the table, departing with a sideways glance at Garin.

  “Why does she keep looking at you like that?” Lilac finally asked.

  “She’s like my mother, in a way,” he replied, peering into his glass of scotch. “I’ve worked here a while. And she’s staring, because a lovely maiden like yourself is either bored or fool enough to willingly grace my presence.” He gave a little bow in his seat. “You’ll learn to ignore her.”

  “And your real mother?”

  At Garin’s sudden frown, she glanced away awkwardly and preoccupied herself with her glass of red wine, swirling its contents just below the rim. She hadn’t previously realized how bad she was at socializing with others her own age, never mind men.

  The question didn’t seem to phase him otherwise. “Both of my parents are dead,” he replied matter-of-factly. “I left Paimpont to work here at the tavern and support myself. A man has to eat, you know. And it’s fine, they’ve been dead a while,” he added in response to Lilac’s expression of muted shock.

  “Goodness, I’m sorry for asking.”

  He shook his head and smiled generously. “If I minded, you would know.”

  Desperate to change the subject, Lilac chewed on her thumbnail. She recalled her first and only trip to the town lasting them from early dawn till evening, but that was only because the Queen’s carriage driver had taken the main road, which wove around and surpassed most of Brocéliande. Maybe she could convince Garin to tell her how to reach the town faster by forest. “You travel back and forth, then? That must be tiresome.”

  “No, I have a room upstairs that Meriam has graciously allowed me to rent, long term. It isn’t terrible.”

  Lilac knew of folks—mostly thrill-seekers or marauders—who would pass through the forest occasionally. But a human choosing to live there was unheard of, so far as she knew.

  “Why not get a job in Paimpont?” Lilac said, lowering her voice. “Surely that’s a little safer.”

  Garin waved a hand. “Too many memories there,” he said flippantly. “Of my parents. They were farmers, but aspiring alchemists under the table.” There was a rough edge to his laugh. “We used to joke that they were the peasants’ healers. And yet, they succumbed to simple wintertime maladies… The irony.”

  He averted his gaze then. Suddenly, he appeared younger.

  A pang of guilt resonated through her chest. Words caught in her throat; she didn’t quite know what to say. Despite his secrecy, the sudden transparency was unnerving. It was evident that ignoring his charm would be a losing battle. She cleared her throat, feeling vulnerable herself.

  “Perhaps we—perhaps the king and queen would hire you,” she offered, barely catching herself in time.

  “At the castle, you mean?” His voice was taught with bitterness, catching her off guard. “Me, a servant boy? Absolutely not. The kingdom is corrupt in its own ways. The
whole lot of them. The Trécessons, their miserable princess, even the next in line—the duke’s family. Oh bother, what are they called… That’s right, the Le Tallecs.” He scoffed loudly. “I’d rather starve or work in Brocéliande. Even if it kills me.”

  Lilac chewed on her lip. She knew he had good reason to say these things, but it was still shocking to hear in person. It was impossible to please everyone. Living in the castle for so long, she’d never had the opportunity to hear anyone’s unfiltered opinion of her parents’ reign, save the paranoia circling the kingdom about her own.

  Did the majority of the townsfolk feel this way about the king and queen?

  Lilac shifted in her seat, making a feeble attempt to change the subject by focusing on something else he’d mentioned.

  “Next in line?”

  “You’re right, I misspoke. The princess is next in line. She’s heiress, obviously. But the Le Tallec’s brat son is next after her. You know, if anything unfortunate were to happen to her.”

  Lilac didn’t know what to say. He was right, she supposed; she had never thought of it that way before. The notion was disconcerting in the least. Her voice caught on the lump in her throat when she opened her mouth to tell him something consoling. She wasn’t very close to her own parents. Never had been. But at least they were still alive—alive, with time for that to change.

  “Enough of me,” Garin said, swirling the ochre liquid around the bottom of his glass. “You’re new to the forest. So, what brings you to Brocéliande on such a winsome night?”

