Page 61 of Enslaved

I stare at myself in the glass. My expression is drawn, solemn. I know I look well. Beautiful even, in my own very human way. But I don’t come anywhere near the incredible beauty of the fae. I don’t belong in their world. Inhisworld. I don’t belong with him.

You know where you belong.

I blink. In the flash of darkness behind my eyelids, I see myself in a reflection of black glass. My eyes are sewn shut. Blood pours down my cheeks, my neck, pools in the hollow of my throat. Drips to stain the bodice of the gown.

With a gasp, I open my eyes again, staring at that lovely vision of myself in lavender, crowned in butterflies. It doesn’t seem real. As though the mirror shows me nothing more than a glamour, an illusion, while the truth lurks underneath.

Sighing, I turn away. There are several doors leading to and from this chamber. Suddenly eager to be on my way, I choose the nearest one, grab the latch, push it open. A rush of cool air makes my skin prickle as I step from the humid air of the washroom. The chamber I step into isn’t Dasyra’s bedroom. It’s a smaller, sparser space, intended for a servant no doubt. There’s a small copper tub and a washstand in the middle of the chamber.

And there before me stands the Prince. Facing away from me. Unaware of my presence. He holds a pitcher of water over his head, pouring it over his upturned face. The scented stream flows through his black hair, across his golden-brown skin, his shoulders, trailing in rivulets down his muscular back and firm bare buttocks.

I stand transfixed. I cannot breathe. Cannot think.

My heart seems to have forgotten how to beat.

The Prince lowers the pitcher, shakes his head. Droplets fly, several of them striking against my bare shoulders and the exposed skin of my bosom. Startled back to life, I catch a short, shaking breath.

He turns.

His eyes widen.

“I’m sorry!” I gasp, throwing up a hand over my eyes as I stagger back through the washroom door, slamming it behind me. Crumpling my skirts in both hands, I flee through Dasyra’s greenery, take the first door I find, and stumble through it. Somehow I make my way back to the front room, escape the queen’s suite, and stand in the palace hall outside.

My heart races like I’ve just fled the Wild Hunt.

What have I done? How could I have made such an error? I close my eyes, press both fists against my temples. Trying to force that image out of my mind. Not just the image of his body, so sculpted and glorious—every masculine contour highlighted in streams of silvery water—but the look in his eye. The shock. The heat.

The fire.

No! Stop it!

Blood pulsing, skin flaming, I pick up the hem of my skirt and flee through the palace, unconsciously pursuing the faint strains of distant music.

Through the tall, arched windows of Aurelis Palace, I catch glimpses of indigo sky spangled with stars. It’s a strange sight here in the Dawn Realm. Ordinarily, Aurelian nightfall consists of nothing deeper than a purpling twilight which lasts a mere few hours. Spring Summit, however, brings on proper darkness, and only comes to Aurelis every dozen turns of the cycle. This is my first time observing it. It’s unsettling to say the least.

To combat the dark, every corner, hall, passage, and alcove has been lit with glamour-lights—shining lanterns full of magic in every color imaginable. They give off a dancing aura and perfume the air with delicate and enticing aromas. The lights gleam off my iridescent dress, causing it to emit its own radiance, and making me all-too conspicuous. I certainly attract more than a few unpleasant glances from the various human Obligates I pass on my way.

I lower my gaze, tuck my chin, and keep on going. My frantic run from the queen’s suite slows to a more sedate pace which belies the hammering of my heart. My whole body shakes from sheerembarrassment.That’s all, though. Just embarrassment. I mean, I’ve glimpsed the Prince shirtless more times than I can count, but this? This was so much worse, so much more, so much . . . so . . .

No, I won’t think about it. Time to wipe that image from my mind, focus on the present. On gaining access to Estrilde’s ball. On finding Ivor, drawing him aside, making my request as simply and eloquently as possible. If I’m lucky—if I’m very lucky indeed—I’ll be on my way back to Illithorin’s Waste within the hour. Maybe I won’t bring the Prince with me. Maybe I can get Ivor to send one of his men to carry me on one of those powerful winged steeds. That would be simpler, surely. No need to involve the Prince at all.

I follow the sound of music through the winding passages and come at last to a doorway opening out onto the enormous Aurelis gardens. Here, fae of all kinds from all corners of Eledria gather, glorious in their strange and beautiful raiment. Most pay me no mind. While my own gown is the equal of any of theirs, the moment they set eyes on my face, it’s like I cease to exist. I’m merely human, after all. Unworthy of their notice.

I slip in behind a cluster of twittering woodnymphs—ladies of the Lildrolath Forest, I believe, judging by the color of their bark-skin and the glossy shade of their green, leafy hair. They step through the door and descend the broad stair into the twilit garden below, pausing at the base to give their names to the footman standing there. He announces them, and they progress into the tiered garden, blending in with the rest of the mighty company. From this view everything seems quite decorous. Musicians hidden in a grove of blossoms play delicate strains, and guests perform dances of grace, elegance, and refinement, gowns and capes twirling, jewels glinting.

But this is only a display. Elsewhere, the festivities will already be growing rowdier, bawdier. Before Summit Night is through, there will be orgies in secret places all over the palace where dangerous drinks are imbibed and inhibitions cast to the four winds.Rothiliomwill burn in the eyes of the dangerous revelers. Those places I dare not venture. I’d like to think Ivor himself will not take part in those aspects of his betrothal celebration. I’ve never seen his eyes gleam green with the effects ofrothiliom,though Estrilde certainly indulges in the drug more often than not.

I stand at the top of the stair, allowing other guests to flow past me and join the throng below. I must be careful. I must keep my wits about me. A human drawn into the revels of the fae makes for an easy target. Perhaps I should have waited for the Prince to finish his . . . his . . . to make himself ready and escort me.

I grip my skirts hard in both hands and hastily push that thought down. This is my quest after all. Yes, he’s been useful; I know perfectly well I would never have made it this far without him. But things are different now. He and Ivor detest one another. It’s best if he stays out of my way. His presence won’t make things any easier.

Straightening my shoulders and adjusting the set of my hair, I slowly descend the broad stair. Music dances and whirls in the air around me, making me a little dizzy. I take care not to move too quickly, to draw no undue attention my way. As I near the base of the stair, the footman standing at attendance, turns, inquiring, “Your name, please?”

Then he stops.

His jaw drops.

Slowly, his gaze roves from my face down to my bare shoulders, all the exposed skin of my upper body, the perfectly-fitted bodice, the bounteous folds of shimmering skirt and living blossoms. With an effort, he yanks his eyes back to my face.

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