Page 3 of Tempting the Fae Lord (The Gatekeeper’s Weakness)

Chapter Three

Gale

We’re iced in for five days. Though we’ve definitely been through worse, by the time the sun makes her valiant golden return, I’m near to climbing the walls from cabin fever.

And so are our guests.

At midmorning, the villagers are packed and eager to return to their lives and homes downhill.

Eulayla and I are stuffed in our furs and cloaks to see them off with baskets of fresh-baked goodies for the trip.

A trip that’s far too short to require sustenance, but Eulayla needs no more excuse than a bit of dandelion fluff to whip up extra sweet treats.

It feels good to be outside again, to admire the blue skies and listen to the plink plink plink of dripping icicles.

As the group rides off, waving their good-byes, I bump my shoulder against Eulayla’s. “Another storm well weathered.”

“You did a fine job, lad.” She pats my cheek. “I’m proud of you. And I know it’s a weight off Chester’s shoulders to turn over more responsibilities, so thank you for that.”

“You’re welcome. And thank you for this.” I snitch a powdered plum crisp from what’s left in her basket. Mmm. I could eat twenty-seven of these and still want more.

She licks her thumb and swipes sugar off the corner of my mouth. “All grown up, yet you’ll always be a bit of a child in my eyes.”

“Hey.”

“It’s a good thing, Gale. Never lose that youthful zest for life. You’ll need it, living here.” She draws her cloak tighter around her middle.

We stand side by side at the arched entryway, watching the trail of villagers get smaller and smaller as they descend. “I thought you liked living here.”

“I do,” she says. “Most of the time.”

“And the rest of the time?”

“The rest of the time, not that it matters, I wonder what a hot summer day would feel like. What a bustling city with crowded streets and colorful shops might have to offer.” Her gaze grows wistful. “Water warm enough to swim in, how would that be?”

I cram my hands into my pockets. “Do you ever wonder about your real family?”

“Pfft.” She thwacks my chest with the back of her hand. “Don’t be silly. You are my real family. You, Chester, Amaris, and the others. Even him. You’re all the family I need.”

Her sweet sentiment lands warm on my heart.

I squint. A lone rider travels in the opposite direction, toward us rather than away. “Reckon they forgot something?”

Eulayla sees him too. “That’s not one of ours.”

Before it’s out of her mouth, I notice the purple and gold banner of a messenger. “Do you think it’s—”

“Now don’t go getting ahead of yourself. An abandoned babe isn’t the only reason we get messengers.”

I stare. “Yes, it is.”

“All right. It generally is. Still, it might not be that.”

My emotions are all over the place. A wee fae babe with both parents gone dormant is sad, of course, but also… This could be my chance.

He’ll have to go through the gate to swap them for a human baby. If I could only convince him to take me along, show me where I came from, I could find—

“Better hurry back inside,” says Eulayla.

“I’ll need to prepare something hot for the messenger.

He’s likely to be half-frozen and starved.

And you’ll need to switch over the guest quarters.

Remember how the villagers left it last time?

” She turns and trundles back toward the keep.

“A mess! Chester labored for two full days cleaning up after them. You’re young, though. Won’t take you as long.”

She’s still chattering away as I imagine a happy reunion with hugs and kisses and stories and sweet cakes and a mother and fa—

“Come on, lollygagsy, those bed linens won’t change themselves.”

I jog to catch up, but my daydreams run absolutely wild.

The messenger’s name is Callum, and he can’t be persuaded to give his message to anyone but the Gatekeeper himself, even though we all know what news the message will bring.

Which means waiting all day for the master of the house to rise.

By twilight, I’ve thought myself into a tizzy. Not only am I guaranteed to see the Gatekeeper any second now, but my new mission consumes my mind: To see what’s on the other side of that gate.

What will it take to convince him to allow me to tag along?

I have no magic to contribute, no special powers, no super strength. But I’m a handy sort of person to have around. I could set up camp, tend to the horses, cook the meals, or—Wait, he doesn’t eat meals. Well, he does. But not the kind of food one cooks.

I could be the meals, if only he’d change his mind and feed from me.

And now I’m thinking of food, which isn’t the best thing to be thinking of. I’ve been too worked up to eat all day, so whatever happens tonight, I’ll face it with an empty stomach. My belly growls as if in protest.

At least dusk is finally settling over the frozen landscape.

Instead of the gaming parlor, we gather in what any other castle would call a Great Hall, but we call the sneezing pit because it’s so seldom in use every surface is covered with a thick layer of dust that must be cleaned away before the Gatekeeper wakes.

