Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven

The Fairy Ring

Once I returned to my room, I stripped off my wet clothes and opened the wardrobe only to have the door slam closed. I tried it again, and this time it wouldn’t budge, as if it had been locked.

“Open this door!” I said as I pulled on the handle. “I need clothes!”

The door flew open, and I fell onto my back. A piece of cloth landed on my head. The door shut again, and I pulled the fabric off to find they had thrown a thin, sheer robe.

“This can hardly be considered clothes!” I yelled and shifted onto my knees, banging on the wardrobe, but there was no response from the creatures in the closet. I growled as I stood and slipped on the robe, laughing at its ridiculous coverage.

I crossed to the window and looked out, though the glass was mostly obscured by curling vines and golden-green trees. I could just make out the glistening peaks of the Glass Mountains, their jagged edges sitting on the horizon like ominous waves.

They were the mountains kings challenged suitors to scale, knowing no one ventured there and returned, and yet I was willing to go and learn the name of my captor—or at least attempt it—but dying out there was the same as dying here.

“I hate this place,” I muttered, wrapping my arms around myself.

I turned to the bed and pulled back the covers, half-afraid I would find something slimy, courtesy of the pixies. While Casamir had fixed the broken window, I had no doubts they could find their way back in. But my sheets were clean, and I practically fell into the bed, curling onto my side.

For a few moments, I lay there, fighting tears stinging my eyes. At this point, I was not even certain what or who exactly I was crying for—my mother, my father, my sister, or myself.

Perhaps I only cried because everything in my life felt so unfair.

But the world did not care about fairness.

It rewarded those who already had, like Sheriff Roland, who believed he was entitled to anything and anyone as if it were his right by birth.

Casamir was no different, and I found myself at the mercy of both.

I buried my face in my pillow, eyes heavy, and drifted off to sleep, only to be woken suddenly by a loud knock at the door. Sitting up, I stared blankly at the door, heart hammering in my chest as the sound continued, rattling my bones. I felt as though I had just fallen asleep. My eyes were like jelly, and my body was damp with sweat.

“Yes?” I shouted groggily.

“Prince Casamir has summoned you,” said the voice on the other side.

I did not recognize it as Naeve’s raspy shout and did not respond. I groaned and fell back into bed, wondering what the prince would do if I did not come when he called.

Did I wish to find out?

I rose from the bed and knocked on the doors to the armoire.

“Hello?” I called. “I need to dress for dinner!”

There was no response.

I tried the doors but they still seemed to be locked. My knocking went unanswered.

Growling, I turned, catching my reflection in the now-darkened window. I would not leave this room dressed only in this robe, and I certainly wouldn’t attend dinner with Casamir like this, not after the encounters I’d had with him since I arrived at his palace. So I returned to bed.

It did not take long for my eyes to grow heavy again, and just as sleep was about to take me, the door to my room burst open.

Casamir stood in the doorway, his dark and regal presence filling the room like night.

He was stunning.

Like all elven princes, I reminded myself, but there was something about this one. I had not felt so attracted to the others.

He was different, though I did not know why or how. Perhaps it had something to do with his eyes, which were swallowed by pools of black, or his full lips, which were frustratingly pressed together. Whatever it was, my body knew when he was near and burned with a desire so keen, I found myself pressing my thighs together to suppress it.

“Did I not say come when I call?”

I narrowed my eyes. “Your creatures would not dress me.”

“I do not care,” he said, moving farther into the room until he stood at the foot of my bed menacingly, hands braced against the footboard. “Come as you are. Come when I call.”

I glared at him and then shoved off my blankets and the bed, standing before him.

His eyes darkened as they roved over my body, veiled only in the shimmering, sheer robe his people had provided, and despite what he had said, I knew I would have seen something angry and possessive behind his eyes if I had shown up to dinner like this.

Without a word, he crossed to the wardrobe and beat on the door. When the fae answered, it was with a vicious expression until they saw Casamir, at which point they blanched.

“A gown for my guest. Now.”

They slammed the door and returned in seconds with a neatly folded swath of sparkling blue fabric.

As the elven prince took it, he commanded,

“Give her what she asks for or you will live no longer behind these doors.”

The threat shook their tiny spines, and as the door shut, Casamir gave me the dress.