  He beamed at her through a clenched jaw and pushed the steaming plate of eggs and toast towards her encouragingly. He then sniffed at the partridge dish, covered in a thin layer of colorful wild potatoes and carrots, and slid that to her as well. They’d fallen so deep in conversation that she forgot how hungry she was. It didn’t happen too often.

  Gingerly, she picked up the piece of toast and slathered on a heavy layer of marmalade. Even without looking, Lilac was aware of his pressing eyes locked on her. She could feel them boring into her forehead.

  “Have some,” she insisted, pushing the toast platter back towards him. “You must be famished after your shift.”

  He shook his head to decline politely. “You avoided my question.”

  Following a too large bite of toast, she took a swig from her wine glass and suppressed a grimace. It was tart, unlike the bursting flavor of summer berries and liquid chocolate that seeped into the fine reds they served at home. She took another gulp anyway, knowing she would require a little liquid courage to lie outright to the gentleman’s face. Especially right after he had revealed something so personal about his own life.

  “Well, I came from Rennes,” she explained, referring to the larger politician’s town a few hours northeast of the castle. The lie slipped out easily, so she followed it with another. “And, speaking of Paimpont, I’m headed there to visit a good friend of mine.”

  “Ah. Is writing this… friend not enough?”

  “No,” Lilac admitted honestly through a salty-sweet mouthful of partridge and toast. She’d never had it before, but the servants ate it often. Though she expected a gamey texture, it was surprisingly savory, roasted to perfection. The meat basically melted in her mouth.

  “A leman.”

  “What?” She frowned, taken aback by that one. A beau, he had meant. She knew the definition of the term leman, but it was an archaic word. “No. Not at all, a leman.”

  He exhaled a chuckle, but his pewter eyes held fast. “Even so, it’s fine. I’m always up for a little competition.” His tone was teasing, but he peeked up at her from under his dark lashes.

  “Please.” She rolled her eyes as she popped a forkful of eggs into her mouth. Those were buttery and scrumptious. “Had I a leman, hypothetically, he’d win the duel.”

  Through his grin, the corners of his eyes pulled tight. “I somehow highly doubt that.”

  Lilac shifted, the blood once again rising to her cheeks. The wine was beginning to catch up to her. She swallowed a burp. “You’re strange.”

  “Well aware. And your name, mademoiselle?” He pressed further, now without reservation.

  Lilac’s heart did a flop. She hadn’t even bothered to come up with an alias. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

  Garin stared at her expectantly, his face twisting into a puzzled scowl as she tried to quiet the bloody palpitations.

  “Lysyn,” she replied, tugging on her left ear. She instantly regretted it, biting hugely into a slice of partridge to buy herself another minute to figure out the surname.

  Lysyn?

  “Argent,” she finished with a mouthful.

  Shit.

  Garin snorted. “Lysyn Argent? Like the Argent River. I bet the shifters steer clear of you.”

  She frowned as her mind automatically went to Freya. Surely by shifters, he’d meant shapeshifters. She suddenly found herself wishing Freya had steered clear of her. For Freya’s own sake.

  “Argent? Silver? You know, shapeshifters are deathly allergic?” Garin explained, but she wasn’t paying much attention. He masked an eye roll by studying a crack in the low ceiling of the alcove. “The main river leading through Brocéliande leads into a pond in Paimpont. That river is known as the Argent River. Or, that’s what the Darklings call it, anyway.”

  Lilac made a sound she hoped sounded like interest.

  “Centuries ago, before the war, Cornish settlers dug an underground mine beside the river, thinking it was silver they’d found. It turned out to be lead, which we’ve since used for artillery and ammunition.” He stopped rambling to clear his throat. “It was a stupid joke, anyway.”

