Midnights curse, p.9
Midnight's Curse, page 9
part #2 of Beyond the Tales Series
“You’re one of the Fae.” Elara glanced from the wings to the woman’s flawless face.
“As you say, dearie.” The Fae woman waved a hand in Elara’s direction. “But what is a beautiful girl like you doing out here instead of in the castle at the ball tonight?”
“I’m only a servant. I’m not invited to the Harvest Balls at the castle, especially not this one. High King Alexander himself is going to be there tonight.” Elara felt those words down to her toes. Only a servant. Unworthy. Invisible. A nobody.
“But you deserve more. Don’t you wish you could attend the ball?”
If only she could go to the ball. Wear a beautiful dress. Dance with a handsome prince. Enjoy a night where her only concern was laughing and twirling and dancing instead of working.
The woman stepped closer, her voice fluid. Gentle. Addicting in its soft, sweet tones. “You are entitled to one night. A beautiful dress. All the princes falling at your feet.”
Elara closed her eyes, picturing herself in shimmering silk, sweeping across the gilt ballroom in Castle Fonthaven. She would give anything to be noble for one evening to remember for the rest of her life.
“What if I could give your heart’s desire?” The woman’s voice lowered further.
“You could? Really?” Elara’s heart beat faster. This woman was Fae, right? She could do anything.
“Yes.” A slow smile crept across the Fae woman’s face. She held out something clear and glittering. A pair of shoes cut in multi-facets that caught the light from the castle behind Elara rested on the Fae’s hands. Were these shoes made of glass?
They were the most beautiful pieces of footwear Elara had ever seen. She itched to rip her old, worn moccasins from her feet, yet something held her in place. Almost as if she was too in awe to take the slippers.
The Fae woman turned the shoes so they sparkled in the starlight. “When you wear these slippers at the ball, you will be the envy of the young women, the dream of the young men, and any man who dances with you will fall madly in love with you.”
A poetic way to say she would be the envy of all the fancy nobles.
But was this too good to be true? Whoever heard of a Fae giving something to a servant? The Fae gave gifts to the nobility. That’s the way the gifts and curses worked. “Why me?”
“Why not you, my dear? You’re young. Beautiful. Surely you’ve always wondered what it would be like to dance the night away. And don’t worry about being recognized. You know how the nobles are—they don’t actually notice servants. You will look like one of them.”
“Truly?”
The Fae woman advanced, balancing the slippers on her palms, where they shimmered in the moonlight like crown jewels. “Trust me.”
Elara studied the woman’s face, its expression shadowed under the trees. It would be foolish to pass up this once-in-a-lifetime chance to live her most treasured dreams. Besides, who would deny a gift from the Fae?
The woman shrugged and took a step back as if to take the shoes. “But if you don’t really want them, then I guess it’s your choice.”
Her choice. The first time she’d had a choice in anything in her life. After all, who said a Fae couldn’t grant a gift to a servant?
She needed to act before this opportunity was snatched away just like her previous life had been. She accepted the glass shoes from the Fae, yanked off her moccasins, and slid her feet into the slippers. They were smooth and cool against her soles. A perfect fit without pinching or rubbing.
With a blast of heat and a swirl of sparks, the color of Elara’s drab brown dress changed, brightening into a shimmering red. The skirt lengthened and grew, becoming fuller and swirling in a way Elara had never seen a dress do before. Fabric had been too scarce to waste on large, full skirts for the last few years.
Her scalp tingled, then hurt as her hair whipped into some sort of hairstyle on her head.
Elara smoothed a hand down the gorgeous red skirt. The silk was so soft. She patted her hair, feeling curls piled on top of her head. She glanced up at the Fae woman. “How long will this last?”
“The dress will disappear at the end of the ball but will reappear tomorrow for the next ball.”
“I’ll be able to go to tomorrow’s ball too?” Elara clasped her hands in front of her.
