I give Foxglove an exaggerated smile. “Sorry about him. He’s not a morning person.”
“He most certainly is not. Now, shall we get started?”
* * *
The morningquickly spins into a flurry of activity, starting with me giving Foxglove a tour of the necessary rooms and sharing all my ideas for renovations and improvements. Then Foxglove orders the wagons unloaded by some of the manor’s residents, including Blackbeard and Gray, and soon the halls are cluttered with items being brought in or taken out.
Elliot is a grumbling, cursing mess when Amelie arrives to fit him for clothes. I send him off to fetch his prosthetic while I situate Amelie in my bedroom. Not daring to subject the woman or her elegant fabrics to the rooms that have yet to be cleaned, mine will have to do. Besides, being so far away from the chaos downstairs will hopefully give Elliot no reason to bite Amelie’s head off.
“I’m sorry if my employer is a little rough around the edges,” I say, keeping my voice quiet as I lay out an array of suit jackets she’s brought while she organizes several swaths of colorful brocade on my dressing table. “Please ignore his crass manner if you can.”
She smiles at me. “I’m used to dealing with the fae, Miss Bellefleur. I, myself, am a quarter fae and have been living closely amongst faekind for over twenty years now. Before that, I spent my youth and teen years ignorant of their strange ways, but now I’m used to them. Even the cranky ones.”
I pause, my eyes widening. It hadn’t occurred to me that the woman had any fae blood at all, much less that she could be older than perhaps twenty-two. But if she were both a youth and a teen before these twenty years she spent close to the fae…how old could she actually be? I’ve heard rumors that the magic of Faerwyvae has been known to extend human lifespan…but is it only her fae heritage that makes her look so young? WillIage slower now that I live here? I try to conceal my overwhelming awe by returning my attention to the jackets I’m supposed to be laying on the bed. “So, there are other fae like my employer?”
“Many, and some are even worse,” she says and begins to unfold a dressing screen. “And not just to humans. Some fae can hardly stand to get along with each other. Conflict is often between rival courts, but sometimes it’s even within the same household. How do you think the second fae war began? It started with a civil war amongst the fae, you know.”
Considering her supposed age, I must take her word as truth, as she was likely alive for it. It leads me to recall what Elliot said about not everyone on the Alpha Council being his biggest fan. At first, the reason was obvious; how couldanyonelike the bristly wolf king? But now I wonder if royal tensions are more political than personal.
“Freezing woman,” comes Elliot’s voice from the hall outside my room. “Are you trying to make me look like a fool?”
Clenching my jaw, I take back my previous musings. Any royal tensions regarding the king would mostcertainlybe personal. “You can do that all on your own, Mr. Rochester. And, if you recall, my name is Miss Bellefleur, notwoman.”
Amelie looks over her shoulder from where she sets up the dressing screen and gives me an approving smile.
Finally, Elliot appears in my doorway, expression furious as he slowly limps into my room on two legs. “Must I wear this damn thing?”
I stifle a grin. “It’s not nearly as bad as you think.”
“It makes me walk like a lame animal,” he says. “If I were a wolf, I’d be easy pickings for predators.”
Amelie quirks a brow. “A wolf?”
“My employer’s unseelie form is a wolf,” I rush to say.
She takes a step away from the dressing screen to squint at the king. “A fae royal with a missing leg who can shift into a wolf.”
Elliot glowers at her scrutiny. “What’s it to you?”
She nods. “Ah. I think I know who you are. But why can’t I remember your name? It certainly isn’t Elliot Rochester…”
The king takes a step forward, brows pulled into a scowl. “Whatever you think you know, mind your own business.”
I move to Amelie’s side and place a hand on her arm. “Please say nothing. We’re paying you for your discretion.”
Unflustered, she shrugs. “It’s no matter to me. The only reason I made the connection is because of my sister.”
“Your sister?” Elliot echoes.
“Queen Evelyn of the Fire Court.” She scoffs a laugh. “I stay out of politics, but I get the sense you weren’t the best of friends.”
He shakes his head. “I don’t remember her.”
Her eyes widen as she studies him with keen interest. Her words come out awed, quiet. “Is that so? What strange thing has befallen you?”
Elliot growls, and a flash of panic spurs me to speak. “Please ask no more questions.”
She nods and the curiosity fades from her eyes. “Very well. It’s like I said. I have little interest in politics these days. Your private matters are yours to keep.”
