Page 70 of The Masked Fae (Royal Fae of Rose Briar Woods 1)

ALICE

The night is one of the worst I’ve spent in the house. It feels like my parents and grandmother died all over again. The quilt does little to soften the hard wooden floors, and the manor makes all kinds of noises that seem louder when you’re alone.

Even though I got up several times in the night to add wood to the fire, when I wake in the morning, the coals are gray, and the room is frigid.

I sit up, wrapping the quilt around me, and draw my knees to my chin as I stare at the cold hearth.

It’s only a week until Year’s End. When I set off into the Rose Briar Woods, I imagined Gustin would be free long before now. I also didn’t think I’d be spending the holiday in this house.

Though it’s cold and lonely, the morning light chases away some of the sadness. I’m home—a place I never imagined I’d set foot in again. It’s empty, but it’s comforting all the same.

A knock sounds at the front door, echoing through the estate. I jump, and my pulse races at the thought of someone catching me and believing I don’t belong here.

Immediately, I imagine the humiliation of being dragged onto the snowy streets, maybe even taken to the constable and accused of squatting.

I push myself to my feet and peek past the curtains.

Several wagons are parked out front, each pulled by a pair of chestnut draft horses. Their loads are covered with canvas tarps, and several men mill around, looking toward the entry as if waiting.

What could they be here for?

The man at the door finally steps into view, and my fear subsides.

Running my hand over my unruly hair, knowing I must look frightful, I work the heavy locks and crack the door open.

“Wallen?” I ask, still wrapped in the heavy quilt.

The Fae man turns, bowing when he sees me, not looking the slightest bit surprised to find me here. “Good morning, Miss Gravely. We’ve just been to the auction house. Lord Ambrose has asked me to oversee the furniture’s delivery.”

My eyes move to the wagons, and my heart leaps when I realize what’s under those heavy covers.

“Come in,” I say quickly, throwing the door open. “Forgive my appearance, I…”

Unsure how to finish the sentence, since I can’t admit I ran away from the queen of West Faerie last night, I let the words trail off.

As I watch the men carry settees, sideboards, chairs, tables, and more into the house, a public coach pulls into the circular drive.

A man and woman exit, both bundled in heavy cloaks. The man is tall, with a somber look about him. He speaks with the coachman, presumably about the trunks on the luggage rack.

The woman has soft, rounded features, with bright pink cheeks and graying hair that used to be a fiery orange shade of red. When she spots me, she lets out a muffled cry and runs across the snowy entry. The baskets and bundles she carries swing and bobble as she trots, and I laugh even as hot tears stream down my chilled cheeks.

“Mrs. Fletcher!” I cry, clutching the quilt as I meet her.

“Alice!” She pulls me into a tight embrace, accidentally cuffing me in the head with one of her packages. “Where have you been? You vanished. No one knew where you were or when you were going to return—if you were going to return at all. We were all terrified the Fae—”

She cuts off abruptly, sending a suspicious look in Wallen’s direction.

He speaks with one of the auction house men in front of a wagon. I’m not sure whether he heard Mrs. Fletcher or not, but either way, he doesn’t seem to be paying attention.

She drops her voice to a whisper. “We were afraid they’d kidnapped you, that perhaps Gustin somehow roped you into servitude.”

“I was in Faerie, but I went freely.” When my family’s housekeeper's eyes widen with horror, I quickly assure her, “I’m all right. And I’m so glad to see you, but what are you and Mr. Fletcher doing here?”

“We received a message from a courier a few days ago, asking us to return to our posts. I’m not sure how Lord Ambrose found us. We’d been staying with my sister in Foxglen, but then Shirley asked us to spend the holiday with her family, so we traveled to Farhaven.”

“How is your daughter?”

Mrs. Fletcher beams. “Oh, she’s just fine. Had another baby boy last spring, you know—he’s going to be a wild one, he is. I can already tell.”