Seventeen

EVE

My longing for action wasn't as great as my need for sleep after a hot bath. It only took me a few minutes to work the knobs after remembering how Shyllon had done it before. Waking up, however, wasn't nearly as easy as falling asleep had been.

"Rise and shine, Princess!"

I startled awake as someone unceremoniously ripped the covers from my body, exposing my bare legs to the cold chamber air. Another servant was already tending to the fireplace in the corner, coaxing a new fire to form.

Calten stood with my covers in his hands, grinning like his birthday had come early. He wore a black coat and cloak with a purple insignia of a crown with a sword slicing it open. Black boots and gloves completed his dark attire.

"Wha?" I mumbled unintelligibly, unsure if I was being attacked or simply provoked.

"The day is wasting. I have errands to run and Shyllon insisted I take you with me."

A heavy work dress hit me in the face and I sputtered, gathering the warm fabric in my hands.

"Uh … ok."

Calten hovered with his hands on his hips, glancing around the room. "Oh, and be sure to only eat from this platter."

He pointed out one on the right, filled with delicious-looking pastries. I hurriedly worked the leather ties on the dress, making sure everything had settled properly and was secure.

"Aha! Knew he'd likely have a pair. Heads up!"

I flinched but caught the pair of soft red stockings Calten threw at my head.

"Does … Alihandro frequently have women here that they leave random bits of their clothing about?" I asked, trying to keep my voice light but failing miserably.

"Princess, let's get one thing clear here: I have better things to do than babysit you; much more important things. But I'm going to do what Shyllon asks and be gracious. So put the stockings on, follow me, and try to keep your mouth shut."

Succinct, but honest. I should appreciate that, right?

I sat on the edge of the bed and tugged on the stockings, locating my boots and putting them over the top.

Calten disappeared into one of the large wooden wardrobes, emerging with a black cloak triumphantly. "Probably small, but you're bigger than most, aren't you?"

I ignored his quip and snatched the cloak, throwing it around my shoulders. It ended hilariously short above my knees, but it was warm, at least.

"Follow."

I snagged a lemon pastry from the ‘safe' tray he'd indicated. Calten's nose wrinkled as I stayed on his heels through the door and down the hallway, his displeasure for today's task obvious.

Two human servants opened the door for us and Calten gave them a small nod of acknowledgement. I eyed both of them, but neither would look at me as we made our outside.

The morning air was cold—much colder than I'd thought possible for how warm it was in the evening. My breath puffed out in a white cloud in front of me, reminding me of dawn back at my country manor. I hoped the horses were being cared for properly now that I was gone.

The air wouldn't feel so biting if it weren't for the horrible wind.

A smooth cobblestone road curled away and down the hill, different colored stones used to make a decorative pattern down the middle. Rolling hills and pastures surrounded us. The grass ranged from rich greens to a dark blue. Everything sparkled with a fresh layer of frost. Questions about temperature and the seasons burst on my tongue, but I kept them in check.

"Hmm. I was hoping Dally would be around—oh! There he is!" Calten waved energetically as a rickety wagon rolled up to the side of the manor, an older man gingerly stepping down and patting the even older horse fondly on the neck. I immediately liked him; anyone who was kind to his horse could be trusted, right?

"Going into the market?" Calten asked hopefully, raising his voice just a tinge too loud, in my opinion, but it was hard to hear over the roar of the wind.

The old man grunted, looking up wildly around him as if taken by surprise. His flat flattened out when he spied us.

"Oh, it's you. I suppose you want a ride? Can't get those pretty boots of yours dirty," he grumbled.

I hung back as Calten eagerly approached, ignoring the man's prickly attitude. "Dally, you know you like me. Quit fighting it."

The old man harrumphed, but the ghost of a smirk turned the corner of his mouth. "Hop in. The girl, too."

I held out my hand eagerly. "My name is—"

"Don't need to know. Don't care to know. Move."

I frowned, my fingertips growing cold as my hand hung suspended in the empty air. More human servants spilled out of a side door to the manor, loaded down with wooden crates. I barely got out of the way before they bowled me over, quickly stacking the wagon until it was full to the brim. Dally slammed the wooden gate closed and latched it.

Calten swung himself up onto the back of the wagon, gripping the edge tightly and balancing on the back bumper of the car. "Plenty of room, still."

I shot him an incredulous glance, but climbed up and balanced next to him, wrapping an arm through the wooden gate to keep myself stable.

"Free ride, Princess. This is how we do it in the fae realm."

Dally gave a soft click from in front of us, and the cart lurched forward.

