Page 16 of Treasured By the Fae Royal
“I thought perhaps we might go for a walk in the forest. It’s quite safe, I promise. As long as I’m with you, no forest beasts will dare to venture close.” He offers me his arm, and I take it.
“A walk sounds nice,” I murmur as I relish the feel of his summer heat. I’ve never liked being cold, and I usually spend the majority of winter next to a roaring fire.
“How is your mother doing?” He glances down at me as we pass a tree holding a massive quantity of glowing fruit. Pears? I make a quick note to visit this particular tree during the light of day.
“She’s doing well. Thanks to you.” My fingers briefly tighten on his arm.
As we walk deeper into the forest, I’m awestruck by the splendor of the night. Everywhere I look, the branches and leaves glitter in all colors of the rainbow. The rhythmic buzzing of locusts swells louder, and the fireflies continue dancing through the trees.
Every now and then, I exchange a look with Lucas.Lucas. Just Lucas. I like that he invited me to omit his title.
I spin the rose idly in my hand as we walk beneath a low tree bough that has large glowing purple bugs crawling on it. If I were by myself, I would give the bugs a wide berth, but I trust that nothing will hurt me out here. Not when I’m with Lucas.
“So,” he says in a conversational tone, “you and your mother journeyed a long way from Trevos to visit your aunt. Did the two of you travel on foot by yourselves?”
“Yes, we did come a long way, but we were fortunate to hitch a ride on a merchant wagon that was headed for Sorsston, and we stayed with the wagon until the very last stretch of the road. When I was child, we used to visit my aunt once a year, but when I was about sixteen, my father and Aunt Heather got into a terrible argument after he insulted Mama, and he made us leave the cottage in the middle of the night. He forbade us from ever visiting again, but he died about a year ago, so we’re finally here for a much overdue visit.”
Lucas pauses and turns to face me, his demeanor tense. He swallows hard. “Did your father die when the Summer Court army attacked Trevos?”
“No, nothing like that. He wasn’t a soldier. He was too much of a coward for that. He faked a limp so he wouldn’t be conscripted.” I exhale slowly as I remember the unexpected knock on a cold, rainy afternoon that heralded the news of my father’s passing. “He was found stabbed to death a few weeks after the fall of Trevos.”
“I’m so sorry, sweetling.” He cups the side of my face and gives me a compassionate look. “Was his assailant ever caught?”
“You don’t have to be sorry,” I say with a thin, forced smile. “I know I shouldn’t speak ill of the dead, but my father was a cruel man, and if I’m being honest, his passing came as a relief to both me and my mother. But no, the assailant was never caught. He had a reputation for cheating people in business though, so I’m sure he just finally crossed the wrong person.”
He smooths my hair behind my ears. “Well, I’m glad you and your mother can finally visit your aunt. Are you planning to return to Trevos eventually?”
“No, we’re not going back to Trevos.” Oh, gods. Why does this suddenly feel complicated? I almost feel like I’m lying to him by not telling him the full truth. But I can’t tell him I’ll be traveling to Sorsston soon to find a husband.
“I take it you don’t like living under fae rule.” His visage becomes guarded, as though he’s bracing himself for my answer.
I bristle as the terror of the Summer Court army’s attack on Trevos comes rushing back. “How can you ask that? Of course I don’t like living under fae rule.” I drop my hand from his arm and face him fully. “I hid in the cellar with my parents during the attack, and the house shook the entire time. I prayed harder than I’ve ever prayed before because I was convinced the house would collapse on us and we’d all get crushed to death.”
“Yvette, I?—”
“No, I’m not finished. I want to tell you the rest.” I place my hands on my hips and glare up at him. The magic of summer continues swirling around us, but the atmosphere no longer brims with romance. Despite the warmth of his summer magic, there’s a sudden chill in the air. Or perhaps the chill is inside me.
“Very well, sweetling. Tell me. I want to know what it was like for you, even if it paints me and my people as villains.”
I draw in a deep breath, then I let it all out. I tell him about the bodies in the street. I talk about the neighbors we found dead or grievously injured. I speak of the fear that permeated the whole city in the aftermath of the attack. I confess how worried I was about my best friend, Mira, and how touched and relieved I was when she visited my home the day after the attack to check on me.
Closing my eyes, I picture the days following the battle and the horrors I witnessed, and I utter every thought that comes to mind. I tell him every terrible memory. Like the time I went on a walk with Mama, and we saw heads rotting on the parapet. And all the times I heard screaming in the middle of the night and knew the fae must be harassing some poor soul.
Next, I remind him of the runners that were rounded up and slaughtered, and all the unfortunate people who were taken as slaves, most of them young women and men. I also scold him about the injustice of Tribute Day and how wrong it was to punish households who couldn’t afford ten pieces of silver. Demanding a daughter or son in place of silver was perverse, and the families he destroyed will never be the same.
By the time I’m finished, hot tears stream down my face, but I feel better. Better for having told him. He needs to know. He needs to know what he did. What his people did. He’s leading the godsdamn army. Him and that general everyone talks about, General Dalgaard. It’s said that since they both took leadership of the army a few centuries ago, the Summer Court hasn’t lost a single battle.
I blink away the tears and glance down at my hand. It hurts. During my tirade about the fae’s cruelty, I crushed the rose in my fist and embedded a few thorns in my palm.
Lucas reaches for my injured hand before I can flee into the night. He stares at me with regret, which takes me aback. Isn’t he proud of what he’s done? Shouldn’t it make him happy to know how much suffering he’s caused among my people?
“Sweetling, I?—”
“Don’t call me that. I’m not your sweetling. I never should have agreed to meet you tonight. I don’t know what I was thinking.” I sniffle. Fuck, how I hate that I just broke down crying in front of him. “You charmed me with your kindness yesterday, and while you might not have glamoured me, you might as well have. Because surely the way you treated me yesterday was a ruse. Surely it was all fake.”
His expression gentles with concern. I wish he wouldn’t look at me that way. I wish he would laugh at my pain. I don’t want any part in the sick game he’s playing. Maybe instead of stealing away with me and keeping me as a pleasure slave, it’s more enjoyable for him to make me fall for him first. It’s more enjoyable for him to make me believe he’s a decent male worthy of love and affection and understanding.
Yes, this makes the most sense. This is all one big mind fuck. At any moment, he’ll come clean and show me his darkness. The darkness I always knew was there.
