Page 19 of Blackwarden

Rosalin

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When I was finally able to drag myself from bed, I was a mess.

Unable to stop thinking about Keres, reliving the dream over and over again.

It felt so real, like a memory that had been lost in the back of my mind for years, finally released from its cage and tearing through the very fabric of my soul.

Had he put it in my head? Was that even possible?

My cheeks burned with the possibility that he had controlled my dreams. I didn’t know enough about Fae magic to rule it out, and I wasn’t sure I was brave enough to ask.

It would be a struggle to sit across from him for breakfast, attempting to forget the unforgettable way the gold chains had draped over every inch of his flawless body.

I’d been ready since dawn, both impatient and thankful Keres hadn’t come to collect me for breakfast. I’m not sure I would have answered the door if he’d knocked. When I had a minute to spare, I slipped out and down the hall to the dining room.

He was waiting for me, eyes downcast. I slid into my chair before he troubled himself to look up.

There was a strange expression on his face.

One I hadn’t seen before. It was something like confusion mixed with frustration.

I glanced away from him quickly, unable to hold eye contact.

Those were the same eyes from the dream, though they’d been admittedly happier to see me than they were now.

He didn’t say anything, summoning his usual breakfast, he started eating without a word.

But I was a ball of nerves. Every breath I took felt tight as his silence stretched for too long.

I tried to recall what we’d discussed at dinner the night before.

There had been angry words between us, but it had all been replaced with that fucking dream.

I cleared my throat to ask how his evening had been when I finally noticed what he was wearing.

I froze, my mouth falling open as every shred of bravery washed away.

His doublet, like others, had a deep neckline that exposed his chest down to his navel.

But it was what hung around his neck that gave me pause.

A collar made of gold plates strung together with chains in the shape of a ribcage.

My whole body began to vibrate from the memory of the dream, the way his slender fingers had felt against my delicate skin, the heat of his body between my thighs as I climbed on top of him.

I couldn’t stay in that room.

I couldn’t be there with him.

It wasn’t real. It was a dream. I needed it to be a dream.

I ran from the room, ignoring the confused expression on his face.

Maybe this whole thing—the Gatehouse, the curse, the sacrifice—was nothing to him. But it was everything to me. These were likely the last days of my life. So as I forced myself not to think about the dream, I found that I couldn’t stop thinking about the curse.

I read the slip of paper that I had found tucked into the back of the Old Fae book over and over again, dwelling on each word.

I’d found some sheets of stationary in the drawer of my vanity.

A pen and inkwell sat on one of the shelves next to the door.

With them I began making notes. My handwriting neat at first, until everything started to come together at once.

Who had written the journal entry?

It was likely Keres, but it could have been another Dark Fae. The reference to the Hag Queen lined up with what Keres had said, that I was here because of concessions made by the humans after the Fae Wars. Could there have been something else involved? Was it a treaty? Or a punishment?

Whoever had written the entry didn’t want to submit the maidens to whatever fate their lover had befallen, but there was no way of knowing what their beloved’s fate had been.

I stared at the words hoping in my heart it wasn’t Keres.

I didn’t need a reason to feel sorry for him right now, not when I was doubting everything I knew about Dark Fae already.

In reality, I couldn’t allow myself to feel anything for him at all.

And a loss, so much like my own, made his angry words the evening before all the more real.

That I assumed he was a monster with dark intentions when he was just enduring a punishment.

The reference to having protected forty-three maidens was enough to make my eyes well with tears.

If a girl was sent to the Unseelie Court every five years, that meant whoever had written this journal entry had been enduring their punishment for at least two hundred and fifteen years.

Most likely longer. The Fae Wars had taken place over five hundred years ago.

And based on the age-stained paper, this wasn’t a freshly written entry.

I leaned back. It was very possible Keres was over five hundred years old. Fae were immortal. They could be killed, but otherwise, he was likely to live forever. I let this settle around me, a shiver working its way up my spine.

How old was Keres? I tried to push him from my mind again, but it was getting harder.

What was meant by their faces being eternally recorded?

I shuddered, my mind instantly going to the room with the portraits.

There had been so many. More than forty-three with better than half appearing as nothing but dark silhouettes.

What if it had been Keres who painted them all?

What if he was the one who dragged every single human maiden to the Unseelie Court?

I still had too many questions, and all I wanted to do was pound on Keres’ door again and ask him.

I knew he wouldn’t answer, and in all honesty, I probably didn’t deserve his answers.

He’d all but dismissed me the day before when I tried to apologize for the way I’d acted.

The memory of his voice as he’d called me human washed over me.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, trying hard not to let the memory of the dream creep back in around all the other thoughts. I looked at the clock. It was nearly lunchtime, and I was hungry. I couldn’t miss it today, but a piece of me was dreading facing Keres.

“Couldn’t you conjure my lunch here?” I asked the ceiling, hoping the Gatehouse would plop a plate down on my otherwise useless table.

After a long moment of nothing happening, I gave up. I dipped the pen tip in the inkwell and circled the word portrait in my last note. I’d come back to this as soon as I could.

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At lunch Keres hardly looked at me—it was better that way.

I needed the distance. In fact, I pretended he wasn’t there at all.

I conjured a delightful lunch of onion soup and warm bread, then before he’d finished his own strange meal of what he’d called a midnight apple with a few thick slices of cheese, I left.

I rushed back to my room thinking I could pull some details out of the Old Fae book with Keres’ family name on the front, but my brain was a jumbled mess.

It was the gold ribcage collar that he’d still been wearing.

He’d worn it in the dream, but I hadn’t seen it before today.

How was that possible unless he’d put the dream in my mind?

I hated not knowing if he was able to manipulate such things.

I hated even more that I knew he wouldn’t answer if I asked.

