A Dance with the Fae Prince (Married to Magic) Page 3

  “I don’t want… I want Misty.” I look to the butler. “She’s a good horse and has been with me her whole life. It would be no trouble, would it?”

  “There is room in my master’s stables.” The man nods.

  Joyce shakes her head and brings a hand to her mouth. “I cannot believe it. I know I raised you better.”

  I purse my lips. Years of experience has taught me that silence is best when she gets like this.

  “To think, you would disrespect your new husband and take from your family unnecessarily at the same time, all over a silly horse.”

  “Silly? See, none of you even care about that horse!”

  “You are a lady, Katria Applegate. It is unbecoming to shout.” Joyce has gone quiet. “Cordella, please bring that horse back to the stables.”

  Cordella glances between Joyce and me. But I know what she’ll do before she does it. She can’t object to Joyce’s demands. Cordella turns.

  “No! You can’t do this! Please!” I rush to Cordella.

  “Katria.” My name is like a whip from Joyce’s mouth. I flinch and freeze. Halted by the mere sound. “You are upset over nothing and making a fool of yourself.”

  I want to scream at her. She has the remnants of my father’s business for herself. She has her four thousand pieces. They could buy a whole herd of horses. Let me have Misty, I want to shout. But I can’t. Because like Misty I have been trained, I have been silenced by an invisible bridle that my stepmother shoved between my teeth long ago.

  A gentle touch on my shoulder startles me. I look up to see that the butler has closed the gap. His eyes are surprisingly gentle and sympathetic.

  “I will see to it that my master gets you a new horse.”

  She will never be left wanting. He had said that was the promise his master made. I could ask for anything I wanted but it would mean nothing. It would be empty kindness for the sake of fulfilling an obligation from people who care more about a book than me.

  I jerk away. “I don’t want his horses.” I don’t want his pitying or compulsory kindness. I don’t want anything that could resemble closeness in this marriage.

  “It’s always something with you, isn’t it?” Joyce murmurs, loud enough for everyone to hear. “Calm down and be graceful as you venture into this new stage of your life.” She makes it sound as if I have somehow chosen this. As if this was something I wanted. I glare up at her before getting into the carriage.

  Laura rushes forth as the butler assumes the driver’s seat.

  “Laura!” Joyce is nearing her breaking point.

  “Go back to your mother,” I hiss at my sister. I shudder to think of what reprimanding she’ll face. Laura ignores me and Joyce, grabbing the door and preventing me from closing it.

  “I’m going to miss you,” she blurts with tear-filled eyes. My sweet sister. Barely fourteen. The best and most unbroken of us all. “You made this place bearable.”

  “No, that was all you.” I quickly embrace her. The butler doesn’t rush us. “Don’t lose your kindness, Laura, please. Hang onto it with all your might until you can get out.”

  “You don’t either.” She pulls away and I refrain from telling her that mine was lost a long, long time ago. “I’ll look after Misty, I swear it. Cordella will teach me. So maybe the next time you come back, you can take her then. I’ll try and speak to Mother.”

  “Don’t risk her ire on my behalf; you know better.” I gently tuck a strand of hair behind Laura’s ear. Movement over her shoulder catches my eye. “Now, go, before your mother comes to collect you.” I gently push her away and shut the door. Joyce ushers Laura up the stairs with some choice, clipped words.

  The carriage lurches forward and I quickly lose sight of them. No matter what Laura says…I doubt I’ll ever be coming back.

  Helen said that Lord Fenwood lived to the north of town. In my mind, that meant slightly to the north. Kind of like how our manor is just south. But it turns out Lord Fenwood lives much farther. It’s late in the day when we arrive at what is to be my new home.

  A tall stone wall, easily twice my height, is the first signifier that we’ve arrived. There has been nothing but rolling hills and the ever-present forest at my right for most of the day. An hour ago we took a small branching road, more like wheel ruts between the grasses, that plodded along toward the forest. I saw the wall first, stretching out from the trees, like some crumbling remnant of a long-ago castle.

