A few of the fae wear scowls at that, but others, like Blackbeard and Gray, seem encouraged.
“I’ll draw up a list of positions and set about filling them. Now, where are the ledgers tracking the king’s finances?”
Gray points to a bureau near the wall of windows. “You’ll find them in the drawer.”
I approach the bureau, which appears far more frequently used than the one in my room, with several papers strewn over the top, two pens, and even an old quill. I see two half-finished copies of the ransom note to my father, both scratched over with a haphazard slash of ink. My stomach drops at the sight, reminding me of the most dreadful task to come—one I must take care of at once.
“How do you send or receive correspondences?” I ask. “If none of you can leave the boundaries of the curse, how do you deliver letters or get want ads in the paper?”
“Bertha takes them to town,” Blackbeard says. “And she always checks the post for anything received.”
“Bertha…the one who makes the bread?”
He nods.
“But you don’t know when to expect her back?”
Blackbeard opens his mouth, but it’s another voice that answers, muffled as if stuffed full. “She’s already here.” I look toward the parlor door, where I find Micah peering around the doorframe, cheeks puffed as he chews what must be an enormous bite of bread. “She came to bake more bread for our prisoner.”
The king releases a grumble. “Might as well have her make a full dinner.”
Micah’s eyes brighten, but he quickly feigns nonchalance. “I’ll go let her know.” He prepares to take off, but I start forward.
“Wait!” I call after him.
Micah pops his head back around the doorway.
Before I can speak, the king rises from his chair and makes his way to the door. “Just bring the old bear up,” he says with an irritated sigh. “I’m sure Miss Bellefleur has a job to offer her, or some such nonsense. In the meantime, I’ll go find some new corner of this shithole where it’ssupposedto be quiet.”
* * *
By the timeI have my letter finished, signed, and sealed, Micah returns with Bertha. Even in her seelie form, she’s a bear of a woman, with a wide, dense build. Her skin is the color of raw honey and her hair is just a shade darker. She’s dressed in a simple brown dress covered in a stained apron. I meet her in the middle of the parlor, which emptied of the other fae shortly after the king left.
“You must be Bertha,” I say.
She greets me with a warm smile, eyes crinkling at the corners. “And you must be thisprisonerI’ve heard about. Lovely to meet you, my dear.” She emphasizes the wordprisoneras if she’s referring to a harmless game played by unruly children.
Come to think of it, that isn’t too far off.
“She’s not our prisoner anymore,” Micah says. “She’s our house steward, whatever that is. Is there more bread in the kitchen?”
Bertha nods, and the boy scampers off, leaving me alone with the cook. “House steward, eh?” she asks.
“Yes, and my name is Gemma Bellefleur. I hear you’re a cook and provide food for the manor?”
“I do my best,” she says. “I know His Majesty likes to say my food is drab, but he never fails to eat less than three bowls of my famous rabbit stew.”
The thought of warm stew nearly has my stomach rumbling. “Are you compensated for the meals you make?”
She waves a dismissive hand and lowers her voice to a whisper. “It’s the least I can do for His Majesty. Very few fae know he lives here, and I understand why. He’s a good soul, the king is. Doesn’t want anyone else to suffer his curse.”
I have a hard time consideringthe kingandgood soulin the same sentence, but I’ll let her keep her opinion of him. It would serve little purpose to correct her and inform her that the king’s misconstrued vanity is what keeps others away. “You are doing a great service, Bertha, but I would like to compensate you and ask that you prepare meals for the manor more regularly.”
Her eyes widen, and she swats me playfully on the arm. A too-familiar gesture that has me suppressing a blush. “Has the king finally come to his senses?”
“Well, with me living here full time and the manor preparing to welcome human guests, we’ll need proper food. Not just whatever it is the wolves eat.”
She laughs. “You should see them trying to chew raw meat in their seelie forms. If you haven’t yet learned, this lot is as stubborn as rocks.”
