There, in the same small courtyard I saw him in yesterday, sits the king—my newly named Elliot Rochester. This time, I know it’s him, for that hunched posture and unruly mane of hair can no longer be mistaken for anyone else. I peer closer, studying the hang of his head, the slump of his shoulders. His fingers clasp something small and red.
A rose petal.
My mouth feels suddenly dry; seeing him in the garden holds a whole new significance that was not there yesterday. Because today I know the truth—that he holds not a simple petal, but aday. Another day ticked off his life. Another day closer to the curse coming to claim him.
It’s enough to draw a lump rising to my throat, but I swallow it down. I have enough of my own to worry about.
He turns his head, and in yet another echo of the day before, he seems to be looking right at me. This time, however, I don’t dart away. He doesn’t avert his gaze either, which doesn’t surprise me; I doubt last night’s lesson has yet to sink in. So I hold up my hand and offer him a curt wave. He slowly straightens his shoulders, lifts his head a little higher. Then returns the gesture.
Under my breath, I say, “Time for phase one.”
* * *
The morning is stillearly by the time I reach the market square, making the sidewalks easy enough to navigate. Luckily, I’ve yet to be intercepted by anyone I know. However, I’ll need to speak to at least one undesirable person before my visit in Vernon is done, but I can’t stand to think of that just yet. There’s another meeting I’m determined to orchestrate first.
As I near the bookshop, I can almost smell the paper calling to me, hear the books whispering my name. My heart yearns to answer. The pain of turning away from the shop and crossing the street instead feels like the deepest betrayal. But I didn’t come to Vernon for books.
Stopping outside the unfinished Verity Hotel, I take a deep breath. I have no clue if this part of my plan will prove successful, but I must try. Wrapping my false persona tightly around me, I open the door and enter. Sounds of hammers immediately fall upon my ears, the ground beneath my feet coated in sawdust and debris. I knew the hotel was unfinished, but I hadn’t expected it to be in this much disarray. From the outside, it looks nearly done.
I follow the sounds of construction but see no sign of anyone. “Hello,” I call out. “I need to speak with someone.” The pounding of hammers is my only answer, so I continue to follow the sounds. Finally, I step into a wide-open space where the work is amplified to a roar. Every inch of the towering perimeter is lined with scaffolding from floor to ceiling, crawling with bodies busy at work. Some are painting while others are finishing trim on elegant walls. Orbs of blue light flutter about, brightening the space and illuminating certain areas for the workers.
My mouth falls open. Those orbs of light…are they…fae creatures?
I’ve heard of wisps but have never seen them before. Never would I have imagined seeing them working alongside—
“What are you doing here?” I whirl to face the source of the female voice and find a woman with copper hair—the same one Imogen and I saw two days ago. Her vibrant green eyes bore into me, her brow furrowed. “This isn’t a public construction site. You must leave.”
She reaches for my arm, but I step back, lifting my chin and squaring my shoulders. “I came to speak with someone.”
“Do you have an appointment?” she asks, not unkindly.
“No, but I come on behalf of my employer, who is someone of great importance.”
She quirks a brow. “Who is your employer?”
I consider my words, wishing the king wasn’t so adamant I keep his identity a secret. Still, he never said I had to pretend he was inconsequential. “My employer is a fae royal. I am not at liberty to discuss his identity with you, only to follow his orders. And for that, I must speak with the fae in charge of this hotel’s design.”
She narrows her eyes and says nothing as she studies me from head to toe. In turn, I do the same. It’s then I notice she’s wearing the same chartreuse coat as before. Up close, the brocade looks even more elegant than it did from afar, with turquoise skirts of shimmering silk peeking from beneath the bottom hem. Unlike most of the women in town, she wears her hair long and loose like wild copper waves. She may look human, with rounded ears and average stature, but she certainly doesn’t style herself like one.
“Who are you?” A fae male comes up behind the copper-haired woman, squinting at me while he rubs the lenses of horn-rimmed spectacles on his burgundy silk cravat. He’s perhaps an inch or two shorter than I am with dark hair and a stout build. I recognize him as the fae I’m looking for, the one Imogen had referred to as the hotel’s interior designer.
“I’ve come to speak with you on behalf of my employer.”
He replaces his spectacles. “Ugh, let’s get away from this infernal racket. My ears are about to melt off my head.” Turning on his heel, he stalks off in the direction I came from, and the woman follows after. I make haste to catch up as they weave back into the main foyer then down a hall at the other side. Here, construction appears complete, with plush carpet, intricately painted walls, and elegant light fixtures. The hall opens to a modestly sized room with several round tables and chairs. This must be the dining room.
The woman and the fae head for a table laden with tea and pastries. The fae sinks into a chair, sulking into the backrest. The woman takes the seat next to him and pours a cup of tea.
I stand before them, trying not to feel flustered by their lack of care over my presence. Folding my hands at my waist to keep from fidgeting, I address the fae male. “Are you the interior designer of this hotel?”
He reaches for a decanter of something in a deep violet and pours it into an empty porcelain teacup. From the smell, I imagine it must be wine. This early? He brings the cup to his lips and takes a dainty sip. “I am, but you wouldn’t know it by the lack of respect I’m shown around here. Can you believe the decor I’ve purchased for the ballroom has been deniedagain? They said they didn’t want the ballroom to look too fae. Something about propriety and not wanting to stir carnal desires and whatnot. What does that even mean? So I gave them what they wanted. A very human ballroom.”
The woman laughs. “Believe it or not,very humandoesn’t equate to doilies lining every surface, Foxglove.”
His mouth falls open in mock offense. “Humans love doilies, Amelie. You should know.”
“I promise you, they don’t love them nearly as much as you think,” says the woman named Amelie. She faces me, lips pulled into a smile. “Even after twenty years on the job, Foxglove here hasn’t quite mastered the difference betweenhumanandhoarder-of-hideous-thingswhen it comes to decor. To him, they are one and the same. You should see the parlor he made for my sister.”
“Evelyn has always loved her parlor! So much so, she asked me to replicate it when she and Aspen moved to Maplehearth palace.”
