Page 88 of Beyond the Faerie Gate

None of them expected me to say that.

Realising his life has been spared, Cailu bows deeply and rides away with a guarded, but uncomfortable, last look at me. Like he can’t decide if he should apologise or thank me or both. The second he’s gone, Lore trots off ahead, barely sparing him a second glance.

“You don’t know what you just agreed to,” Jaro grumbles. “That was such an open-ended bargain…”

“Foolish,” Drystan spits.

“I appreciate your concern,” I say, straightening my spine as I force Drystan to unclench his hand from my arms. “But I trust Lore. He won’t hurt me.” That much had been clear after our night of stargazing. Lore will happily slaughter an entire army, but he won’t let a hair on my head be harmed in the process. “I may not know what he means, but I’m curious. So, it’s really none of your business.” I turn back to Drystan. “Now are we going to the palace or not?”

His evaluating gaze holds me captive for a second, as if he’s trying to figure out if I’m serious or just stupid.

If I’m honest, I’m probably a bit of both.

Whatever Drystan’s looking for, he must find it, because he taps his heels against Blizzard’s flanks until the horse moves forward again, following Florian, who’s already quite far ahead.

Now that we’re riding directly toward it, there’s nowhere else to look but at the palace itself.

Water cascades from the interconnected platforms above us in waterfalls which fill the air with the pleasant, rushing sound of their descent into the woodland below.

Like the inner city, the palace seems to have been built around and taken over by nature. The woods surrounding it don’t seem to end—they simply continue inside. Greenery hangs from every roof and ledge, coating the buildings in natural garlands. Not a single inch is bare stone. Amongst all the moss and vines are hundreds of blooming flowers. I count hydrangeas, larkspur, delphiniums, and lupins—and those are just the ones I can name—surrounding the walls, and there are more spilling down from the garden platforms and bridges above.

As we draw close, the air becomes heavy with the sweet, earthy scent that’s unique to wild places. I assumed I’d be overpowered by the pollen of the flowers, but somehow, it’s not an issue. The scent is there, but it’s not overwhelming.

Our small group trots down an impressive avenue, lined by tall columns engraved with vertical lines of runes. I wish I could read what they say. Is it a sign of some kind? What else could it be?

I don’t have time to ask, because Drystan hurries past them, under a similarly carved arch, and into a large courtyard. The pillars which line the edges are actually birch trees with silver bark, whose leaves and branches have been tamed into a canopy which creates a natural covered walkway around the edge of the courtyard.

Florian is already here. He’s dismounted and given his horse over to a waiting stable hand. Jaro does the same before striding over to where Drystan and I are waiting.

The wolf shifter is tall enough that he barely has to reach up to clasp his hands around my waist and lift me from Blizzard’s saddle. He does it with the same ease one might lift a rag doll, popping me on the ground and keeping his hands in place for a few lingering seconds, like he doesn’t trust me to stand on my own.

I barely notice the gravel beneath my feet. Or the way Drystan dismounts behind me. All of my attention is on the line of fae, waiting demurely along one side of the courtyard with their hands clasped in front of them.

There are about two dozen of them, and it’s a mix of species. Everything from an ogre to a high fae, a brownie, and even a handful of pixies. Those are just the species I can name. The only thing they all have in common are their neat black uniforms and their curious expressions.

“These are your main household staff,” Florian announces as they bow to me. “Most of them live here in their own wing, so you’ll grow to recognise them. Everyone here served under our mother.”

A tall, stick-thin female farther down the line coughs pointedly.

Florian sighs, wearing an amused grin. “And this is Ghislane. She’s been the head housekeeper since before I was born.”

She has? She looks like she couldn’t lift a feather. She is unmistakably pretty, in her own terrifying way, with long, straight black hair that’s almost as dark as her uniform and skin so pale that the contrast is almost painful to look at. Her soft brown eyes are large, luminous, and watery, as though she ought to be crying, but her expression is warm and welcoming.

What kind of fae is she? If not for her stooping posture, she’d easily be taller than all of my men, even Jaro.

“I’ve had your meal sent to your rooms, Your Majesty,” she says, bowing again. “I thought after your dunderheaded brother finished parading you around, you’d appreciate the peace and quiet before the ball.”

“Th—that’s very kind of you.” Goddess, I am getting sick of not being able to thank anyone. The words are always on the tip of my tongue.

Ghislane smiles and claps her hands together, turning to the line of servants. “Everyone, back to your duties. We’ve got a ball to prepare for, and I need Her Majesty’s gown sorted in the next hour.” She gives a male about halfway along the line a stern glare.

“I’ll leave you in her capable hands.” Florian grunts. “Jaro grew up here. He knows his way up to the Nicnevin’s personal gardens.”

He does?

“I’ll see you at your ball.”

“About that…” I trail off, taking in his soft, patient smile. It’s clear Florian is just as out of his depth as I am and trying his best. Damn it. I can’t just try to weasel my way out of the ball when he’s probably put so much effort into it. “Never mind.”

He bows stiffly. “I’ll see you there.”

Those wings I was admiring earlier flick out from his back, beating in perfect sync to lift him into the air—armour and all. Florian soars out of the courtyard like it’s as natural as breathing. To him, I guess it must be.

But for me, it’s the last straw.

“I think… I’d like to be alone,” I whisper.

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