I sigh at my reflection in the mirror. She’s right. I need a husband, but where am I supposed to find one? If she’s referring to my father’s advisors, I’d rather die a spinster. My future husband lives elsewhere. We’ve been at peace for decades, yet I’m not allowed to leave the castle gates. What’s the point of cultivating this beauty if I only step onto the balconies to wave at our people from afar? How will my husband find me? By swimming in our moat outside the castle? Will he catch a glimpse of me on the balcony?
“When I find the man for me,” I say to her in the mirror. With my hand over my heart, I school my face into the frown of a solemn vow. “I won’t hesitate. He won’t have to court or pursue me. I’ll make my desires plain and bed him within a fortnight.”
“Scandalous brat,” she says with a raspy chuckle. It reminds me of her advanced age and the seriousness of our conversation. Fae look youthful until they drop dead, so you never think about how old or sick someone may be inside. “Almost as scandalous as the doll you are trying to hide from my view. You must have heard of the deal between your father and the hucow sanctuary, and the conversations inspired you to make a cow doll. Just do everyone a favor and don’t give it to the butcher’s wife when she’s expecting?—”
“Is she expecting?” I clap my hands with glee. Another baby in the village!
“No, and don’t spread the rumor while I’m giving this to your father.”
“Spread gossip to whom? I’m alone for hours on end!” I yell my response as she walks away. She doesn’t turn around or look back as she shuts me into my pink taffeta prison.
At least she doesn’t lock the door anymore. The courtesy saves me time picking it. We don’t talk about my wanderings around the castle, or my hobby of hiding in cabinets and closets. In a way, I’m trading one prison for another by locking myself inside the small spaces. Today, I’m venturing to the ultimate prison—the dungeon. Am I abusing her trust, or merely making my natural progression toward increasingly more confined cells?
“She was right about you being a cow,” I say to the horned doll tucked between my cloak’s folds. I pull him out and rub the burgundy fuzz from his snout. “But she would have never guessed you were a gift for the new hubull, or she would foil my plan to deliver you myself.”
I swing the cloak over my shoulders, but then think twice about wearing it. The lower I venture into the castle, the colder the rooms. The dungeon must be freezing. However, wearing a cloak around the castle will give away my plan, or worse, make the guards think I’m running away. As much as I hate the limits on my movements, I’m not so stupid as to leave the castle alone.
“Courtiers deliver my dolls to the villagers because I’m a coward underneath it all,” I say to the hubull doll. “Technically, giving you to the hubull does follow her instructions. She said not to give you to the butcher’s family. Done! You were always meant to be a peace offering, so I could meet a hubull in real life. If your horns are too short, or your face too ugly, I’ll fix you. I promise.” I kiss the snout before tucking him into my sewing kit with the baker doll that I still must finish for the Eisley family. Wouldn’t it be fantastic if the hubull allows me to sew outside his cage as he…he…does prisoner stuff?
He could tell me stories of the beasts while I sew! Let’s just hope he doesn’t censor them for thedelicate ears of the princessand tells me all the good stuff. Do leprechauns really bleed gold? Do goblins live underground most of the year because their skin is as clear as glass? Do the orcs pass females around their horde until they’ve broken them? Do hucows feed their lovers milk like one does newborn babes, or is it a sexier affair? What do the hubulls give them in return?
My smutty thoughts carry me down the flights of stone stairs from my tower to the lowest level. The lighting dims from bright and cheery to dark and despondent. It’s positively creepy. My slippers are soundless as I sneak across the doorway of the guards’ break room, where a couple of them eat their breakfast. The scent of their bacon is so divine that I hold my stomach in vain. Its growl is more ferocious than a dragon’s roar.
“Who goes there?” Elm yells as he jumps from his chair and heads my way. “Lilyfair? Why are you visiting the dungeon? Are you lost?”
“I came to see the new hubull,” I declare, pointing my chin in the air.
“Does your father know about this?”
“You don’t think I’d make it down here without at least one guard noticing, do you?” I ask to give a non-answer as I remove the doll from my pocket. “I’d love to give this to the new hubull. Rosemary agreed that giving him the doll would be much better than giving it to the butcher.”
Elm laughs as I knew he would. His two boys received my dolls when they were born…golly, was the eldest born five years ago? No wonder he has rings of exhaustion around his eyes. Most Fae look as beautiful on the day they come of age as the day they drop dead mid-sentence. Fae don’t physically age unless they are pushed to their limit—as two young boys learning to use their wings for the first time would do to a father.
“Have you ever seen a hubull? He’s an ugly beast,” he says, leaning over as if we’re sharing a secret. I can’t help my excitement from shining through my wide smile.
“I’m counting on it,” I whisper in return. The second guard doesn’t turn from his breakfast to engage with us, but chuckles into his napkin. “Please let me meet him. I’ll deliver the doll and be on my way. You don’t have to open the cage…I just want to see a hubull in real life.”
“Not even bringing the keys, little lady,” he says, waving to me to follow him. “I know all about the mischief younglings get up to?—”
“How are the boys?” I choose to ignore that he’s lumping me in with his kids when I’m only a few years his junior. Just because I make dolls, instead of, say, painting or playing a musical instrument, doesn’t mean I’m a child.
Another fight for another day.
“Horrible little sprites,” he says with pride, coating his words like honey. “Big for their ages, with twice the energy. I swear at night they dream of new ways to make their mother crazy.”
My retort is stolen from my lips as we approach the only cage that’s occupied. A magnificent creature, twice my size, prowls along the front bars. The sconce on the opposite side of the hallway casts an eerie glow over him and reflects off his impressive horns. My doll’s horns aren’t nearly long enough, but I got the greyish brown hide correct. Ooh, look at the low set to his brow. He’s positively monstrous. I could study him all day.
If I play my cards right, I might spend the day with him.
“Ugly sonofabitch,” Elm says as we approach.
“I don’t know about that.”
The hubull turns at the sound of my voice and chuffs at me. Apparently, he agrees with Elm. I don’t know why I find that funny, but my giggles escape from behind the glove covering my mouth. His snout bobs as his lips stretch into what I’m considering a smile. It’s an awkward straining of his lips, which could be any manner of expression.
“I’m Lilyfair, Fae Princess of Magmell,” I say with a curtsey because I don’t know how else to greet him. I long to hear his growly voice…or would he moo? Will he drag his vowels with a moo on every syllable? It’s rude to gawk at him like a zoo animal, so we must converse. It’s not like I can free him. I don’t know why Father keeps him in a cage…what if he’s dangerous?
“He can’t speak,” Elm says after a moment of awkward silence. “We didn’t do anything to him, so don’t cry for the beast. He was born silent.”
