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11. No Place Like Home

The next day, I meet Cece and Father for lunch in the dining room. "Good morning," I say with a cheerful wave. I had slept right through breakfast, coming home at such a late hour, and no one noticed I had returned, not even Esme. I guess they didn't expect me just yet.

Father's gaze snaps up from his plate and hovers at the edges of my body, not meeting mine. My heart sinks.

He's afraid to look straight at me and find me changed.

Cece jumps out of her chair and runs to my arms. "Finally!"

"Cecelia," Father scolds.

My little sister's cheeks are flushed as she looks me over, oblivious to Father's angry pout. "I was afraid you would never be healthy enough to travel to Lundan. It's been weeks, I was worried!" Hands on her hips, she squints dangerously. "Why didn't you write me? Were you really so sick that you couldn't pick up a quill?"

"I'm sorry?" I search the room for help, but Father still avoids my inquisitive stare. Did they really pretend that I was sick and stuck at the summer house? How do they hope to get away with it when I disappear again?

Cece's brows pull together, and she squeezes my upper arm through the puffy sleeves of my yellow dress. I shake my head, silently begging her to shut up.

She pinches my side, and I can tell from her angry pout that she knows she's been lied to. "Meet me in my room after my riding lesson," she whispers. "You better tell me where the crops you were, or else…" With that, she skips back to her seat and innocently butters up a piece of bread. "At least you can come to the ball with me."

Father clears his throat, half choking on a mouthful of ale. "I'm not sure your sister feels up to a ball, Cecelia."

I grip the skirts of my dress and squeeze onto my seat. "But I do, Father."

In this familiar room, the memories of the Shadow Court fade a little. The elegant masks, the gigantic gym, the stretchy, snug fabrics… Did I really spend twelve days training in Faerie? My hands tremble as I pick up a small silver fork, but the rough callus on my index finger where the bow string chafed the skin assures me that it wasn't all a dream.

The doorto my bedroom closes behind Esme. The Fae's gaze shines like she's excited to see me. That's a first.

"I can't believe you came back early! And here I was in the market shopping like any other day…" she wipes a hand across her forehead. "Let's see if you have a suitable gown ready for the ball. I can still alter one if needed."

My nose wrinkles in half-hearted denial. "I promised Cece to meet her in her room after her riding lesson."

Esme gives the chaise lounge a vigorous pat. "Don't be ridiculous. We have a lot to discuss."

She starts unpacking my dresses from the deep trunk at the foot of the bed, shuffles through a few old gowns, and finally settles on a burgundy empire-waisted dress. "Here. We can make this work in time for the ball."

I stand up at her instruction and slip on my usual corset.

The dark-haired Fae pulls on the laces and clicks her tongue. "It doesn't fit as it should. You've gained weight."

"I barely ate, like you said." A fierce blush creeps to my cheeks at the falsehood. I ate more than I intended to. Running four times a day simply made me famished, and as far as I could tell, the food in Faerie wasn't any different than the food here—a little tastier, perhaps, but not dangerous.

"Muscles, then."

I can't deny that, so I press my lips together. A few minutes later, a loud pounding on the door startles us both, and Cece's voice booms into the small bedroom. "Let me in, Nell, or I swear?—"

Esme wrenches open the door, cutting her off. "Your sister barely made it home in time for the ball. I have many alterations to make on her dress, so shoo. You can berate her all you like later."

Cece's you owe me stare chills my blood. That girl will pry every single detail from me before the night is over. She'll peel my skin off, if she has to.

I shoot Esme a dirty look after Cece leaves. "You told her I was sick?"

The slender Fae rubs her face down with one hand, her voice muffled. "Your father insisted. It was foolish of him, but you shouldn't pout." She flicks my forehead gently with her bony middle finger. "We have to tell your sister the truth. Not the whole truth, mind you, but enough for it to make sense when you disappear again. I leave that to you."

I nod in agreement, relieved. Esme is often stuck in the middle, navigating the muddy waters of honoring my father's wishes while raising two young teenage girls, a task she was by no means prepared to take on when my mother hired her to tutor us.

She sticks a few pins and needles close to my breasts. "I'll work the bodice loose and lengthen the skirt. Don't move." She peels the gown off me. "So…" Her gaze briefly darts up to mine. "What happened with the Shadow King?"

"I'm…not sure."

Deep lines appear on her forehead, and she holds the pin she'd just tucked between her teeth away from her mouth. "Didn't he try to seduce you?"

My top lip curls in a thank-the-mother-he-didn't pout. "Not at all."

She crouches to work on the skirt, her movements a little more impatient than usual. "Start at the beginning. What happened?"

"There's not much to tell."