“Change.”

I took it and stared.

“Will you stand and watch?”

“Why do you ask such questions when I have watched you bathe and dress before?”

“These are the actions of a lover, which you are not.”

“I could be your lover,” he said.

The comment was delivered so softly, it stunned me into silence. For a moment, I could only stare, and when I recovered, I cleared my throat and attempted a sharp reply.

“I would have to like you.”

“Who says there must be like? There is passion and pleasure in hate.”

I was not sure why it mattered to me, but somehow, I did not wish to give him the satisfaction of watching me. Perhaps I wanted it to feel like a punishment…like rejection. I turned from him and shed the robe, then stepped into the dress. As I slipped the sleeves on my shoulders, Casamir’s hands were on the laces, pulling and tightening. I shivered as his fingers brushed against me.

The ease and intimacy of his actions burned my skin, and yet I did not dissuade him. I told myself it was because lacing my dress would be too difficult on my own and not because I had desired his touch from the moment he walked into the room.

“Do you help all your guests dress?” I asked, and while I managed to keep my voice light, I was surprised by how much jealousy wished to seep through.

“You are not a guest,” he said.

I pondered asking him what he considered me—a prisoner, a curse, a thorn in his side—but kept quiet, and once he was finished tying the laces, I turned to face him. He offered his hand, and when I did not take it, his features grew hard.

“You have delayed my evening long enough,” he said.

“What power you have given me,” I said, amused.

He bared his teeth. “I am voracious,” he said. “I shall feast tonight. Whether on food or on you, the choice is yours.”

“I will hardly quell your appetite.”

“Oh, sweet thing, I think you will.”

The way he spoke was not lost on me, as if he and I were an inexorable truth.

I took his hand and let him lead me from my room, and as we passed into the hall that led to the portico, I could not help staying close to him to keep distance between me and the wall of thorned vines.

He glanced at me. “Afraid of my flowers?”

“Mistrusting,” I corrected. “As with all things fae.”

“But you are fae.”

The urge to tell him to stop saying that clawed up my throat, but I did not speak, fearing if I did, he would torture me with those words.

We were quiet for only a beat, and then he spoke. “You spent time in my garden.”

It was as if he were making an observation, and then I wondered if he had been watching me. Had he heard me speak with the selkie?

I glanced at him. “Is that a question?”

“Did you enjoy it?”

“Enjoy is not a word I would use to describe anything I have experienced here thus far.”

I glanced at Casamir, noticing how his jaw popped as he ground his teeth.

“Why do I doubt you have enjoyed anything in your life thus far?”

I jerked my hand away from him and curled my fingers into fists as they hung at my sides.

We did not speak, and as we entered an unfamiliar part of Casamir’s castle, I stayed one step behind, allowing him to lead. I hated how I now wished I had the warmth of his hand in mine. It was anchoring in this unfamiliar place, but I refused to reach for him and buried that want.

I needed no one.

Life had taught me that. Why else would it take away everyone who loved me?

We passed down a corridor, one side open to the night, and while I had watched it suspiciously before, I was suddenly distracted by the beauty of the vaulted ceiling, which was divided into sections by molding, detailed with vines and roses. The ceiling itself was painted blue, deep like the sky on a cold winter morning.

The hall opened into a dining room, which was dark, save for a few burning candles. A long banquet table ran down the center of the room, packed with tall candelabras, bouquets of weeping flowers, and platters of food. The smell of roasted goose curled into my nose and made my stomach roar with hunger.

“Where is your court?” I asked as Casamir made his way to the head of the table, noting that we were alone.

“Here and there,” he answered as he sat. “Perhaps we will join them after you have eaten.”

A trickle of unease shook my spine. I did not fancy an evening spent with tricky fae.

“Sit.”

He indicated a spot beside him that was already set for me. I did so, though hesitantly, eyeing the food.

“Help yourself,” he said.

I didn’t, though my stomach gurgled loudly.

“There are rumors about fae food,” I said. “Is it true if I eat here, I will remain in your realm forever?”

“The only way you will remain is if you do not guess my name,” he said.

I watched him and he watched me. I wondered what he was looking for, wondered what I was looking for in him. Perhaps some sort of sign that I believed him. But my hunger won out and I filled my plate. The elven prince offered wine, which he poured into a gold chalice.

