Page 22
CHAPTER 22
Seraphine
Arthur’s penmanship looped and swirled, written with utmost care—just as I would expect from a Duke of Riche. The quill scratched across the open notebook he’d brought with him, and I studied his face.
He was certainly a good looking man. Golden hair. Golden skin that made me wonder how much time he spent outdoors when he claimed to spend most of it inside. That scar down his cheek did him wonders, and I was growing more curious to know how he’d gotten it.
What hangs at a man’s thigh and is used to poke at holes that have been poked many times before?
I laughed, though he couldn’t hear me. He smiled with a sly grin, and I took the quill from his hand.
I actually knew this one.
A Key.
“Ah, you’ve heard this one before. Two out of eight isn’t so bad.” He leaned back in his chair, stretching his legs.
I quickly wrote,
Two out of eight is terrible.
Reading my words, he chuckled, rubbing his eyes and covering a yawn.
Do you tire? I could call for Kor
“No, no,” he interrupted my quick scrawl. “I apologize, Your Highness. I’ve had a few long nights.”
Arthur was kind and intelligent. Well-read in books and naughty jokes. He was a duke and everything I should have wanted if I had been raised as the Princess of Riche.
I tapped my foot while watching him as he cocked his head and studied the spines of the books in the hall. There was a tension in his shoulders—a subtle way he tried to hide whatever was bothering him.
I liked Arthur’s company. I could see a life where we were friends, exchanging book recommendations and laughing over our lewd humor. But I could not see myself loving or settling down somewhere with this man.
I picked up the quill and began to write again.
Would you like to tell me about your long nights? Something is bothering you.
He leaned in and read my words. He shook his head. “I wouldn’t let my concerns weigh over your head.”
I picked up the quill again.
You know of mine. Though we are strangers in a strange circumstance, you have a listening ear.
I paused, then added,
I’m of more use than trying out all your naughty jokes, Duke of Riche.
His body shook in a chuckle and he rubbed his chest, standing and walking along the shelves, pulling a book to rifle through.
“My mother will be dead in days,” he began. “I have come to accept this. What hope I had of her return to health is fading with each night that passes.”
I quickly wrote a reply.
I am truly sorry. Is there anything I can do to help besides listen?
He read my words, staring too long at the page. A minute went by. I continued,
Perhaps my birth parents can find some way to be of help? I’m sure they have the best resources money can buy.
“It is not resources she needs.” He was staring now. Staring at where my eyes should be. “She needs a Goddess blessing and?—”
I know the Forestfae Goddess of the Veil! I’m sure she could help you save your mother.
He leaned against the desk, a rumble leaving his chest. “I have…procured a way to possibly save her life. It isn’t…guaranteed.” His hands bent, fingers scratching in the wood. “Never mind it all, Princess. She will live or die. Life goes on, doesn’t it?”
I frowned.
You care immensely for your mother. It is perfectly normal to grieve her possible passing before she goes.
“Seraphine,” he whispered harshly. “You don’t understand. And I cannot?—”
“Your time is up,” Korven called, practically flying across the long aisle, his wingspan flaring.
Arthur stood straight, a small grin across his mouth. “You’re late by my timing, Prince Korven. And I half expected you to burst in here early. What kept you?”
“None of your fucking business,” he snapped, holding a hand out to me, his harsh tone calming as he asked, “Are you ready?”
I nodded, my body instantly drawn to the winged Ravenfae, dark and broody, jealous and possessive. The man who had woken me this morning with his mouth across my belly, his teeth nipping at my hip.
I took up the quill one more time.
It was good to see you again, Arthur. Will you meet me here tomorrow?
He cleared his throat, plastering a soft smile on his face. “Alas, I cannot, Princess Seraphine. I am to travel once more to our castle in Heartstone Wood and will be away for a few days.”
My stomach fell. In five days the curse breaker was due to kiss me and end this spell. I began to write again, but Korven beat me to it.
“You fucking bastard. You know she has just days left and you lead us on with the pretense of breaking?—”
“I’ll do it,” he stated, then turned back to me. “I’ll be there, Seraphine. Before the moon is full, I will find you in the tallest tower.” He huffed a laugh and reached for my hand. “I’ll kiss your lips and you will be done with this curse. No commitments. No confessions. I believe I can give you what you need.” He swallowed hard, squeezing my hand. “I’d be happy to give you your life back.”
“Go now. Go right fucking now,” Korven moved around the desk, grabbing my other hand, pulling me toward him. “Why wait? You’ve made up your mind. If you tell Urik why you’re there—hell, we’ll escort you and explain everything.”
“I cannot go. My carriage is already waiting outside, and I am overdue to travel to my mother and see her one last time. I don’t…I don’t know if I’ll make it in time even as it is.” He bowed to me, taking my hand to kiss softly.
Korven tensed, squeezing my fingers.
“I will be there. Before the Cursed Moon is full in the sky. This is my promise to you.”
I nodded, squeezing his fingers in my reply. He gave one last look my way before leaving the hall swiftly.
I beamed at Korven. “He’ll do it. He’s going to break the curse!” I wrapped my arms around his neck. “I believe him. His mother will pass very soon, and I can only imagine he needs to say his goodbye. We will be free.”
