A Dance with the Fae Prince by Elise Kova
Chapter 7
I pacethe main hall from the entrance of the dining room to the leaded glass by the doors; I peer outside and see the drive is still empty; I repeat. My skirts swoosh around my ankles, as agitated as my nerves. I wring my hands.
“This is a terrible idea. A terrible, horrible idea.” Not that I had any say in it. The letter was waiting for me next to my dinner plate last night, Oren said it arrived by way of carrier pigeon. I was shocked that a carrier pigeon could find its way out here. Even more shocked that my sisters had actually decided to make the journey to come and visit like they promised weeks ago.
Laura sounded properly giddy at the prospect. And she had mentioned making an attempt when I left. But I expected them all to be so enraptured by their four thousand pieces, their new servants to boss around, and their new dresses to try on, that I didn’t think they really would come and see me. I bite my thumbnail and curse under my breath.
Part of me is wracked with guilt for thinking so little of Laura. We’ve always had a positive relationship. Of course she would come to see me. And I can only imagine how her circumstances have changed without what little shielding I could offer from Joyce.
As far as Helen, she’s not coming to see me; she’s coming to try and make a mockery of me and no doubt relay her findings back to Joyce.
I can imagine her in the carriage, chatting Laura’s ear off about the wretched circumstances I must certainly find myself in. I stop and take a deep breath, smoothing out my skirts. That is why I’ve worn my best dress today. That is why I must show her the lovely home I now have, the weight I’ve gained from proper food and care, the luster that has returned to my hair and eyes—and most importantly, that I never think about her or Joyce anymore or their trivial desires. I am fine, no, better without those two.
At last I hear the whinny of a horse and the gravel grinding underneath carriage wheels. Gathering every last scrap of composure, I step outside and wait at the top of the three steps. Oren rode out to meet them by the main road and be their guide. He dismounts, casting me a wary look, one I share.
My sisters’ new footman opens the door to their carriage and they come bursting out.
“Katria, it’s so good to see you.” Laura rushes over, arms open wide. The sight of her fair hair reminds me of that creature in the woods. I shake off the memory and descend the stairs to meet her.
“You really didn’t have to come all this way,” I say, returning her embrace fiercely.
“I couldn’t bring Misty,” she whispers quickly. Here I was, trying to admit I hadn’t been hoping to see Misty pulling their carriage. “I tried.”
“Don’t fret over that.” I keep the words low enough that Helen can’t hear, but firm. Laura has more important things to worry about now than my old horse.
“We wanted to see how you are doing.” Helen folds her arms in her usual stance. “From the looks of it, you’re well.”
“No complaints, certainly.”
“Will you give us a tour of your lovely new home?” Laura links her arm with mine, and gazes up at the manor in awe. She no doubt sees the same things I did when I first arrived—its castle-like appearance and the well-preserved craftsmanship of bygone days.
“Let’s skip the tour,” I say, patting her arm. I had rehearsed and planned for how to avoid showing them around since a good two thirds of the manor I am not allowed to enter. “Most of it is drafty, empty, boring rooms anyway, and I would much rather spend time with you, catching up on what has been happening back in town.”
This sparks a long-winded explanation from Laura about all of the gossip of high society that I was never really a part of. She carries on as I escort my sisters to the study that the lord and I usually use for our nightly conversations. I’ve procured a third chair. And, with Oren’s help, a bottle of mead to share with them.
“What is this?” Helen asks as I pour the drink.
“It’s mead.” I hand her a glass. “I certainly had never had it until I came here. My husband is able to import it from far away.” I honestly have no idea how easy or hard this mead is to come by. But Helen looks begrudgingly impressed so it’s worth opening the bottle. Laura is beaming at the honey liquid. I hold out my glass. “Cheers, to smart, fortuitous matches.”
Our glasses clink together and we each take a seat.
“Speaking of, how is your match?” Laura asks, voice dropping to whisper. She glances to the door, as if Lord Fenwood might walk in at any moment. “He isn’t as horrible as we feared, is he?”
