The Masked Fae (Royal Fae of Rose Briar Woods Book 1) Page 11

  Thankfully, I recognize no one.

  “Here we are,” Callie says as she escorts us into a small room with a large picture window that looks out on the bustling street. Gentle, lazy snow falls on people as they go about their business. They carry packages and parcels and hurry to and from waiting buggies and carriages.

  I’ve been at Brahm’s estate for almost a month now. In just a few more weeks, it will be Year’s End. For the first time ever, I won’t have any family to spend the holiday with.

  Nor will I be home. I’ll be in Rose Briar Woods, where it’s eternally late spring, right on the cusp of summer. And I doubt the Fae celebrate human holidays anyway.

  “You’re thinking very hard about something,” Brahm says as he surveys the menu Callie gave us before she left.

  “I went ice skating with Gustin last year about this time.” I watch the people as they pass by outside the window, feeling a painful tug at my heart. “Grandmother passed away that summer. It was the first holiday season we spent alone.”

  If I can’t secure Gustin’s freedom, it might be our only holiday.

  Brahm sets the menu down, clasping his hands on top as he gives me his full attention.

  “Afterward, we came here and had hot chocolate and the yule log Callie’s mother makes. It’s delicious.” I turn to him, working up a smile. “It was a good day. One of the very few good memories I have with Gustin.”

  “I’ve heard of ice skating,” Brahm says, “but I’ve never seen it.”

  “The pond in the middle of Danson Park is shallow, and it freezes over early in the year. About this time, they clear it and set up stands where you can rent blades that attach to your boots. Local businesses construct booths and sell spiced wine, squares of chocolate nut fudge, and candied apples.”

  A sob builds in my throat, taking me completely unaware. I choke it back, looking away.

  “Are you all right?” Brahm asks gently.

  “I’m sorry.” I laugh as I blink furiously. “I don’t know what’s gotten into me.”

  He pulls a handkerchief from his pocket and offers it to me. “According to Regina, it’s called homesickness.”

  I dab the cloth to my eyes. “I didn’t realize what it would be like to come back and not feel as if I belong.”

  “This is your home, Alice. Of course you belong.”

  “I have nowhere to go, no one to even spend the holiday with.”

  “Alice.” Brahm watches me carefully. “When a human barters with a Faerie—when he makes a bargain or a wager—magic binds the agreement. It becomes a vow that’s very difficult to break. However, if you can think of any reason why Gustin’s wager was unjust, please tell me. Let me give you back your home.”

  Brahm might as well pull the mask from his pocket and proclaim he’s my bandit. Why is he being so transparent?

  But I told him I would play along, and I will. Even if it’s terribly frustrating.

  With a sigh, I say, “Though Gustin was my father’s heir, and he carries the title and the inheritance, I contributed to the estate with money I made from the portraits I painted over the last few years. The money my brother gambled did not solely belong to him, and I did not agree to the wager.”

  I give him a pointed look, asking him if he’s happy. It’s not like he doesn’t already know. Why must we go through all these ridiculous steps?

  A satisfied smile tugs at Brahm’s lips. He looks down at the menu once more, furrowing his brow as he contemplates the options. “Do you have a record of payments you received? I’m assuming you deposited the funds into your family’s account at one of the local banks.”

  Slowly, my stomach sinks. “I gave Gustin the money.”

  Brahm looks up sharply. “All of it?”

  I flounder. “He’s…he’s my brother. I didn’t believe we needed a paper trail.”

  Brahm brings his fingers to his temples, groaning. “Alice.”

  “I was paid, though. You can ask anyone who sat for me.”

  “But you cannot prove you contributed to the estate.”

  “You don’t believe me?” I ask, growing offended.

  “Of course I believe you,” he snaps, and then he draws in a breath, silently apologizing with an extended hand. “It will be enough. And for now, let’s just enjoy the afternoon. What are you going to order?”

  “Let’s get an assortment of the tea sandwiches. I’m rather hungry.” I pause. “And since it’s the holidays, let’s order peppermint tea.”

