The Sleeping Princess: Twisted Tales: Crown of Roses Book One Page 6

  “I assure you, little rabbit, I did nothing. I assumed it was you.”

  Not being able to see his face, she could not read his reaction or his eyes. It was unsettling to allow herself to be swept away onto the dance floor by someone without a face, and with every step her mind screamed for her to pull away, but her body ached to get closer.

  As they approached the dancers, she was glad that the number that was just beginning was a fast-paced dance. However, it had been a very long time since she’d danced. This might be an utter disaster. There was no time to think about it, however, and with a one-two-three, one-two-three, four, five, six, tap your toe and spin, she was already being pushed down the line with the women, most of whom were smiling across the dance floor at their partners. Not her. She was too busy concentrating on her count—and not tripping over her skirt—to smile. Nor was she anxious to smile at the shadowy hunter. They stepped together, circling one another, palms together for only the count of four before twirling away into their respective lines. The musicians increased their tempo and she thought she might faint from the extreme effort of remembering her steps at such a hurried pace. She’d trained with a sword and in unarmed combat enough that she should not tire so easily, but her nerves and that fae wine she’d sipped earlier were beginning to have an effect on her.

  Thankfully, the song ended, and she stepped away from the dance floor. She leaned against a column, only to have The Hunter press a hand to the small of her back, the warmth from his presence drawing her closer to him. She felt her own eyes widen with the shock of pleasure that swept through her; she wanted him to keep touching her. The feeling was so overwhelming she felt lightheaded, his nearness nearly suffocating.

  “Perhaps the lady would like some fresh air?”

  He didn’t wait for her response, just guided her through the throng of frills and frippery until they emerged onto the lanai. They were not alone. Other couples—though, they were not a couple—wandered along, taking in some fresh air and the sights of the twinkling lights strewn throughout the gardens. Other groups hovered around tall, elegant wrought-iron tables laden with snacks and wine scattered throughout the outdoor space.

  “You have a knack for turning up in the most unexpected places,” The Hunter told her.

  She huffed sweetly at him, giving a demure smile and nod to a curious couple passing by. Her chest was heaving as though she’d just endured a vigorous training session with Bear. Trying to sound less breathless than she felt, she ground out, “And you have a knack for getting in my way.”

  He stepped closer to her, as if he should need to be any closer, and whispered in her ear, “We could always resume what we began in the closet.”

  While trying to look docile and sweet for the many onlookers who were increasingly curious by their presence, she jabbed a hard finger into his chest. He grabbed her wrist and pulled it to his side, making it appear as though they were flirting shamelessly for all to see. She blinked, trying to keep a placid smile on her face and forced herself to look up at the mirror-like mask he was wearing. “I’d be glad to resume the process of slitting your throat,” she smiled. Another couple passed by, openly gawking at her and The Hunter.

  “That would be difficult to do since I have your dagger.”

  “Like you, I have plenty of others that will do the job nicely.”

  He chuckled, a melodic sound that was out of place for a hunter like him. She was immediately irritated with herself for the feminine reaction she had to the nearness of him and the effect that sound had on her senses. The Hunter leaned his head near her neck and she shivered.

  “You look like a fine lady in that dress.” Stepping back, he allowed his gaze to trail over her from head to toe and up again.

  “And you look nothing like a gentleman.” She tried to pull her hand from his, but he maintained a firm grip. Ignoring her silent protest against having her hand held, he pulled her alongside and began walking.

  “Where are you taking me?” she asked.

  The Hunter gave a polite nod to a trio they passed along the stone walkway in the garden. “What kind of escort would I be if I allowed you to be ogled by every male here? I am taking you for a private stroll.”

  “Men. They are men, not males. Since I don’t need, or want an escort, you should be that kind.”

  He laughed again. And, again, her wonton inner self reacted to the sound. When they rounded a corner where they were out of sight from onlookers, he thrust her beneath a shadowy arbor, his body blocking her from escape. Those feelings she just chastised herself for having vanished immediately, replaced by a wariness and need for survival. This was a closed-in space, thick twining vines imprisoning her.