Having done that with brooms and rags and lye soap, we only need to complete the finishing touches. I polish the iron throne till it shines, and Marissa adds a blue velvet cushion upon the seat.

Rows of wall sconces cast an eerie, orange glow, and fae lights sparkle golden overhead.

We rarely use these. Their magical presence distracts me, their reflections making the black marble floors glitter like freshly fallen snow.

But it’s warm tonight with two hearths blazing bright on either side of the expansive hall.

I wear my finest clothes, which aren’t so fine at all compared to what they’re wearing in the cities, or so I was told by the last messenger when I wore this same outfit: burgundy linen doublet with gold laces, a cream linen shirt beneath, brown leather breaches, and brown boots a bit too tight for my feet.

My unruly curls are tamed within an inch of their life and fastened back with a scrap of red ribbon.

This is as presentable as I get.

Eulayla sends Amaris to fetch Callum, where he’s been resting in the guest quarters. Then we wait. It’s not like we’re required to be in attendance when the Gatekeeper grants an audience, but there’s little else to do. And the possibility of a new little one is exciting.

Chester flattens Jack’s collar. “You could use some new clothes.”

Jack plucks a string from an old, worn patch at Chester’s elbow. “We all could.”

“I apologize.” The Gatekeeper’s resonant voice fills the space, though he’s spoken quietly.

I whirl around to lay eyes on him.

“I shall see to it at once,” he says. “Marissa, could you collect everyone’s measurements to that end?”

Marissa curtsies. “Yes, sir.”

He’s resplendent in a vest of fine black silk over a flowing shirt of black linen. He turns his back to Eulayla, “Would you mind?”

“My pleasure.” She tightens the laces that trail down the curve of his spine.

As she tugs, his shapely, narrow waist materializes over slender hips.

Black leather breeches draw my attention to svelte, muscular thighs.

The tips of his black boots shine with a fresh polish that he must have done himself before making his appearance.

I yearn to be the one adjusting those laces, running fingers over the silk, brushing his soft hair out of the way. To be close enough to inhale a whiff of his wintery scent.

It’s always been like this for me. His mere presence is spellbinding. He enthralls me with every tilt of his head, every word from his lips, every gesture from his ringed fingers with their perfectly manicured nails.

I learned early on to hide this from the others as much as I could. Better to keep my infatuation a secret. It makes him uncomfortable, makes Chester tease me, and makes Eulayla frown.

The Gatekeeper catches my gaze. Though I’ve been caught staring, I still can’t drag my eyes away from him.

I didn’t say I was any good at keeping it a secret—only that I sometimes try, just apparently not very hard tonight.

He nods a greeting, a slight dip of his chin while maintaining eye contact, and I nearly tip over from light-headedness. Heat flushes my face. I return the nod and try to keep my smile of a pleasant-evening variety instead of a crazed-lunatic variety.

The corner of his mouth curls upward, and he glances away.

“There you are.” Eulayla pats him on the shoulders and runs her hand over his wavy hair, smoothing it over his back.

“Thank you, dear.” He kisses her cheek. “How are you?”

“Well enough. Glad to have a visitor. He’s a new one, the messenger. Young. Name’s Callum.”

“He’s been sent for?”

“Yes. On his way.”

The Gatekeeper lets out a resigned sigh. “Then I ought to assume the position. Is there a dinner prepared for afterward?”

“Does a one-legged duck swim in a circle?”

He shakes his head and grins, fangs gleaming. No reserved smiles for Eulayla. She gets his genuine affection and amusement. “I knew better than to ask.”

“That you do, and yet.”

“And yet.” He takes his place on the throne, looking every bit as regal as his bloodline would indicate, but we all know he’s uncomfortable. He prefers to be left alone.

Amaris returns with a tentative Callum in tow.

Who knows what rumors he’s heard about the Gatekeeper?

They say awful things about him in the southern towns and cities.

We’ve heard shocking bits of lore—like he feeds off the babies he steals—repulsive lies.

They should count themselves lucky he isn’t the vengeful sort.

“Approach, lad.” The Gatekeeper beckons with an open hand.

Callum swallows and makes his way forward. He bows awkwardly. “Your Majesty.”

“Rise.” He waits for Callum to stand and make eye contact. “From whence do you hail and what news have you brought us?”

“Lemossin, Your Majesty. There’s been an unfortunate double dormancy in the outlying town of Midview.”