The Faceless Woman by Emma Hamm (i love reading .txt) 📕

might have been able to figure out her secret. He didn’t have time to deal with a binding curse. He had his own mess to deal with.

The forest opened into a hidden glen. Trees gave way to emerald green hills and water trickling from multiple streams, gathering in the middle to create a still silver pool.

Bran blew out a breath. He only meant to stop in the human realm for a short time, a passing dalliance, before he continued on his journey. After all these years, he had finally found a way to break the chains that bound him.

He lifted his hands, almost expecting to see silver glinting in the moonlight. But his burden was not entirely physical. It was the weight of being an Unseelie prince and the cursed future that title came with.

He was so close he could taste it. Freedom beckoned with the dying of the light.

Paws pattered on the ground, and the cat sidhe scampered up a stone to sit next to him. “She’s not all bad.”

"I wasn't thinking about her at all."

"Sure you weren't."

Bran cleared his throat. “I thought a lady would be more pleased with the man who saved her life.”

“She wouldn’t be pleased with anyone who saved her life. She’s independent to a fault.”

“Not all that intelligent then.”

“Easy there, prince”—the cat gave him a sidelong glance—“you’re both too young to be throwing insults around that hurt. You’ve yet to learn how to curb your tongue.”

Bran didn’t want to agree with the creature, but he had a point. As the youngest of his family, Bran had always gotten what he wanted. He wandered away from them when he wished, but always had a home waiting in the Unseelie palace. “Spoiled” was an accurate word to describe him.

He crossed his arms over his chest. The feathers coming in on the side of his head itched, only adding to his ornery disposition.

“What is her story?” he asked. “She can’t be human.”

“Why not?”

“Look at her. She’s too graceful, her temper runs too hot. And anyone with any magical knowledge can see that curse on her face is faerie made.”

“Would you like me to tell her your story?”

Bran felt the cat’s eyes sweep him from head to toe. “What do you know of my story?”

“The field mice speak of the Unseelie prince searching for a way to free himself from his family’s responsibilities. Considering you are the only Unseelie prince who has left the dark castle in centuries, a cat can draw conclusions.”

“You see too much, sidhe.”

“You may call me Lorcan.” The beast hopped from the stone onto the ground. “Follow me.”

“Why?”

“You’ll see.” Lorcan shook his head, padding to the edge of the pool. “You’re more like the girl than you know. She’s just as stubborn.”

“And far more prickly.”

“Is that such a bad thing?”

Not in most situations, Bran mused. He liked his women with a little more fight than most. He’d always chased the “wrong” kinds of faeries because it was just a bit more interesting.

This woman was an entirely different situation. She was stubborn, senseless, foolish… He rubbed a hand over the burn mark on his chest. She couldn’t think past a few minutes before doing whatever she wanted.

“Stop rubbing at it,” Lorcan grumbled. “It’s not coming off any time soon.”

“I wasn’t touching the mark.”

The cat gave him a disbelieving look.

“Fine, I might have been. But you would be, too, if you were bound to a witch.”

“Come here, Unseelie prince. Let me show you something.” The cat reached forward and drew a rune on the ground with his paw.

Bran stepped beside the cat sidhe, staring down at him in curiosity. “What is it?”

“Look.”

He glanced down at the pool and frowned. Two men stared back at him, both warped by the magic streaming from the glowing runes that created waves rolling with power and truth.

The cat sidhe’s reflection was a man with wiry arms and legs. He wasn’t as tall as a Tuatha de Danann, but perhaps tall for a human. His hair was long but his face neatly shaven. Dark hair and eyes matched his other form.

Bran’s gaze locked upon his own reflection. A pang struck him over the binding mark as he saw himself as a man, entirely whole and without Unseelie disfigurements. His eyes matched, his leg was sturdy and strong, and he had a full head of hair. It was the dream he had always desired but had never seen come to life.

“This is what we both desire,” Lorcan said. “But that end cannot be reached without her.”

“How’s that?”

“Oh, because we’ll love and hate an Irish lass, but neither of us will get her out of our hearts.”

The words sank like a stone deep into Bran’s belly. They pulled him toward a future he didn’t like the look of. “My end can be reached without help from a witch.”

“Is that so, prince? The lake never lies.”

Bran rolled his eyes. “That’s all well and good if you want to sound mysterious, but this is a temporary pool caused by an overabundance of rain. A rune etched in the ground doesn’t change my plans, and how do you know any of them?”

“Cat sidhes aren’t always faeries.”

The pieces fell together in Bran’s mind. “You’re a witch,” he accused. “A real, honest-to-god witch who’s used up one of his lives to become…what? Another witch’s familiar?”

“She’s not a witch. But you already knew that.”

He had an inclination, and it wasn’t sitting right with him. Bran cleared his throat. “Is she Fae then?”

“Did you ever think she was human? You already know the answer.” Lorcan twitched his tail. “How many humans could survive this long with a faerie curse placed on them?”

The cat sidhe had a point. Bran stared down at their reflections and wondered how he had gotten here. Had some ancient Tuatha de Danann sent him down this path for a reason?

“I cannot afford to be distracted,” he replied.

“I think, if you asked, she’s more likely to help than hinder.”

“With all that arguing? I’m uncertain you’re right.” He