Many civilians continued to wave and bow and curtsy. Others merely continued with their end-of-day routines as if a royal carriage was nothing they hadn’t seen a dozen times or more.
It might have been blanketed in snow, but it didn’t matter. This place was so far removed from the mud and debris-flooded streets of the middle lands that I fell more and more in love with each new slice of winter-kissed perfection.
“Lurina,” Florian said. “The royal city of Hellebore.”
Turning to him, I said with an awe that made his head tilt toward the window behind me, “It’s magical.” I turned back, waving at a bouncing youngling held by a giant male. “You must visit as often as possible.”
“I mostly just pass through,” he said, apathetic.
I frowned at that. Then again, this was his world, and he’d been alive for a long time. It was only new to me. The reminder had my forehead sticking to the glass as I waited with my breath fogging the view to see what would come next.
“Your nose will turn blue if you don’t straighten up.”
“I’m fine,” I said, but I rubbed it and my forehead regardless.
The king huffed, seeming to withhold a laugh.
Not a minute later, the city street we traveled became a slow and winding road uphill into the mountains of woods that overlooked the city of Lurina.
And then I saw it.
Hellebore Manor appeared in gaps and glimpses between the trees.
It would have been disguised by the deep-red ivy coating the entirety of the three-story fortress if it weren’t for the windows. Arched glass glinted in the glow of dusk and stood in tall rows along each floor.
As we finally neared, I had to wipe the carriage window clear of the fog from my breath, unwilling to move an inch.
Willow and oak trees surrounded the manor’s circular drive.
In the center stood a large statue of the goddess, her robe marked with mildew and her star-spun hair and features cracked from the elements.
“They say Mythayla was forged from the flames of colliding stars,” Florian murmured, knowing what had caught my attention. “Forced to kill beasts until she could feed from those she loved to rejuvenate and survive during her reign of procreation with falling stars.”
I’d heard similar, as well as many different beliefs, as to how the Fae and the continent of Mythayla had come to exist. Including that it had taken countless centuries for her offspring, faeries, to grow strong enough to survive without her aid. So strong that a jealous and vindictive harem of lovers supposedly killed her when they learned they were no longer needed.
“Do you believe that?”
I expected no response. Then, as we came to a rocking stop, he said, “It is a test.” He leaped out of the carriage with distracting grace. “To trust in what you cannot see.”
I frowned. “You think it unwise?”
“I didn’t say that.”
As he assisted with my ungraceful exit from the carriage, I silently questioned whether he needed to when he’d already suggested as much.
A smirk attempted to curl his stubborn and glorious lips when my hastily-donned gown snagged on the carriage door handle.
Glancing away to rid the heat entering my cheeks, I looked back to the statue of the goddess. Beneath Mythayla’s feet spread a small garden of frosted roses, almost black in color. Upon closer inspection, I noticed they were a dark and glimmering blue—much the same as the king’s eyes.
My fingers fell slack, leaving Florian’s as I then looked at the manor.
“It’s beautiful,” I breathed, dragging my eyes from the circular row of stone steps. Above them were arched doors in a towering stained wood, and beneath the walls of crimson ivy hid a sparkling onyx stone. “And huge.”
I hadn’t realized I’d garnered an audience until Florian’s boots crunched over the brown pebbled drive toward the doors. “This is Olin, our family steward.”
I blinked and approached the tall and thin male who assessed me with sharp lavender eyes. “Hello, Olin.”
The faerie’s silver mustache shifted with the thinning of his lips. An incline of his head was apparently all the greeting I would receive.
I was too distracted by the majestic extravagance as we moved into the giant foyer to mind. Ahead, the ceiling rose through the second floor. A dark crystal chandelier housing dozens of candles glinted above me.
“Come, butterfly.”
But I wasn’t finished admiring the portraits of the Hellebore family.
A gilded frame contained a young Florian. Another a brunette female with eyes so much like his, she could only be his mother. A male with black hair stood beside her with dark eyes and a similar severe bone structure to his son.
He stood with the regal and proud look of a male who knew he’d been gifted a great fortune. Not merely because he wore a crown of onyx and diamond and sapphire jewels, but because of the female he held at the waist and the hand affectionately clasped over his son’s shoulder.
Such a stark contrast to the portrait of the same late king of Hellebore on the opposite wall.
In this one, there was no queen, and Florian’s father had lost that glow in his eyes. He still stood proud before his son and the young female of whom I guessed had been born some years after Florian had grown.
Here, Florian was taller than his father—broader. The arrogance he carried glinted in those ever-changing eyes. But the firmness of his jaw, the protective hand he’d placed on the very young female’s shoulder, spoke volumes.
He had adored his sister. A sister I knew nothing about, and therefore I assumed she’d passed on quite some time ago.
My throat tightened as I wondered how old she’d been when that’d happened—as I reached out to touch the rosy cheeks covered in gentle obsidian curls. Her eyes were a brighter blue than her brother’s, but there was a different mischief to them.
A darkness that no amount of color could hide.
“Her name was Lilitha.”
Florian’s toneless voice stunned me, and my hand dropped to my side.
It was wrong of me to ask. I’d barely stepped a few feet into his home. Regardless, I failed to trap the curiosity when he clipped, “Ask, butterfly.”
“How young was she when she died?”
Expressionless, he said while staring at his sister, “Twenty-one years.”
So dreadfully young, especially in Fae years. I was tempted to ask why, but I’d already pried too much.
Florian glanced at me, as if sensing and awaiting the question.
I said in jest, “She looks as though she would have caused you a great deal of trouble.”
“You have no idea,” he said with a huff, though he did not smile. He turned and marched from the foyer into the adjoining hall.
Beyond the staircase, a spray of moonlight washed over the smooth stone floors through a row of what seemed to be glass panes.
A courtyard sat in the very center of the manor.
Atop the landing, I leaned against the stone railing to glimpse it through the glass that rose from the first floor all the way to the ceiling.
Though it was now fully dark, the courtyard was aglow with lanterns of firelight in each corner. Hedges of those blue roses sat on either side of wooden bench seats, and behind them, ivy fell in curtains from the rooftop.
“There will be time to explore as much as you wish,” the king said. “Right now, you should wash up and rest. I have some matters I must see to.”