  But Lilac was busy with her plate. She stuffed the rest of the eggs and toast into her mouth, then washed it down with the entire glass of bitter wine. Lorietta hadn’t given her a light pour either, but she didn’t care. The repeated mention of shapeshifters and unwanted reminders of the horrible thing she had done to Freya struck a chord, and she was eager to leave and forget. This was exactly the opposite of what she’d needed tonight, but at least she got a portion of the information she was seeking.

  “If you’ll pardon me.” She wiped her mouth on a cloth napkin and stood up. “It’s been so nice chatting with you.”

  “What?” Garin stared incredulously, standing up along with her. “I was only joking. You have a charming name.”

  “It’s not that at all. I’ve had a long journey today and am exhausted, that’s all. I’m not accustomed to staying up so late,” she lied.

  Before she could move, Garin was out in front of the table. He held his hand out to help her from the alcove and down the single step. Lilac was grateful for the gesture, since she could feel the ill effects of the alcohol setting in.

  “The least I can do is walk you to your room.”

  She felt bad for leaving so soon, but she couldn’t stomach the memories that had arisen. Almost hesitantly, she held her arm out as if in agreement.

  “I suppose.”

  Lightly gripping his bicep, she allowed him to lead her up the staircase, only mildly aware of the stares from around the room; her proximity to Garin was distracting enough.

  When they arrived outside her door, Lilac turned to tell him goodnight. The way the hallway torchlight illuminated his hair from the back made him look like pure magic. Something like concern laced his hazy features.

  She blinked twice.

  “You,” she said, followed by a burp. “Have a good night, Garin.”

  The sun would rise soon, but a couple hours of sleep sounded better than nothing. She grabbed for the doorknob and pulled. It wouldn’t budge. Cursing under her breath, she tried again. This time her hand slipped, and she stumbled backward.

  Garin shot an arm out to catch her.

  “That was fast,” she observed as he righted her.

  “No, you’re just moving slowly. You did finish off a rather large serving of a sipping drink in all of five seconds. Let me at least help you inside. Would th
at be all right?”

  Lilac stiffened. Despite her musings, she’d had no real intention of letting him—or any stranger—into her room. Not only was it incredibly unsafe for a woman traveling alone, but there was no sense in allowing herself to become sidetracked.

  Seeming to sense her hesitation, he let go. “I’m sorry if I’ve made you uncomfortable. Of all things, that certainly was not my intention.” Stars then danced in the twilight of his irises and suddenly, through the wine-induced haze, Lilac wasn’t so sure.

  A curious feeling washed over her then. The longer she held his gaze, the lighter she felt, and the warmer her belly grew. The longer she looked, the softer his rough edges became. He was alluring, polite—kind of—and honest.

  What else was there to question?

  “Would you like to come in?” The words sounded foreign as they floated out of her mouth.

  “I’d love to join you.” He gave her a knowing smile and leaned past her—he smelled strongly of all the lovely parts of the woods, Lilac noted—and pushed her door open.

  Oh.

  “After you, mademoiselle.”

  Giggling to herself, Lilac stumbled in past him. The room was considerably dimmer than she’d last left it, so she made her way to the fireside to add more dry wood. She shuddered involuntarily, even near the growing flames. She spun when the door shut gently behind her.

  Garin leaned against it with his arms crossed. Something about the way he studied her felt a bit intense.

  “Should I leave?” he asked gently.

  She could’ve imagined it, but his voice had grown even softer, more murmurous.

  What she wanted, was exactly what she shouldn’t. She knew it plain and simple. But he was impossibly alluring. It was impossible to look away.

  Lilac finally shook her head in response. The last of her guardedness melted away, or so she thought, until Garin made his way to the bed and patted the mattress beside him.

  Through the haze, Lilac shakily obliged.

  “I’ve never done this before,” she blurted, taking a seat beside him. Blood pooled thickly under her cheeks.

  “Really?”

  At Garin’s lifted brows, Lilac pulled back and glared. “Does... that surprise you?”