I try to recall the Shadow King, but all of the sudden, my memory of him is foggy, and the instinct to keep his court's secrets is almost undeniable. Esme taught me so much. I should tell her about the banquet.

Yet, my recollection of the events becomes fragmented like I'm trying to recall a dream I had a few nights ago. I know what happened in Faerie wasn't what we both expected to happen, and it unnerves me.

Esme observes me for a moment, her bottom lip tucked between her teeth. "I won't hold the truth against you, Penny. I swear it. Despite his faults, the Shadow King is handsome and charming…"

I want to say that he didn't really have any interest in me, but her quiet tone gives me pause. "You taught me to fear him."

"As you should." She climbs to her feet to pin the back of the dress, her rehearsed movements slower and softer than before. "Your father insists for you to remain steadfast to Demeter's customs… He doesn't understand how different Faerie truly is. By now, you must have seen and heard things that would be unthinkable here. I'm just saying that it's okay if you're not appalled by everything you saw. If you thought the king was…desirable. It would be our secret."

Esme seldom speaks so openly, and I twist around to face her. "You told me he was a vicious monster."

"I know my place, Miss Penny. Your father wouldn't have allowed me to raise you any other way, and I'm sorry that I had to keep you in the dark about some aspects of Faerie. Damian is a monster, but a charismatic one."

My pulse flutters at the mention of the king's name. Esme pulls the dress back over my head and starts working on the alterations. Esme is the best seamstress I've ever known. From the way she works the needle and thread, you'd think she had magic after all.

I sit on my hands at the edge of the chaise lounge and mull over everything she said.

After a while, she whispers. "Your mother… She kissed him, you know."

My eyes open wide, and I shift uncomfortably on my seat. "The Shadow King?"

Black curls bounce around Esme's face as she adjusts the last few inches of the hem. "Yes. When he healed her. She told me it was the most sinful moment of her life."

"He didn't touch me, I swear." A big grimace overpowers my face at the thought of my mother kissing the gold-plated mask of the Shadow King. "I only learned how to run and shoot a crossbow."

"He means to train you then. As a seed. Interesting." She hands me back my dress. "Let's see if it fits you better."

I wrangle the fabric over my head and smooth down the skirt over my crinoline. Esme fastens the tiny buttons covering the hollow of my neck, the red collar snug around my throat. The absence of cleavage is in stark contrast to the plunging neckline of the dress I wore in Faerie.

I roll my gloves past my elbows and check that they're in pristine condition for the ball. "What does it entail? To be trained? Is it a good or a bad sign?"

Esme fastens my pearl earrings, the hint of a smile playing with her lips.

Before she can answer, Cece barrels inside the bedroom, holding her ballgown to her chest. "I need to get ready too, you know. The carriage is already here."

Esme motions for her to sit on the bed and secures my hair up with a taupe hair snood with golden threads and pearl beads. "Let's hurry, then. We can chat later."

Once we're all ready to go, the carriage takes Cece, Esme, and me to the ball, and Cece struggles to hide her leg jitters. As per tradition, autumn balls start at sundown and offer a variety of apple ciders and wines. Women wear warm colors, their gowns decorated with orange, yellow, and red sashes.

The guests stop chatting and dancing to curtsy as the butler announces our arrival, and Esme quickly skedaddles. "I will meet you by the entrance after the cotillion."

Esme spends these soirées in the adjoining room. Ladies-in-waiting aren't invited to partake in the festivities, and Esme is regarded as particularly ill-suited because of her lower rank—and suspiciously pointy ears.

Cece links her arm in mine and ushers me deeper inside the ballroom. Stairs run down on both sides of the mezzanine to the ground floor where tables and chairs are set in the corners for the guests. Young, unmarried men and women do not sit, however, and gather in small groups around the dance floor instead.

My heart skips a beat when I see Isaac standing with his schoolmates by the delicacy buffet.

Cece tugs on my arm. "Let's dance."

"In a minute."

Eyes fixed on Isaac, I weave through the crowd and pick off a few grapes from the bushel in the center of the buffet table. Normally, he'd take the opportunity to join me, but he doesn't meet my gaze and remains safely tucked in the huddle of gentlemen.

Abigail Strauss walks over to me, blocking my view of Isaac. "Good evening, Princess. I'm happy to see you in good health."

I offer her a quick smile. "Good evening, Miss Strauss."

Abigail Strauss isn't what I'd call a friend, but she's the closest thing to it that I've got. Since Esme started tutoring me, I haven't opened up to anyone about my destiny, my magic, or anything that could betray my secrets. It's caused a rift between me and the other girls my age. It's hard to gossip about marriage proposals and the latest fashions when your entire life hangs in the balance.

