The Letter
Complete waste of my time.
I already knew what the sealed parchment held by the gangly boy standing on my doorstep was going to say. Dressed in the finest messenger coattails and breeches ensemble of the city of Amesburne, he worked hard to maintain his proud expression as I scowled at the invitation in his proffered hand before I turned my glare on him. It wasn’t his fault he worked for the biggest dickhead this side of the forest.
Deciding not to make the poor kid’s day more difficult than it needed to be, I kept my face emotionless as I took the parchment from him. “Thank you,” I snapped, forcing a speck of politeness into my tone.
His shoulders relaxed and I got a glimpse of his sigh of relief as I smacked the door shut with more force than necessary. Likely thankful a door to the face was all he was getting, rather than the string of verbal insults he copped last time he graced my doorstep.
Resisting the urge to scrunch the small square into an even tinier ball, I stomped through the house to where I knew I’d find my father.
Caldwell Bradford could always be depended upon to be found in his den, sitting behind his solid desk and leaning over his ledgers, or reclined back in his cushioned chair with a steaming mug of milky tea perched on his knee and a book in hand. In fact, he’d only part with his cushions on sunny days, where he’d roamed his lands and get his knees dirty, or put me through a training session.
But at the smallest hint of a temperature drop or even a slight breeze, he’d go right back inside like a spoiled creature of pure comfort.
I’d teased him once over it, but he’d merely pouted and said, “I’ve lived long enough dealing with cold weather in my years. I shouldn’t have to put up with it if I don’t need to.”
I lifted my hand to knock on the entrance to his cosy hideaway, but he called from behind the door before I rapped. “Did you leave him alive?”
I pushed the door aside and smiled sweetly as I leant against the frame. “Whatever do you mean, father?”
His white hair had already been tied back neatly with his maroon ribbon, leaving only a few strands free to frame his ageing face. At first look, it was easy to think man of leisure when taking in all that was Caldwell Bradford. Always put together. Neat, tidy and patient.
But upon closer inspection, it was clear that the wrinkles around his blue-grey eyes were at odds with the age of his face. Under his near endless cardigans and coats, one could easily assume he had the soft body of a gentleman, but he was built stronger than any man I’d met.
He could throw a spear further and was a better hunter than any of the men in all of the realm of Evamere who called it their profession.
On top of that, he was the kindest soul I’d ever come across—when he refrained from berating me with sarcastic remarks or rolling his eyes at something I’d said or done.
He levelled a knowing look at me and held it until I dropped all pretence. “You’ve got a short stature, Alora, but we both know your temper’s shorter.”
I flopped into the chair across from him. “Yes, but it’s too early to yell at teenage boys.” I crossed my ankles and reclined my head back. “But if looks could kill, he’d be a pile of ash blowing away in the breeze.” I smirked up at my twirling hand, mimicking the imagined remnants of the messenger who’d put a foul start to my day floating away.
“Well, I hope he left feeling grateful for crossing you during one of your good moods.” He returned his eyes to his book before taking a noisy sip from his tea. “Is it what I think it is?”
“Unfortunately, yes,” I sighed toward the ceiling. Flicking the parchment between my fingers like he’d taught me to do with my dagger, I sent it darting onto the desk between us.
My father put his book down and inspected the invitation. A deep-crimson wax seal immediately signified who’d sent the offending item.
Every six months, Lord Orson Thane hosted the Season Ball at Calchester House to celebrate the citizens of Amesburne Province in his care. A farce of a celebration designed to pull more money into his city and give himself an opportunity to assault young women.
He spent the majority of taxes on every finery and magic comfort humans had access to, simply to appease his own vanity rather than help his citizens.
It was a requirement that any and all eligible men and women attend. Mostly so he could prowl the crowds in hopes forcing a poor girl into letting him sink his cock into her for the night.
I had the significant displeasure of being both a citizen in his care and eligible, which meant that the slimy Lord would love nothing more than the honour of my presence at the Ball being held in two weeks.
Dad sliced open the seal with his knife to read over the invitation. Not like he needed to, it always said the same drivel—I, the high and mighty Lord Thane, invite you and any eligible offspring you happen to have lying around the place, to come and admire all that I have in my gaudy residence. I will offer you the food and beverages which you supplied from your own lands in the first place and pretend to listen to you while lusting after anything with a pulse. Make sure you attend, or I’ll send my cronies over to make your life miserable. Sincerely, me.
Letting out a deep sigh, then muttering a curse under his breath, Dad shook his head in frustration. He and I were roped into this together. Being a woman meant I was required to be escorted by a male family member, despite being twenty-seven and not a fuck-wit. But he had as much distaste for the event as I did, and about as much distaste for the Lord, too.
I watched my father as he rubbed his temples. He and I were so similar in so many ways—and yet there were still unanswered questions I had whenever I looked at him.
I’d always thought the grey hidden in my father’s gaze was the same I saw in my left eye. But I noted his colouring so often, looking for answers that might explain me, that I knew it was a different shade. His eyes were grey-blue, whereas mine was just. . . grey. As if something were missing. Like the emerald green of my right eye had forgotten to spread across to its partner.
“I’ll be twenty-eight by the end of summer, maybe I should take this one seriously...”
“Enough.” An odd flash of emotion pulled at his brow.
We’d had this conversation before. The men in our province fell into two clear categories—domineering or dickhead. I had patience for neither, and my father knew I wouldn’t suffer from either fate, knowing there was more on offer elsewhere.
But people in our town of Remberlie gossiped. Young brides were uncommon in Amesburne Province, but even still, women who weren’t married by the time they hit thirty had suspicions thrown around about why they weren’t.
“You need not settle for the mediocre, Alora, if you do not want it,” he said softly. Then hesitantly, as though he feared my reaction, “But, I doubt you’ll find your match anywhere near here.”
I smiled to ease the sudden heaviness of the conversation. “You know I’m not going anywhere. You and Della can’t get rid of me that easily.”
“Well then,” he sighed with animated exasperation, slapping his hands on his thighs as he stood. “You’re either stuck being labelled a spiteful old spinster by the masses—a title which suits you well already, my sweet,” he said with a wink as he stepped around the desk. “Or you enslave one of the poor bastards on offer here.” He slung his arm around my shoulder in comfort, and the ridges of the thick scar on his palm brushed over my arm.
I gasped at the onslaught of insults he’d just dealt as well as the sheer nerve he possessed at delivering them to me when I was already halfway toward a bad mood. I wondered whether to take offence at his jokes or just accept them for the truth they were. Luckily for him I loved his smart mouth as much as he loved mine.
“I’m sure there’s a man or two who would put up with you.”
A man or two indeed, I thought as I stepped into the back yard.
Our farm was small, but then again, so was Remberlie. The town consisted of a few farms of similar size to our own, surrounding a small town square and a pub, which—thank the Gods—was always open.
If anyone in the town needed anything beyond the basic, Remberlie was forty minutes by horse to the port city of Amesburne. Several other towns belonged to the province, but they were on the opposite side of the city. So, for those who dared to live here, we mostly got the area to ourselves. Not many humans wanted to live in such close proximity to Altenbury Forest, and for good reason.
It was where the fae lived.
