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The Lord's Little Dolly
Alessia
I can’t resist gossip about the fae.
So, when I overheard Sir Dougrey telling his tablemates about the faerie trees eating men alive, I was drawn to him like a moth to a flame. I should’ve remained silent. I should’ve kept my eyes downcast and carried on serving the cranberry-almond apple pie. It took me all afternoon to make, after all, and seeing their eyes light up as the sweet, tart, and toasty flavors exploded on their tongues would’ve brought me a spark of elusive joy. Plus, I could’ve lingered in the wings under the guise of service and eavesdropped longer.
But I messed up.
A dozen questions ran through my mind, and instead of setting down the dessert and retreating, I gaped at the back of Sir Dougrey’s bald head and asked, “humans went to Avylon?”
The lord’s refined friends grew silent, and Sir Dougrey slowly turned to scowl at me. A dozen gazes had penetrated me with open disdain.
I hadn’t meant to speak—to be seen—but it slipped out and now I’m paying for it.
Char—who served the other end of the table at the time—met my eyes with a flash of disappointment, the frown lines on her pallor skin more prominent than ever.
Normally I pester Char about faerie tales and she obliges, albeit with an ominous warning, telling me stories filled with magic and wonder, but in that moment, I had taken my interest too far.
“How dare you make a fool of me,” Lord Edvin says after dragging me from the dining room.
His beady eyes prick me with unease as he leers over me.
I glance away.
The kitchen’s hearth sits off to my side, tucked into a brick mantle. It crackles with the room’s heating, the flames dancing like the fae in the stories Char told me about. A few feet beside it sits the door to the wine cellar, and next to the cellar is a small servant’s stairwell that leads up to my and Char’s shared room.
I'm half-tempted to bolt up there and hide away. Better yet, I’m tempted to escape the door on the opposite side of the room—the one leading out into the pastures and stables beyond.
Perhaps I could flee through the field and into the forest. Escape from the lord for good. But there isn’t anywhere to go.
Or maybe, like in my dreams, I could be stolen away by a faerie. They have magic.
Plus, Sir Dougrey said the trees were eating the humans—not the faeries themselves. Surely they can’t be that dangerous.
“Look at me girl!” Lord Edvin grunts as he grips my shoulders, spinning me away from him and shoving me down on the cool oak table in the center of the kitchen. “I said how dare you make a fool of me!”
He grips my hair, keeping me in place on the table and I wince. At least he has the decency to dole out my punishment in private, away from prying eyes, with only his wife present, watching on with amusement. Then again, it’s probably so my cries don’t disturb his fancy friends as they dine on their pie.
A sharp clank fills the room as he unfastens his leather belt and frees it from his belt loops.
It’s a warning sound—one I’ve heard many times before—and my body automatically tenses at what’s to come.
In the background, soft classical music plays. Silverware tinkles against expensive porcelain plates, and the lord’s guests speak in polite tones. Never too loud, nor too quiet. Never with a show of open emotion, and never directed at me—a mere Tradeling.
“Why are you misbehaving tonight, Dolly?” he whispers, his hot breath scorching my cheek. He smells of malt liquor and cigars. My stomach churns. “What has gotten into you?”
I stay stock still, my upper half resting on the table with my toes on the ground. I forgo a response, fearful that if I acknowledge the lord it will only fan his fury. Or worse, my voice will crack and my words will come out weak. Instead, I use Char’s counting technique and work to keep my breaths steady.
Inhale.
Two.
Three.
Four.
