Sophie Oak: Beauty

The tightness of the guard’s mouth told Bron that perhaps he had been looking forward to some food. Even the guards were on rations, it seemed. When he noticed her watching, he gave a tight smile and a nod. Bron thought he was almost giving her permission to ignore him.

“I’ll get the tea,” Bron said as Gillian showed the mayor into what passed for the parlor.

Bron started the tea and gathered the bread and cheese they had left. It seemed a shame to waste it all on the mayor, who didn’t look like a man who had missed many meals.

“How is the crop looking this year?” Micha was asking Gillian.

“Better than even last year. Danu has blessed us.”

“The king will be happy to hear it. He’s requesting an extra twenty percent this year.”

Bron nearly dropped the teapot. An extra twenty percent after he already took half? It was outrageous.

Gillian’s response was measured. “An extra twenty percent, did you say? I worry that sending so much to the palace will mean our own people will starve.”

The mayor laughed. “Don’t you worry your pretty head now. We’ll be fine. The king has declared rations for all citizens. And he’s redefined citizenship. The king and queen will always take care of the sidhe.”

Bron forced herself to pour the hot water into the pot. So he’d done it. Torin had finally declared that only sidhe were true Seelie. The brownies and the trolls, the dryads and leprechauns, would be declared Unseelie and therefore undesirable. They would receive no rations. Any land they possessed would be confiscated. They had no protections.

She passed the guard in the hall. He didn’t see her or he surely would have tempered his expression. When the mayor mentioned getting rid of the riffraff, the guard’s face became fierce, a dark, vengeful look passing over his handsome countenance.

An ally?

She couldn’t be sure, and she certainly couldn’t walk up to him and say, hey, I’m the supposedly dead princess of the Seelie Fae. Wanna start a revolution? Nope . That would fall under the heading of “stupid things to do.” But if the mayor’s guard could be swayed to her side, there was no time like the present to begin the process.

She gave him what she hoped was her kindest smile and passed him a sandwich of soft bread and tangy cheese.

The guard’s eyes lit, and then he frowned. “Best not, Miss.”

He really was hungry. It no longer mattered what damn side he was on. Bron couldn’t help but feel for the man. She’d been hungry. She’d felt it gnaw at her stomach and prayed for anything to end the slow torture of starvation.

“Please. We have more than enough, and the mayor won’t notice.” She pressed the sandwich into his hand. “I won’t be able to enjoy a thing if I know you’re out here with your stomach rumbling.”

The guard smiled, the look softening his face. “My thanks to you, Miss. It’s said around town that you and your sister are kind ones.” He leaned over and whispered. “Tell the brownies to hide. Leave their homes. They need to go underground. He’s going to come for them.”

He stood back up, his face red as a beet as though he knew he’d just committed treason.

Bron nodded and put a hand on his. “I thank you, sir.”

Her heart pounding, she walked into the parlor. She prayed her rage didn’t show on her face.

“There she is.” The mayor looked up, satisfaction written on every line of his face. “Beautiful Isolde.”

Bron was glad the man didn’t know her real name. She would hate to hear it on his lips. She set the tray on the table, grateful that unwed women were supposed to be shy. He would think the fact that she wasn’t looking at him was charming.

“Come and sit with me, dear.”

Panic threatened to overtake her. Gillian shifted uncomfortably, her eyes going to the window where the silhouettes of the two guards Micha had left outside stood, their pikes held high. Bron had dreams at night of Gillian on the end of one of those hated pikes.

She sat down, trying to keep plenty of distance between them.

“Gillian, dear, might I have a word alone with your sister?” The words practically slithered out of his mouth.

Gillian sat straight up, and Bron could see she’d reached the end of her patience. She had to stop her.

“Please, Gilly. I’ll be fine. I can handle it. After all, being a good hostess is all a part of my job, right?” She placed careful emphasis on the word “job” since Gillian had just given her a lecture on what her true job was. Staying alive.

Her jaw tightened, but Bron breathed easier as Gillian got up. “I suppose I can go and find something a bit stronger than tea if Your Honor would prefer it.”

The mayor winked. “I think we might be needing that. Find something for a celebration, dear.”

Her stomach turned since she knew what was coming.

The minute Gillian was out the door, he scooted over, placing himself so close to her she could smell the rank heat of his body under his layers of proper clothing. No true country Fae would wear such fancy clothes, but the mayor liked to pretend he was going to the palace instead of running a small agricultural province.

“Now, my dear, have you given any thought to my proposal?”

Bron had to force herself to smile. She decided to go for simpering and brainless. “I have thought of little else.”

Since the moment the man who could have been her grandfather had blandly proposed marriage to her, she’d tried to think of anything but that old goat getting his hands on her.

A sly smile crossed his face. “Well, then, shall we announce it tomorrow at the festival?”

“Oh, I don’t know about that, sir. I don’t think I would make a good mayor’s wife. I’m a simple country girl.” She’d hoped for more time. She’d rather hoped that the man would find a wife at court who suited him more. He’d spent the last two months there.

He shook his head, reaching for her hand. His were clammy and soft, the hands of a man who’d never done an honest day’s work. “Not at all, my dear. You’re actually quite well educated. As is your sister. Your manners are far beyond a mere country girl. You have everything required to be an excellent wife for me. Once you’ve been cleaned up and are in proper attire, you’ll be quite pretty. You’ll fit right in. And I’m going places, Isolde. I spoke to King Torin himself. Our little kingdom is changing. He’s bringing us back to our rightful place. The Vampire Council is going to acknowledge Torin as the rightful king.”

She was sure she’d turned a little green. If the Vampire plane acknowledged Torin, the others would follow.

If Micha noticed, he didn’t show it, merely continued talking in his most pretentious tone. “King Torin was very interested in our little province, I tell you. Once he sees how well I enact his new laws, he’s going to understand that I should be given a much bigger place in the ruling class. But before I can request a new assignment, I truly must have a wife and family in place.”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea, Mayor.” She stammered out the words, not sure how to extricate herself.

His face turned cold, his thin lips nearly disappearing. “Well, you’re not supposed to think, are you, dear? Do you know what I think? I think it’s odd that a girl your age hasn’t married and had children. You’re what? Twenty-five?”

She nodded, not wanting to explain that she was actually twenty-seven.

“And your sister is at least ten years older. Odd then that she’s avoided marriage.” He leaned in, his words a cold chill running down her spine. “Some people around here whisper that your sister hasn’t married because she’s too busy practicing magic. I don’t like that rumor, do you?”