“Oh, thanks, man,” the guard says when I remove the plate from his hands. “I’m new. I mean, I’m Cypress, the newest dungeon guard—much better than twiddling my thumbs in the barracks as a member of the army.”
I leave him on the floor as I take the plate to my waste bucket. Good thing it’s a layered dessert, and I can scrape off the sneeze-tainted crème from the top for disposal. I wipe the fork on my shorts—not because they are cleaner than the plate, but because it will remove any droplets he sprayed upon it. He jumps to his feet when the door slams shut on its own.
“Hey, wait! Oh my Seelie, thank you for not trampling me on your way to freedom. I mean it. You could have traded our places and run for the hills. I won’t ask you why you didn’t…that’s your business. Just know, by staying in your cage, you saved my family.”
I’m glad he doesn’t ask why I didn’t run, because my answer makes me a love-besotted fool. The family I’m saving is King Marigold’s, but I doubt this young guard knows about their problems. The fact that King Marigold has me give my sample to him directly, within the confines of the dungeon, tells me even the highest-ranking guards are unaware of Lilyfair’s affliction. Does the captain—whatshisname, ah, Snapdragon—know she wears my seed when he’s as love-struck as I am?
I shouldn’t feel smug about that…but I do.
“Look, I have no shame, and you seem a decent fellow. Maybe you will help me and put in a good word with the royal family? I know I’m asking a prisoner for favors…but you didn’t run. You sit there eating a dessert with berries that take five years to grow until harvest on a plate worth enough money to feed my family for years, holding a fork that has touched the lips of every Fae monarch to exist. So you’re not dumb to stay…and I’m not dumb to tell you my story…and ask you for a favor.”
He uses the cell door to rise to standing before stepping beneath the sconce in the hall. I know Fae don’t age past their prime, but this guy hasn’t reached his. How young is he? Why isn’t he trailed by a senior member of the guard? No wonder he accidentally gave me the opportunity to escape.
“My mother died in childbirth with the twins. While she was pregnant, the villagers called my parents “the miracle” because we had four kids in the family. I’m the oldest, then Merrily…well, not…” He pauses to clear tears from his throat. “Merrily died that first winter after they were born. A virus burned through thevillage, and by spring, it took my father too. I had two newborn Fae—miracles—and no job, food, or caregiver for them.”
“I’m so sorry,” I write in the dust. I hold the plate of cake out to him—in case he’s still going hungry—but he waves it away.
“My story’s not a sad tale. You see, I’d been sweet on Blossom since I first laid eyes on her. She offered to marry me as a means to escape her father. He liked to teach with his belt, and she was finished with his lessons. Of course, we eloped to escape needing his blessing. She manages the twins—now four-year-olds with the temperaments of demons—while I work. Before I was old enough for the army, I did odd jobs to avoid having the entire salary taken by taxes.”
Taxes…again. The cake gums in my mouth and sticks to the roof. Lilyfair’s wasting of savory food and indulging in desserts costs the villagers she loves their money…in taxes. What other habits does the royal family possess that could be cut to save costs? The number of guards wandering around aimlessly for starters…but this unfortunate Fae would be first on the chopping block. What’s the answer?
“I’m sorry,” I write again in the dust, because I don’t know what else to say. I want to help him, but all my ideas result in his losing his job.
“Don’t be sorry, be helpful,” he says with a little more vigor. “With my salary down here, I still need odd jobs to make ends meet. If the king could reduce the property taxes on my parents’ place, we could live comfortably. Half my salary goes to taxes. We’re trying to sell the surrounding land, but with no new families, nobody is building homes."
“I can ask,” I write in the dust. I know who to ask too. King Marigold won’t consider this to be a small favor if I put it on my list for him. It may inflame his temper…but Lilyfair would show compassion to the young man, raising his siblings while sheltering his neighbor. The young man risked much telling mehis story, so I must give him something in exchange. I set down my fork and retrieve my doll from the pillowcase. His eyes widen when I wiggle it in front of the bars.
“Do the twins have dolls?” I write.
“Of course, they are the only toys the girls have,” he replies with wide eyes. “Blossom and I have them, too. Merrily was buried with hers. How do you—where did you—who made one for you?”
“Lilyfair, she loves her people,” I write.
As soon as he nods, I brush my words away.
“When I talk to her, she will help. I just know it.”
“Oh, oh, thank you,” he whispers, reaching through the bars to shake my hand. “I had worried we wouldn’t survive the winter…we have no extra money to preserve winter rations…but now, sir, I’ll tell Blossom to start pickling!”
A gift for a gift. The boy—and now I can see he’s a scant day over boyhood—scampers down the hall. He clicks his heels with joy as he rounds the corner and out of view. Yes, I’ll talk to Lilyfair on his behalf…sooner than he thinks.
For he’s left the key in my possession, and the guards change shifts in half an hour. It won’t be on his watch, but the next watchman will have one less prisoner to mind.
If I have my way, I’ll spend tonight in the Princess’s room…
CHAPTER SEVEN
LILYFAIR
“Who’s prowling out there?” I shout at my closed door. Yeah, it’s the guard’s job to march down the hall to scout for intruders, but their failed stealth sounds scarier than actual danger. This guard’s heavy footfalls on his high-heeled shoes remind me of a stampede of centaurs—not a foot soldier. I slam my book shut in annoyance when all I get is a shuffling sound in response to my question. “Show your face at once—by order of the Princess Lilyfair!”
His horns swing through the doors first. My belly ties itself into knots as my fingers curl into the thin sheet over my lap. The book I was reading falls to the floor, but its thud isn’t as loud as that of his hooves as he steps into my room, nor can it compete with the deafening click of the door locking behind him. My eyes blaze a trail down his body as I search for injuries. He’s dusty—more so than usual—either in life or in comparison to my frilly things. His size is accentuated, too. The doorframe, which soars over my head when I pass, is the height of his snout. If I didn’t have vaulted ceilings, his horns would scrape them.
“I’m glad it’s you,” I whisper as I throw my duvet and sheets off my legs. Excitement fills my lungs, and I wish to squeal indelight. Rosemary sleeps like the dead, but who knows which guard lurks in the hallway? If I did, and he heard me, he’d rush in, and Franklin would get in trouble—they might even whip him. “Quick, into the bathroom. Nobody will burst in there.”
It's a risk, since I share a bathroom with Rosemary, but I can sweet-talk her more easily than any of the guards. For now, I must clear the dirty trail he’s left behind. He leaves an ogre-sized dust print on my door when he traverses the floor to the bathroom. There’s a slight chill to the room, pebbling the skin on my arms to goose pimples, but I don’t dare add an extra log to the fire. I don’t want to attract attention with the extra light.
“You came to the right place. I don’t know how you got out, but I will keep you safe until you decide where you wish to go. First thing we need to do is wash off some of that dust,” I say, activating the pump to fill my tub with water. “I don’t know how warm this will be, but?—”
