“My lady! What happened…?”
Rowan turned around, her bare hand hovered above the door’s knob of polished timber. Marie stared at her, eyes wide with pure horror as if she had seen a monster. Considering how she currently looked, the young Fulgel could not be blamed.
After her little exchange with Cornelius a few days ago, Rowan had stayed up the whole night. Her immortal heart refused to stop its forceful climb up her throat throughout the week. Though he seemed too preoccupied to bother, she was not sure how she would deal with the Duke.
Act as if nothing had happened between them? That she had not lose herself in front of him? Had not cried her heart out within his arms? She was not sure. Though sure enough, her charade of a tribute bride was no longer viable.
By the time she had returned to her senses, another day had begun and her first thought was to get rid of the mask she was forced to don all her life.
Smoke rose from the pile of burnt animal fur mingled with the sick sweetness of honey as she tossed her wigs and makeups into the fire. Its flames burned bright, a crimson flag akin to freedom to Rowan—much to Marie’s horror.
Even back when her parents were still alive, she had not been allowed to step out of her room without disguise. Her brother was the only one who did not seem to find her Nyphillie traits something to be ashamed of.
It might had been the Duke’s resemblance to him that had thrown her off guards. After all, he was the only one with clear blue eyes, the only Magus left after her brother was gone. Otherwise, it was impossible for her to comprehend how she had lost her composure in front of someone who she had barely knew for months. A man even.
“Is anything wrong?” Rowan straightened her back, her face placid as she regarded her handmaiden. The girl might had been with her since Davor ascended the throne but one could not be too careful with someone he had sent. The Duke alone was more than a mistake she could afford.
“Wrong?” Marie’s cracked lips were trembling now. “My lady, surely you do not plan to meet His Grace in this way?”
Fulgels were not born warriors in the first place, much less a lower ranked of their kind who, except for the gold in her skin, was entirely mortal. After all these years, Rowan still found their easily surprised nature amusing.
Smiling, she took the first step out of the threshold. Marie gasped.
“I do,” Rowan said just to see if she could invoke a different expression from the girl. No matter how long she pondered on the subject, she could not understand why the King would chose a girl this green to spy on her. She could easily snap the youngling’s neck into two if she wanted to.
With an exasperated sigh, she batted her lashes at the youngling almost a quarter her age. “We are husband and wife, Marie. Surely you know what that meant?”
The younger one’s face glittered faintly, something Rowan had come to know as a Fulgel’s equivalent of flushed cheeks. Having the same amount of Fallen and Elementalist’s blood had turned their blood a golden shade the way Nyphillie’s was dark red and Magus’s silver. Rowan had always thought it made the youngling look a tad akin to the fae kinds.
“Do you really think a wig and some make could deceive him for long?”
Her handmaiden was nothing but horrified—for split seconds. Then it took a complete turn into one of pure ecstatic as she took Rowan’s hands with her tiny ones, skipping as she did. “I am so glad for you my lady!”
Rowan blinked. She did not expect the girl to reach such conclusion. Though it harmed her not to have her think that way, saved her time for explaining. None of her victims had ever survived long enough to have her completely. Though he no longer seemed a threat, she did not plan to make an exception for the Duke.
Rowan slipped from the room while the young Fulgel had her attention focused on the wardrobe. She could feel the cold air caressing her bare skin the way she had not had in centuries.
The migraine that had long haunted her was a ghost of the past. Without the net of the wig to hold them hostage, her dark curls bounced around her back, reborn as she danced down the empty hallway in light, feathery steps.
If the walls of champagne white were not crawling with barks and the sky was a clear blue beyond the windows, it would be easy for her to imagine nothing had changed—her brother had not pass and she was still the phantom princess of Lucidus.
She shook her head hard.
Nothing had changed, a voice chastised. Her brother was still dead and the murderer at large. Something as small as this should not make her happy. She would only be happy when she bathes in her enemy’s blood. One of whose eyes she would take joy in reaping.
So enthralled in her thoughts, she nearly yelped when a train of fur brushed against her fingers. She whirled around sharply, ready to wrestle the intruder—and was instead met with a snort. The wolf that had been missing for days raised a bushy brow at her, staring in a way that said, ‘Are you mad?’
After all that had happened, she had completely forgotten to search for the creature. “Where have you been?”
A low grumble echoed from the creature’s throat, a sound that Rowan had come to recognize as the wolf’s equivalent of ‘None of your business.’ It circled her, its pace deliberately slow as it studied her from head to toe. Seemingly satisfied by what it found, it nodded once at her and slapped the side of her ankle with its tail, as if to say, ‘Come, foolish Nyphillie.”
“Is he still in his study?” she asked, noticing the newly formed scars that slashed across its neck.
The wolf glared at her, muzzle raised to the sky. ‘Just follow me quietly.’
Her feet matched Alfredo’s pace on its own. Annoyed as she might be with its snobbish nature, she realized she had missed the creature during its absence. Having it in her room, snoring throughout the night had begun to feel natural. Its company strangely reassuring in the death of the night when Cornelius was too absorbed in his work to visit her.
They passed several Nyphillie servants and animated dusters mid-chore. Each stood perfectly still, statues frozen in time. Over the week, Walter was the only one who had awakened along with a mop and two water pails.
It was apparent the Duke had not fully restored his magick. Yet, since the night of his confession, he had not failed to join her for five meals per day—all of which now composed only of shared Fulgels’ wine, staring of eyes and him feeding her his pure life magick. He was becoming more of a riddle she would never see the end of her entire life.
She glanced at her companion. The wolf did not seem to be fazed by the lack of activity around them. First the garden, then the dining hall—still, Alfredo’s pace did not slow. It marched forward without turning around even once, making her wonder if it was leading her to the Duke at all.
“Is it really alright for us to disturb him now?”
She had not thought of stepping into his workspace again since the day he stormed off after their little disagreement. Back then, she had thought he wanted her life, to take his anger out on her. She could not be more wrong.
Now as she stood with renewed knowledge of what each of those statues could have done if he really wanted her life, being nailed to the couch was merely a child’s play. She shuddered, wondering which face of the Duke she would be shown today.
Her hand lingered on the door, unsure of whether she should knock.
“Maybe I should’ve brought some tea for him?”
Alfredo growled, a paw raised and pushed her through the threshold without warning. She staggered and whipped around, in time to see the wolf turn on its hinds, tail swung from side to side. It seemed to be in an oddly good mood as it pounded down the way they came from.
Walter might have fed it with a whole deer course earlier.
Rowan sighed. “M-May I come in?” she asked aloud though she had already invited herself in.
Comments (1)
See all