“Of course, dearie.” The Fae woman smiled. “What cruelty would it be if it only lasted tonight? You will be able to go to all three balls and dance with the princes and high king if you so desire. Now get going. You have a high king to charm.”
The high king. Elara gripped her skirt and hurried up the riverbank and through the forest as quickly as she could. Even though the trees seemed to claw at the dress, they didn’t snag it. Nor did any of the mud from the bank stick to the dress or the sparkling glass slippers.
Elara couldn’t help the grin that spread over her face. She was going to the ball.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Alexander
ALEX STRODE INTO THE ballroom in Castle Fonthaven with Princess Rosanna on his arm. As he stepped inside, it was like coming home. A swirl of people filled the room, voices rising and falling in pitch.
Gold drapes framed the many-paned windows that overlooked the winding Pohatomie River. At this time of night, the candles in the gold chandeliers reflected off the windows and bounced from the mirrors set along the top of the room.
Elegance. Society. Glittering halls. This was Alex’s world, the one he’d thought lost to time a hundred years ago. None of the castles he’d seen had retained this much of the old Tallahatchia as Pohatomie.
But it wasn’t exactly as Alex remembered. Beside him, Princess Rosanna wore a beaded, buckskin shirt with a dark blue skirt made from the silk Alex had brought with him to Neskahana. Across the room, most of the people wore a mishmash of silk and homespun. Well-made homespun, but it was an odd pairing, as if there was only so much silk to go around and everyone had to use only a piece of it.
Something in him relaxed. As if, from the moment he’d left Castle Eyota to find a way to break his curse, he hadn’t been fully comfortable. He’d slept in barns and cabin lofts and the forest floor. He’d ended up on a wild, frightening buffalo hunt and been nearly drowned in a waterfall, only to be dragged to the very threshold of Beyond and knelt in the presence of the Highest King. Nothing about any of that had been comfortable.
Nor had returning home, only to discover his father had been poisoned and Alex was now high king. He’d fallen prey to his curse, woken up to a war, and spent the past three months trying to rule a kingdom that, in some ways, he knew nothing about.
Yet, if walking into this glimmering ballroom felt like returning to his old self, then what did that say about him? He wasn’t supposed to like his old self. He was supposed to be better than that now.
But his old self was still what was comfortable to him while the person he was trying to be settled on him like untailored homespun. Itchy and ill-fitting.
About as uncomfortable as Princess Rosanna seemed as she fidgeted and glanced at the windows as if contemplating dashing for the river and the nearest canoe.
King Cassius approached Alex and gave a small bob that could count as a bow. “Your Majesty. It is an honor you could join us for our Harvest Balls this year. We will enjoy sharing our humble celebrations with our esteemed high king.”
This gathering—and the king arranging it—were anything but humble, and the twitch to King Cassius’s mouth said he knew that, even as he made what was apparently a difficult attempt at saying the words with a straight face.
Alex kept his own face suitably neutral as he gave an acknowledging bob of his head. Enough to show King Cassius some honor since this was his castle and kingdom, but not enough to be construed as a bow. High kings, after all, bowed to no one, except the Highest King. “I am the one humbled and honored to be here.”
King Cassius straightened and met Alex’s eyes. Just long enough to show he knew Alex was being just as sincere as he had been.
King Cassius turned to Rosanna. As a princess a few spots down in the line of succession, Rosanna dipped into a curtsy first. It was a wobbling curtsy, and one that showed off the moccasins she wore underneath the silk skirt. “It’s a pleasure to be here and see Pohatomie for the first time.”
Her smile and her words appeared genuine, and, for a moment, the expression reminded Alex of her great-grandfather as he’d pledged he and his family would stand by Alex if he fell to the cursed sleep.
“We are pleased to have you grace our ballroom.” King Cassius tilted his head. “I’ve arranged for a receiving line over here.”
Alex took the spot next to Prince Tyrell from Monongadotte. The prince nodded his head and muttered something that was probably a greeting.
