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

“What else could she be?” The duke set his teacup down. “She’s not faerie. I think we all can agree upon that.”

Bran certainly did. Aisling was an enigma, but she wasn’t an accomplished liar. Everything about her screamed human, from her toes to the top of her cursed head. He wanted her to be faerie. A strange part of him desired nothing more than to know she would exist as long as he.

But dreams were meant to be broken.

The duchess shook her head. “No, I don’t believe she’s Otherworld touched. I think she’s an oddity wrapped in shadows. She’ll surprise all of us when the truth comes out.”

If it were possible for the duke’s mask to look surprised, it did. “Wife?”

“There’s something familiar about her, don’t you think? I spent countless years in the faerie courts before coming here, and she has an air about her that isn’t human. It’s not the way she speaks or her mannerisms. It’s the way she moves.”

“I would say she moves as any might,” her husband grunted. “There’s nothing special about the girl other than a strange curse.”

“I will agree most faeries would have removed such a superficial curse a long time ago, not being able to see her face is an annoyance, but there’s something I can’t quite put my finger on…” The duchess tapped her finger again, as if the gentle movement could rattle her thoughts to the correct order. “I will speak with her. Perhaps then I can understand what is truly going on.”

Bran was almost insulted. “What do you think she will tell you that she won’t tell me?”

“Unseelie,” the duchess said with a chiding tone, “women tell each other things men couldn’t even imagine. You’re fooling yourself if you think otherwise.”

He met the duke’s uneasy stare. A silent message passed between the men. They understood the duchess spoke of an unwritten code and the mystery of feminine secrecy.

Clearing his throat, Bran stood. “On that note, I’d like to retire to my room.”

“Yes, I suppose I did promise you that.” The duchess tsked. “A shame, I’d love to put you out with the livestock.”

“A shame you agreed to my story for safety.”

“I intend to collect on that, Unseelie Prince.”

“I’d be disappointed if you didn’t.” He swept into a graceful bow. “Another time, my lady. Travel has fatigued me.”

She snorted. “Nothing could fatigue an Unseelie prince, but your twisted words are appreciated. There will be a guard waiting for you beyond the door. He’ll take you to one of the noble quarters.”

“And the girl?”

“You aren’t in any position to be demanding a room for that girl, Unseelie.”

Bran held his ground, squaring his shoulders and preparing himself for whatever fight the duchess was going to throw at him. “She will stay in a better room than mine. After all she’s been through at the hands of the Fae, she deserves that much.”

“The Fae?” the duchess quietly asked. “Or you?”

He gritted his teeth and shook his head. “Don’t try to twist my words, Duchess.”

“I’m not twisting your words, prince. As you’ve said, you’re the only faerie she’s been with these past weeks.”

“I already weary of your sharp tongue.”

“As I’m sure she is weary of yours.” A wicked smile spread across her face. “Don’t worry, Unseelie. I’ll take care of your little witch. And when I’m done with her, I’ll have all the answers I could ever desire.”

“She isn’t used to our cruelty and doesn’t mince her words like us.”

“I know.”

The door opened, and an invisible hand pushed him through the crumbling frame out into the waiting grasp of a guard. He growled but allowed himself to be pushed through.

“Oh, Unseelie?” the duchess called out. “I trust you won’t be causing any issues for me while you’re here. This truce will only last as long as you are amiable.”

“I don’t plan on stealing your heart tonight, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Her laughter rang in his ears as the guard dragged him away.

“Hopefully this will be a suitable room,” the maid said, placing her back against the wooden door and shoving with a grunt. She was a tall, willowy thing with limpid eyes too large for her face. “The duchess went to great trouble to find you the perfect accommodation.”

Aisling doubted the woman had gone through any trouble, but she wasn’t going to correct the maid. Having a room at all was a blessing. She could have been in the stables.

Blowing out a breath that stirred the hair covering her face, she waited as the maid wiggled her way through the small gap and then squeezed herself past the door that appeared stuck halfway open. Nothing in this castle worked the way it should. That included doors that didn’t open as expected.

The room beyond was remarkable in its own way. Cobwebs hung from the ceiling, small spiders skittering across the gossamer threads. Dust-covered blood-red curtains hung limp around a mound of pillows, likely meant to be a bed. Adjacent to the pillows, a small hearth crackled with flame, and a still pool of water glistened in the farthest corner.

It was a modest room by all accounts, and any who were accustomed to finer living might have noticed the cracks on the floor, the swirling eddies of dust, and the slight green tinge to the water. But Aisling was a creature born in the shadows of both worlds. To her, this room could not be finer.

The maid watched her with a severe gaze. “Well?”

Aisling blinked. “Well what?”

“Is it suitable, or shall I tell the mistress to find you another room?”

This had to be a test. The duchess was too intelligent a woman to give her the finest room available. Aisling was certain this was one of the worst, but she wanted to keep the upper hand.

She affixed a smile on her face the maid couldn’t see and clasped her hands to her chest. “It will suit just fine. Shall I beat the pillows?”

The slight jab raced