Page 43 of The Masked Fae (Royal Fae of Rose Briar Woods 1)

I woke just before dawn and found she had fallen asleep next to me. She slumped against the headboard with a pillow clutched in her arms. Her long, blonde hair was falling from its ribbon.

She looked like a porcelain doll, too perfect and fragile.

Without realizing it, I’d rolled toward her sometime in the night. My mask slid down while I was sleeping and was around my neck when I awoke. If Alice had stirred before me…

But she didn’t.

I wanted to pull her into my arms and go back to sleep, but I forced myself out of the bed.

Regina’s right. I’m in too deep, have started to feel things for Alice that go beyond mild affection. I need to forgive Gustin’s debt and send the two of them back to their home, where they belong. We’ll purchase Alice’s supplies tomorrow, and I will let her paint me.

Let her think she traded her family’s fortune back for a portrait. I will deal with the repercussions once she’s gone.

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” Wallen says from the doorway. “But may we speak?”

I nod my valet inside, and he shuts the door behind him.

After setting the book on the table next to my plate, I turn toward him. “You’re back already?”

“The information you were seeking was not difficult to find,” he says, looking troubled.

“Alice had a sister who disappeared?”

He nods. “Her name was Eleanor. She went missing while the family was on holiday in Fallon.”

Growing cold, I lean forward. “How old was she?”

“A few months shy of three years.” He watches me carefully, his gray eyes full of regret. “Lord and Lady Gravely looked tirelessly for the girl. A few years after she disappeared, they were caught in a landslide while searching. That’s how they died.”

My stomach plummets. “Did you get her description?”

My valet stares at me, his expression sympathetic. “I found a portrait. It was with the family’s things in the auction house. It had been set aside.”

I swallow, finding it hard to breathe. “Did you bring it with you?”

“I did.”

Slowly, I stand, setting my napkin next to the plate. “I want to see it.”

“Of course. I’ve taken it to your quarters.”

We say nothing else as we walk down the hall. Regina steps from a parlor, smiling when she sees us. Almost immediately, her expression becomes distressed. “What’s the matter?”

I loop my arm through my cousin’s, tugging her so she’ll follow. “Wallen has found a portrait of Alice’s family.”

“Is her sister in it?” Regina asks, and the color drains from her face.

“She is,” Wallen answers.

It can’t be her—our girl was named Alice, not Eleanor. But the location, the age…

The three of us enter my sitting room, and Wallen closes the door behind us. In the center of the room, a covered portrait rests on an easel, waiting to be revealed.

I walk across the space, hesitating once my hand clasps the white cover. Steeling myself, I pull it away.

Regina lets out a soft, heartbroken cry.

Alice, our Alice, sits upon her mother’s lap. She wasn’t much older than a baby when this was painted, a year and a half at the most. She has chin-length, dark brown hair and a red satin bow atop her curls. Her amber eyes are as bright as her young grin, and she’s surrounded by a family that quietly smiles for the artist.