  “You may look like a beautiful lady this evening, little rabbit, but we are both well aware that you are not.”

  “Are we?” she quipped.

  “We are.”

  The Hunter leaned in and sniffed her hair. She jumped from his nearness. “Are you smelling me? Again?”

  “You still smell like dirt.”

  “Are you insinuating that I couldn’t possibly be a lady because I smell like dirt? You are not very good at flattery.”

  “I like the smell of earth,” he said.

  “Earth? Why, Hunter, you’ve switched from dirt to earth.” She batted her eyes mockingly at him. “You can be so charming. I believe I’ve never received such a compliment from an escort before.”

  He leaned closer, a low rumble in his throat. “Are you mocking me, little rabbit? I’ve killed plenty of others for less offenses.”

  “In case you’ve forgotten, Hunter, you and I have danced that dance once before. You were no closer then to succeeding than you are now.”

  His hand moved from hers to her wrist and yanked. With his other hand, he reached inside her sleeve and withdrew the tiny dagger she had hidden there. The puffy sleeves of her over-fluffed dress had allowed a perfect hiding place for such a weapon. It grated on her nerves that he had found it. And that he’d just taken it from her—and that she had been more thrilled at his touch than focused on keeping her distance.

  “I will keep this one, too. I’d hate for a soldier to mistake you for an assassin. Especially, since you were seen cozying up to the duchess and the princess.”

  Feeling emboldened—and irritated—she stepped towards him so that they were practically touching. He still held onto her wrist, but she pressed her free hand gently against his chest. Hoping to distract him, she ran her hand across him. A group of couples passed them on the small walkway, giggling immediately at the spectacle they made and hurrying away with loudly whispered gossip. It grated her nerves further that anyone would witness her with him. Slowly, she inched her hand towards his side, where she was certain she’d feel a knife sheathed along his ribs.

  The Hunter responded by allowing his hand to trail up her side to her collarbone. His touch made her entire body heat and her mind to cloud. “You won’t find it,” he whispered. His hand grasped the side of her neck, thumb pressing beneath her chin and forcing her to look up at his expressionless mask, at that depthless darkness. “Though I am enjoying your perusal. Immensely.”

  For a moment, Snow stood there, wishing she could gaze into his eyes, enjoying the way he held onto her. Her thoughts drained away from anything but the feel of him and it frightened her. This man had tried to murder her once and he was no less dangerous now, for he knew something of her identity and could have her arrested at any moment. She narrowed her eyes at him and pulled away. Surprisingly, he allowed her retreat. Even more surprising was the feeling of regret she had when she stepped back.

  “Give me back my dagger. Both of them,” she demanded. No longer would she pretend to be a sweet, delicate lady. She didn’t care who was watching. The Hunter was interfering, and she didn’t have time for this. Snow needed to get back inside, find Princess Audora, and complete her mission. The Hunter was a distraction she didn’t need—or want.

  “I think I will hold onto them for s
afe keeping. I’d hate for you to stab me again. You can cause plenty of damage with it. My legs still bear the scars.”

  “I thought fae healed easily?”

  “That doesn’t mean we do not scar,” he said. “Especially when my attacker uses poisons I am not immune to on her blade.” He stepped away from the arbor and back onto the stone pathway with his hand outstretched towards her. “May I escort you back inside, Lady Rabbit?”

  She swallowed a retort, clenching her hands at her sides to prevent giving in and taking his hand. Brushing past him with her nose in the air, she told him, “I can find my own way.”

  “I have no doubt,” he murmured, keeping pace with her. “Think how it will look, however, if you return without me. It will look as though I’ve jilted you and you’re storming away like a silly fem…woman.”

  “And why wouldn’t it look like I jilted you?”

