Page 33 of The Red Woman and the White Bear

When Kael at last returned, he didn’t seem at all surprised to find that her door was still unlocked. Aisling thought then that maybe he’d done it on purpose. “Your daily exploration of my castle has done you well; the color has returned to your cheeks.”

She stiffened. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Have you found anything interesting?” he asked, one eyebrow arched.

“I’ve not left my room,” she lied.

“Here.” Kael dropped a pair of dark velvet slippers on the ground. “Methild had to guessyour size.”

They were a perfect fit, and comfortable on Aisling’s sore feet—a much-needed barrier between her soles and the rough floor. “Thank you,” she said sincerely. Kael ignored her, one hand already pushing open the door.

“Come.” A command, not an offer. He turned and proceeded up the hall, leaving the door ajar. Aisling hesitated, torn. Without any indication of where he might be leading her, she envisioned him once again depositing her in a dungeon cell. She could still hear the haunting rhythm of the water steadily dripping there in the darkness. Gathering her courage, she took step after tentative step until she was following in Kael’s wake.

They didn’t venture far during that first evening. They walked beside one another, Kael with his unreadable gaze fixed ahead, and Aisling with her eyes downcast, focusing on the cadence of their steps. The silence between them was an unspoken agreement. As it was, Aisling thought their walk would be a one-off event. That maybe some sense of guilt or whatever else it had been that drove Kael to remove her manacle still lingered.

But he returned the next night, and again the night after that. Each time, the pair wandered slightly further, deeper into the Undercastle. Kael took her down paths that Aisling hadn’t yet taken herself during her daily exploration—and for that reason she suspected he was having her watched. Still, no one had stopped her. Gradually, gradually, the silence between the two was broken. Just by a sentence or two at first, when Kael would point out something down an adjacent corridor or when Aisling would ask about a lockeddoor. Their conversation was cordial and often short-lived, but she would take what progress she could get.

On the fourth night Kael came to walk with Aisling, his cool aura had thawed some. He gave her a choice—a gesture she hadn’t expected. The night garden or the library, he offered. Though the spiral staircase was daunting, Aisling’s heart quickened at the prospect of fresh air and open spaces. As though he’d anticipated her decision, he’d brought her warmer attire and a heavy cloak of moss green wool that wrapped around her like a shield against the chill.

The night garden was just as stunning as she remembered it; now, with a light dusting of snow, it was maybe even more enchanting. Each branch and petal and blade of grass glittered with magic, turning their downy white covering a glowing blue. Fractals of that same light flitted across the ground where it reflected off of sharp dripping icicles. The sweet smell of the blooms, which seemed determined to thrive despite the frost, permeated even stronger. As the pair retraced their footsteps down the path they’d walked before Aisling had been imprisoned, she tried carefully to avoid returning to the memory of that night.

Without thinking, Aisling reached out for the same flower that Kael had stopped her from touching once before.Angel’s trumpet.But the way it sparkled called out for her fingers to stroke its soft petals. To brush away the snow and ice so that it could breathe in the night air, too.

Again, Kael caught her before she could do so. “Do you not recall what I told you the last time you were here?” he demanded. His face was stern, but there was a hint of amusement in his eyes at thequickness with which Aisling could be so entranced by the magic of his court.

“It’s poisonous,” she mumbled.

He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth as he looked down at her. “Naïveté suits you, human. Your vulnerability in this realm is almost endearing.” His words dripped down her skin like hot wax, melting and coating every inch of her. It burned, but she found herself wanting more. He reached out and plucked a leaf off of her shoulder.

He was truly beautiful in this light, in a haunting, unforgiving sort of way. All sharp angles and harsh lines, the intensity blazing in his silver eyes enough to make her heart skip a beat for fear of the cruelty she knew he harbored there. And yet, still so undeniably beautiful. He drew her in as a moth to a flame. A fly to a spider’s gossamer web. She could so easily be ensnared by him.

But maybe she could do the same to him. She had once before, after all, albeit in a different form. Aisling didn’t like who she was becoming here, but it seemed she had little choice. If she was going to get what she needed, she had to play the game with all the rest of them.

Averting her gaze, she turned and continued down the path. Kael didn’t offer her his arm this time, but he remained close by.

“What do you know about prophecies?” Aisling kept a neutral tone, despite the way her heart raced and her hands trembled where they were balled into fists in the pockets of the cloak.

“Prophecies?” Kael glanced at her sideways. “Why?”

“I saw a line about them in one of your books.” She shrugged. It was a lie—and not a good one—but surely he didn’t have them all memorized. “I find the idea interesting.”

“So you did read them.” She could tell he was smirking without even having to look.

“I skimmed.” Aisling kept her focus on the ground in front of her feet; it was easier to feel confident in her ability to lie when she wasn’t looking at him directly.

“We have ten,” he said. “I know them as well as I do my favorite books. They’re told to us when we are young like bedtime stories.”

Aisling frowned. “Only ten?” Though it increased her odds that someone might know more about her own, it also made her situation feel all the more precarious. She’d been recognized so easily by the sprite when she had been with Briar—with so few prophecies to distract, she stood little chance of keeping her identity hidden here for long.

“When one comes to pass, it is replaced by another. Some have stood for centuries; others, merely decades,” Kael mused. He steered their path back to the garden’s entrance. She was running out of time.

“And they always do?” Aisling asked. “Come to pass, I mean.”

“For better or for worse,” he confirmed solemnly. Aisling wondered whether he was thinking about her prophecy, about how the fall of his court seemed written in stone. The possibility of his defeat being predetermined by fate likely bore significant influence on his decisionsas king.

“Who writes them?” Though she did her best to sound detached, she worried that he could see straight through her. This was more conversation, more questioning than he’d entertained thus far during their walks. But she could feel her time to find answers tonight coming to a close.

Kael shook his head. “No one knows that. Tomorrow evening I will show you the library; you can pick out your own books on prophecies, or whatever else piques your interest, since apparently history is not to your liking.” He swept his arm out in a gesture for Aisling to walk ahead of him down the spiral staircase. She didn’t like the sensation that his looming behind her sent snaking down her spine.

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