A Dance with the Fae Prince by Elise Kova

Chapter 2

“The mysterious Lord Fenwood.”Laura leans against the doorframe as I pack my meager things. News has traveled fast, expectedly, since there are only about five people at the manor at any given time. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen this particular lord at any events.”

“I think he’s a recluse.” Helen is opposite her sister. She has hardly ever come to my room. Seeing her here is an unwelcome oddity. “I’ve only ever heard him mentioned. They say he lives up north of town, that his estate is right at the edge of the forest.”

“Oh, him!” Laura claps her hands. “I’ve heard townsfolk say he is an ancient wizard.” She spins to face me as if this prospect is the best news she’s heard in months. “If he teaches you magic, promise me you’ll show me?”

“He’s not going to teach me magic.” Still, the optimism of my youngest sister tries to tug a smile onto my face, at least until Helen does her level best at squelching any joy that might exist between us.

“She wouldn’t be taught magic. She would be consumed for it. I hear wizards exclusively drink the warm blood of freshly killed maidens and dance with horned fae in the moonlight.”

“If he drank only the blood of freshly killed maidens there would be no young women left in the village.” I roll my eyes and try to conceal the fact that I am actually somewhat alarmed that neither of my sisters know anything concrete about this man. They’re so embroiled in the social circles of the greater area that if they don’t know him then no one does. I had been hoping for some information on my new circumstances. “And no one dances with fae in the moonlight. If you get that close to a fae, you’d be dead.”

“Assuming fae are real at all.” Helen doesn’t believe the old stories. She’s too practical, she grew up farther inland and closer to her mother’s mines…farther away from the woods and their tales. She thinks Laura and I are ridiculous for our suspicions. Yet she’ll absolutely refuse to go into the woods herself. “It’s far more likely that he’s some horrible, wrinkly old hermit looking for a young woman to make his own.”

“I’m sure he’s wonderful,” Laura insists. “And we will come and visit you and your new husband within the month. I hear Mother is going to buy a new carriage, hire a driver, and get three new footmen for the manor—and that’s just the start! You’ll have to come back and see the spoils your marriage has bought.”

Laura means well, but she doesn’t realize the dagger her words are.

I’m no better than a prized hog. But at least I could be of some use to her.

“It will be nice to finally have some real help around here,” Helen says with a disapproving glance in my direction.

I did everything I could, and then some, for them. When Helen and Joyce first moved in, I tried to make them my family. I began doing things as they asked, when they asked, because I wanted to be a “good daughter.” By the time I realized they were turning me into their personal servant, it had gone on too long for there to be any hope of stopping it. Then Joyce began to encourage Father to spend more time on ships. And after the incident on the roof… I never even dreamed of contradicting them ever again.

“I’m sure you both will be very happy here for years to come,” I say.

“Until our own weddings,” Laura stresses. She just can’t wait to get married off to some charming lord. As the youngest and by far the most beautiful of us, she’ll have her pick of men.

“Katria, come along now, you don’t want to keep your new husband waiting.” Joyce appears behind her daughters, eying the trunk she gave me. “Oh, good. I thought it might all fit in that small trunk.” Joyce looks around the room with disdain. A small room, filled with a small amount of things, for a woman she tried to make small her entire life.

I vow then that I will never let this new husband or anyone else make me feel small. I will try with all my might to stand tall. I will never live cowering again.

“Let’s go.” I sling my lute onto my back and hoist my trunk.

We four trudge out to the wide veranda at the front of the manor. It’s there that I get my first look at the butler who negotiated for my fate. He’s tall despite having a bit of a hunch to his back, wiry, with beady black eyes and slicked-back gray hair. His clothes are fine, not overly adorned but clearly of good make. The kind of wealth that doesn’t scream at you but whispers with easy confidence. Joyce could learn a thing or two from him.

“You must be Lady Katria,” he says with a bow. He then looks to Joyce and motions to the chest at his side. “Here are the four thousand pieces, as promised.”

“As you already observed, this is Katria. And here is her dowry.” Joyce holds out a small parcel wrapped in silk. The butler unwraps it, checks its contents, and then reverently re-wraps the tome. My hands shake as I fight the urge to snatch it from his grasp.

“Excellent, all is in order. If you’ll follow me, Lady Katria.”

It strikes me as I’m halfway down the main stair between the veranda and drive that this might be the last time I walk this path. I don’t know if I will want to return to this house, or the people living in it. I look behind me, up at them, and behind farther still to catch a final glimpse of the beautiful, time-worn paintings on the ceiling of the entry.

Mother wasn’t meant to live here for very long, my father would say. Maybe, neither was I. Maybe I’m just fulfilling my destiny of leaving this place a bit too late.

I’m almost at the carriage when the clopping of hooves distracts me. Cordella leads Misty around the house from the side stables. She gives a wave.

“Miss, I figured you would not want to be leaving without this one.”

I breathe a sigh of relief. Everything is happening so fast I wonder what else I’ve overlooked. Or what else I assumed would sort itself out.

“Cordella.” Joyce’s voice is like a whip, cracking through the cool air. “Take that beast back to the stables.”

“What? Misty is mine.”

“I’m sure your husband would delight in giving you a new horse, a better horse, as a wedding present. Don’t be a selfish girl and deny him that,” Joyce scolds.

“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 saidthat 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?”

“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.