Page 35 of A Beautifully Crafted Lie

She’d been prevented from attending her stepmother’s events for two years. Her father forbade it without clarification, and now that he gave her permission to attend, she hesitated. No one came to escort her into the busy hall or to introduce her to all the unfamiliar faces that flowed through the doors. Despite the music being muted by thick walls and heavy doors, she still heard its joyous melody and missed her mother even more.

The door to her right opened with a click and closed with a soft thud. Her back was turned to it as she faced the town and the yellow glow of its lanterns in the distance. Her muscles tensed, wanting to turn to see the person approaching her. Footsteps grew louder until they stopped altogether.

“It’s a nice evening to be outside,” a man said next to her. Without turning her head, she stole a look at him. He was around her age, perhaps a year or two older, and he was handsome. His blonde hair fell over one eye, and he smelled of almonds and leather. “You do speak, don’t you?”

“Of course I do.” She spun in his direction. His chuckle was reserved and inviting, dampening the music completely. Until that night, Bryndis had never engaged in conversation with anyone who could be a suitor for marriage. She’d begun to forget about her dream to leave the walls of her childhood home, but when he looked at her, his eyes wandering from hers to trail down her neck, her chest, she blushed a bright crimson.

“It’s nice to finally meet you, Miss—”

“Bryndis Ashglo.” Her words were spoken softly, politely, as she held out a silk-gloved hand to the young lord. Even through her gloves, his touch was warm, his grip gentle. Despite the harshness of her reality, her mind wandered to a realm of endless possibilities, providing her with a much-needed escape. Maybe, just maybe, this handsome young lord could offer her such an escape.

“Why aren’t you inside dancing?” he asked her, pressing his lips to the back of her hand.

Her heart fluttered to life, and she smiled.

“The company out here is so much better, don’t you think?” She cringed inwardly when she heard her words spoken aloud and blushed even more.

“Certainly is,” he agreed, his words holding a different lull, which caused a young and innocent Bryndis to furrow her brow. He stepped closer, his hips pressing softly against her knees. At eighteen years old, she’d never gained the attention of a young lord. No one had ever coached her about such occasions, but she possessed enough understanding to recognise that this wasn’t the kind of opportunity she’d secretly fantasised about. This was dangerous.

“I should go inside, though; my father is probably missing me.” The tightness of her chest completely swallowed her voice. Bryndis’ heart raced, but not out of the delight of his proximity to hers. This wasn’t the way she expected to feel upon his advance. No, her heart raced like that of a deer cornered by a wolf.

“Why are you in such a hurry?” His words took on a coaxing tone that made Bryndis shiver.

“I’ve been out too long already. I’m sorry…”

“Come now, don’t be a boring little cunt.” His words became a sneer when he grabbed fist fulls of her skirts, pushing it up her legs, beyond her knees. Bryndis slid from the ledge in an attempt to escape, but instead, found her body flush with his. All she heard was the roaring of blood in her ears as his lips met her skin, wet against her clavicle.

Her palms flattened against his chest, but she couldn’t move him away, not enough to slip past him.

“Get off of me!” Her voice came out rough, strained by fear. The young man’s hand pushed further up her skirt, along the inside of her thigh. She shouldn’t have come out here. She shouldn’t have been alone. She shouldn’t have…

“Stop!” she screamed, but the music was much louder inside than she’d thought. Too loud for her voice to be heard. Tears blurred her vision as she swatted at him, as her knees fought to collide with his stomach, his ribs, his crotch.

The wall briefly moved away from her back before he rammed her against the pillar beside her. A searing pain from the back of her skull flooded her senses. With a swift and brutal motion, Bryndis’ head struck violently against stone, causing her vision to momentarily explode into blinding white light before abruptly plunging into an abyss of pitch black.

“Get off of her!” a familiar voice boomed through the night. Heavy footsteps fell against the stone tiles. Eighteen-year-old Bryndis managed to open her eyes in time to see a head of red hair crash against her assailant, ramming him to the floor. She sank against the wall like a sack of potatoes as she slipped from reality and back into a realm of night skies.

The next morning, she awoke with a pounding headache in an unfamiliar bed, still in her heavy silk dress. The walls were plastered with papers fluttering in the light breeze blowing through the window. In the chair across the room, still fast asleep, was her friend and saviour. Declan’s hair was as red as the autumn leaves, and his eye was swollen and pitch-black.

That morning, she vowed never to attend another dance or entertain the advances of handsome men. That morning, she vowed never to be a defenceless victim again. That morning, while curled up on Declan’s bed, she let go of her dream to be wed to a handsome lord who could whisk her away from the world she knew.

EIGHTEEN

BRYNDIS ASHGLO

Established as the perfect predator, faeries possess impeccable hearing. It is said that some even possess the gift of listening to unspoken thoughts.

The Legends of The Forgotten, by Tibor Harper

The bed smells of cinnamon and peppermint. Of Odhran. The soft pillow against my chest… The quilt… It all smells like him, and I hate it. I hate that he ruined two of my favourite scents. He takes without asking, ignoring all consequences.

The room is enormous, lit only by a single candelabra in the far corner. I turn, relieved to find the other half of the bed neatly made and unused, but I want nothing more than to be in my own room back at the manor. It’s a feeling I never expected to have. More than my need for familiarity, I want to turn back time and pretend none of this ever happened. Visions of the ballroom, Laoise bound on the stone floor, and Declan’s face when I left with Odhran, all flash behind my eyelids. This isn’t a dream; it’s a nightmare.

Suddenly, the oversized room is too small, the covers an entrapment. Everything is too much and all wrong at the same time. I’m out of bed before I know it. The wooden floor is cold under my feet as I stand silently, studying the room. Walls of dark emerald green, decorated with golden trimming and an array of lush, tropical greenery fills every crack and crevice as if reclaiming what once was theirs. Asparagus ferns, monstera deliciosa, peace lily, and ivy give life to the room, an encased forest with wide moss covered windowsills. Frogs croak and crickets chirp outside. The bed is dark oak and gold, the quilt a shade darker than the walls. Our manor pales in comparison to this, but even so, I wish I was back in my own room, under my own covers, with my own people on the other side of the door.

I frown, my fingers tracing my chest where the pendant remains pressed to my skin. It’s the only item I’m wearing that came from last night, unlike the oversized white shirt that resembles a baggy chemise with long sleeves. I’ve already claimed her. She wears my seal around her neck. I pluck the necklace from my neck and drop it.

My dress must be here somewhere. Marching to the adjoining bathroom, I find more candles lit on the small tables in the far corner, but there’s no sign of my dress. When I catch sight of my reflection in the mirror, I freeze, pressing my lips together. What the hell have you gotten yourself into?