Page 4 of The Yuletide Fairy's Curse
“I did not realize I would be staying for any meals,” said Dalla. “I have already eaten.”
“Dessert, then,” said the fairy. Her expression was blank, almost inhuman, and impossible to read.
“What is your name, captor?” Dalla asked.
The fairy laughed like the deep bell that announced time back home. “My name is Kolfrosta.”
“Mine is Dalla.”
“I know.QueenDalla,” Kolfrosta corrected. “I know much about you.”
“I wish I could say the same,” said Dalla.
If Kolfrosta was moved by this, she did not show it. She nodded to the unseen servants, and Dalla was whisked away, chill filling her bones.
CHAPTER 4
The palace was endless. The invisible servants led Dalla up the east stairs, down several halls with turns, past numerous closed doors and elaborate sculptures that looked like they could be made of ice, though the air was unnaturally warm.
By the time the servants deposited Dalla at her rooms, she knew she would never be able to find her way out on her own. The palace was a labyrinth. It was going to be up to her to solve its twisting turns or use her wits to escape.
Oil lanterns sprang to life, making Dalla’s heart stutter as they illuminated the room. Part of her was grateful the magic was not as strong here. The room was warm without a fire, but the twinkling lights of the main hall made her head feel light and disconnected from the world, like she could float away into a dream at any moment.
The rooms were good accommodations—the kind she would have set up for someone of status back home. Not quite the jail cell she had been envisioning. The main bedroom had a large bed, a fresh basin with flower petals floating on the water, and a deep blue cloak laid out on the eiderdown blanket.
Dalla rubbed the fabric of the cloak between her fingers. The material was diaphanous like none she had ever seen, shifting colors reminding her of the fairy—of Kolfrosta’s—skin. Soft white fur hemmed the sleeves and neckline, sparkling in the light. Donning the cloak was a way of marking Dalla as Kolfrosta’s property, she thought with displeasure.
“I won’t wear this,” Dalla said to the empty room, in case there was anyone there to hear her.
Invisible hands lifted the gifted cloak, and another set of hands shrugged off Dalla’s current garment.
Dalla remained still as the invisible hands dressed her. Ghostly fingers in her hair, redoing the braid that had come loose during the sleigh ride. Without notice, one of the servants splashed her face with water from the basin. Dalla sputtered.
When they were done, a looking glass floated before her.
Dalla appeared strange in this odd place in this extravagant cloak. She preferred the plain colors of undyed fur. The kind that did not stand out in a crowd, just as being the tenth child of a royal family lent one some invisibility. Dalla had always leaned into that, and until the kidnappings started, this invisibility granted her enough freedom to do anything she wanted.
No one blinked when she practiced weapons with the soldiers in the yard. Dalla snuck girls past various servants, gardeners, and lesser nobles, and none had gone running to her parents. She’d moved into one of the homes near the castle, still within its walls but separated enough from her parents to enjoy privacy. She was not totally free, but she could pretend to be.
All that was taken away from her at age twenty-six, and now less freedom belonged to her than ever.
So, no, she did not like the way she looked in the cloak, beautiful as it was. Dalla rather felt like she was being dressed for slaughter.
She took it as a bad sign that she was allowed to keep her dagger on her person.
A knocking at the door startled her once more.
“Queen Dalla, are you ready for dinner?” came Kolfrosta’s voice.
So Dalla was being escorted by Kolfrosta herself. What was it that Kolfrosta wanted from her, she wondered? Her reaction to wearing the cloak?
“I am,” said Dalla, and the door opened.
Kolfrosta wore the same white dress made of feathers. Her scepter was nowhere to be found. She extended an arm, and Dalla had the odd experience of thinking she was supposed to kiss Kolfrosta’s hand.
“I will escort you,” Kolfrosta said. Only then did Dalla notice her lips had started to pucker, and she quickly adopted a neutral face.
Dalla took Kolfrosta’s arm in hers. The contact of their skin was warm, and she got her firstsmellof Kolfrosta—a little smoky, as though she was recently in proximity to a fire. To her embarrassment, Dalla was drawn to the scent.