“Not at all, he’s positively lovely,” I say with a genuine smile. Helen’s lips purse slightly, as they do when she’s silently fuming. It prompts me to continue. “He’s been nothing but generous, kind, and understanding. He enjoys my lute playing, even. He’ll sit out in the woods with me while I play.” He’s done that a few times now over these past weeks. The last time, he trusted me enough not to try to steal a glance that he sat on the stump behind me. Our backs almost touching…which caused me to dream about his skin pressed against mine the following night.
Helen snorts. “Be realistic. No real man is sitting out enjoying your lute playing. Have you not been satisfying him enough in bed that he feels the need to go out of his way and try and woo you with such ridiculous gestures?”
I don’t know where to start with that remark. I want to insist that he genuinely likes my lute playing. But my defensiveness will only make Helen double down. Worse, just with those few words, she’s made me doubt my instincts. Even though I’ve never smelled smoke on him. Even though I sit in my new home with my new life…she manages to bring out the old me, the meek parts of myself that I still can’t shed around her.
“He has made no demands in that department.”
My sisters glance at each other. Laura leans in. “But you have fulfilled your duties as a wife, haven’t you?”
I purse my lips.
“That’s a no.” Helen seems amused by this revelation. “So he is as hideous as we expected. You couldn’t even muster up the courage.”
“It’s not— He’s not.”
“Then why did he not greet us? A bit strange for a lord of the manor not to greet his guests.”
“He’s busy during the days. And you are not normal guests, you’re kin. He knew I could handle the formalities.” I’ve been wondering what he thinks of this meeting. My Lord Fenwood doesn’t seem like the sort who enjoys unexpected houseguests.
“There is no reason why a man of sound mind and body would not take his new bride to bed, even with as merely passable looking as you are.” Helen says it as though the fact should be obvious. As if I am a foolish woman for not realizing it myself.
“Perhaps such things are not his priority.” I shift, sitting a little taller. I might have started to wonder if, or when, he would take me to bed…but I rarely let those thoughts out of their vault in the corner of my mind during daylight hours. Those are for enjoyment during the quiet hours of the late night only.
“What is his priority then?” Laura asks.
“His work.”
“Oh? Tell us about that?” She smiles as she deftly shifts the conversation, much to my relief. My little ally, even still.
“He’s a hunter.” And that is all they will know of my husband’s true profession.
Helen snorts. “No hunter catches enough game to afford land like this. I’m sure hunting is an excuse and he’s sneaking off at night to some other woman. He’s made his fortune and now plays the field.”
I think of the noises, of the rules, of the mysterious tower and whole other wing of the house that I’ve never explored or even questioned. What if he does have another woman over there? One woman by day, and one by night? I bite my lip.
Helen reaches forward to pat my knee. I almost kick her in her button nose. “There, there, many women have unfaithful husbands. But you must give him an heir to his fortunes, and quickly, if you wish to stay relevant to him. Otherwise he could put you out on the street without a second thought.”
“Don’t you think he’s hideous? If he’s so horrible looking, enough to bargain for a wife, then how could he ever get a lover?” She’s trying to break me down. Mess with me. Tear me apart. I don’t want to let her, but the frustrating thing is she’s had years to hone this skill—Joyce no doubt prepared her for this. She knows exactly what tears me down and what buttons of mine to push.
“His home is so close to the woods. He must be a hunter,” Laura interjects. “And there must be rare game somewhere the woods are this thick and old.” She leans in, eyes shining. “Maybe he hunts the fae.”
I nearly spit up my mead and instead force a laugh. “A fae hunter? Don’t be ridiculous.”
“I could imagine he must look positively dashing, all dressed for the hunt.” Laura brings the back of her hand to her forehead and swoons. I busy my mouth with another sip of mead.
Helen tilts her head. She’s inspecting me. I hate it when she does this. She’s able to put together things that no one else would see.
“You say he’s handsome…and yet you seem to doubt that. You proffer no proof, no detailed explanations of how fine he is, not even a mention of your favorite feature of him…” She hums. “You haven’t even seen him, have you?”
I open my mouth and wordlessly close it, pressing my lips into a scowl. This skill of hers has been my nemesis for ages.