Alex didn’t take the lack of a formal bow too personally. Prince Tyrell was wearing his elk antler crown, and he’d have to take it off to properly bow. The prince’s red-brown beard and hair were washed and less wild than they had been yesterday, but his clothing was still an impressive mix of various animal pelts.
Prince Josiah of Buckhannock was on the other side of Prince Tyrell, and he gave a bow along with a grin. Prince Josiah’s black hair was tied back at the nape of his neck, and he wore a linen shirt paired with buckskin trousers and moccasins.
Alex glanced down at his own silk shirt, linen trousers, and leather boots. Except for King Cassius, he was overdressed compared to the other royalty here.
Then again, he was the high king. It wasn’t a bad thing if he stood out.
As members of the Pohatomie nobility began lining up for their chance to greet the high king and the foreign princes and princess, Alex paid more attention to King Cassius than the people he was supposed to be charming. King Cassius was announcing each noble and their families himself instead of assigning that task to a servant. And something in his face—what would Alex call that look? Smug? Preening?
Almost as if he was showing off his people to Alex. Was he trying to rub it in Alex’s face—and the face of Buckhannock, Monongadotte, and Neskahana—that his kingdom had fared better over the last hundred years than the others?
After all, even when they’d been at war, the other kingdoms hadn’t been able to cut off Pohatomie as much as they had Tuckawassee. They could do without Tuckawassee’s gold and gems, but Pohatomie’s corn was a different matter.
Two could play this game. Whatever King Cassius was plotting, it would be a lot harder for him to pull off if Alex managed to charm Pohatomie’s nobles so that they would be reluctant to stand against him.
Alex gave a small bow as King Cassius announced another family, a Baroness Hackett and her daughters Monica and Beatrice. The older of the two, Monica, smiled at Alex, yet her gaze flicked to King Cassius. Something in her expression tightened, as if it was hard work keeping her smile in place.
Alex had to force his own face to remain blank except for a polite smile. That wasn’t the first time one of the young women glanced toward King Cassius as they introduced themselves to Alex. He shot a quick glance over the crowd. They were better dressed in silk gowns and newer shoes.
Was this part of King Cassius’s plot? If so, how? What did he hope to gain? Was he merely hoping Alex would fall in love with a lady from Pohatomie, as his father had, and thereby strengthen Alex’s ties to Pohatomie?
Or was it merely that the more ambitious mothers in the crowd had been willing to spend a little extra if they thought their daughters had a chance to catch Alex’s eye and become the high queen someday?
If that was the intention of the mother and daughters before him now, they were going to be disappointed. The girl in front of him evoked not a single spark of attraction. She was beautiful with the sweet, innocent sort of beauty that didn’t seem to appeal to him.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He swallowed back a wince. Did those words sound as stilted to her as they did to him?
She let out a breath, and something in her smile brightened. As if relieved? She hurried to greet Princess Rosanna next to him.
Well, at least he hadn’t disappointed her by not being as charming as a high king should.
The greeting line seemed to stretch forever, but finally he straightened after saying how pleased he was to meet someone for the hundredth or more time that night and found no one else in front of him.
“A drink, Your Majesty.” A servant held out a tray. Several glasses filled with clear, fresh water stood on the tray, winking in the candlelight.
Alex plucked a glass from the tray and nearly took a sip before he paused. Should he be worried about being poisoned here? Was that King Cassius’s plan? Though, this was a rather elaborate way to go about poisoning him.
The servant—the dark-haired servant—raised his head. Daemyn flashed a glance around, then said in a low tone. “A little late to worry about it now, Your Highness, but, yes, that water should be safe to drink.”
Your Highness. Daemyn used that title when he was secretly laughing at Alex. Not that Alex could blame him in this case. He was the one who’d grabbed the first glass a servant handed to him without thinking or recognizing Daemyn.
He gave a small nod. Message received. He wouldn’t eat or drink anything here unless Daemyn was the servant handing it to him. “Thank you. I believe the princess may be parched as well.”
