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

was familiar. She pressed the fabric to her face and inhaled the scent of hard work, long hours, and endless days. She hadn’t washed it, and the scent of the journey, of her journey, was still on it. To some, it would have been a vulgar smell. But to her, it was home.

She slid the ragged clothing on, quietly moving about the room so she wouldn’t disturb the sleeping faerie in her bed.

“Things I never thought would exist,” she muttered. And top of that list was an Unseelie prince, splayed out across silken pillows, without a stitch of clothing.

Goodness, that would be seared into her brain for the rest of her life.

She didn’t mind the strangely thin leg which ended in a bird foot. She didn’t mind the feathers decorating his face and head. He was just Bran, the most handsome man she’d ever laid eyes on.

Aisling allowed herself one more pleased sigh before she slipped out the door.

The hallways were empty. Her footsteps echoed and bounced off the cold stone. It suddenly felt like a tomb, and gooseflesh popped up over her arms. Strange, she hadn’t felt uncomfortable in the Palace of Twilight until now.

Rubbing her hands up and down her grimy sleeves, she darted through the halls and peeked through doors until she found the way out of the palace.

Even the guards were sleeping, she noticed with amusement. They leaned against the walls with their helmets drawn low over their faces. Perhaps the “hunt” was more exhausting than Aisling had imagined.

She liked to think the duchess wasn’t quite so indiscriminate in her killings. Surely her court knew who was going to be the sacrifice for the night. But considering the exhaustion lining the faces of the Fae, she might be wrong.

A small wooden door gave under her hand, the rotting wood sticking to her fingers and moss curling toward the heat of her palm. She gave it a friendly pat and slipped out the side of the palace to step into an immaculate garden.

Thus far, the Palace of Twilight had offered very little beauty. There was a stunning quality to the age and grace of the rotting castle, but not beauty.

Perhaps all the beauty was funneled to this garden. Bright flowers burst into bloom all around her. Their glimmering petals held tiny drops of dew perfectly suspended. Hundreds of blossoms carpeted the ground and filled air with pollen. In the distance where two swans treaded water in a large pond, trees hung heavy with pink petals.

It was serenity captured in a single moment.

Aisling let out a breath and stepped onto the thin gravel path. It meandered through the plants, trailing like a long snake through the foliage. She followed it without question, noting the poisonous plants that decorated the edges.

Wolfsbane, monkshood, belladonna, all beautiful plants but dangerously poisonous. What else had she expected in the duchess’s garden? The faerie was as deadly as a viper. It stood to reason that her garden would reflect the same.

Feet crunching on the stone, she rounded a corner and stopped dead in her tracks. In the center of the garden, a small gazebo had been built out of twisted black metal. Jagged edges clawed at the sky and pointed out as if it were protecting the inhabitants from all else.

Within the strange cage sat the duchess and her duke. Her long black gown trickled onto the emerald grass, undulating at the ends like a strange beast she’d wrapped around herself. A dramatic plunging neckline revealed the glowing green heart that pulsed inside the cavity of her chest.

In contrast, her husband was dressed in simple clothes. He wore a simple shirt, laces untied at his neck, breeches, and unlaced boots. The duke did not seem to be interested in appearances, other than the ever-present mask covering his face.

A small table was set up in front of them, a chess board on the table and ready to play. None of the pieces had been moved, and Aisling thought it unlikely they were playing together. They sat on the same side of the table.

The duchess glanced up and grinned. “Ah, our little witchling! I thought we might see you this morning.”

She was trapped. Aisling wanted to bolt from the garden and race back into Bran’s comforting arms, but she knew better. Refusing a faerie their toy was the same as a death wish.

She sighed and walked toward them. “Did you now, Duchess? I’m afraid I didn’t even know I would find this place.”

“They always do.” The duchess gestured at a chair opposite them. “Do you play?”

“Not if I can help it.”

A spark glittered behind the duke’s mask. “Then you have played before?”

“Yes, but rarely.” She sat on the plush chair and plucked at the strings of her sleeves.

Was this an intelligent decision? Likely not. Faeries were too secretive in their ways, and she didn’t want a simple chess game to turn into a game of wits. Narrowing her gaze, Aisling pinned the duke with a stare. “We play for nothing more than amusement. There are no bets on this game.”

“That’s entirely boring, little witch,” he replied.

“I have nothing to give, and I suspect you have nothing you would like to lose. This game is for entertainment and educational purposes, that is all.”

He leaned back and stretched an arm behind his wife. His fingers played in the strands of the duchess’s hair before he nodded. “This one is brighter than we gave her credit for, love.”

“She is unusual, isn’t she?” The duchess patted his hand. “Play her for fun, darling. Perhaps then you shall be able to defeat the huntsman.”

“He doesn’t know how to play at all. Every win he claims is by luck.”

She leaned forward and moved a pawn two spaces ahead. The game was on, and she didn’t know what else to do other than to sit quietly in her dirty clothes.

The duchess’s eyes were a physical touch. She was weighing Aisling, the way she looked, the way she acted, the movements she made.