  The Hunter pressed a hand to his chest, rubbing it over the trail her own had taken. Her fingers tingled with the memory and ached with a desire to do it again. “Because, Lady Rabbit, I am known to be an ardent lover.”

  She clenched her fists at her sides. “All the more reason for you to appear jilted.”

  The musical sound he made emerged once more, the heady sound of it drawing the attention of those on the lanai and in the garden. She stepped closer to him, pressed a kiss to her fingers then against the mouth of his mask.

  A little too loudly, she said, “It is a shame about your injury. Perhaps when it is healed in a few months, you will be able to find someone willing to overlook such a thing. I, however, prefer my men…whole.” Then, she turned on her heel and stomped away. She could hear The Hunter laughing as she went, but he did not follow. From the corner of her eye, she knew people stared openly at the place where she left him and at her as she returned to the ball. Snow could not help but allow the slightest smile to tug at her lips. Once again, she had bested him.

  Inside, she hoped to find the princess, but based on the whispers and rumors she picked up from the gossips on the outskirts of the dance floor, Princess Audora had snuck away from her own birthday party. A thorough search revealed no trace of her, so Snow opted to leave the castle in hopes of finding her with the stable boy. No matter where she searched, however, she could not find them and eventually gave up as night fell, making her efforts futile.

  “Curse that man! By the wind and darkness, curse him!” she shouted as soon as she was beyond the city’s limits and running freely through the Pinewood Forest. “He distracted me and I lost my opportunity!” Bounding through the trees, she threw off her ruffle and lace dress and rolled it into a ball in her arms before crossing the stream wearing nothing but her under things and boots. “And now he has both of my blades.”

  At her campsite, she gathered her things. If The Hunter was here in Wessix, he would not forget about her in the least. She had injured him and left him for dead once and now she’d insulted him; that was not likely something he would ignore. And if he came looking for her, he would, no doubt, find her in this exposed position. He may have thwarted her plans, but she was not out of options. She had waited too many years to exact her revenge to fail now.

  ∞∞∞

  “Peter!” Audora jumped to her feet from where she’d been sitting on the floor of Peter’s room.

  “What. Are. You. Doing?” Peter whispered his words, enunciating and pausing between each. “I’ve already spent a day and night in a prison cell after receiving a lengthy lecture from the Guard Commander. He was less than pleased that the queen named me and one of his own men as kidnappers. Eric was relieved of his duty as your guard. Did you know?” She nodded. “Then, why are you here? If I am seen with you again, it is my neck on a chopping block.”

  Audora didn’t know what came over her, but she launched herself at him and wrapped her arms around his waist. It broke her heart that he did not respond. He just stood straight and still.

  “Peter?” She looked up at him, expecting to see something there, some trace of that blushing smile they’d shared not so long ago. Instead, she glanced up at his chin. His face could have been etched from stone the way he stood, staring straight ahead as though he had no idea she was there at all. An understanding flooded through her. Peter did not care for her the way she cared for him.

  Feeling embarrassed, Audora shoved away from him and fled his room, running as fast as her feet could carry her. She didn’t stop, didn’t slow down, until she reached the solitude of the old brewery. Once, the ale wife lived here and brewed all sorts of things, but that was long before Audora could remember. Now, the building was empty save for old barrels and kegs long forgotten. It was here that she curled up in the corner and wept.

  “Why do you cry?”

  She recognized the voice. “Merriweather. How did you find me?”

  The older fairie smiled, slowly sitting beside Audora. “There are not many places you can hide, Princess Audora, where I could not find you.”

  That was almost disturbing but, at the moment, a little comforting. Merriweather sat silently beside Audora for a while, but her presence caused Audora to hold in her tears, to save them for later.

  “Do not stop crying on my account,” the fairie said, as though she could read Audora’s mind.

  Audora wiped her hands over her face. “Have you ever thought you might love someone, Merriweather, but knew that he did not love you back?”

