Page 29 of The Iron Fae
I lay at the bottom of my closet with my eyes pressed tightly closed.A queen would have asked a servant to get it down for them. You don’t have to climb your closet, Briar.I scold myself.
A knot is already forming, sore to the touch, at the top of my crown. My shins feel rough, white and red scratches trail up them. Even my ankles, that took the brunt of my fall, ache.
So not the best start to whatever hard and long travel I’d be doing tomorrow…but it seems like just my luck.
Standing, I test my ankles. They hold me up even if they hurt. Every heartbeat in my head throbs in pain. Hopefully, I’ll sleep it off. Still, in victory the bag has fallen to the floor!
I smile.Maybe it’s just that I’m an independent person and I don’t need a servant to fetch my things.
The zipper opens easily to reveal the deep purse, enough to hold a few days’ worth of clothing. With little hope, I scan the closet for clothes. I’m NOT travelling in dresses. I refuse.
Wobbling slightly on each step, I move to a dresser. The drawers glide open, many filled with straight lingerie for sleeping. I can’t travel in that. Nope, not that either. When Kai said I should pack, what exactly did that mean to him?
The last drawer, I pull open with low expectations, is stuffed so full it hardly opens. I yank as I catch the blue of denim. Jeans. Oh, my god there are jeans. One last yank, and the drawer pops open.
It’s more than jeans. It’s sweatpants, joggers, leggings, different colored denims. And t-shirts!Is this from my mortal closet?I squeal, unable to contain my excitement. I understand holding to this fucking ruse in the Iron Court but I don’t think I’ve ever been more filled with joy by regular everyday clothes in my entire life.
I wish I was one of those girls who relished being in finery, but all I ever find myself thinking is how exposed or uncomfortable I am. Jeans and a t-shirt for life, baby. Leafing through the items, even going as far as to bring the materials to my face to breathe in the old scent of my apartment. I pick a few shirts and multiple jeans.
A shade of sorrow constricts my heart. It all smells so… homey. Like a long-ago cherished memory. I stuff the items into the bag.
Slowly, I settle myself onto my knees. My vision blurs, losing focus on my surroundings. The taste of home makes me only hungrier for normalcy.
Lincoln?I test the boundaries between us. His wall exists as it has, in the annoying way he put it up. I imagine walking up to it, knocking politely.Lincoln, I know you’re there.
Does he deserve my politeness when he left me with so little before I came here? You know what? No. I bang on the wall of his mind. I deserve his attention and a fucking explanation. Biting my lip, I force myself to push down the thoughts of how quickly I return to him, how quickly my mind finds a home in him. It’s probably just this unasked-for bond. But don’t think about it.
Lincoln Ziko.I scream. The tension traveling through my body as I clench my fists.
With a blink, his wall falls. Lincoln strolls into my mind with a nonchalance and unprecedented confidence.
Briar Anders.There is a smile on Lincoln’s lips, a warmth I can sense that makes me mimic the movement.Has my family overwhelmed you yet?
Understatement of the fucking year.I scrub at my face as if that could wash away all my feelings of unease.
You’re hurt?My head echoes with his urgency.What happened?
I’m not… I’m fine. I just fell trying to get something out of the closet. Why didn’t you warn me the closet was going to be bigger than my old apartment?
What did you expect from a castle? A cupboard with clothes stuffed in it?
Lincoln, it’s its own room!I chuckle. Zipping the bag, I toss it to the floor and kick at the dresser to close the drawer.
Did you… do you need something?Lincoln asks.
What do I say? I miss you. I miss our friendship… our whatever the fuck it is. I’m mad at you? I’m frustrated that you left me with an unsatisfying goodbye?
I’m sorry. About the good-bye, I mean.He responds. Right, because he’s in my thoughts.I’m not very good at those. And Briar… you’re something.
Something?
You’re tempting. In all the ways you shouldn’t be. All the ways that make me weak. I can’t express to you the extent to which we could never be and how much I also wish we could. I miss you. I miss our friendship, too.
My hand covers my lips, as if I could hide myself and the goofy grin from him. I let the closet door close behind me, and pull the bed covers up to slip under.
If I’m queen I can change things.
Not to that degree. You’ll see. You’ll still be held to the standards of your counsel.
