Page 18 of The Endless Dance

“It is supposed to be reserved for the High Lord’s wife,” Laska says. I smirk, practically tasting the envy in her voice. Then, what she said catches up with me.

I snort, even as my stomach curdles. “Well, that is not going to happen.” Why would Lord Dreakoh situate me in a room meant for his future wife? The answer was, unfortunately, obvious. With my room being in the same wing as his, he wouldn’t need to travel so far when he decided to have his way with me. Not that I was ever going to let that happen. Nope. I was a strong, independent woman, and I would fight to the grave before I surrendered to the bastard.

My insides clench and warm at the thought, and I shake myself quickly, refusing to acknowledge my body’s reaction to the thought of bedding the High Lord.

We come to a double oak doorway guarded by four warrior females. This surprised me until I remembered most of the male fae population had been at the Hunt. Of course, the females would be left behind to do the boring work.

And yet, they stood alert as practised warriors ought to be.

Word must have arrived about our party before us, for three females stand aside while the fourth opens the door for us. I follow Laska through the arched doorway and gasp, my eyes watering as I take in the bright, sunlit hall.

Toffee coloured stones cobble the ground, before being entirely enveloped in lush green bushes and plants. Dozens of wildflowers of yellows, oranges, and greens bob in a non-existent breeze, while some climb the balusters to the ceiling, because yes, there is one, though it isn’t wooden or stone. Instead, it seems to be imbued with some sort of magic that mimics the sky outside, from the dazzling sunlight of the midmorning rays to the violet clouds that float like cotton candy in the air. I even spot the glimmering neon sparkles of a flock of pixies zooming by.

The wall to the right, where the vibrant plant life didn’t cover, was the same simple sandstone as the rest of the castle. The left side, however, opened up into a garden that loomed endlessly, seemingly an impossible feat inside a building.

“An enchantment,” Rita whispers in my ear. I jump, not realising I had stopped to gape. “The High Lord enjoys his privacy. It used to be just more rooms, but when Lord Draekoh rose to power, they say he hated the claustrophobic feel of the place.” I snort, thinking of how open and natural the castle was. “He grew up in the Spring Court, you see. The castle of their High Lord is almost completely out in the open and entirely made from nature. Lord Draekoh did what he could to remodel the palace to the beauty it is now. And what High Lord doesn’t deserve his own private garden?”

“Forest more like,” Frieda says, passing us and continuing to a doorway further up the passage.

Rita smiles and nods, then follows Frieda.

I force myself to keep pace. I would have plenty of time to explore the so-called enchanted forest mere footsteps from my bedroom later.

“The High Lord isn’t originally from Dawn, then?” I ask. I am still unsure of how fae hierarchy works and how the courts come into it.

“Well, yes, he is,” Rita says. She glances around wearily, as if our conversation were bordering on dangerous territory. She stops and turns to me. “High Lord Draekoh’s father was the previous High Lord of Light, and he was a Dawn fae. His mother, also of Dawn, stole away with Draekoh when he was a teenager. No one truly knows why. The people called him the Lost Lord of Dawn for a very long time. He only reappeared when his father died, and the crown of Light was ripe for the taking.”

I frown, taking it all in. Not that there really was much to take in. The story was vague and had many holes, though I got the feeling there was truly no more to tell because nobody actually knew the full story. Except Lord Draekoh.

“Please, Delta,” Rita whispers urgently. “I know we haven’t known one another for long, but I get the feeling you are the type of woman who won’t let a subject drop until you know the whole of it. Please, I urge you, don’t delve into this story. There have been those who have tried before. They all disappeared.”

Disappeared. Yeah, right. The High Lord fucking murdered his own people just to keep his secret safe. I smile wanly and verbally agree with Rita, though inside, I am a simmering ball of curiosity. Because, damn it, Rita was right. I was exactly the type of woman she thought I was, and I sure as shit was going to dig for answers.

My eyes roll into the back of my skull after Rita turns away.

I was going to get myself fucking killed.

Chapter Eight

My earlier thought about word being sent ahead of us turned out to be truer than I’d previously thought. I blink as I step from the hallway into what I could only assume was an antechamber of sorts, filled with bustling brownies chittering and squeaking happily amongst themselves.

When they catch sight of me, they all stop as one to gape, more than a few of them finding themselves on the floor having tripped over those awkwardly long toes of theirs. Someone really ought to do something about the poor creature’s sense of balance!

“Uh, hello everyone,” I say stupidly, waving even more stupidly at the shocked little beings.

They all squeak and hurry on with their business, all darting not-so-subtle glances my way now and then.

I ignore them and take in the small room. It was about the same size as the living area in the apartment I had shared with Waverly and Rihana back on Earth. It sported two three-seater couches in a soothing cream colour. A round, beige table sat between them. To the other side was a kitchenette fitted with a small sink, a kettle, a coffee machine, and a bar fridge. I smirked. I guess fae weren’t as technological as humans and took a little more than just women when they opened the portal.

I head straight for the coffee machine and check it out. It takes but a moment to realise I am inherently out of my league with the decedent machine. I’d only ever owned a kettle back on Earth, but this thing was some high-quality shit.

“Would you like me to make you a mug, Delta?”

I turn and find Frieda had joined me by the machine.

“Please,” I practically groan. “You are going to have to show me how this thing works, though, so I can make my own next time.”

Frieda’s eyes widen. “Don’t be silly. I am your handmaid, Delta. It is my job to see to your needs. If the High Lord ever caught you making your own coffee… let’s just say, my job would be the least of my concerns.”