Daemyn turned and offered the tray to Princess Rosanna. She took a glass, but her gaze lingered on Daemyn, even as he turned and offered the prince of Monongadotte a glass.
Alex wasn’t even going to ask how Daemyn had managed to find a basic serving uniform and get himself added to the serving staff when he wasn’t even from Pohatomie, much less employed at this castle.
But as Alex glanced over the crowd, a few other dark-haired servants mingled with the blonde-haired serving staff of the castle, including Rosanna’s maid. Perhaps part of the Buckhannock delegation also managed to volunteer.
He should start mingling. Pairs of dancers had already made their way to the center of the ballroom as the musicians with their pipes and drums picked up the tempo and volume from the sedate, quiet music they had been playing before.
He would avoid dancing with any of the girls dressed in the finest dresses, at least for this first dance. He wouldn’t want to play into any schemes—whether they were the king of Pohatomie’s or some baroness’s for her daughter.
Actually, he was supposed to be here with Princess Rosanna. He should ask her for the first dance, even if it felt all kinds of wrong when he knew his friend—his only friend at the moment—was courting her.
He turned to Princess Rosanna. “Would you...”
A flare of red flashed across the room. He froze, his breath catching, as the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen swept inside the ballroom.
Even across the dance floor, her bold, red dress shimmered beneath the candlelight, a bright spot against the blues and greens and browns everyone else was wearing. Her black, glossy hair was piled on her head with a few strands of curls framing her face.
He was moving toward her. He hadn’t even made the conscious decision to go to her. His feet just started moving. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see a few of the other men in the room headed in her direction, and that sparked something in his chest. Like he needed to claim her first.
After all, he was the high king. He should at least greet her first.
He halted in front of the maiden, and she dipped into a low curtsy. As she straightened, she tipped her head up, and he got a good look at her face for the first time.
For a moment, his breath caught in his throat. If he didn’t know better...he shook his head. She’d looked exactly like Mirabelle for a moment there. But, no. As she sashayed closer, he could tell she wasn’t. Her skin was paler, her eyes a brilliant blue. Such an odd pairing, blue eyes with black hair, yet it seemed so perfect on her.
There was a sweetness on her face that hadn’t been there on Mirabelle, yet more of a spark than he’d seen on the girls he’d been introduced to that night. The combination of spice and innocence had his heart beating faster in his chest.
Was it so wrong that he longed for someone to look at him the way Princess Rosanna looked at Daemyn? The way Alex’s mother had looked at his father? With that shine of love and glint of mischief and smile of understanding.
And this lady before him...something in his chest tugged at the sight of her. As if she might fill that aching place inside him.
He held out his hand. “Would you dance with me?”
She placed her hand in his. “I’d be delighted, Your Majesty.”
He swept her onto the dance floor, into the line of couples preparing for a traditional Pohatomie dance.
For the first time since he’d woken up, he didn’t worry about trying to be different or missing what he’d left behind. He just spun her and smiled and let a thrill shoot through him when she smiled back.
Surely nothing that felt this good could be anything but right.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Daemyn
AFTER BRACING HIMSELF to watch Alex sweep Rosanna across the ballroom in one of the Pohatomie slow, formal dances, Daemyn shouldn’t have cared when Alex rushed off to that mystery woman, leaving Rosanna standing where he’d left her. She glanced around, as if lost and unsure what to do next.
Daemyn clenched his fingers around the tray of desserts he held. Alex was supposed to look after Rosanna tonight since Daemyn couldn’t.
If only he could step out there, take her hand, and be the one to lead her into the first steps of the dance.
He only had himself to blame. He could’ve been out there, if he’d taken Alex up on his offer to make him a baron. If he forced himself to fully grasp the position of advisor to the high king and step out of the shadows where he preferred to stay.
Daemyn glanced at Josiah. Surely his nephew would step in.
But Josiah was staring off in the direction of Alex and the mystery girl. As if he too was smitten at first sight. Even though the girl looked like she was probably a few years older than eighteen-year-old Josiah.