  “Is there a season for peppermint tea?” he asks, smiling to himself.

  “It tastes better now. You’ll just have to take my word for it.”

  Callie returns, and Brahm gives her our order.

  “I’ll be back shortly,” she promises, giving me a look that says she’s dying to ask me what I’m doing here with Lord Ambrose.

  When she’s gone, I set my hands in my lap. “You said you have business here today. Where are we going after we eat?”

  “The auction house.”

  “Oh.” My stomach flips, and I look down. Lacing my fingers together, I say, “The auction is in a few days, isn’t it?”

  “I’ve decided to cancel it.”

  Slowly, I pull my eyes to his. “Why would you do that?”

  He drums the tips of his fingers on the table. “It’s possible the next owner would prefer to have the home furnished.”

  “Why are you doing this for me?” I whisper. “You had to settle with the bank when you learned about the lien on the property. You’re going to lose a small fortune.”

  He leans forward. “It won’t come for free.”

  I swallow, wishing I had tea for my suddenly dry mouth.

  “I expect a very detailed portrait, miss artist.”

  My heart warms, and a tiny knot unfurls in my stomach. And as easy as that, this attraction I’ve felt since I first met the bandit in the woods—this fascination—blooms into affection. I like Brahm, both sides of him.

  And I like him here, with me in Kellington.

  Very much.

  The skaters twirl on the ice, some graceful and others fortunate to stay on their feet. Brahm snorts under his breath when a young man lets out an awkward squeal and falls on his tail-end.

  We watch people through the carriage window, but I wish we could join them. My dress, however, is not warm enough for winter.

  “Is it very sad living in eternal spring?” I ask Brahm, sitting back in the seat. “Do you ever wish you experienced all the seasons in Faerie?”

  “I’ve never put much thought into it to be honest.” He smiles, shaking his head before he sits back as well. “But I’m beginning to see its appeal.”

  I glance at the packages of supplies next to me in the seat. “You’ve already done so much for me, but I have a request.”

  “All right.”

  “Will you bring me into Kellington for the holiday? We can walk through the streets and look at the tree when they light it in the main square. I want to see it.” I pause. “With you.”

  “Alice…” Brahm says, his face darkening with regret.

  “It’s my first year without family around me. I’d like to spend it with a friend. We are friends, aren’t we, Brahm?”

  Looking torn, he slowly nods. “We are.”

  “So, you’ll do it?”

  “I will.”

  I smile, looking down.

  “I have a request as well. I would like you to complete the portrait by the last day of the month. I don’t want you to begin the new year in Faerie.”

  “You’re always so eager to get rid of me.” Though I tease, my stomach gives an unpleasant tug.

  “Will you try?” he urges.

  “All right.” I gather my courage. “Will you visit me after I go home?”

  “I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

  “Will you do it anyway?”

  His dark eyes churn with emotion. “If I can.”

  Wrinkling my nose, I shake my head. “I do
n’t like that answer. But I’ll accept it.”

  Brahm glances out the window once more. “Are you ready to return?”

  After I say I am, Brahm informs Wallen, and the carriage begins down the cobblestone roads, heading toward the river.

  “Is the bridge in West Faerie? Or in Valsta?” I ask Brahm as the snow quickly fades. We cross the bridge and end up in spring once more.

  He makes a thoughtful noise. “I don’t believe it’s in either. Perhaps you could say it’s neutral territory.”

  “Strange.”

  When we arrive at the manor, Brahm excuses Wallen and helps me with my supplies himself. Gathering the packages in our arms, we head inside, laughing as we try to balance everything.

  “Isn’t this domestic?” a man says when we step into the foyer, startling me so badly I nearly drop my parcels.

  Ian leans against the wall, focusing on us a little too intently.

  “I see you’re visiting again,” Brahm says tonelessly.

  “Your mother has sent your invitation to her monthly masquerade.”