He pulled me to his chest, cupping the base of my neck. “You’re willing to bet your life on his promises?”
I breathed deep. “Yes. And yours. I believe him, Korven. Please trust me in this. We don’t have time to find another.” I pressed myself against him and he hummed low. “We have these next few days to live. No appointments with dukes, no long list of pompous gentlemen.”
His fingers trailed over my spine, across the back of the barmaid’s dress he’d swiped from the line early this morning. “There’s one more thing to do then, before we live them together.”
It was my turn to hum, pressing my breasts harder against him and finding my way up his shirt. “And what’s that, Ravenfae Prince?”
He caught my hand along the planes of muscle across his torso, pulling it back out and kissing the tips of my fingers. “It’s time we find you a dress you belong in.”
* * *
Korven held my hand as we walked through Thornhill’s streets, stopping with me at stalls and storefronts, never satisfied enough with a dress color or drape. I wore his cloak and he positioned it in such a way that the hood fell over my neck to appear as if he walked with a mysterious figure and not a headless woman. It was the only part of me that had not yet solidified, and thankfully, Thornhill wasn’t exactly a hub of faekind that could see me partially returned. The Ravenfae Prince was avoided throughout the streets and it took me all of five minutes to see that he preferred it that way.
Each gown we looked over was too bright, too rough—never good enough for his Seraphine, he’d told me over and over again.
The sun left its last sliver of gold glowing across the cobblestones, and I could have stayed there, my hand in my possessive prince’s fingers, walking the market stores and stalls in search of something to drape across my body. If I had an endless day, it might be this, holding hands through the streets with the man I couldn’t bear to think of leaving.
“Are you certain I even need a gown?” I asked him as he swept his hand over the material of a pale blue silk, bent in a crouch to inspect the hem. “I don’t need to wear anything at all for the next few days.”
His wings ruffled and he gave me a slow head turn with a devouring look.
I giggled, pulling at my drab brown skirts. “I find that most material is a bit irritating on my skin. I prefer nothing but soft stockings to warm my legs and a fae prince between them.”
He grabbed a handful of my dress, pulling me closer to where he bent, focusing back on his assessment. “One more teasing remark from you, and I’ll be under these skirts before you can say?—”
“My Prince! I’ve found it!” The little old man who owned the small boutique came rushing toward us, a gown of bright pink silk draped over his outstretched arms. Korven rose and murmured his reply, inspecting the material.
I sighed and continued looking around, not really caring much for whatever Korven found to drape across my body. I’d been forced into one too many gowns in my life to have a love of fashion. I’d meant what I’d said. I’d rather wear soft blankets and sheets than be draped in yards of silk.
I trailed my fingers over the gowns on display, lovely, intricate, loud. I couldn’t see myself in any of them. But I wanted to find something Korven would admire and force him to catch his breath like I did every Goddessdamn time I saw him.
I found it there, nestled behind two beaded gowns in dark jewel tones. It had been shoved behind them as if forgotten or too plain for any customer to look over twice.
It was perfect for me. Soft lilac with draped panels of a blush pink falling over the cinched waist, the gown puddled at the skirts with a wide hem and not a single bead or crystal embellishment to be found. And no bows in sight. The top was delicately folded again and again in long lines across the unstructured bodice with thin straps to hold it in place.
I carefully unhooked it from the hanger and carried it to a private dressing room in the corner. I swept the curtain aside and stepped through, hearing the muffled voices of Korven and the shopkeep discussing the materials he had on hand.
I slipped out of the cloak and my stolen dress, keeping my stockings on. I adored them and would wear them as long as I could.
I stepped into the gown, sliding the soft fabric up over my hips. I hadn’t realized the back was open, a few strings tying low just above my backside. I turned and looked at my back in the mirror, smiling at newly golden hair reaching almost to my black feather tattoo.
“There’s more of you, Phinie darling.”
I gasped, heat coursing through me as he stepped all the way into the dressing room, closing the curtain behind him.
I finished the tie and stepped back, pulling lightly at the layers of soft, silky material, letting it fall along my legs in a gauzy drape.
A short exhale left him and his nostrils flared as he took all of me in. His dark eyes studied me from bottom to top, stopping at the golden curls draped around my shoulders. They ended at my neck, my head still under Fiola’s exception to the curse.
He spoke slowly. “Why is there more of you?”
Ignoring his question, I spun with my back on display, the tattoo we both knew was for him bold and black down my spine. “Do you like it? I think it’s perfect for me.”
“It is,” he started, taking the few steps left between us, wings outright and brushing the sides of the walls. His face spoke of promise, of confession—everything we said we wouldn’t give each other hung there as he pulled me close.
I couldn’t hear it. Even if he wanted to confess whatever pulled at his lips in that shadowy room, I didn’t want to know.
In a few days we’d be dead or he’d be gone.
I wouldn’t spend the next few days wondering why, grieving the broken loss of him in my bed before he actually left it.
“Seraphine, I?—”
“No,” I whispered, brushing my fingers across his lips. “Just live with me. Please.”
He pulled a pouch of gold from his pocket. The marks clinked as he tossed them to the floor. He picked me up, draped across his arms like a broken princess and walked out the door, our eyes locked, soaring above a world where we would never be together longer than the length of a curse.