“You do not have to hide. I won’t turn you in,” a familiar voice says softly.Embrys.
“This was a song I played when Elora, Oleander’s mother, died. My father cannot bear to hear it, so I only play it when he is asleep. I never knew my mother. She died in childbirth… Elora treated me as if she was mine but father always reminded me that she, in truth, was not. It is nice to have an audience for once,” he says, as he starts to play, very faintly, for a few bars. I can picture his fingers delicately caressing the keys for a brief moment before he cuts himself off again, the light thud of the lid sounds as he closes it.
The scrape of the piano bench warns me of his approach as he stands up. His footsteps are soft and swift as he strides over to the door I am hiding behind. I have no time to turn around andrun, or maybe I just secretly don’t want to, before he wrenches the door open and looks down at me.
I gasp at the sudden reveal and go to take a step back but feel I am glued to the floor.Why are you betraying me now, legs?He looks down at me with a soft knowing smile, breaking up the hard features he inherited from his father. I can feel the magnetic pull that I felt at the chicken coop drawing me towards him.
What is this connection? Does he know of my visions?The light cast behind him sets his red hair aglow. From this lighting I am unable to tell the minute colouring of his eyes, however, I do notice their movement.
He looks down at my body briefly, lingering at my breasts and I follow his gaze to see that my still wet hair that is draped over my shoulders has now seeped down, making my white nightgown nearly translucent and my nipples taut. Our eyes snap back to each other and, where I once would have been embarrassed, I feel the warmth of arousal blooming at his noticing.
“Nuria…” His breath hitches as he takes a small step towards me, “you’re everything I thought you would be.” He reaches out his hand as if he was going to brush my hair out of the way but my legs finally obey and let me move. I slowly back away, shaking my head at him and turn on my heel to run back through the dark room to the safety of my stairwell. I do not hear him come after me as I run up the steps and into my room, closing the door behind me and slumping against it.
What on Earth just happened? I am everything he thought I would be? What does that even mean…I try to settle myself but my pounding heart is threatening to burst out of my chest. My bodyneededto touch him to feel fulfilled. He knows my name, which means hehasbeen sharing visions with me.
How can someone feel that way the first time they meet? Why did I run? I have been waiting for this. For him. Right?
I try to remember how Benji and I’s attraction started but come up short realizing that compared to what I’d just experienced I’m not sure if Benji and I shared anything remotely similar. This all seems too ridiculous to be true. This isn’t how this is supposed to work. Things like this should take more time…
Just go to bed Nuria, after tomorrow you will never see him again.I feel I am being tested on where my loyalty lies. He is the son of my captor. He is the catalyst for my escape, and I know I need to get out of here to find Marissa. Why couldn't he have been someone else’s son? Why could we not have met elsewhere?
I can't get distracted from my path now, so I hurry back into bed, pulling the covers over my head, but as I try to sleep, my dreams keep going back to his smile, the fullness of his lips, the beauty and sorrow in his song and the way he saidmy name.
His strong hands play the keys of the piano so delicately and I dream of those same hands touching me, just as softly. Caressing and stroking me into submission. I drift off into sleep, with his song winding its way around my heart.
Nuria,I hear his deep voice say my name.
I wake with a start and can feel the evidence of my arousal between my legs.What is happening to me?I groan at my longing and rollover to bury my head in my pillow, letting out a frustrated scream before trying to go back to sleep. Eventually exhaustion gives me sweet release from this foolish pining and I drift off, into dreamlessness.
Chapter Twelve
The next morning, after breakfast service, the gromlins and I are working away at preparing the evening’s dinner: roast goose in a red wine sauce with honey glazed carrots, rosemary roasted potatoes and a creamy parsnip puree. There’s a peaceful silence while we labour. I am elbow deep in the goose’s cavity, smearing the garlic and herb butter all over, when one of the fae servants that usually ignores my presence steps down the stairs and calls over to me.
“Nuria, you are wanted as a servant for tonight’s dinner. Clean yourself up and report to Mistress Colette in the servant’s quarters,” she says, holding her head high and looking down her nose at the kitchen crew before giving me a curt nod and climbing back up the steps.
I quickly remove my hands from the goose and wipe the greasy mess on my apron as I look to Smudge for approval.Shit, what do they want me for? This isn’t part of my plan! Smudge doesn’t even look up from her work and just waves me off. I have been here for ages and have never been asked to attend any other part of the house before but I make the assumption that the servant’s quarters are located in the separate building Isaw when I first arrived. I make my way out the back door and around the back of the house.
As I round the corner I notice a beautiful flower garden that I had not seen before. It is nearer to the far left side of the house and out of view of the chicken coop which I had only strayed from yesterday, when Embrys arrived.
There are roses and dahlias in shades of yellows, pinks, and reds swirling in a large spiral garden bed. Rudbeckias of a deep orange, the shade of a sunset when a storm is rolling in and bright white daisies poke their sunny heads up here and there. Lining the outer edges of the garden beds is some sort of well-manicured hedge that gives the garden a well-kept contrast to the bright colours of the flowers.
I can see some elderflower and perhaps apple or pear trees further back, creating a border between the gardens and the expanse of forest that encompasses the back acreages of the estate. In the centre of the flower spiral there is a pergola covered in variegated ivy and the sight of Embrys sitting on the iron bench stops me in my tracks. His silky red hair is tucked behind one ear, showing off his strong jawline. The dappled light casts shadow and dancing sunlight across his face and I can see a hint of a frown knitting his eyebrows together as he concentrates. I catch myself twirling my hair with one finger and chewing on my lip before I realize how ridiculous I look.
Stop swooning you idiot.
He pops his head up as if he senses my stare and gives me a little wave, his other hand closing his book with asnap. I smile awkwardly and when I go to wave back I am interrupted by someone clearing their throat. Looking up towards where the servant’s quarters are, I see a sour-faced woman with a painfully tight bun and furry tufted ears glaring at me from the doorway.
Mistress Colette I am guessing? Great.I hurry on without looking back at Embrys, my cheeks heating from theembarrassment of being caught staring like some sort of giddy schoolgirl.
“There will be none of that, Miss Nuria. You have been promoted, yes, but you arenotone of them.” She motions me to hurry inside. “Now, I am not sure why exactly you have been requested for tonight’s dinner but we have some very important guests that we must impress. You will follow all of my rules and will not put one finger out of line to make me look bad, understood?” she says as she leads me through a tight hallway. I grunt in response.
Some of the doors we pass are open and I peer in to see sparsely furnished rooms with sets of bunk beds and plain wooden bureaus. We turn down another hall and end up in the laundry where a few older women, some noticeably fae from their various animal parts sticking out and some I am unsure about, working away at washing, folding and ironing.
A crisp, three-quarter sleeved black dress with a white knee length frilly apron is already laid out for me on the work table. Miss Colette motions for me to put it on.
“Hurry up now girl, we do not have all blooming day to wait for you,” she says, arms crossed and foot tapping. I nod and undress right there and then.
As I finish buttoning up the dress and tying the apron, one of the laundresses helps me undo my sloppy, half fallen out braids and pulls my hair into a tight, high bun like Mistress Colette’s.
