“The four realms?”
“Spring, Summer, Autumn, and Winter,” Astrid says. “You can’t see the realms from here, but we can enter them from the castle.”
Before I can ask her what she means, she gestures outside to the briars. “But it’s dangerous in this land. I know you don’t want to be here, but I wouldn’t try to run out there again. It’s amazing both you and your father made it here alive.”
An image flashes in my mind: the dark-haired man. Had he been real or only my imagination after I hit my head?
“The briars are crawling with goblins and their hounds.”
“What do those monsters even want?”
Astrid’s nose wiggles, and she bites her bottom lip. “To hunt and kill and cause chaos. They answer only to the Below. Nothing but rabid beasts of the Prince of Thorns.”
“The Prince of Thorns.” I study the dark purple brambles crawling their way up the walls and sprouting up from cracks in the floor.
“These are his work as well,” Astrid says.
“Who is he? Another fae?”
Astrid nods. “The most wicked and vile fae of all. He lives in a dark and traitorous realm known as the Below. He is the great betrayer. Someone I pray you never meet.”
“The two fae I met here aren’t much better. One locked up my father, and the other choked me. Maybe all fae men are assholes.” I tug my sleeve down. Or maybe all men are.
“I know it may seem that way, but for those living at Castletree… There’s a great sadness. And the princes are not so bad once you get to know them.”
I want to tell her that’s called Stockholm Syndrome, but she looks so earnest I attempt to soften my tone. She’s the one person here who’s shown any kindness toward me. Actually, she’s the first person in a long time who’s shown me any kindness. I sit down on the bed and give a deep sigh. “So, you work here?”
“Yes, as part of the Winter staff. I’m a lady-in-waiting, though there’s been nothing to do lately. I’m sorry I’m jumpy. But how can I contain my excitement? You’re here.” She sits down next to me and touches my hair. “You certainly are beautiful. I haven’t met a human before.”
My cheeks burn. “Can you tell me more about this place? What do you mean you’re part of the Winter staff? Who was the blue-eyed fae that locked up my father? And is that terrifying knight a legit prince? Why can’t you just weed whack these thorns?”
Astrid’s lip trembles. Okay, I guess I came on strong with the questions.
The door swings open and a fae woman bursts in rolling a cart. She appears middle-aged, with blond hair pulled in a knot on top of her head, full lips, and a portly body. Her ears taper into a distinctive point.
She’s wearing a simple white dress, but her apron is light pink. Before I can study her further, the smell from the cart hits me, and I let out an embarrassing moan.
“I thought our new guest might be hungry, although I’ve heard she’s already met some of the castle’s yummiest offerings,” the woman says, giving me a long-lashed wink. “The name’s Marigold. I serve the Spring Realm, but I ensure everyone around here is fed and watered. And that includes our new guest.”
I want to retort I’m more a prisoner than a guest, but she’s brought me food, so I bite my tongue. Plus, my mouth waters from the smell of whatever is covered on her cart.
Marigold notices my gaze, then lifts the lid. A variety of colors fill the tray, from the golden-brown waffles to the deep red of fried tomatoes. The fluffy pancakes glisten with syrup, and slices of juicy oranges and red strawberries shine like jewels.
Marigold wheels the tray in front of me, and I tear into a pancake.
Maybe a smart person would question if the food was poisoned, but I’m pretty sure these fae could kill me if they wanted to. And as soon as the spongy sweetness melts on my tongue, I forget all about that and lose myself to the meal. How long has it been since I last ate? Probably notthatlong but running from goblins and getting kidnapped by fae really builds up an appetite.
After sufficiently devouring the pastries and fruit, I look up to see Astrid and Marigold watching me. I wipe the crumbs from my mouth and awkwardly mumble, “Uh, sorry. I should have asked if you two wanted anything to eat.”
“Don’t be silly,” Marigold says, picking up a teapot from the side of the tray and pouring me a steaming cup. “After all you’ve been through, you deserve something nice. It was very kind, what you did for your father. All of us staff are talking about it.”
At the mention of my father, my hand stills over my fourth pastry. I dump sugar and a nutty-smelling milk into the teacup to delay replying.Did he make it home?
“The fae I made a deal with…” I start, trusting she knows who I’m talking about. “Do you think he actually sent my father home?”
“Of course,” Marigold says. “When the master promises something, he follows through with his whole heart. Trustworthy and loyal, that one is. A little on the stern side, though.”
I don’t understand. Both of them speak so highly of this so-called Master. The white-haired fae with the dark voice and those piercing blue eyes…