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

“What I do want to know is why you think you can read me so easily?”

“Because you’re a woman walking into this room with not one, not two, but three curses.” The duchess held up each finger as she spoke. “A woman with that many nooses around her neck knows when something good has landed at their feet. They also have a great sense of self-preservation. You are going to hold onto him in the hopes that you won’t drown. But if you think that will work, then you are very foolish indeed.”

Bran’s ears were ringing. The words felt as though they were pointed at him, but she was saying them to Aisling. What third curse was this witch bearing? What further secrets was she hiding?

Aisling’s chin turned toward him, and he felt the vivid burn of her gaze, though he had never seen it.

He cleared his throat. “Don’t look at me. I don’t know what nonsense she’s spewing either. She obviously doesn’t understand that the relationship between master and servant is sacred. I would never lower myself to her station.”

The duchess barked out a laugh. “I had forgotten how entertaining you are, my dear Unseelie prince.”

The doors behind them burst open, slammed against the wall, and sharp cracking footsteps echoed to the broken ceiling.

“Not as entertaining as I.”

The Duke of Dusk strode into his home with a confidence few could afford. Black boots with silver buckles glinted in the light, dark breeches tucked into their brim. His tunic might have once been an elaborate jacket, red leather stitched carefully to black wool, but now was moth-bitten and ragged. It lay over his thighs and chest perhaps a little too tight, but emphasized his natural strength.

Perhaps strangest of all was that the duke wore a metal mask. Bolts held it against his skull, the skin red and raw at the edges. The last time Bran had seen him, the duke was a whole man. He remembered striking features and eyes that saw straight into his soul.

“Duke,” Bran said, nodding in the other man’s direction.

“Unseelie. Here to steal my wife?”

“Hardly. That is your own doing, and I will not save you from it.”

At least the duke found Bran entertaining. His laughter rang through the court and eased the tension that thickened the air.

“Wife,” he said. He strode to the throne, bent down, and pressed a kiss against the duchess’s cheek. “What mongrels have you brought to our court?”

“Only the Unseelie.”

Aisling snorted again. “I’m no Unseelie.”

“Are you not?” The duchess leaned around the duke and pointed at Aisling. “A woman without a face, without a people, without a reason. Just what are you?”

“A woman far from her home who needs your help so that I might return to it.”

“Why should I help you?”

“You may be Duchess of the Underfolk, but I am certain you are still Fae. Mine is a story very few know, but you will now be part of it.”

The duchess lifted a hand for her husband to take, then slowly stood from her throne. She barely reached the duke’s chest, and yet somehow still looked as though she were the stronger one. When he placed a hand on her shoulder, the heart glowed brighter.

Bran hoped she wasn’t about to throw them out. Or worse, ask for their head. Aisling played a dangerous game, although it was one he had planned to play himself.

The Fae always liked a good story. They enjoyed telling them over and over again until the words twisted themselves into something new. Hers was a strange tale.

He stepped forward. “I will offer my story. It is how an Unseelie prince became bound by a mere witch.”

“That’s not an interesting story. It has happened a thousand times, and I know each tale in its original tongue.” The duchess waved a hand, and the couple began to walk away.

Bran was stunned. How could she say no that easily? That had been the plan. How else was he to capture her attention? Had she just dismissed them?

“Wait.” Aisling’s voice rang true and strong.

The Duchess paused but did not look back.

“I offer my story.”

“What part?”

“The whole of it. My story, word for word, in exchange for allowing us to remain in your palace for a few nights more and for your secrecy regarding my tale.”

“What good is it to know a story no one else can hear?” the duchess scoffed.

“Because then you will be the only person in the world other than myself who knows it.”

And just like that, Bran knew Aisling had caught the duchess in a web. Faeries loved a good story, that much was true. But holding something infinitely important and being the only person to know it?

That was an addiction none of them would ever shake.

The duchess turned slightly, the dark fabric of her dress gathering around her legs in a pretty swirl. “You have my attention, witch. I accept your offer.” She pointed at Bran. “And yours. We’ll start with you, Unseelie prince. Come with us.”

Ominous.

Bran stepped forward, sliding the back of his hand across Aisling’s in a way he hoped was reassuring. The duchess had promised safety, and her word was law in this palace.

He hoped Aisling wouldn’t do anything foolish, but that was like wishing the tide still.

The Duchess Of Dusk

Bran followed the duke and duchess to their personal chambers. The winding hallways and weak, filtered light were exactly the same as he remembered. It was strange how little the Palace of Twilight changed, even after all these years.

The first time she’d dragged him here, he was a young man with a chip on his shoulder. He was still young to the Fae, but Bran liked to think he’d grown up since then.

Now, he traversed the halls with new eyes. Carvings decorated the ancient stone, each magnificent creation a sign of someone who cared enough to leave their mark on this place. Though the duchess and her people were twisted, they loved each other fiercely.

The duke pressed his hand