A Dance with the Fae Prince by Elise Kova

Chapter 3

Dinner isin 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.

A voice cuts through the silence and my thoughts, resonating deep in my core. It has the same tonal quality as the low growl of a wolf and sparks a prey instinct within me. Run, my better sense urges at the sound. Run far from here, this is not a place for you.

“Do not turn,” he says.

Despite myself, I glance over my shoulder. Instinct, really. When someone speaks, I look. I wasn’t intending to disobey… Not this time, at least.

“I said don’t turn.”

My eyes snap forward again. “I only saw a bit of your shoulder. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“Oren has been over the rules, has he not?”

“Yes.” The man I’m speaking to is of tall build, judging from where his shoulder came up to on the doorframe. But that’s all I can tell about him. He’s leaning against the wall to the side of the door, as if he knew I would try and look upon him despite his order.

“This is the final rule that you must know,” he says. “Under no circumstances are you to ever lay eyes on me.”

“What?” I whisper, fighting every urge to look over my shoulder once more.

“Oren informed me that you wished to meet with me. I am obliging you, as is now my duty. However, I will only do so if you swear to never look at me.”

The chairs now make sense. I wonder if he is horribly disfigured. Maybe he’s just cripplingly shy. Whatever the reason, I have no want to make him uncomfortable.

“That’s fine with me.” I take my seat in the wingback that faces the windows, my back to the door. “I’m grateful you took the time to meet with me.”

I hear his footsteps across the floor. He has a wide gait, further confirmation that he’s as tall as I suspected. His steps are light, almost silent. He walks like I do, as if he’s trying to never make a sound. I can’t imagine him being a very muscular man, given his footsteps. No…I’m imagining him as a wiry individual. Not much older than me, judging from the strength of his voice. I try and steal a glimpse of him in the watery reflection of the windows but the room is already much too dark for that. He’s little more than a blurred shadow moving behind me.

The chair behind me sighs softly under his weight. The tiny hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. I’ve never been more aware of anyone’s presence. I have never been more tempted to do anything than turn and look and see if my every assessment about him is correct.

“Now, what is it that you would like to speak about?” he asks, somewhat curtly.

“I merely wanted to meet you, is all,” I say. “It seemed rather odd to be married to someone without ever—” I stop myself from saying “seeing them” and instead say “—speaking to them.”

“You married me without speaking to me, why does it matter now?”

I can’t tell if the fact wounds him or not. Did he hope that I would beg and plead to meet with him before signing the papers? Does he even realize that my fate was sealed with a stroke of a pen that I wasn’t even holding?

“We are going to spend our lives together,” I say. “I’d like to make that as pleasant as possible.”

“There is nothing pleasant here.”

My husband is very cheerful, it seems. I roll my eyes, grateful he can’t see my expression. “You have a nice enough house, wealth enough to do as you please, no one telling you what to do—”

“Don’t presume to know me,” he interjects sharply.

“I would be happy to, if given the chance.”

“I have no interest in you knowing me, because I have no interest in knowing you. This is an arrangement, nothing more. All you are is a bargain that I have to live up to.”

I clutch my dress over my chest, as if physically trying to shield myself from an invisible wound. What did I expect differently? What had I really been hoping for? Some great romance? Ha. The type of love in the stories young girls read isn’t true. I’ve seen “love” between my father and Joyce. That is the only love that’s real, and it is not something to want.

No, I didn’t want him to love me. But, maybe, I’d hoped I would not be seen as a burden, for once.

“Fair enough,” I say softly.

“Is there anything else? Or are you satisfied?”

“I’m satisfied.”

“Good. I expect to have no issues from you while you are here. Heed the rules, and you will want for nothing as long as you, or I, walk this mortal plane. You will never have to cross my path again.”

The chair squeaks as he stands; his footsteps fade. I wish I had something else to say, or a clear picture of what I wanted. But the fact is I’ve never been allowed to want anything in my life. I’ve been told what I can and can’t have for so long that whatever skill a person is born with to make those choices has been lost to me. It has withered and died from never being used.

I sit for almost a full ten minutes after I’m certain he’s gone, just staring out into the dark woods. Night has fallen and the moon is waning, so it’s almost impossible to make out the dark silhouettes that bar the forest. The longer I stare the more I am filled with a strange sensation that something is staring back at me.

Unable to tolerate the uneasiness any longer, I head for my own room. But as I emerge in the hall I hear footsteps in the main entry. My head slowly turns toward the door that serves as the entrance to my wing. Against my better judgment, I creep across and press my ear to the door.

There are muffled voices on the other side, but I cannot make out what they say. The words are strange, and foreign, spoken in a tongue that I don’t recognize. I tread lightly over to one of the windows that overlooks the circular drive. It’s empty. Not even the carriage that took me here is parked out front any longer.

Who is there?I wonder. Do others live here? Oren made it sound like there were only three of us in the manor. Would he lie? If so, why?

Heed the rules and you will want for nothing, Lord Fenwood said. Oren had also made those rules clear: I am not to leave my wing at night regardless of the sounds I hear. Whatever the lord gets up to in the late hours is not my business.

Fine. I don’t mind being more long-term house guest than wife.

I retreat to my room and ready myself for bed. The mattress and duvet are among the most comfortable I’ve ever felt and I quickly fall into a dreamless sleep…

Only to be woken within the hour by bloodcurdling screams.