Abigail plops a tiny piece of camembert inside her mouth. "You look different."

"I've been sick."

"You certainly don't look it. Your skin is glowing." A knowing grin ghosts over her lips.

She doesn't buy the scripted story.

Being a princess means being able to control the emotions on your face when you're out in society, so I force my eyes to widen and my brows to lift slightly, offering her the perfect picture of innocence. "Must be the medicinal herbs."

I might not wear a physical mask like the Fae do, but I'm wearing one all the same. I've chiseled it out of necessity.

While Abigail and I chat, Steven Finch approaches us from the side, creating a dent in the boy's huddle.

"Good evening, Mr. Finch," Abigail says.

Isaac steals a glance at me, all but forced to angle himself in our direction if he doesn't want to raise eyebrows. What the crops? Why is he so stiff?

"Good evening, Princess. Miss Strauss." Steven bows his head to each of us in turn, the bend slightly more pronounced in my direction.

Isaac finally unroots himself from his spot and greets us both. "Good evening, Princess. Good evening, Miss Strauss."

Abigail waves her fan dramatically and extends the crook of her elbow toward Steven. "It's very hot inside. Shall we all take a stroll through the gardens?"

Isaac reluctantly offers me his arm, and we fall into step behind the other couple. Thankfully, the gardens are not too crowded at this hour.

"Are you alright?" I ask under my breath.

"Your father denied my proposal." His ashen face and stark tone betray the depth of his anguish, and a lump forms in my throat.

"But—You said you'd wait."

He slows down until Abigail and Steven are out of earshot. "Why would the king allow us so much freedom this summer if he was not ready to accept my proposal? Doesn't he know how badly this could affect you if I changed my mind?"

Changed his mind?

I eye him sideways, the downward curl of his mouth spelling trouble. "We only kissed twice." Two modest ones at that. Peck. Peck.

"I know, but rumors can ruin lives."

The statement stops me cold, and I dig my heels into the stone pathway. "What rumors?"

Isaac's shifty gaze drops to the ground and causes my stomach to twinge. Reputation is everything in my world, and if a nasty rumor is somehow circulating about me, if there's even one word spoken in society about my shadow magic or my trip to Faerie…it would destroy my future. No exaggeration.

"Come along, you two." Abigail waves us forward with a gloved hand.

My heart beats heavy in my throat for the rest of the silent, awkward walk, and by the time we rejoin the festivities, I feel like throwing up the handful of grapes I swallowed earlier.

Isaac excuses himself quickly, and I'm stuck dancing the quadrille with Steven's brother to keep up appearances. The other girls whisper in my wake, their avid stares prickling my skin.

After the dance ends, Cece slumps on a seat at the edge of the dance floor, in view of the whole gallery, and I walk over to her.

"Oh, what rotten luck I have. And so early in the night, too. I just might cry!" Her face wrinkles in a desperate, fake-as-hell pout as she waves me over. "Penelope, there you are! I'm afraid I twisted my ankle, sister. Will you take me home?"

Cece always puts a little too much actress in her princess.

Eyes wide, I meet her determined gaze. "Of course."

Cece squeezes my hand and leans on me in the guise of protecting her ankle. "Let's get out of here before these bats get the better of us."

"What did you hear?" I ask quietly.

"The official story is that you refused Isaac after leading him on all summer."

A low curse escapes me. "Crops!"

Esme joins us in a hurry with a polite smile plastered on her lips. "What's the matter, Your Highnesses?"

"My ankle twisted the wrong way, dear Esmeralda. How unfortunate! I need to lie down," Cece says.

Brows raised, Esme acquiesces to her dramatic request, and the butler calls for the carriage.

"How bad is it?" I ask my tutor on the ride home.

The ladies-in-waiting have a penchant for gossip, so she probably got a complete account of the rumors Cece overheard.

Esme's mouth curls down in a worried grimace. "I will try to smooth things over with the king before someone else tells him. He's put you in an impossible position…"

"Why did Father say no to Isaac?" Cece asks willfully, not-so-patiently waiting for me to fess up.

Esme shakes her head, denying my sister the answers she craves. "Not now, girls. You can discuss this at home." The pointed look she gives me tells me to be careful with my revelations, but I know the time has finally come.

The rest of the carriage ride is spent in stunned silence. After we've retired to our rooms, Esme quickly helps us out of our gowns and hustles out immediately after.

As soon as we're alone, Cece sits on the twin bed with a pillow in her lap. "What happened with Isaac? Why did you refuse him at all?"

I pry my hairbrush out of the dresser and sit beside her. "Nothing happened."

