Her face flushed, and she shook her head. “You need to leave, or I’ll... scream...”
He blinked at her a few times. “There seems to be some misunderstanding—”
“I know what you did!” she said, her gaze fiery, and the resemblance was nearly uncanny. But it couldn’t be possible...
She couldn’t mean the king’s death. No one knew the truth of that day but him and Bella. Like a fool, he had trusted his king’s mortal lover when she asked him to escape Faery. She’d cried to him, telling him that she missed her family, that she hated the king’s glittering palace. And so he had aided her escape, only to return and learn that the king had been killed in his absence. He’d searched for Bella after that but never found her, and he had taken the blame for the king’s death. Not fully, they couldn’t pin him with regicide. But he couldn’t remain either. His inattention had killed the king. And so, he had been exiled.
How could this mortal woman possibly know about that? Unless it had happened again and he’d fallen for those doe eyes and her innocent smile. What if her power, these murders were no mere coincidence? Her uncanny resemblance to Bella... She had been pregnant with the king’s child. This woman must be Bella’s descendant... He had taken her into the forest and exposed her power. Was that her plan all along? Had her grandchild inherited the blood of the ancients?
“I think it’s you who hasn’t been honest with me.” He stalked closer to her.
She backed up into a wall, and he slammed his hand above her head. To think he’d played right into her innocent act. “Finding the gateway wasn’t an accident, was it? You were searching for it. And the wolf, is he your puppet as well?” What a fool he’d been. It was all so obvious now.
The ghost, the murder, they all pointed back to her.
She trembled like a leaf, and she screwed her eyes shut, her shoulders slumped forward as if she would collapse in on herself. “I promise I will be good. Please. I don’t want to go into the room.” She sobbed.
The room? If she were play-acting, she was the most skilled actress he’d ever seen. Before he could question her, however, the doors at the back of the room flew open.
The hairs on the back of his head prickled. Magic. He turned to see Mrs. Morgan standing in the doorway, a faint aura hovering around her. If it weren’t for the iron weakening him, he might have tried to fight her. But given the circumstances, he had only one choice. He ran for the window and leaped out of it. His legs gave out beneath him as he landed on the lawn below, and he made a less than graceful roll. Magic sizzled on the air after him, but he didn’t waste time checking over his shoulder. He headed straight for the forest. It would hide him at least until he could make a new plan.
16
Catherine paced the length of her chamber, her gaze periodically darting toward the window. The forest called to her without words, as if she had been tethered by an invisible thread to it. What spell had Mr. Thorn put upon her to make her this way? Any doubts she had about his intentions were burned away now. If Mrs. Morgan hadn’t come in when she did... it was better not to think of it. If it were safe to, she would have gone out into the garden to clear her head, but he might be there waiting to pounce. She couldn’t risk it.
As if to make matters worse, the manor buzzed with preparations for the ball tonight. Under normal circumstances, crowds made her nervous, but this wasn’t just any crowd; this was the entirety of the village of Thornwood. Tonight she would be presented to all the neighbors as the new Lady Thornton. She couldn’t be worried about murders and magic fae forests. Catherine wrung her hands. She could do this. She’d come this far; what was one ball? Her first ever. What if she tripped over her feet at the opening? What if Mr. Thorn snuck in and tried to kidnap her?
Her chest constricted. She walked over to her window and threw it open, and gulped in the twilight air. The sun sank beyond the tree line, turning the sky an ominous blood red. She closed the window again. It was better to breathe the stifling air. She resumed her pacing. Where was Miss Larson? The sun was setting, and she hadn’t even come to help her dress for the ball yet.
She could dress herself well enough, but Miss Larson had her dress for this evening. The pull cord hung on the nearby wall. She could summon her, but what if she were already on her way? She didn’t want to seem demanding. Catherine picked at her nails and tore one down to the bed. A bead of blood welled up, and she put the digit in her mouth, sucking on it to stop the bleeding. By the time she got her evening gloves on, she would stain them with blood. Catherine headed over to the basin of water on her dressing table and dipped her hand in it, watching as the blood dissipated in the water.
