“The parlor has good lighting,” Blackbeard says.
The king scoffs. “The parlor is a dump, but you’re right, we get by.”
“And the library.” This voice comes from Micah, who I hadn’t realized until now had been following.
The king barks a laugh. “The library. Now that’s a joke.”
Warmth spreads over my chest, sending tingles down my arms and spine. I almost feel as if I could float on air. It’s impossible to mask the longing in my voice when I whisper, “You have a library?”
He nods, oblivious to the pounding in my heart, the yearning in my eyes at that delicious, magical word.Library.
“Now, onto the dining room,” he says and starts down one of the staircases.
I follow, but my mind lingers on the platform above, waiting, watching, seeking any sign that could lead me to the promised haven of books and paper. Of unread sentences and uncharted worlds.
My body tugs at my mind and orders it to rejoin the tour.
With a sigh, I obey, returning my attention to the stairs beneath my feet and the dust I disturb with every step.
14
Exhaustion tugs at my bones by the time the tour is over. It ends in the parlor, which appears to be the most frequented room in the manor, although the furniture is sparse, faded, and outdated. But just like Blackbeard had mentioned, the lighting is good, with several tall windows lining one wall, inviting a view of the gardens. Daylight streams inside, illuminating motes of dust swirling through the air and laying over every surface.
“This room will be one of the first we make presentable,” I say, facing the king and the fae who’ve continued the tour with us—Blackbeard, Gray, and a few other wolf-people I’ve yet to know by adopted name. Micah, it seems, had run off at some point.
The king grunts in response and turns away from me to stalk toward the hearth. Unlike my room, a fire has been made. Without a word, he settles into a wingback chair facing the fire. The other fae shift anxiously from foot to foot, glancing from me to the king.
With my bare feet still aching and my body drained of energy, I feel my outward persona attempting to slip away. I breathe in deeply to steady myself. There’s still so much more to do. To learn. To plan for. And I’ve taken it all upon my shoulders.
The latter thought should feel daunting, but instead, it echoes inside me, to the last time I ever felt important. When I ran my family’s household in Bretton, there was never a dull moment, and the pressure was fully upon me to keep our lives afloat. In turn, I was given a sense of purpose, appreciated by those I loved.
That all changed, of course, with the scandal.
I shake the thoughts from my mind and focus on the anxious fae before me. “Do any of you have positions in this household?”
They exchange glances, then Blackbeard says, “I used to be on the king’s royal guard, but…there isn’t much need for that anymore.”
“I was once a soldier,” Gray says, surprising me. It’s hard to imagine the ancient woman as a fighter. “It was long ago, though, in the first war. I simply serve the king now.”
“You won’t find the servants and staff you’re looking for,” the king says, eyes on the flames in the hearth. “I lost most of my household staff when I refused to have a palace built in the new Winter Court. Everyone else left when I was sentenced to be cursed.”
“Who are the rest of you then?” I ask.
The king says nothing, so Blackbeard takes a hesitant step forward. “We are those most loyal to His Majesty and suffer the curse at his side. We are ready to face death if needed.”
“Pah! Don’t listen to him,” says the king. “Blackbeard may have stayed out of loyalty, but these other wolves were from my pack. The weakest ones. Too injured, too old, or too young to survive in a new pack. They stayed with me out of lack of better options.”
Gray rolls her eyes. “That’s not all true, Your Majesty.”
“Oh?” The king turns in his chair to smirk at her. “How would you have fared in a new pack? They’d have berated you for looking so old.”
She puts her hands on her hips. “I’d have done just fine, thank you very much. I’m still spry in my wolf form.”
The king shakes his head and returns to looking at the flames.
I am curious why Gray looks old when the others look so much younger. How does aging come into play for immortal beings? And will all of them die alongside the king if the curse isn’t broken? The thought sends a pang of worry to my heart, but I force the questions from my mind.
“Regardless of whether you had positions in the king’s household before,” I say, “we must all take up work from this point on to make the manor presentable.”
