Page 28 of Sweetling
As she gazed down at the fae again, her heart beat a rapid rhythm in her chest. She wasn’t sure she could risk it—her opponent was an ancient being, powerful and wily. Best to bide a little more time and make her escape before anything else happened.
Still, she couldn’t pull her attention away as the fae continued to stand by the front of the house, peering up at her.
As she watched, her breath left her in a rush when he bowed low to her.
A sign of respect? Or was he mocking her somehow?
Molly pulled herself back into her room and closed the window, latching it tight.
The room was quiet again, a stillness to it she didn’t trust.
There was somethingoffabout this house.
She’d felt it as they rode up the other night. Even through the darkness, illuminated only by eerie blue light burning in the lamps lining the drive, Molly felt as if the house…anticipatedtheir arrival. It loomed above the forest like some great bird of prey, ghostly in the light of the will-o’-wisp glow. It creaked and shuddered though no wind blew, and she swore as he walked her through the empty, dilapidated corridors that doors had opened and closed on their own.
Even in her bedchamber, there were things she just couldn’t explain. Although she’d forced herself to stay awake late into the first night, clutching the knife she’d secreted in one of her bags and not afraid to throw it at a fae as she’d done to her own uncle, Molly eventually succumbed to the sheer exhaustion of the day. It was only a few hours, but when she woke again, the doors of the lacquered armoire in one corner had been flung wide and the drawers pulled out, and the ornate chest at the foot of the bed had its lid open.
As if…waitingfor her to put her things in them. To make the room her own.
Molly had paced around the room that morning, wondering how the fae had gotten in without her hearing. She’d become a light sleeper over the years, necessary when unwanted intruders came bumping around in the night.
Nothing looked disturbed. There was no dust to unsettle, the room immaculately clean, so she had no true way to know. Still, it didn’tfeellike he’d been inside her bedchamber.
Molly did a circuit around the room, checking the windows and doors and nooks and crannies to ensure nothing had changed. Satisfied it hadn’t, she went to sit on the bed again.
It was a thing of beauty, this bed. Softer than any she’d ever touched, let alone slept on, and four times the size of her small one back at the tavern. The thick coverlet was somehow both airy and warm, and the down pillows cradled her head, inviting her into their softness. Despite herself, the second night, she’d slept like a lamb, too comfortable to worry about opening drawers and trunk lids.
Unable to resist the softness and without much else to do, she lay down. Molly wasn’t one to lollygag, but it’d been an age since she’d last had the chance to laze about and rest. So she’d take the opportunity but stay on her guard.
She half expected the fae to come knocking on her door again, demanding to know why she’d lied to the halflings—Molly wanted to know herself.
But he didn’t come knocking.
And it wasn’t truly as much of a mystery to her as she wanted to believe.
The deepest of truths was, even holed up in her sumptuous bedchamber, Molly got a bit of a thrill from all this. It was…an adventure. One she wasn’t quite ready to end. What waited for her back in Dundúran? Nothing but an angry uncle and gossiping neighbors.
Oh, she still intended to play it safe. Stay in her room, ensure the fae got bored of her, and then break off the handfast.
In the meantime, she’d sleep on the softest bed in the kingdom and form her plan. She had her wits about her, her trove of coins she’d saved, her trusty knife, and her big pair of tits—more than a lot of women could say. Give her a few days and she’d figure something out.
When she did emerge, the fae wouldn’t know what hit him. He’d find his time and his coin wasted.
Not her problem.
Laying back on the soft bed, Molly got comfortable and began to think.
Could the unicorn be bribed? With carrots, maybe?
7
Her grand plan, however, never quite came together—especially when she ran out of food and her stomach began to rumble. Molly had managed to bring some sustenance with her, but a few apples, half a loaf of bread, and some nuts only went so far.
After a day of listening to her stomach complain and squeezing the last drops of water from her canteen, she decided it was finally time to brave outside her chamber. She was also growing desperate to figure out how the chamber pot was changed and cleaned and a bucket of fresh water brought in each morning before she woke. She never saw him, and she didn’t drink the water, of course, but she had to know how he did it.
And quiet her stomach. Molly had promised herself, as a ten-year-old newly orphaned and skeletal from hunger, that she’d never starve again.
That was first and foremost on her mind when she cracked the door of her bedchamber open, her head woozy and her stomach painfully empty.