What was she going to do? When she was insane, at least she could pretend that she didn’t see anything. But now that she knew the truth, she felt as if eyes were always on her, and at any moment, Mr. Thorn would jump out of the shadows and take her heart. She shook her hands dry, and she resumed her pacing. Without intending to, her footsteps led her back to the window, and she stared out at the silhouette of the dark forest against the dying light of day. It would be easier if she could fear the woods as well. But for the first time in her life, she had felt alive, as if she’d spent her entire life sleeping up until now. And returning to the dream only left her wanting.Catherine pressed her hand against the cold glass. What if Mrs. Rosewood was wrong? How could such a magical place really be that bad?
A knock at the door proceeded its opening, and Catherine spun in place as Mrs. Rosewood came into the room. She clutched her hand to her chest.
“I’m sorry. Did I frighten you?” Mrs. Rosewood said as she swept into the room with Catherine’s dress slung over her arm.
“No. I was just startled, that’s all. I’ve been waiting on Miss Larson,” Catherine said with a blush. What would Mrs. Rosewood think of her thoughts? A part of her wanted to ask her if it were possible that Mr. Thorn had put some spell over her that made her long for Faery but even knowing Mrs. Rosewood would believe, she hesitated. What if that were a silly question, or what if she questioned Catherine about why she wanted to go back? She couldn’t risk it.
“I saw her on her way. She gave me your dress for tonight. I guess she got a letter from home. Her aunt is terribly sick, and she had to leave straight away.”
“Oh. I suppose I will need to dress myself then,” Catherine said and glanced at her reflection. Her hair fell in soft waves around her face after a bath. Could she really style her hair, though? She’d only ever braided it while she was Elk Grove, and that didn’t feel sophisticated enough for a ball.
“Nonsense.” Mrs. Rosewood flapped her hands. “I’m happy to help. It’s your first ball, after all. Here take this, and once you’re dressed, I’ll help with your hair.” Mrs. Rosewood handed her the blushing pink gown.
The satin glided across her skin as she pulled it on over her shift. She’d never worn something so bright before. She ran a hand over it, hardly recognizing herself. Lady Thornton felt like a stranger to her, a woman who attended balls and walked with poise and grace. All she wanted was to explore the forest, bury her hands in her garden. She wasn’t sure she could do this. Was she really worthy of her title, of Edward? She wanted to love him; she wanted the life of a novel. But even now, she still feared her husband’s touch, and for the past few days, her thoughts had been consumed by thoughts of Mr. Thorn. Edward deserved better than someone like her, who was easily swayed by his lies. What alternative did she have? She and Edward were married now. There shouldn’t be a question in her mind...
“Catherine?” Mrs. Rosewood inquired from the other side of the screen.
“Coming.” Catherine stepped out from behind the screen.
“You’re a vision.” Mrs. Rosewood beamed, and her smile lit up her heart-shaped face.
“Thank you for helping me,” she said. It seemed improper to have Mrs. Rosewood dress her for the ball, surely one of the servants could have been summoned. But Mrs. Rosewood seemed to eschew the typical societal roles. It’s one of the reasons she liked her. She felt more comfortable with her than her own husband.
“There’s no need for thanks. I always dreamed of having a daughter I could dress up.” She put her hands on Catherine’s shoulders. “Shall we do your hair?” she asked.
Catherine nodded, and she guided her to her seat. Very gently, Mrs. Rosewood ran the brush through her hair, tying it up into a bun atop her head. A few strands were left loose to hang and frame her face. Mrs. Rosewood took the curling iron from the fireplace and wound the sections around it. A faint burning smell filled the air, and when she pulled it loose, a bouncing ringlet brushed against her face. She did the same to the rest of the sections. When she finished her hair, she applied powder and the faintest hint of blush and color to her cheeks and lips. When Catherine looked into the mirror, a stranger looked back.
