Page 18 of Lord of the Hollow Court
“Truly, Braam,” Aleksandr said, placing his raised arm against the door frame. “I can’t imagine how you kept up with Madeleif for so long. Ah, thank you.” He plucked a goblet of water from a silver tray, winking at the plum-winged faerie who brought it. “My dear, I wish I had a dozen just like you.”
The faerie blushed, then darted back into the kitchen, nearly losing her tray. Braam rolled his eyes.
Aleksandr’s skinny throat bobbed as he drank deeply, smacking his lips when he lowered the glass at last. “You should thank me,” he said.
“For what?” Braam at once wished he had not taken the bait. The answer would be obvious.
Aleksandr waggled his brows. “You know. For saving you the humiliation of not being able to perform before your queen. At your age, it was bound to happen eventually.”
“I’m grateful indeed.” Braam snorted. “Remind me to send you a parcel of faerie fruit.” He turned, catching his cane before it fell. “If you’ve everything you need, I have a revel to see to.”
For once, Aleksandr issued no retort. Braam turned slowly, his fae senses not keen enough to pick up the sound he feared. But a glance over his shoulder did the trick.
Aleksandr’s nostrils flared. “Youdohave a human pet,” he exclaimed, drawing out the words until they appeared as a taunt. “Where is”—he lifted his chin to inhale more deeply—"she?"
There was a cloudiness to Aleksandr’s eyes Braam found worrisome. He rapped his cane on the tile, loudly enough that the High Fae startled. His eyes cleared, returning to their icy color.
If only the problem had ended there.
The glass of water fell to the travertine, shattering.
“Where is she?” Aleksandr demanded, barreling toward Braam. “I promise not to hurt her. I’m not like the others—I know how to control myself.”
Leaning into his cane for support, Braam raised an arm, blocking Aleksandr’s attempt to push past him with a sturdy forearm. Forced back for too short a moment, Aleksandr aimed a kick at Braam’s cane. Braam shifted his weight and held his ground—just barely.
“Go back to her,” Braam said through gritted teeth, though it pained him exquisitely. It was too soon to acquaint himself with the idea that Madeleif was no longer his in any way—if she had ever been. But he could not stomach that she would be in the same room with this imp, let alone share her body with him.
Yet he could not let an innocent human suffer—or his own folk, when the Wild Hunt began. The High Fae would blame the Hollow Court for their own baseness—it was what they always did after each Hunt. They were never to blame, only those around them. To be High Fae was to be untouchable: the one lie of which they were capable.
Braam swallowed. They already thought of his court as lowly, and warned that only losing his territory to the Court of Claws would elevate it. Tonight was meant to prove them wrong.
That chance was slipping through his fingers. But there was one piece of it, one wispy tendril, left in his grasp.
Shoving back against Aleksandr, Braam pulled from the land, drawing scents from the earth, pushing away the bitter notes and hints of autumnal decay. As he funneled the scent higher, only the sweeter notes remained.
There. With a little vanilla, a touch of fresh cream and grounding notes of honey, Braam reconstructed the heady perfume that was Madeleif, a tantalizing scent to remind any man lucky enough to be her companion of what awaited him upstairs. As Braam breathed it in himself, a heaviness settled in him, his grief at losing her like a belly full of river stones. The weight doubled when he saw Aleksandr’s eyes brighten.
Pressing a little enchantment into the scent, Braam pushed the sweet aroma toward Aleksandr. If he crafted it right, he would not notice the spell. After all, Braam’s magic and the scents of the land were one and the same.
As Braam allowed himself one final whiff, he knew there was not a note out of place. This was the scent Madeleif had left like a sweet ghost in his halls, leaving him with longing dreams of her after she left. The scent upon his pillow, in his sheets, that he was loath to see pulled from his bed by the faerie servants, but which he always let go, knowing Madeleif was not his. Yet he had wished for it, and hoped for it, his feelings as full of his will as a lie.
She was not and never would be his. But he had been Madeleif’s.
“Well,” Aleksandr said, a flush in his cheeks. Even now, he backed away, body already turning to face the stair. He flashed a toothy grin at Braam. “Duty calls. You understand, I’m sure.”
“Better than most,” Braam said, putting his weight back onto his cane.
He watched Aleksandr retreat up the stairs, a triangle of sweat below the neck of his shirt. Braam envied and pitied the boy at once.
Madeleif would eat him alive.
Braam turned and made his way down the cellar stairs, weariness sinking into his bones and gnawing at his hip. But his work was far from done for the night.
Chapter Nine
Ichabod Flees
The door was open, warm air pouring forth from the manor and mixing with the thickened mist. This was not a part of Sleepy Hollow Ichabod had been to yet. He thought he’d get to know these lands far better once Katrina—and her wealth—was his.