As we headed down the hill, I tried again to make conversation. "What are you going into town for?"

"Food."

"What kind of food?"

"The foody kind."

"Do you do this often?"

"Do you ever shut your mouth?"

"How long have you been sucking Shyllon's cock?" I fired back, determined to catch him off guard.

His eyes widened fractionally before he schooled his features and leveled me with a glare. "Was Alihandro the first fae dick you took? By the screams coming from the balcony last night, I bet it was."

My face flushed bright red, but I fought to keep my composure and my grip on the back of the cart as we hit a ditch. "It was better than any man I've had." I eyed him up and down dispassionately. "But that's not saying much, is it?"

His lips parted a moment before he barked out a laugh, his eyes sparking with mischief. "Well, you aren't as dull as I expected. You might survive all of this."

Embarrassment flooded my cheeks, but I fought to keep a neutral expression. "You don't like me, do you?".

His face was serious as he readjusted his grip on the wagon, leaning over close to my ear. "I dislike anything that's a danger to my prince," he admitted.

"I don't see how that involves me," I shot back. Shyllon was a prince, after all, and I was just a measly human girl.

Calten laughed again, but this time it was a dry sound void of any humor or mirth.

"Shyllon is well-liked by nobles and the common people alike—something Fennis can't stand about him. But there is one thing that will always trump the cherished prince."

He paused as Dally hit another pothole, cutting the conversation off as we both clutched harder to the wooden slats of the wagon.

I waited for him to continue.

Instead, Callen stared out over the landscape, blond hair ruffling slightly in the breeze from the cart.

"Well?" I demanded, unable to take the silence.

He had the audacity to raise a sarcastic eyebrow at me.

"Well what?"

I bit back a growl. He had me, and he was enjoying it far too much. For now, I'd play his game.

"What trumps a prince?" I grit out.

His smile was sad, and a bit wistful.

"The beloved queen."

I blinked as the cart came to a slow stop, halting any other attempts at conversation or insults.

We'd stopped in a town square more grand than any of the towns I'd seen back home. The fae manors weren't as rich in splendor as Ellis's castle, but it was obvious why. The town itself was plentiful and rich, with large, sturdy houses built out of yellow stone or the green serpentine stone the king had told me about. A fountain made of swirling green and gold stone sat in the center. Clear water burst from the bronze fae's outstretched hands, falling to land at the metal garden entwined around its feet.

I glanced around in awe. The buildings were orderly in their neat little rows, everything clean and tidy despite the people moving about. It was busy, but not oppressively crowded like our markets could get, and it lacked the desperation. Humans (with only a stray fae here or there) bought their produce without the frantic pleas of a mother unable to afford to feed her children, and with yelling and shaking of fists. Everything was calm.

What strange new world was this?

"Thanks, Dally, you're the best!" Calten popped off the cart, landing lightly on his feet as the older man shuffled toward us to release the gate. I jumped down as well, nearly rolling my ankle in the process, not nearly as graceful.

Dally waved us away with an impatient arm, but his face reddened at the peck Calten left on his cheeks.

I lingered, watching uneasily as Dally struggled to get the gate down and lift the first crate.

"Shouldn't we help?"

Calten rolled his eyes. "Go ahead. Try to help him. See what happens."

The eagerness in his tone told me it would be nothing fun for me, so, uneasily, I let Dally be and followed Calten as he wound his way through the thickening crowd.

"Hey golden boy!"

"How's the manor?"

"Your mother doing better? Iris says hello! Come stop by and see her!"

I had to grab the back of Calten's cloak to keep a hold of him as people pressed in toward us, smiling and waving. It wasn't physically overwhelming, but I wasn't used to such … leisure. Calten stopped and chatted a bit with every person who stopped him. Surely, he didn't actually know everyone here, did he?

Thankfully, the wind died down, making conversations a bit more bearable.

"Tell Iris I'm sorry I haven't been able to check in as much. Things are getting complicated."

I would have had to have been blind to miss the quick side look Calten shot toward me. The middle-aged woman he was talking to wasn't nearly as subtle, her eyes widening as she stared comically at me, her mouth making a pert little ‘O' of surprise before she firmly shut it. She set the large basket she carried stuffed with fresh bread down at the ground.

To avoid the awkwardness, I took in her clothes and dress. Layers seemed to be the order of the day for everyone. Her dress wasn't as thick or heavy as mine, but she wore it with several cloaks, thick leggings, and a warm hood with pure white fur trim. I stared. I'd only ever seen pure white fur on high-ranking members of the court or the royal family itself.

Maybe the fae didn't have silly rules about who could wear what?

