The Masked Fae (Royal Fae of Rose Briar Woods 1)

“She won’t be in West Faerie that long,” the marquis says.

“Interesting,” the man muses from the other side of Lord Ambrose. “Does your mother know you intend to return an illanté to the wild?”

“I don’t see why this is any of my mother’s business,” the marquis replies stonily.

“She might disagree.”

“The girl requested work,” Lord Ambrose says in his deep, cultured voice. It’s controlled and measured, curt and heavy with nobility. “It’s a business transaction and nothing more.”

“Brahm,” Regina says, interrupting the conversation. “Perhaps it would be best if Alice and I excused ourselves?”

“Yes,” Lord Ambrose replies. “Take her away.”

The housekeeper firmly grabs my arm and all but drags me down the hall.

“If you don’t wish to make her your illanté, why don’t you set her brother free and be done with it?” the man asks from behind us, the words sounding like a subtle taunt.

“I have no desire to show mercy on her brother,” Lord Ambrose answers.

Ian replies, but we’re now too far away for me to hear what he says.

“Who was that?” I whisper urgently.

“Count Ian Treald,” Regina says. “One of Lord Ambrose’s mother’s loyal spies. She likes to keep tabs on her children, but she prefers to send her minions instead of coming herself.”

I’m dying to learn who this woman is, but I hold my tongue.

Instead, I ask, “What’s an illanté?”

Regina glances at me, frowning as we walk. “In the ancient Faerie language, it means ‘obligation.’ Hundreds of years ago, it became fashionable for the Fae of high standing to embrace humans with hardships, essentially making them their wards. Though the act seemed benevolent on the outside, most did it because they felt they were superior and decided it was their duty to care for lesser beings. Throughout the years, the illanté agreement became even more twisted. Now illantés are treated as pets, the Fae doing with them as they please. Some dote on their illantés, coddling them like pampered lapdogs. Others…are not so fortunate.”

This is what the bandit was speaking of—this is what he warned me about.

“You said it’s an agreement—like a bargain,” I say. “Don’t both parties have to give their consent? Why would a human wish to enter such a contract?”

Regina looks uncomfortable with the subject, but she keeps talking. “The magic does require agreement on both sides, but the situation is rarely just. Some humans agree with a blade to their throat; others are simply deceived. Many comply to keep loved ones safe.”

I nod, uncomfortable.

Regina looks over, giving me a small smile. “But it’s nothing you need to worry about, not while you’re under Lord Ambrose’s protection. If he wanted to tether you to him, he would have done it already.”

I’m not sure that makes me feel all that much better.

“You called the marquis by his given name,” I say. “Are you and he close?”

“Brahm is my cousin.”

“Have you lived here long?”

“Five years,” she says, her tone becoming abrupt. “Now enough chatter. The dressmaker is waiting.”