He frowns at the two new chairs, then his gaze flicks to mine. I’m surprised how much more prominent his eyes are now that his hair has been trimmed. Luckily, Foxglove was able to salvage far more hair than I expected, with the back falling to the nape of his neck and the top a little shorter, parted to the side where it sweeps away from his face in a light wave. Most of his hair is dark now with just a hint of gold at the ends. The close trim of his beard reveals all the angles of his striking jaw and cheekbones. “Where’s myoldchair?”
I grit my teeth. He may look something like a gentleman, but he’s the same old wolf on the inside. I rise from the bureau and approach the sitting area, quirking a brow. “Have you even bothered to try any of these chairs? I asked Foxglove to keep your comfort in mind when selecting these furnishings.”
“What was so wrong with my chair that it needed replacing?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Perhaps it was the fading, the stains, the tears, and—oh, yes—the white fur coating the seat.”
“I liked sitting on it as a wolf!”
“And you’ll like this one too,” I say, extending my hand toward one of the chairs. “Although, next time you’re a wolf, we must have the seat brushed of fur afterward.”
He furrows his brow, a hint of worry creeping into his tone. “Do you think your scheme to break my curse will take longer than the next full moon?”
“It’s hard to say. I doubt it will take much to get Imogen to fall in love with you, or at least be desperate enough for your hand that she thinks she does. But these things can still take time. Plus, there’s the matter of getting her to actually make the sacrifice that will break your curse. We can’t broach the subject until we’re certain she has her whole heart set on you.”
His jaw shifts back and forth, shoulders tense. “What if it takes too long?”
I skirt between the couch and table to bring myself closer to the king. Infusing my voice with as much calm as I can, I say, “It won’t. We have almost three months. This will work.”
“What if it doesn’t?”
“It will.” My words come out firm, hiding the flicker of doubt that’s never far beneath the surface whenever I consider this plan. As much as I want my scheme to come to fruition, there’s a chance it will fail. If life has taught me anything, it’s that even the best, most certain things can go horribly wrong. Painfully wrong. Life has a way of pulling the rug from under my feet just when things seem perfect. It happened with Mother. Then again with the viscount—no. I will not think of him. What matters is that any good accountant must know how to prepare for losses. How to counteract them and not be blindsided by them. Thankfully, I know how to protect myself in this situation. As for Elliot…
I shake the thought from my mind and pull my lips into a warm grin. “Try one of the chairs, Mr. Rochester. Please.”
He grumbles but finally relents, choosing the seat closest to the fire. It takes him a few moments to settle in and find that slouch of his. Once he does, there’s no denying the truth; it’s written all over his face. “Fine,” he says. “This chair is adequate.”
I clap my hands together in triumph and take the seat opposite him. His gaze turns to the flames and I suddenly can’t recall what reason I’d had for sitting down in the first place. Surely, I should leave him to enjoy the first peaceful moment he’s had in the parlor all week.
I’m about to rise when his eyes flash to me. “Stay,” he says.
I settle back in, expecting conversation, but his gaze returns to the hearth, and we fall into silence. I’ve never been too comfortable with being still, not without a book at the very least. It doesn’t take long before words reach my lips, begging to be free.
“I never thanked you,” I say.
“For what?” he says, not looking at me.
“For standing up to my father. I appreciate what you did—confessing who you are, despite your desire to remain anonymous.”
“He was stinking up my property,” he says flatly, but there’s a gentleness in his tone that betrays his act of disinterest.
I study him for a few moments, replaying the event in my mind. There’s one thing I haven’t quite figured out. “How did you know to tell him you pay his salary? Surely, the king isn’t personally responsible for paying every citizen. But when you said that about my father, it was true.”
“I know who he is,” Elliot says. “He’s the owner of the quartz mine my court recently acquired rights to. The quartz from that mine has filled my own vault. In turn, his contract with the Winter Court has made him a wealthy man.”
I furrow my brow. “Did you know all along? When you captured me? When you planned on holding me for ransom?”
He shakes his head. “Bertha told me the day after I brought you here. Before that, I only knew what I’d read in the documents I’d been delivered to sign, that my court had acquired new quartz and that the seelie king and I would be paying the salary of a man who had brought it.”
“Wait, how did Bertha know who my father is?”
He barks a laugh and meets my eyes. “Apparently, your father is a popular specimen amongst the people of Vernon. She’d already heard your family name weeks before she met you.”
“How? She’s…fae. Doesn’t she live in some cabin out here in the woods?”
“She may be fae, but she loves gossip nearly as much as those wretched humans do. When she goes to town, she hides her ears, and the townspeople share all the latest news. Luckily, I trust her not to ever mention me.”
I can imagine the easy-mannered Bertha charming gossip from the people of Vernon, leaving them no clue that she’s actually a fae bear shopping for dinner supplies to feed a pack of cursed wolves. Which reminds me…