I tried to make sense of my notes, but nothing was connecting.

I’d circled the word portrait and now I wasn’t sure why.

After an hour of getting nowhere, I decided I’d try some different scenery.

It was still a couple hours before dinner.

Surely it wouldn’t be suspicious if I went to the library at this time of day.

I didn’t bother sneaking because I wasn’t trying to hide.

Instead, I walked with confidence. I was beyond thankful the halls were empty, the braziers burning cheerfully.

I wasn’t in the right frame of mind to deal with Keres and his shadows.

I didn’t creep through the door, I opened it with gusto and waltzed in, only to find him sprawled out on a chaise with a book across his knees, all long limbs and darkness.

He glanced in my direction, expression never changing, then went back to reading as if me being in his library was perfectly normal.

So, he was still ignoring me. Delightful.

Because I didn’t have the patience for his non-answers anyway.

I took a deep breath and went directly to the shelf I’d seen some other books in Old Fae and started pulling them down, flipping through until I found something that looked like a diagram of sorts.

This wasn’t exactly what I was looking for, but it was interesting enough that I plopped into a chair to take a closer look.

There was nothing but the sound of pages turning as I thumbed through the book.

It was almost peaceful, and I’d nearly forgotten he was there with me on the other side of the library.

I picked up another book, flipping until I came to strange drawings of the different High Fae.

Captivated, I looked closer, noticing how detailed each illustration was.

Beautiful linework twisted across the pages blending into the text with long twirling ligatures.

I was mesmerized by the elegance. Tall, lean males and females with antlers and horns and pointed ears.

Different colored flesh and some with very animalistic characteristics.

A shadow of a horned head crept across the open pages, and I glanced up into Keres’ curious dark eyes. He seemed just as intrigued as I was, and for a moment I was lost in the kind expression on his face. I blinked a few times to make sure I wasn’t dreaming again.

“Interesting read for a human,” he said.

I let the snide remark roll away, trying my best not to be goaded as I went back to inspecting the pages.

“Can you even read Old Fae?”

“No, but you aren’t exactly forthcoming, so I’d say these books are about as helpful as you are.”

He chucked and I couldn’t help but glance up at the mirthful sound of it.

He met my gaze with warm amusement which I hadn’t yet had the opportunity to see from him.

Where was this Dark Fae when I’d been terrified or angry?

I tried to snuff out the momentary flash of embarrassment at the sight of that damned gold collar and instead nodded to the book in his hand.

“What are you reading?”

He held it out to me.

“The Demise of the Blackwarden.” I read aloud. I’d never heard of it but that wasn’t significant. I grew up in a poor village with a small library.

“It’s interesting. If a bit dry and slightly inaccurate.”

Was he attempting humor? He must have noticed my confusion and took a step back glancing down at the cover as though he was reading it for the first time.

“I prefer fantastical stories if I’m honest,” he continued. “This one is more of the historical variety.”

“What’s the Blackwarden?”

His eyes didn’t leave the cover of the book as he blinked a few times in surprise.

“Another question you won’t answer?”

He turned away, letting the book hang at his side in defeat. I should have stopped there. I knew better. This was how I’d made him angry before.

“Do you know much about it?” I asked.

“Them. ”

“Did you know them?” I corrected.

Keres turned back toward me, the muscles in his shoulders tense.

He took a breath to speak, his lips parting, the words on the tip of his tongue.

I’d seen this before. I knew this response.

He was definitely trying to answer me. If I could break him now, perhaps I’d get an answer to the question I truly wanted to know.

“What’s going on? Is this whole thing because of a curse?”

He tightened, squeezing his eyes closed in pain.

“Who are you really, Keres? Is that even your name?”

“It is.” His response exploded past his lips. “My name is Keres...” he trailed off as if there was more. “Keres...” The anguish on his face was genuine and I stood as he held the book out toward me. “K...”

His eyes fluttered as he swayed, and I thought he was going to pass out. I steadied him by his arms, but there was no way I could have caught him if he fell. He looked down at me with glassy eyes.

We were so close—my hands still resting on his arms, the warmth of him seeping into my palms. He stared at me for a long moment as if trying to focus, but I was still lost in his eyes, my heart pounding so loudly in my ears I was sure he had to hear it too.

“Ask me...ask me again.” His voice was strained, pressed thin as if it took all his strength to speak these few words.

“Who are you?”

“The other...”

“Is this a curse?”

He swayed again, eyes rolling before refocusing on mine. He took a breath, his lips moving in the shape of the word “yes.”

A line of blood eased from his nose.

“Stop,” I said, much louder than I should have. “What are you doing? You’re hurting yourself.”

He trembled under my hands as the blood carved a path down to his chin. The red was so bright against his pale skin. Nothing else in this entire mansion was as vivid, and I was mesmerized by it as it ran down his neck and soaked into the collar of his doublet .

“What’s happening to you?” I hadn’t wanted to ask him another question, but I didn’t know what else to say.

It was becoming crystal clear he wanted to answer me but physically couldn’t.

Not without consequences. The way his lips had shaped the word yes sent a shiver of fear writhing through me.

It was as solid of confirmation as I’d likely get that there was a curse, that I wasn’t crazy, and the journal page I’d found was accurate.

He swallowed, glaring at me with an unyielding agony in his expression before he turned and stumbled from the library, leaving the book he’d been reading in my hands.

This time, I didn’t follow him. Instead, I read the title over and over again, letting it sink into my bones. Blackwarden.

Was this book about a family? Every time he tried to say his family name, he’d been unable to continue. The Gatehouse, or this curse, whatever it was, didn’t want me to know. But I needed to know, and I’d figure it out if it was the last thing I did before I was dragged to the Unseelie Court.