“Will you not eat?” I asked.

In answer, the prince plucked an apple from the cornucopia of fruit and bit into the crisp flesh. I watched his mouth as he ate, unable to keep myself from thinking about how his lips had skated across my skin.

“Pleased?” he asked.

Hardly.

I turned to my own food and chose a round globe grape to start. As I bit into the fruit, the juice burst from my mouth. I wiped it away with my fingers, sucking the stickiness from them.

When I glanced at Casamir, his mouth had hardened into a tight line, and his long nails had cut into the tender apple.

“Pleased?” I returned.

He narrowed his eyes and set the apple down. We stared at one another, and then I focused on my food, conscious that he was watching my every move. I felt his eyes on me—on my hands as I reached for another grape, on my mouth as I bit into it, on my tongue as it darted out to clean my lips.

“What progress have you made toward discovering my name?” he asked.

“None save what you gave this morning, seven letters.”

“The selkie gave you no direction?”

I did not wish to discuss what the selkie had given me, so instead, I asked, “Is the selkie a prisoner too?”

“I suppose that depends on what you consider a prisoner.”

“Anyone here against their will.”

“Then I suppose he is a prisoner.”

“What did he do to incur your wrath?”

“He lured one of my own into his trap, so I lured him into a trap, and now he lives in my pond, where he sings and seduces the vulnerable and convinces them to set him free.”

I did not speak, recalling the selkie’s words.

One day when you rule this castle, you will return me to the sea.

“Will you visit him again?” he asked, the words light and careful. I got the sense that he had to work to control his voice.

“Yes,” I said. “Tomorrow.”

A strange tension built between us, a push and pull. I think the elven prince wished to know if the selkie had succeeded in seducing me, but I remained quiet and let him seethe in his uncertainty. What care should he have over who had touched me?

I was not his.

“You are beautiful,” he said after a long moment of silence.

I was in the middle of biting into another grape when he spoke, and I froze at his words and their stiff sound. It was as if he were forcing himself to speak them.

“Excuse me?”

“I said you look beautiful.”

His brows were low, his features tense, and yet he continued to hold my gaze as he spoke.

“Why do you seem so angry about it?”

“I’m not,” he snapped. “I told you you were beautiful. Be grateful.”

“Fuck you.”

I took the goblet and tossed the contents at Casamir; the red wine dripped down his face like blood.

He stood so suddenly, the table quivered, and I flinched, pressing myself into my chair, which seemed to stun him. His eyes, which had filled with black, returned to normal.

“Who hurt you?” he asked and remained standing, fingers curled, as if he might leave the moment I answered his question.

“What do you mean?”

“There are bruises on your back. Who hurt you?” he asked again. “I need a name.”

I was quiet for a moment, uncertain of what to say. It was not that I wanted to protect Roland. It was more that I did not wish to share my life with this prince. Still, Roland had chosen me to break the curse of the well, and he had done so believing he could pose as my rescuer.

I could make this go away. Marry me.

Even if he had not meant it, disgust twisted in my stomach at the thought of wedding the sheriff, at the thought of spending the rest of my life beneath him, bearing his children and his expectation that I would be an obedient wife.

Stranger still that he thought I would be what he wanted.

“I fell down a well,” I said.

“Is that how my brother died?”

“I wish it were that simple,” I said. If it were, I would not feel so guilty for what I did.

“What did you do?” he asked, his words whispered in the space between us.

“He guided me from the well, and I thought he would leave once he was free, but instead, he raced back toward it. I fought him, and in the struggle…he died.”

I left out the part where I bashed his brains in, though I had no doubt Casamir knew.

“I was told I had to kill the toad in the well. It never occurred to me I could do anything else.”

“Who told you to kill him?”

When I did not speak, he prompted, “Was it the man who threw you down the well?”

I met his gaze, and neither of us spoke.

“I will learn his name,” Casamir promised. “And when I speak it, I will curse him to die a terrible death.”

“Why would you do that?” I asked, confused by his concern.

“Because he hurt you,” the prince said simply. Then he extended his hand. “Come.”

I hesitated, my hunger hardly sated. Still, I pressed my fingers into his, and he guided me from my seat toward another door on the opposite side of the dining room.