  Vines cling to the scrollwork of the iron gate. Small white flowers bloom, giving off a pleasant scent. The gate closes with a solemn clang behind us. There is no sign as to who or what could’ve closed it. The sound echoes within me with the same finality as a curtain closing on a performance.

  We bumble along a winding road between hedges and small trees. It’s like a miniature version of the ancient forests, without that same heavy oppressiveness that the true forest gives off. In the distance, I see a stag raise its mighty, regal head. There are so many points on its antlers that I know most noblemen would literally kill to have it on their wall. What does it say about this Lord Fenwood that he would allow such an animal to live unharmed on his property?

  Eventually, the overgrowth gives way to a circular, gravel area and the carriage comes to a stop. The butler opens the door and helps me down. I get my first look at Lord Fenwood’s manor.

  It arcs around the circular end of the drive with two wings stemming out from a central tower. Here is the castle that the wall promised. The mortar work is old but well-kept. I have an eye for these things now, after repairing my family’s manor as best I could so many times. The thatching on the roof looks fresh.

  There’s nothing that’s inherently uninviting and yet the hair on my arms stands up straight. The air here feels charged. The manor is literally at the foot of the woods I swore to my father when I was a girl that I would never enter. So I nearly jump out of my skin when the butler unloads my trunk heavily on the gravel.

  Beware the woods, Katria. Never go into them. Swear to me, on your mother’s life, you will not. It was her dying wish to spare you from them.

  “Apologies, Lady Katria.” The butler jostles me from my thoughts.

  “No apologies necessary.” I force a smile and readjust the lute on my shoulder. My predicament is not this man’s fault, and the best thing I can do right now is try and make allies where I can. “And just Katria is fine.”

  “Katria it is then.”

  “May I have your name?”

  He seems startled I would ask and then thinks about the answer for what I consider to be way too long for such a simple question. “Oren.”

  “A pleasure to meet you.”

  “Come along, night is falling and we should see you settled before dinner.” He hoists my trunk with surprising ease for a man of his years and leads me up three steps and into the grand entry of the central tower of the castle.

  I am instantly struck by the craftsmanship of the place. A wooden stairway, with a scrolling banister of lilies and lifelike vines, arches around to the left of the entry. Windows flank the doors on either side, with colored glass leaded together to form intricate landscapes of fields and mountains. I run my fingers over their dark outlines, feeling the ridges of the metal that connects them.

  “Is everything all right?” Oren asks.

  “Yes. I’ve only seen windows like this in the town hall.” Glass art is a lost craft. There are a few who keep up the old ways, and they’re found mostly in the larger cities. They rarely come out to places this remote. This house must be ancient and it’s a wonder these windows have survived at all. Or perhaps the lord can pay to have someone out to his estate for such crafts. Lord Fenwood is rich beyond all imagining from what I can tell so far.

  “They are rare indeed.”

  He leads me into the left wing. Before we enter the arched door I try and glance up the tower. But I can see nothing beyond where the stairway curves behind the first landing. “Does the master of the house live up there?”
<
br />   “Lord Fenwood comes and goes as he pleases,” the butler says obscurely. I wonder where he would go; any semblance of civilization is well over two hours away. Perhaps he is a hunter who came into rare fortune and now seeks thrills by going deep into the woods.

  “He has a lovely home,” I say instead of pointing out that the remark was not an answer to my question. “I can’t imagine why he wouldn’t want to spend more time here.”

  The butler pauses in the middle of the hall. Windows that overlook the circular drive line our left, doors on our right. The silence makes me worried that I somehow offended him with the remark. Though I can’t see how.