It begged the question: in a society where humans were ‘slaves' to the fae, why did everyone in this town seem happy, fed, and dressed better than me? I'd had all I needed as the daughter of a minor lord, but most of my nicer clothing (including my fur trimmed cloaks) had been hand-me-downs from my dead mother.

"This is Eve." Calten's voice rocked me back to the conversation at hand, and I tore my eyes away from the woman to glance at him in surprise. He was the first person here to introduce me by my name, and not some ridiculous moniker.

The woman stuck her hand out at me, a look of awe on her face. I stared at it, unsure. In court, you didn't shake hands.

I reached out and lightly grasped her fingers in mine before I could think twice about it. The woman gave me a small grin and pumped my hand up and down once before letting go. I drew my fingers back into the depths of my cloak for warmth.

"It's a pleasure. Now I'll get to tell all the other ladies in the kitchens I've met her before them. Argie will be jealous." She gave me a final once over before giving Calten a kiss on his cheek. "Behave. And finish up your business before it gets too hot. You didn't dress her properly."

Calten bowed his head as if embarrassed. "Working on it. Tell Iris I'll be by this week, hopefully."

The woman's lips thinned. "You'd better."

She turned on her heel and picked up the large basket, quickly disappearing into the throng.

I glanced down at my clothes, frowning. I was nice and warm in the cold morning air—what wasn't proper about that?

"Eve, move."

I hurried to catch up to Calten who strode through the town square with a familiarity and ease that I envied.

"Why are you calling me Eve now? Tired of Princess?" I argued weakly, dodging a puddle and a man carrying four crates of eggs stacked up to his head.

Calten pulled me out of the way of a horse and cart and onto the threshold of a shop with a rainbow of flowing, colorful fabrics displayed in the window. None of the buildings had actual doors, which I thought was interesting. How did you keep thieves and beggars out?

The answer was glaringly simple: there weren't any. "To the common folk here, you're Eve. Back at the manor you're Princess. That's not so hard now, is it?"

He pushed me forward into the shop, a wave of heat hitting me from a small brazier set up just inside the door.

"Marcell! New girl!" Calten called into the depths of the shop, shedding his outer cloak and gloves, and hanging them on a small rack by the door.

It was stifling here with the brazier.

I followed mutely behind him, taking off my cloak as well while staring at all the garments. Pants, tunics, dresses, skirts … it was all here and in every shade of color and every fabric imaginable, in no particular order. How were you supposed to find anything?

My hand reached out toward a pale blue dress covered in shimmering white diamonds. Surely only the fae were allowed to shop here, or were the only ones who could afford it?

"Calten! You didn't tell me you were coming! Naughty boy!"

A middle-aged man and his wife emerged from the back of the shop. Both had graying hair that was once brown, but that wasn't what caught my eye first. The rich, green silk of the woman's dress matched her eyes perfectly, which sparkled at me just as much as the expensive gems sewn into her gown.

It was probably worth more than anything I'd seen a member of the royal family back in the Northern Kingdom wear!

Her husband was more understated, but not by much. The cut of the velvet was impeccable, both his tunic and trousers fitting him perfectly. Was that gold thread lining his pants and cufflinks?

"Sorry for the late notice. You know how Prince Shyllon is," Calten grumbled good-naturedly, the small smile at the corner of his mouth giving him away.

The wife eyed me curiously. "There have been rumors that—"

"This is Eve," Calten cut across her, grabbing my hand and bringing me forward. "She needs … Well, everything."

The woman blanched, and the man blinked.

"Everything?" he asked slowly, eyes widening.

Calten smirked. "Everything."

My lips parted as I whipped around to face him. "What? Why? There is an entire wardrobe of things back at the manor!" I argued, distressed at having to owe anyone anything, let alone the amount it would take to buy an entire wardrobe of the quality here.

"The wardrobe at Shyllon's is full of things! They might not all fit me, but this hardly seems necessary." I tried to appeal to the faces around me, but they looked bemused. "Isn't there someone else who needs such garments? Surely there is someone else. Someone in desperate need of clothes?"

The wife gave me a slow look, up and down, and raised one eyebrow.

My face flushed red as wine.

Calten laughed. "You are in need, Eve. Look at you! In a white shift a foot too short for you, with borrowed boots and borrowed cloaks. The inconsistent sizes do nothing for your stature."

I still couldn't believe that was their biggest concern.

"You're telling me there isn't a poor woman somewhere who could make better use of them?" I picked at the edges of my cloak, which were worn but still perfectly serviceable. "I have clothes. Surely, there are those who don't?"