  From the corner of her eye, she saw Merriweather try to smile but fail. Audora glanced at her momentarily before returning her forehead to her knees, hiding her face from view.

  “No. I have never felt that way. Not about a man,” Merriweather told her. “But I have known many women who have. Follow your heart, Audora, but never let your emotions rule your decisions. If you have expressed your heart to your man, you have done your part. If he refuses to accept it, he has done his.”

  “I’ve not told him. But…he must know, Merriweather. Surely.”

  The fairie huffed a laugh followed by a snort. She patted Audora’s shoulder as she rose to her feet. “Men are not as wise as you think, Audora. They barely know themselves, let alone women. If you are speaking of a certain stable boy, my advice is to stay away. He is not what you seek.” Merriweather patted her head gently then left.

  What did Merriweather know? She just told Audora that she’d never felt that way about a man before. She loved Peter, without a doubt. Right?

  Audora waited until she could no longer see or hear Merriweather before venturing out of the old brewery. It was pitch black now, the party long since ended and guests retired to their rooms. She was certain that her mother was furious but, at the moment, her focus was on returning to the stables. Once again, she quietly lurked in the shadows and climbed the creaking stairs. She did not knock or pause at the door, simply pressed the lever and stepped inside.

  A small candle was burning low in a chipped teacup and Peter was sitting barefooted on the edge of his bed, his elbows propped on his knees and his head hung low. “Audora?”

  “Before you chastise me once more, Peter Achenyule, I have something I must say to you.” He nodded, so she continued, “I’m sorry for the trouble I’ve caused. I…”

  “I’m sorry, too.”

  His words were quiet but so sincere was the look on his face that she began to cry, tears silently trailing down her cheeks. “You are?”

  “Yes,” he sighed. Peter ran a hand through his hair, that unruly mop of his. “I am sorry, Princess Audora, but you must leave. And we may no longer be friends. I am sorry it has to be this way, but…”

  That was not at all what she expected him to say. “It doesn’t have to be this way.” Audora insisted.

  “But it does. Don’t you see? You are a princess and I am a poor, penniless stable boy. A boy, not even a man.”

  “No,” she stated. “No, you are no boy, Peter Achenyule. You are a man. A good man and I—”

  “—Don’t say it!” He stood and turned his back to her. “If it
is what I think it is, please do not say it.”

  Her heart ached. It cracked a little. “At first, you were my friend, the only one I’d ever had. Somewhere along the way, Peter, you became more. I think you are the one, Peter. The one who can break my curse.”

  Just then, a loud thumping of footsteps sounded outside in the hall. Peter’s door burst open to reveal Captain Florian. His face was notably pale even in the waning candlelight. Peter never turned, never even flinched as the man entered his room.

  “Princess Audora. You should leave,” the captain said.

  “This is a private conversation, Captain Florian. You may wait outside.”

  “No. I won’t. I will not stand by. You may think you love this welp, but you also know that it will never be accepted. Just as I know that how I feel about…well, that will never be accepted either.”

  “What?” Audora was confused, overwhelmed with emotions and thoughts that made no sense.

  “Please, Princess Audora, if you value Peter’s life, you will walk out of this room right now and never come back.”

  “Never come back?” She turned to Peter, who was still standing with his back to her, his gaze fixed on some uninteresting detail of the wooden wall of his room. “Peter? Peter, is that what you want? For me to never see you again?”

  He stood there a long moment before turning to her with an expressionless stare. “I am sorry, Princess Audora, but I do not feel for you what you think you feel for me. You’re just a young girl who is desperate to find love in order to break your curse. You have no idea what love even is.”

  His words were so cold, so emotionless. Had he said them with the least bit of remorse she might have been able to receive them better, but the icy tone to his voice brought out a fierce anger in her. With two strides, she met him, gracing him with a resounding slap across his face. The contact echoed in the small room. He made no move to lift his head or meet her eyes with his own. Instead, he stood, frozen in place where her strike had left him and said nothing. Not a word.