  “I don’t know why she bothers. It’s not as if I’m unaware of the moon’s cycles.”

  “Yes, well.” Ian’s eyes slide to me, and he smiles. “She’s always so concerned about you—she likes it when I keep her informed of your affairs.”

  “How very motherly of her,” Brahm says wryly, nodding me along.

  “I see you haven’t made the girl your pet yet, but…you’re so very cozy, aren’t you?”

  Brahm’s eyes flash.

  “The offer still stands.” Ian pushes himself off the wall and walks past me, pausing entirely too close to my shoulder. “I’d be happy to take her in. I’m quite good with pets—always careful to feed them regular meals, train them well.” He smirks at me. “And keep them entertained.”

  Putting himself between the count and me, Brahm says, “Get off my property, Ian.”

  “You’re always so sensitive, Your Highness,” the man says with a low chuckle. “I’ll send your regards to your mother.”

  I watch him until he steps out the door, shuddering once he’s gone.

  Suddenly sober, Brahm says, “Let’s get these to your room.”

  “Is your mother going to be angry?” I ask quietly.

  “I haven’t done anything wrong,” he says, his voice heavy. “Ian just likes to stir up trouble. But don’t worry—he’s gone now.”

  I try to put the confrontation behind me, but I’m uneasy long after we part for the evening.

  13

  BRAHM

  “I thought you were a painter,” I say as I stand near the light of a window in a seldomly used sitting room, already growing bored. It’s the third time we’ve met this week. “Don’t painters paint?”

  Alice laughs as she sketches me. “There are steps, my lord. I like to thoroughly study my subjects before I begin.”

  A smirk tugs at my lips as a roguish retort comes to mind, but I decide to hold my tongue.

  Though standing for the portrait is tedious, watching Alice is not. I’m not sure what I expected, but it wasn’t this.

  She’s pulled up a large velvet armchair and planted herself in it, drawing her legs under her dress and resting her sketchpad in her lap. Her hair falls over her shoulders as she works, and she continually shoves it behind her ears. There are supplies scattered on the ground around her. She looks like a young girl pretending to be an artist.

  Every few seconds, she looks up, studying me before she returns her attention to the charcoal in her fingers.

  “When must you leave for your mother’s masquerade?” she asks, frowning at her work.

  “The day after tomorrow.”

  “And you’ll be back the following day?”

  “The next morning,” I promise.

  “Auvenridge must not be far from here.”

  “It only takes me a few hours on horseback, but it’s double that by carriage,” I say, dreading it more than usual. I’m positive Ian said something to Mother about Alice, and I’m not sure how much trouble I will have to manage.

  Thankfully, he was not a loyal lapdog when he was young, and he never met Eleanor. He has no reason to believe Alice is anything more than a human girl I have business with—which is unusual, certainly, but not forbidden.

  “How will you return so quickly?” Alice asks, setting the sketch aside.

  Glad she’s finished, I stretch my neck and cross the room to meet her. “I’ll ride back as soon as the masquerade is over.”

  “At night?”

  “I’m not human, Alice,” I say lightly. “I have little to fear from the residents of Faerie.”

  She looks like she wants to argue, likely remembering the night I came to her covered in blood, but she keeps the thought to herself.

  “Let me see,” I say, nodding toward the sketchbook.

  “They’re just sketches,” she says, handing it to me, looking a little self-conscious. “They’re rough, so don’t expect a masterpiece.”

  I pause as I flip through the pages, studying a dozen images of myself. She’s captured my expressions, sketched my frame from different angles. It’s like looking into a mirror.

  It’s no wonder she found me out so quickly. Is it possible to hide one’s identity from an artist?

  “I’m afraid you’re trying to flatter me with these,” I say, a little uncomfortable as I return the sketchbook to her.

  “Hardly. Of all my subjects, you are easily the most handsome.”

  The thought of her painting someone else feels too intimate. I don’t like the idea of her studying another man this carefully, watching him closely enough to learn his secrets.