Calten chuckled. "What are you going on about? Do you think there are people running around out there with no clothes? How ridiculous. That isn't actually a thing where you're from. You're lying."

Marcell and his wife gave polite chuckles, but my mind reeled.

"What? You're saying there's no—no poor here?" I squeaked out, desperately confused. "You're all slaves, though. Right?" The last word was a whisper, because my perception of reality was spinning so far out of control, I wasn't certain of anything anymore.

Calten gave me a pat on the head, but it wasn't mocking. He was frowning in mild confusion. "They insist we are slaves. But that doesn't mean we don't have basic needs taken care of. As long as we work for a fae, they provide."

It sounded so simple. It couldn't be, could it?

"Your basic needs. How do you buy food and clothing?" I asked.

Calten shrugged. "We go to the market. Surely you have markets back in your realm."

I tamped down the urge to pinch him. "But how do you pay?" I pressed, my teeth grinding together.

"Pay? Oh, you mean gold and jewels? Only the fae trade those among themselves. We don't have a use for them," Calten finished.

I pinched my brow. What was so difficult to understand? "Today. We are here getting clothes."

Calten nodded slowly as if I were the one who didn't understand. As if finally remembering why we were all here, Marcell's wife made a little ‘oh' noise and rushed off, pulling clothes into her arms in an order that only made sense to her.

"What will these merchants get for the clothing?" I asked, voice straining.

"Lord Vlaylon is our patron," Marcell offered warily as if I were the crazy one.

Stay calm.

"And what does a patron do?" I managed.

"The patrons ensure the workers have everything they need," Calten cut in. "Here, Lord Vlaylon ensures they bring only the best fabrics for their use. Marcell and his wife are the best tailors we have, so they are in charge of the shop."

"And who makes the fabrics?" I challenged.

Calten sighed heavily. "Other workers who are not as skilled with fabrics, but wish to improve their craft. Enough. You must try on clothes."

His hand on my lower back pushed gently forward toward a partitioned off curtain, where Marcell's wife waited with a mountain of clothes. I stopped short. I think I'd rather be back in the Royal Hunt.

"Eve …" Calten groaned.

"So there is no money here? No currency?" I asked point blank.

Calten glared at me.

I glared back.

He glared some more, and Marcell's wife coughed uncomfortably. I picked up one of the lightweight, gauzy dresses, raising an eyebrow.

Calten's lips pursed.

"No currency. What need would we have for it? If we need clothes, we come here. If we are hungry, we see the baker or the butcher, or the gardeners. We have healers. We have school teachers for the children to discover their talents for future fae patrons. Try on the gown."

I let Marcell's wife guide me behind the curtain and disrobe me, my mind spinning.

No money! It was insane. But it also meant that if there was no money, no one could be poor. Technically. So even though they were slaves, every need seemed cared for. The fae ensured the humans living here got fed, clothed, educated.…

What kind of world did I come from if we were all free men but sick and starving for want of basic necessities? How could these literal slaves who were told exactly what to do in life—be happier and healthier than my kingdom or any of the others from our realm?

"That's all well and good, but it only works in theory, and as long as those in power don't abuse it."

The shopkeeper had nothing to say to that.

"Stand still. I need to pin this," his wife said instead.

I glanced down. She looked much more threatening with dozens of sharp needles sticking out of her mouth, and a look of fierce concentration in her eyes.

"What's your name?" I asked.

"Jeni," she huffed or at least that's what it sounded like.

She tugged the fabric sharply around my hips, then glared at me when I moved a step forward with the momentum of the movement.

"Do you like it here?" I tried.

"Lord Vlaylon has given me the honor of High Tailor. He chose my husband and I above all others," she said proudly, then clucked with disapproval at the few inches of ankle left showing above the dress's skirt.

"I can add to it. Next dress."

I pulled it over my head and she snatched it from me before I could drop it, already holding out the next dress with matching knit stockings. As I pulled them on, I tried a different tactic.

"What if you didn't want to be a tailor anymore? What if you wanted to do something else?"

Jeni snorted, eyeing me with amusement. "And what else would I do? I am trained to be a tailor, so I am a tailor." She shook her head like I was a child babbling nonsense. "High Tailor."

I kept quiet then, just wanting it to be over.

I couldn't reconcile the dead bodies of Ellis's family in my mind with these content, willing slaves before me. How was this the same murderous fae society that threw us all into death games for their entertainment?

Outside of the shop, children raced past the windows, pointed ears mixing with rounded ones. Fae, humans, and half-breeds all mingled without discrimination here. They were happy and thriving.

What was going on?

I resolved to find out.