ALICE
Istep into the room that Lord Ambrose assigned to me, and then I glance back at Regina in question.
The housekeeper is a young woman, with a stony expression and oddly kind eyes. I’m unsure how to read her.
“Are you certain this is the right room?” I ask.
To say it is opulent would be an understatement, and I am no stranger to finery.
A four-poster bed dominates the room, adorned with golden silk curtains that are tied back to each post. Half a dozen fat pillows top the coverlet, and soft rugs dot the polished wood floors. In the corner, a vanity holds a collection of crystal bottles. There are several armoires, a lacquered secretary, a full bookcase, and a plush, upholstered chaise longue is positioned in front of the fireplace. Dozens of fat, white pillar candles are placed in the hearth. Their flames flicker, but the wax is solid, still retaining its shape, making me think they haven’t been burning long.
But it’s not the room’s beauty that troubles me. It’s the fact that it appears to be more than a simple guest room in which the marquis’s sister occasionally stays when she visits. Her touches are everywhere, from a collection of tiny figurines, to a jewelry box that is so exquisitely crafted, I itch to peek inside.
Something tells me the Fae woman would not be fond of the idea of me nosing about the place, and even less with me sleeping amongst her things.
“This is the room Lord Ambrose specified.” Madame Regina turns to me and studies me with eyes that are not as foreign as I expect.
I’ve never actually spoken with one of the Fae before. I’ve only seen them from afar, riding on their snowy white horses, looking too radiant to be real.
This woman is beautiful, certainly, but she looks human—except for her ears, which are subtly pointed, as tales say they should be.
Realizing I’m staring, I look away and massage my stiff shoulder. “It’s more than I require.”
“You have no belongings?”
I shake my head. “They were all destroyed with my painting supplies.”
“Goblins,” she says with a sniff. “You’re lucky they didn’t find you.”
It’s her curious tone that catches my attention. Nervously, I meet her eyes. She wears a knowing expression, but if she suspects I had a protector, she keeps it to herself.
“I’m very grateful I arrived in one piece,” I say quietly, recalling the evening’s events with a shudder.
Suddenly, I remember Mr. Anthony, and my stomach grows queasy with guilt. I haven’t thought of him again since the dark bandit swept me off my feet and deposited me rump-first in a rosebush.
Quickly, I explain the strange disappearance to the housekeeper.
“Do you think there is any way to find him?” I ask when I’m finished.
She narrows her eyes, appearing to be just as confused as I am. “Disappeared, you say?”
I nod. “He and the pair of horses. The carriage was abandoned.”
“I’ll speak to Lord Ambrose about it.”
“Thank you,” I say in a rush. “I cannot help but think of him out there, all alone in the woods.”
Her expression becomes tight. “If he is alive, I very much doubt he is alone.”
I draw in a horrified breath.
Regina either doesn’t notice, or she’s not terribly concerned by my distress. Stepping into the hall, she says, “I’ll be back in the morning, and we’ll figure out what to do with you. For now, try to sleep.”
She shuts the door behind her. My only company is the flickering of the candles, and even they don’t make a sound.
I’ve never felt so alone in my life.
* * *