Page 27 of The Gilded Fae (Royal Fae of Rose Briar Woods 2)

SABINE

Alexander isn’t the boy I remember. He’s heartbreakingly handsome now, grown into his lanky frame. And his smile…

But he’s lost his boyish charm and exchanged it for a boarish bluntness that makes me want to slap him. Does he actually believe I came all this way to invite him back to Auvenridge for another performance? That I traveled to Davon just to see him perform?

I growl to myself, admitting I might have asked him to return if he hadn’t been so wretched. And how terrible would such an offer be anyway? It’s an honor for a human to be invited into Faerie. Does he think I’m going to beg him? I certainly won’t.

I can sense him behind me as he follows me into the foyer. My anger isn’t as acute as my disappointment, but it’s a far more satisfying emotion, so I dwell on it. It’s better than crying.

Frederick spots me as he walks toward the house doors, giving me a wide smile that crinkles the corners of his eyes. Extending his hands, he says, “That was a short tour.”

“I’m afraid I’ve developed a headache.” I press my fingers to my temples. “Too much excitement.”

His brow creases with concern. “Are you all right?”

“It’s nothing a good night’s sleep won’t fix.”

“Will you allow me to escort you to your hotel? I’d hate to send you in a public coach this time of night.”

Alex joins us, saying nothing.

“I’m staying just across the street.”

“Then I will escort you to your room.” He suddenly grins. “I’m a gentleman, I swear.”

It doesn’t matter if he is or isn’t—I can handle him either way—but I don’t sense any ulterior motives in his offer. “That’s very kind of you. I would appreciate the company.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed the performance, Miss Sabine,” Alex says, listing his head toward me in a goodbye.

I give him a tight smile, refusing to grace him with an answer.

Frederick looks between us, confused. He then dismisses the strange exchange and offers his arm. “Shall we?”

The summer evening is blissful compared to the heat of afternoon, and I sigh as we step out the doors and into the theater’s grand courtyard. The line of waiting carriages has cleared, their patrons already spirited to their homes after the performance, and the night is quiet.

Streetlamps flicker, lining the walkway along the quiet street. Baskets of flowers hang from them, bringing natural charm into the wondrous manmade city. I look at the towering buildings, marveling at their height. They’re black shadows in the night, most of the windows now dark.

But across the street, lights still glow from the hotel, beckoning travelers and offering them rest. It, too, is a large building, not as grand as the theater but similar in style. Frederick and I pass the open iron gates and the towering stone gryphons that flank them, walking the cobblestone drive.

Short lamps are nestled amongst the plants in the landscaped beds, and fat pillar candles burn inside their glass enclosures. Flowers bloom in fiery reds, oranges, and purples—so different from the pastel spring blooms we have in Auvenridge. They lend a rich, velvety floral fragrance to the air.

I pause by the courtyard fountain, feeling a bit deflated. “Davon evenings are enchanting.”

Frederick grins. “And Davon afternoons?”

“They’re hot.”

Laughing, he leans against the fountain’s edge. “Where are you from that you’ve never experienced summer, Sabine?”

“Auvenridge,” I tell him, wondering how he’ll respond.

“I don’t think I’m familiar with that. Where is it?”

“West of Kellington.”

He frowns as he thinks it over. “But there is nothing west of Kellington. The city is on the border of West Faerie, isn’t it?”

I watch him, waiting.