  “Perhaps that is an exaggeration,” I say.

  “You’re like a work of art—your eyes, your nose, your…”

  She lets the words trail off, laughing to herself nervously.

  “My what?” I ask, intrigued by the way her cheeks turn pink.

  She shakes her head. “Look at the mess I made. I always spread out so much while I’m working.”

  I catch her waist—something I’ve never had the nerve to do without the mask.

  Alice’s eyes widen, and she goes still.

  “My what?” I repeat quietly.

  Her eyes drop to my lips, answering my question.

  My pulse quickens, and time seems to still. I find myself leaning down, tempted. So tempted…

  “Brahm!” Regina cries urgently, and the sitting room door flies open with her entrance. Fear is etched into her face, and it grows when Alice and I fly apart.

  “What is it?” I demand, knowing my cousin is not easily ruffled.

  “Your mother,” she breathes before she turns to Alice, looking as if trying to find a place to hide her.

  Cold panic rises in my chest. “What about her?”

  “She’s here.”

  I stare at Regina for a full second, processing her words before I leap into action. “Hide Alice in my room. Is Sabine here as well?”

  “She is,” Regina says. “And Drake.”

  “Go to Alice’s room and remove all of her belongings—Sabine will notice if anything is amiss, so be thorough.”

  “But your mother knows I’m staying here,” Alice says, her eyes a little too wide. “Ian’s surely told her.”

  “She doesn’t need to know you’re staying outside the servants’ quarters.”

  Alice nervously fists her hands at her sides before she nods.

  “Are they in the front sitting room?” I ask Regina.

  “They are. I said you’d join them for tea.”

  “That’s fine. Go now—take the back stairwell.”

  I leave, striding through the halls, ignoring the way my heart beats like a violent drum in my chest.

  When I walk into the room, I find things to be as they always are. Sabine and Mother quietly bicker, and Drake stands near the window and stares at the courtyard beyond. Ian hovers behind my mother, resting his hand on the back of her chair. Perha
ps he is vying for the honor of being her sixth husband. I, for one, would heartily support their marriage. It would be a tidy way to be rid of him.

  A radiant smile spreads across Sabine’s face when she spots me. “Brahm!”

  Drake looks over, saying nothing.

  I offer my sister a small smile, and then I turn my eyes on Mother. “What are you doing here?”

  The queen of West Faerie arches a dark eyebrow. “Do I need an invitation to visit my son? Must I send a messenger ahead to ask permission to call on him?”

  “I hope the visit is a brief one considering you haven’t given my staff a chance to prepare rooms for you.”

  “We’ll stay where we always do,” Mother says. “I know how rarely you have guests, so what could the problem be?”

  I stare at her, my magic revolting every time I try to come up with a retort that’s laced with even the faintest lie.

  “Good,” she says triumphantly, her bright green eyes flashing. “I’m glad that’s settled.”

  “Your masquerade is in two days,” I say tonelessly. “It would be a shame to cancel it.”

  She laughs, sweeping off the chair, her full, bronze skirt flowing with her as she walks across the room to meet me. “I do not plan to cancel it.”

  “You traveled all this way to leave in the morning?” I ask.

  She looks around the room, smiling to herself. “I always forget how quaint your father’s estate is. But it will do.”

  A sense of foreboding travels my spine. “It will do for what?”

  “I intend to hold the ball here.” She runs her finger over a side table, inspecting it for dust. Though there is none, she wrinkles her nose as if there was. “I’ve already informed my court.”

  “I have no suitable place in which to hold your masquerade,” I say coldly. “There’s no ballroom here—you know that.”

  Mother waves toward the window. “We’ll hold it outside. Doesn’t that sound lovely? It will be a garden party of sorts.” Slowly, she turns her feline gaze on me. “Is that a problem?”

  “Do what you will,” I bite out.

  She looks past me like she’s searching for something. “I must say, I’m quite disappointed. Ian says you have a new pet. I was so hoping you’d introduce us, and yet she seems to be absent.”