Father loved her as much as the rest of us, treating her like a true child. He wanted to adopt her into the family—give her our name, make her belong.
Mother refused, saying a human would never sully her line.
“Lord Ambrose?” Alice says from behind me.
Startled, I turn, my mind still in the past.
The girl who reminds me so much of the Alice I knew looks at me in question, so familiar it haunts me. Her hair and eyes are wrong, but the resemblance is uncanny.
And her name.
There must be some connection—there must.
No longer in her tattered dress, Alice wears a full brown gown, topped with a white, sleeveless overdress. It laces at her waist, making her look like a milkmaid from a human child’s picture book. The top half of her blonde hair is held up with a ribbon, and the length of it falls down her back.
She’s entirely too lovely. My chest suddenly aches, remembering the way she kissed me.
Not me,I remind myself. The masked man—a hero in her eyes. Human.
Would Alice have given that same kiss to a Fae prince, eldest son of the bloodthirsty queen of West Faerie?
“Do you need something?” she prods when I don’t answer, her eyes betraying how wary she is of my true identity.
Her expression answers my question.
“No,” I say, turning to leave. “Please, excuse me.”
I walk swiftly toward the doors, tugging at my cravat.
“Are the roses always in bloom?” she calls to me, making me pause on the stone path.
Slowly, I turn back. “I’m sorry?”
She jerks her head toward one of the bushes. “I’ve been here for weeks, and as soon as one bloom fades, it’s replaced with another.”
I look at the rose, frowning. “I imagine they are charmed.”
Looking thoughtful, Alice leans down to fill a tiny, tin watering can from a spigot in the fountain.
“You imagine?” She turns her eyes on me, her expression cooler than it is when I’m wearing the mask. “They’re your flowers. I thought you would know.”
Feeling as if she’s scolding me, I nod toward the watering can. “That doesn’t seem terribly efficient.”
“How else do you expect me to water your plants?”
Before I can answer, she disappears down the winding path, leaving me standing here like a fool. I find myself following her, hurrying to catch up. Though the conservatory is large, it’s not so vast that it’s difficult to find her.
She slowly pours water into an earthen pot holding a young spruce. It only takes a few seconds, and then she turns back toward the fountain to repeat the process.
“So, this is the chore Regina gave you,” I say skeptically, wondering if someone else had this tedious task before her. But a Faerie wouldn’t need to resort to such a simplistic process.
Alice doesn’t even spare me a glance. “I trim the plants a bit here and there as well.”
I watch her work. She doesn’t protest my presence, but I can tell I make her uncomfortable. When I can take no more, I catch her arm and pull her to me. Not close—I leave space between us. Still, Alice’s crystalline eyes go wide, and fear dilates her pupils.
“It’s all right,” I say quietly.
I expect her to dart back when I release her, but she stands her ground.