“Do you blame me?” I asked, unable to keep from doing so. “For your brother’s death?”

“Yes,” he said, and in the silence that followed, I felt guilt wash over me. “But you are asking the wrong question.”

I eyed him. “What question should I ask?”

“If I care.”

“Do your brothers care?”

“I imagine they do, or you would not be here.”

He spoke apathetically, and rather than putting me at ease, it only made me angry. It would be easier to accept that I was a prisoner of someone who deeply loved the one they lost.

“Have you ever cared for anyone?”

I did not intend to sound so derisive, but I couldn’t help it. If he could not stand up for those he loved, what did he stand for?

“I care for myself,” he said. “I am all I need.”

“Why am I not surprised?” I muttered.

If Casamir heard me, he did not speak. Instead, the doors before us opened to reveal his court and their unabashed revelry. The ballroom—at least I assumed that was where we were—looked more like a grove, ringed with trees, laden with glowing will-o’-the-wisps that cast a pale light on the crowd below. The number of fae in the room surprised me, considering I had seen so few through the day. But fae thrive beneath the stars, their antics fueled by the dark, and that was true of Casamir’s court.

A cacophony of singing, deep laughter, and snickering jammed my ears, but the smell of fresh blossoms and sweet water was pleasant enough.

Fae of all types danced and drummed, dressed in the vibrant colors of new spring. My eyes moved from face to face, attempting to identify their kind, though my gaze caught on those who looked most like Casamir—tall, willowy elves who stared at me with contempt. They were all beautiful like him, cold like him, and they hated me…like him.

My heart had begun to race, and my hand tightened around Casamir’s fingers.

“Do not fret, creature,” he said and bent close, his breath hot against the shell of my ear. “No one will harm you…too much.”

He pulled me into the fray without so much as a warning, and my hands were taken by two fairies with iridescent wings, one very tall and one very short. They dragged me into their dancing ring.

“Casamir!” I bellowed as the fairies jarred me one way and then the other.

Just this morning, he had begged me to say his name, and I had done so in a heady whisper, lured by his touch, drunk on the power it gave me. Right now, I screamed it with rage. I wanted to kill him, but my murderous thoughts were soon overtaken as I tried to keep my feet beneath me. I did not believe for a second the fae would stop their merrymaking if I fell. They would pummel my body until my blood covered their feet.

The fae moved fast, coiling through the grove, hand in hand, while others danced around us. I craned my neck this way and that, searching for any sign of Casamir, but it was almost as if he remained just out of sight—a shadow in my peripheral, a literal thorn in my side.

“She is looking for the prince!” one of the fairies shouted.

“She is in love!” another said, cackling viciously.

“I am not in love!” I snapped bitterly.

I was angry, and when I got my hands on him, he would pay.

The fairies broke from their line, and the tall one took both my hands. We spun, the weight of our bodies fully in our heels, and I thought that if she let go, I might fly into the sky. Hopefully when I landed, it would be on the Glass Mountains, I thought.

But the fae did not let go, and she pulled me back into a line, skipping as she went, and soon I felt my body relax into something more malleable. There was something provocative about the grove, about the smell of woodsmoke and the sweat beading off my skin and the pace at which we moved. My body grew damp, and a fire kindled deep in my belly. My face felt warm and flushed, my breasts heavy as arousal tore through me, as fierce and as violent as it had the night I met Casamir.

I was not sure how long I danced, but I knew that my feet hurt, and by morning, they would be covered in blisters. Part of me wanted to stop, part of me wanted to keep going, and part of me wanted to fuck.

Someone pushed me from behind, and I stumbled forward, hands planting on the bare chest of a fae with curly hair and the feet of a goat. He wore a halo of leaves that sat just behind two black horns that curled out of his head. He spun me and another fae took my hands, then another and another, until strong arms enveloped me and I looked up to find Casamir.

His face was warm in the glow of the fire, but his eyes were all black. His hands pressed into my back, my body bowing against the hard contours of him. In his embrace, the sounds of the grove fell away and the air grew thicker, heavier. My eyes lowered with the weight of it.

His hand came up to my cheek, and his thumb brushed my lips.

“Creature,” he whispered, inclining his head as if to kiss me, but before his lips could touch mine, my legs gave way and I fell into a darkness as deep as the well.