She shuffles to her knees on the mattress and spins around to face me. "You've got to stop protecting me. I'm old enough, Nell. What's really happening? Where were you the last two weeks?"

I open my mouth to speak, but can't quite form a complete sentence.

"You were in Faerie, weren't you?"

Way to go, Cece. That girl is magic, indeed. "Wh?— "

"You all think I'm deaf or dumb or something, but I hear things, sis. I see you and Esme whisper with your Fae books. I've known for a while. It makes sense that you would have to go there because of your magic. I just don't understand why you didn't tell me before now."

My jaw hangs open at her breezy tone. You went to Faerie… no big deal. "How does it make sense? Gaia's children are supposed to enroll in the temple?—"

A sarcastic chortle pops out of her mouth. "Like Father would ever go for that. He needs us both for grandsons. Many people's magic dies down, and they don't have to join the temple. I figured Esme hooked you up with a Fae shaman to cleanse you from your powers or something of the sort."

By the Mother! For two years I've kept this huge secret from Cece, and she just went ahead and figured it all out herself.

"It's more complicated than that, but yes. Esme and Father insisted for me not to say anything—at least not before I actually had to go," I say sheepishly.

Cece beams, proud of herself. "So… How was it?"

"Faerie?"

"No, church—Yes, Faerie! Is it as dark and debased as the legends say?" She asks, way too excited for my taste.

I relax on the mattress with my knees propped beneath me. "I don't know. The dresses reveal everything—and I do mean everything. People act and speak differently. Women wear pants, use crossbows, and eat whatever they want?—"

Cece inches closer, her eyes full of stars. "What else?"

"There's a dark Fae…his name is One. He wears a frightening mask, but he's supposed to teach me how to use my magic," I say in the most neutral tone I can muster.

"One?" Cece's voice thickens with disbelief. "Who the crops is named ‘One?'"

I grin from ear to ear. "My thoughts exactly."

Her eyes narrow, and the inquisitive gaze slaps the smile off my face more efficiently than all the kissing noises in the worlds. "Is he handsome?"

Busted.

"I have no idea. I've never seen his face. I don't even know what his hair looks like," I blurt out, trying to defuse the situation and failing miserably at it.

"What about the rest of him?"

My eyes bulge. "Cece!"

The look she gives me then…all fierce and serious. I shiver all over. Crops… it's like I can't quite picture One in my mind anymore.

The harder I try to remember what he looks like, the blurrier my memories of him become.

"What about the rest of him, Nell?" she repeats.

"He's very tall." My measured tone isn't fooling anyone, and my cheeks heat up.

My memories of One might be hazy, but my thoughts on his appearance are not blurry at all. Every time he gets a little too close, I feel lightheaded and warm and a little gauche.

The highest of all girly squeals rips out of Cece's mouth. "By the Mother! You like him! When exactly did you meet him? Is he the reason you refused Isaac?"

"I didn't refuse Isaac, exactly. We agreed to wait a year before finalizing our plans, so I don't know what possessed him to ask Father for my hand right away. No one can know about my trips to Faerie, so it didn't seem fair to accept his proposal until I'm back for good."

Her jaw slacks. "Wait. You have to go back?"

"Yes. I have to spend half the coming year in Faerie."

"Wow." Her brows pull together. "Why?"

"One said it would take about a year for me to snuff my powers out," I lie.

"Did you see the Shadow King?"

I avert my gaze, the threads sticking out from the pillow in her lap suddenly absorbing my attention. "Don't be ridiculous."

"Did you?"

"Um—only for a moment."

She slaps my arm with more strength than expected. "Horseshit! You did?"

My lips purse out of habit at her foul language. "Stop cussing!"

"Oh, you have to tell me everything." She covers her wide grin with her hands, and the elation in her voice makes me a little nauseous… but mostly relieved. Maybe 40% nauseous at the thought that my little sister knows too much, and 60% relieved that I don't have to keep so many secrets from her. I want to tell her everything, but my mind draws a huge blank when I try to think of the Shadow King.

Despite the obvious magic at work here, I recount my days in Faerie to the best of my ability. Some details are easier to recall, like the layout of the castle and Lori. Cece listens intently until the moon stretches high in the sky and the fire dies in the chimney.

Around two in the morning, sleep finally claims her, allowing me a moment to digest the events of the day. Being back home is…strange.

An itch blooms between my shoulder blades as I stare out my bedroom window. Without giving myself the time to chicken out, I cover Cece with my duvet, change into my tunic and pants, and sneak into the night. The warm, happy sensation I get whenever I run dulls the part of me that urges for caution.

It's not like I've lost my bearings. It doesn't mean I've been corrupted. Yet.

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