Laura gasps at my silence. “Is that true? Have you even met your husband?”
“I have.” This is exactly why I didn’t want them to come. I knew they would find out the strange truths of my new arrangement. I knew they would use it against me even though I am the one in the lap of luxury. I have the husband they so desired. I have safety, security, and freedoms. Yet Joyce’s specter lingers over them, telling me that I have nothing.
“Then how could you not know…” Laura seems genuinely confused.
“We’ve only spoken when I couldn’t lay eyes on him.”
Helen sighs and shakes her head sadly. “It is a shame to see your weaknesses and inferior intellect so taken advantage of. This is why we had to protect you and keep you so close to home, Katria. If we ever let you out freely, we knew this would happen.”
My blood boils. I’m used to their jabs against me. But now they disparage the man that saved my life. They try and turn me against the one person who has not brought harm or malice toward me.
“I am not taken advantage of. I don’t know how you could possibly think it.” I motion around us. “I want for nothing. Anything I desire, if I name it, I shall have it. My husband is kind, respectful, and gentle. You should dream of a man like him.” Because a man like him would be far better than you deserve, I wish I could say aloud to her.
“And yet he refused to give you the decency of looking you in the eye when he first met you,” Helen says.
“Katria, you know I want to find this all deeply romantic…but this isn’t a storybook.” Laura grabs my hands. “It is strange he will not let you see him.”
“He’s not harmful.”
“Moreover, you don’t know where his wealth comes from.” Helen sighs. “Think about this logically, we’re just trying to help. There’s no way he affords all of this from hunting alone. He demanded only a book as your dowry. What if he’s engaged in some strange, illegal, back-channel markets?”
I know she’s not trying to help. Yet…Helen has a point, both of them do, for all I hate to admit it. If my husband is a fae hunter, as I suspect, then who does he sell his game to? Who pays him for the kills? And if he does it purely for the sake of goodness, and ridding the world of those beasts, how has he or does he make his money?
They’re all questions I don’t have the answers to. I wish I did. Because in the void of an explanation, doubt is now taking root.
“I’m worried about you,” Helen says.
“You have never been worried about me,” I snap. “All my life, you stepped on me.” Helen has the audacity to gasp, as if offended. “You turned me into your servant.”
“To protect you from the world. To ready you for it by hardening you. And you’re deflecting.” Helen wields her words like daggers, knowing just where to strike. “This isn’t about us anymore. If we were so horrible, then congratulations, you escaped us.” Helen wears a thin smile, slightly smug. She knows just how horrible she was, that expression admits it. But she’s also right, it doesn’t matter how they treated me anymore, I’m free of them. I clutch Laura’s hands a little tighter and hope she knows she’s exempt from these harsh truths. “If you want to stay escaped, you should make sure you’re secure in your new home.”
“Is that a threat?” I say.
Helen laughs. “I have no control over you, your marriage, or your new life. All I’m saying is, if your husband is engaged in something illegal and is thrown in irons, you could face destitution or be forced to share in his fate as a co-conspirator. If your husband is dallying with another woman, and decides to replace you with her, then you will be out on the street. If your husband throws his wealth around and wastes it, you will find yourself in a similar position as before…and you know what that position will be?”
My stomach churns. I know where she’s headed with this. Yet she says it anyway.
“You will have to come crawling right back to us,” Helen proclaims as she rises to her feet, lording over me as she always did whenever Joyce wasn’t around to do it herself. She’s a spitting image of her mother. “So if you don’t want that to happen, you should heed my warnings. Make yourself useful to your husband. Know the circumstances you now find yourself in. Be cunning. That’s always been your problem; you never think two steps ahead and it makes you so easy to use.” Helen looks to Laura. “We’re leaving now.”
“But we just got here.” Laura clings to me. “Can’t we at least stay the night?”
“I am not staying in this strange place with her strange husband.”
“Perhaps Oren could bring you back tomorrow?” I suggest to Laura, ignoring the instant guilt I feel for volunteering Oren without asking. But I’ve done my level best to impose on him as little as possible. And I will make all my meals for a month in gratitude for this one thing. I wouldn’t mind some time alone with Laura—to perhaps discuss ideas to get her out of that house faster, before she’s ruined by Joyce and Helen.