  “There are a few rules you’ll need to know,” the butler says as he begins walking again. I expected rules to accompany my new situation and brace myself for them. “The first is that, should you need anything, you merely need to tell me. I will be available to you as I am able. However, as I am the only attendant of the home, I am often busy elsewhere maintaining its upkeep. I will come to serve you dinner every night, and should make you breakfast most mornings, so one of those times would be the best opportunity to inform me of anything you require.”

  “That is most generous of you.”

  He continues as though I haven’t spoken. “The next rule is that you are only permitted on the front half of the estate grounds—along the road we entered on—and under no circumstances are you permitted to go into the woods.”

  “That’s no trouble,” I say easily. “That was a rule from my father as well.”

  “The final rule, and the most important one, is that you are only permitted to leave this wing of the manor during daylight hours, regardless of what you hear or see.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “These rules are for your protection,” he says, glancing over his shoulder. “We are far from town and close to the woods. The mists are thicker here and carry the old magicks. It’s not safe for humans to be out at night.”

  I try and channel a bit of Helen’s bravery when I say, “You can’t be talking about the fae. They are nothing more than old wives’ tales.”

  He chuckles as if I am a foolish girl, as if he has seen the fae with his own eyes and has lived to tell the tale. “Fine. If nothing else, worry about beasts of the wood. As long as you are within these walls you will be protected. But where the walls end, my master’s protection ends as well. Do you understand?”

  “I do.” But I don’t know how I feel about it all. I suppose the rules aren’t unreasonable. And I have long ago given up the notion of going into the woods. I wonder what Father’s reaction would be if he miraculously reappeared to discover that Joyce has married me off and my new home is so close to the dark trees that line the impassable mountain range that edges our corner of the world. Moreover, I expected my freedoms to be reduced once I was married and they seem to have expanded some.

  All told, my new arrangement could be far worse.

  We come to stop at the last door of the hall. As the butler pushes it open, the hinges catch and squeal loudly. He has to put his shoulder into it.

  “Apologies,” he mumbles. “This wing of the house never sees much use. I will fix that while you eat dinner.”

  “Tell me where the tools are and I can fix it myself.”

  He seems startled I would say such a thing.

  “Don’t let the dress fool you. I’m more accustomed to work trousers than satin.”

  “My master made a vow that you will want for nothing; he will take care of everything for you. I will see it fixed while you eat,” Oren says somewhat begrudgingly. I wonder if his master would punish him for allowing me to do work. If he would be willing to allow me to do it on my own, but is unable.

  I’m left with nothing but speculation still on who my husband really is.

  Oren leads us inside, setting my trunk on a tufted bench at the foot of a curtained four-poster bed. It is opposite a large, stone hearth, in which a fire is already crackling. Just like everything else in this castle-like manor, the furnishings are fine and well-kept.

  “Dinner will be within the hour. I hope you are amenable to eating earlier so that you can be back in your chambers by sundown.”

  “It’s fine. I’m usually an early to bed, early to rise sort of person.” I smile.

  Oren only nods and leaves me. It isn’t until after he’s gone that I realize I’ve forgotten to ask what attire I should wear to dinner. And…if it is when I will finally get to meet the man I’ve married.

  Chapter 3

  Dinner is in a room attached to the back of the tower. The space is more conservatory than dining room. Pointed archways that frame expensively large panes give a view of the darkening woods that surround the back half of the manor. I feel like a butterfly trapped in a glass box and carried into an unnatural environment. I’m safe within these walls, but there is only a thin pane that separates me and whatever monstrosities live in the forest.

  I stare out the windows at the very back of the room, peering past my reflection and into the depths of the trees. They feel older here than back home. No, I correct myself, this place is my home now.

  “How do you feel about roasted boar and wild vegetables?” Oren carries in a tray on his shoulder from a side entrance.

  “I’m not picky when it comes to what I eat,” I say with a smile. I’ve had too many nights where hunger was the only thing on my plate to complain about any hot meal placed before me.

