Another headshake. This one’s paired with a lop-sided smile that makes my heart flutter.
I try to return his smile, but my anxiety keeps it from reaching my eyes. When I point to the spot where I sat yesterday, he extends his hand toward the same corner. So I’m welcome…even if I do smell bad. Do I explain my scent to him, or is that rude? I’d want to know, but I want to know everything…even those things meant to be kept private. Some of the questions I wrote last night were capital indecent, stuff I doubt I’ll have the nerve to ask. However, if he were to ask me the same questions, I’d gladly answer them.
With my sheltered life, I have few scandalous stories to tell.
“Can I ask your name?” I ask, as I arrange my skirts around me on the floor. I’m pleased as punch when he sits across from me.
He lifts a piece of the window frame to his horn and rubs it furiously, spraying himself with dust. When he’s satisfied, he runs his hands down his body to brush the particles onto the floor. I try not to focus on the grains that stick to his bare chest…or the sweat acting as glue…but rather on the lawn of gold he’s made between his knees. With his fingertip, he writes Franklin in blocky letters.
“Well, Franklin, how wonderful that you can write,” I reply. “It’s a pleasure making your acquaintance. You are quite clever to utilize the window frame to communicate.”
He smooths the letters and rearranges the dust until it’s flat. I remove my latest project from my sewing kit so as not to stare at his motions. The last thing I want to do is discourage him from communicating with me. I busy myself with threading my needle with white thread to close this doll until he bangs on the bars.
“Thank you for the doll. Most thoughtful gift--ever,” reads the dust in smaller letters that run together.
“I know they’re silly. You don’t have to humor me,” I add when he shakes his head. “Everyone in the castle tells me they’re silly, immature, childish, and a waste of resources. I think they represent me?—”
His growls startle me. He swipes the letters from the sand with a slap to the floor. “Dolls = caring, Fae = stupid,” he writes with furious fingerstrokes.
“I’m glad that rage isn’t directed at me. I’d hide under my bed,” I reply with a giggle.
His chuffing sounds like a whispering laugh. I love his laughter and want to hear it often. When I lift my chin from my work to tell him so, my heart skips a beat. He’s stunning when he laughs. All Fae men are pretty—boring square jaws, slashing brows, and aquiline noses. Franklin’s beastly features provide the contrast to make him interesting. Sparkling eyes, but a road map of wrinkles around them. Sensual lips frame his pearly, blunt teeth, but they sit under his humongous snout. I love his face so much I could stare at it all day.
“Whose doll?” He writes in the dust and then points at the doll in my lap.
“This is for the Eisleys’ new baby,” I reply, holding up the nearly completed doll. “They’re bakers, so the doll has a little apron and hat. Sorry, I get excited talking about them…” My voice trails off as my head fills with disapproving voices, telling me to stop talking about my nonsense.
He clears his throat and rolls his wrist to wave a large hand at me.
“You want me to continue? Really? I’ll keep you company even if you don’t want to listen. In fact, I have a list of questions about you—" I cut off my words when he crawls toward his naked window to gather more dust. He must have a lot to say.
“You said everyone gets a doll…personalized?”
Oh, he’s interested. My insides glow with happiness.
“That’s the most fun part! Fae who migrate from the Unseelie Court or the Fae forests get a doll when Rosemary—she’s my governess turned lady’s maid—tells me about them. I love to hear the gossip from the Seelie Village. However, most of the dolls go to new babies, which is the most fun. I love to predict their hair color, eye color, and gender. Rosemary says I’m always right, but it’s rare I get to see them for myself.”
“No village visits?” He writes in the dust.
“Oh no, I’m not allowed to leave the balcony. Even then, I’m shielded by dwarf elves in front of me like a shield, and Fae guard snipers in the turrets above. I’ll never understand why I must be guarded so tightly against our own people. Recently, I’ve been more heavily guarded than my father. I mean, you met him—he can take care of himself—but surely he’s more important than little me.”
“Lilyfair = future.”
“Distant future, maybe,” I say with a smirk. “Most of the castle sees me as a child. Between you and me, I encourage them to overlook me. I don’t like being the center of attention. If too many people are staring at me, I find a way to sneak into a cabinet. You laugh, but it’s true! When they aren’t looking, I’ll slink under the table and crawl to the corner. Do you think I’m weird?”
“Not weird, humble,” he writes, reaching his hand through the bars.
Palm to palm, his warm, rough hand envelops mine. Without a word, he conveys his message loud and clear. Given the chance, he will use his beastly size and grit to protect my softness. Maybe I’m reading too much into it, but his countenance is stern and determined as he holds my hand. If he were at my side, I wouldn’t have to hide in cabinets, because he would wrap me in security with his presence on our throne.
Wait, what?
I give his hand one more squeeze before I let go to return to my sewing with my mind whirling in chaos. In a society that values beauty above all else, I can’t choose a beast as their next king. Fantasizing about a tumble with a hubull is one thing. Pretending we could have some sort of future together is another. I’d best remember who I am and where my priorities lie, unless I want to end up heartbroken. He doesn’t love me. I don’t love him. It's prudent to distance myself while I still can. Luckily, he believes that I’m sewing and returns to whatever he was doing when I arrived.
My fantasies of being with Franklin will have to stay firmly locked within my mind. How many dreams do I hide because I’m a princess? Leaving the castle to meet the villagers face-to-face—not happening. Exploring the forests just beyond the castle—yeah, right. Sitting on the throne beside my father as he teaches me about the affairs of state—never so far. Falling in love with Franklin—better not if I know what’s good for us…
CHAPTER SIX
FRANKLIN