“Do not impose yourself,” Helen scolds her.
“It would be no imposition,” I insist.
“Mother would never want you here.”
Ah, Mother, the trump card. The unobjectionable reason. Laura rises reluctantly. Our fingers are still laced together.
“Come and visit soon, yes?” Her eyes are dimmer, duller. I can hear a piece of my heart cracking at her pain. Be strong, I want to say. A little longer and you’ll be out of there, one way or another.
“For you, yes,” I say. I will go back to that house for my sister. And maybe, maybe the next time I leave I’ll take her with me, too.
“Good.” Laura throws her arms around my shoulders and gives a tight squeeze. Helen hardly looks back once as she glides out of the manor. No doubt eager to report her findings back to Joyce.
* * *
“Strangethat your sisters would travel all this way only to turn around and leave,” Oren says as he serves me dinner.
“I’m glad they did. Well, one of them,” I mutter darkly. “If they ever send word that they are coming again, respond immediately that only Laura may come. Never open the gate for Helen or Joyce ever again. They aren’t welcome here.”
Oren stills, pitcher in both hands, my wine glass still empty. “It will be up to you from now on to decide who is or is not permitted in these halls.”
“What?” The strange phrasing snaps me out of my angry trance.
“Nothing.” Oren shakes his head, pours my wine glass. “Oh, the lord of the manor told me to inform you that he will not be able to meet with you this evening.” With that, Oren heads back toward the kitchen. Lord Fenwood hasn’t missed an evening drink in over a week now. This news only feeds my uneasiness.
“Oren.” I stop him. He looks at me with a pitying gaze. He feels sorry for me. Why? I have a few guesses. But I have a nagging feeling that look has nothing to do with my family. “You would tell me if there was something wrong, right?”
“Of course. But don’t worry, everything is as we intended.” He disappears.
All through dinner I replay his strange phrasings and mannerisms in my mind. Something was wrong. Or maybe it wasn’t, and my sisters got to me. I’m looking for excuses to find problems when there aren’t any.
I ready myself for bed, and tuck in. But sleep eludes me. I keep repeating my sisters’ words. Helen’s are cruel, certainly. And she no doubt said those things to tear me down. But that doesn’t make her wrong, either. Even Laura was concerned for me.
Should I be more worried about my situation? What if Helen is right and this freedom and comfort that I’ve found is so fragile that it can be ripped from my grasp and shattered any second? I clutch the duvet. It’s so soft…softer than anything I’ve ever owned before. I can’t give up this bed. I can’t give up my freedoms here. I won’t give up this life.
I’m on my feet. I throw a robe over my sleeping gown and leave my room. It’s a full moon tonight and the hallway is bright. I still briefly as I realize it’s been almost a month since I arrived.
Halfway to the door I begin to second-guess myself. If Lord Fenwood doesn’t want to be seen or for me to know the truth about him, then that’s his business. I should leave it be. I’m about to turn around and go back to bed when I hear multiple sets of footsteps in the main hall, thundering down the stairway, and across to the other wing of the manor.
That’s when I notice the letter that’s been slid under the door to the front hall.
Cool nausea sweeps over me as I pick up the envelope. My name is written on it in Lord Fenwood’s handwriting. I flip it over and break the seal. The letter reads like it would in my worst nightmare:
To my wife, Katria,
I have business to attend to of a dangerous sort. In the event I never return to these halls, I leave everything to you: the house, all its contents, and the tidy sum hidden underneath the floorboards of the closet adjacent to my chambers. It should be enough that you can live out the rest of your days in comfort. I bequeath it all to you, wife.
And should I never return, you are a free woman and should enjoy your life as such.
Sincerely,
Lord Fenwood
The waythe letter is worded… He has no intention of returning. That much is painfully apparent.
My sisters were right. I go from cold to hot as I crumple the letter my hand. Throwing it on the ground, I grab the door handle and twist. Damn the rules. I’m getting the truth.