  “Good,” he says. “We don’t have consistent food out here.” He pauses as he sets the dish at the head of the table. “That isn’t to say we don’t have food. We have all we need. But the menu is whatever the forest provides and what needs to be eaten from the pantry.”

  “I’d be happy to help you forage,” I say as I sit.

  He looks aghast at the suggestion. “We are not scavengers rooting through the mud for food.”

  “Of course not.” I laugh as if I have never been that person before. The need to scavenge was what prompted me to search my father’s library for books on the local terrain. It’s how I can tell a safe mushroom from a poisonous one. “I merely think wild mushrooms are delicious. And finding them is an activity I enjoy.”

  He pours me water and wine from two separate carafes. “It has been noted.” But nothing will come of it. I can hear as much in his voice.

  “Will the master of the house be joining me for dinner?” I ask.

  “No, he takes dinner in his quarters.”

  I purse my lips. “Will I meet him after dinner?”

  “It will be close to sundown then.”

  “He can come and visit me in my chambers if it is late.”

  “That is not appropriate.”

  I cough up wine into my glass. “Not appropriate? Am I not his wife?”

  “On paper by the laws of this land, yes.”

  “Then I think it is fine if he sees me in my quarters.” I put down the glass slowly, grateful that my hand doesn’t tremble enough that it clatters on the table or spills.

  “The master is very busy.”

  With what? I want to demand to know. I’ve tried for hours to handle this whole situation as graciously as possible. But I still have no idea who the man I married is. I have no idea how he came into his fortune, where he came from, what he wants, and why he needed a book enough to agree to pay for a wife just to have it.

  “Could you please pass along to him that his wife would be very grateful if he could spend a few minutes with her before sundown?” I look the butler in his beady, black eyes as I make my demand.

  “I will pass word along.” He promptly leaves.

  I eat dinner alone. It might be uncomfortable to some, but I’m used to solitude and time with just myself. In fact, in some ways, it’s preferred. Silence is consistent and solitude is safe. There is no one trying to take my food from me. No one demanding that I engage with them. No one about to push me from my place at the table so that I can go start on dishes.

  The plate is empty before I know
it and my stomach slightly uncomfortable. I ate too fast. The food is also richer than I’m accustomed to. I lean back in my chair, unladylike, and pat the bulge of my abdomen. It’s been a long time since I felt this full.

  This could be worse; I return to my earlier thought. My husband seems to have no real interest in me. It’s better than a man expecting me to come to his bed tonight so that I can begin work on my “duty” of giving him an heir to his fortunes. And I seem to have the same amount as—no, more freedoms than back home. Plus, no one will bother me here.

  Oren returns, interrupting me from my thoughts once more.

  “Are you finished?”

  “Yes.”

  “Was it enough?” He collects my clean plate.

  “More than.” I sit straighter. “Please tell the cook that it was delicious.”

  He gives me a sly smile and nods. “I will.”

  “Any word from my husband?” I ask.

  The butler sighs. Yet again, something that should be a simple answer has him stewing for far too long. “I believe he can make time, five or ten minutes, perhaps. I will start a fire in the study of your wing. You can wait for him there.”

  The butler leaves quickly, carrying out the dishes. I stand, and do a lap around the dining table. I suddenly regret asking if I could see Lord Fenwood. What if he’s upset with the demand? What if he wants nothing to do with me and now I have only tempted his ire? I come to a halt and shake my head.

  No, if I am to live here, and to be wed to this man, then I have a right to at least meet him once. To know his name. If we have nothing to do with each other day-to-day, that’s fine. But we should at least acknowledge the other’s presence.

  Courage gathered, I leave the dining room and head right. To my surprise, the second door is open. A fire crackles in the hearth. Mostly empty bookcases line the walls. A table has been pushed off to the right-hand side, one that I imagine was once situated between the two chairs that are now back-to-back before the fire.

  I cross and run my fingertips lightly over the leather. What a strange sitting arrangement… I muse. It isn’t long before I learn why the chairs are arranged in such a manner.