Read Online The Countess' Captive (The Fairytale Keeper Book 2) by Andrea Cefalo - Free Book Online

happy creases that frame his mouth and eyes have gone, relaxing away. His hand slithers behind my neck, pulling my face toward his.
    His lips brush mine, resting upon my top lip. His fingers sink into my lower back, and I melt into him. The rest is a passionate rush. One sensation flows for the briefest moment before it ebbs behind a stronger one: his hand running through my hair, the scent of his neck, the sweet, silky taste of his lips. Sensations merge, an alloy of bliss.
    I lie on my side, tucking my head into his shoulder. His chin rests upon the top of my head. Every joint, muscle, in my body unhinges. The silver wheat stalks swing to–and–fro, at the whim of the cool, night breeze. The moon swings as well, still brilliant, still smiling. Stars diminish like candle flames with too little wick, and just as one burns out, another illuminates.
    Swollen creatures rise from the wheat, floating lazily like sud bubbles from a laundress’ tub. Fireflies.
    I duck into the crook of Ivo’s shoulder, afraid, worried, though I do not know why. I peer through a squinted eye. Ivo holds out his hand, and a fat firefly lands clumsily upon it, examining us with large, pup–like eyes.
    “Adelaide,” a voice whispers, nearly imperceptible, on the roll of the wind. Ivo grips me tighter. I nuzzle my head deeper into his shoulder.
    “Adelaide,” the voice calls more clearly, no longer coming from the wind, but the heavens. I sit up quickly, startling the firefly who bumbles away.
    “She stirs,” a bell–like voice says excitedly. I stand, looking around for a prankster hiding among the wheat, but the voices come from above. I look to the sky.
    “She’s coming around now,” a man says. I look down to Ivo to ask him if he hears this, too, but he is gone, not even a flattening in the stalks left as evidence of his presence.
    Was he ever here at all?
    Is any of this real?
    No. No, this is a dream. My happiness withers at this cruelest of realizations.
    But if it’s my dream, why can’t I stay?
    I close my eyes tightly, conjuring Ivo: his lips stretched into a half–smile, the scent of wind and smoke in his silvery blond hair, the give of his ropey muscles beneath my roaming fingertips.
    I open my eyes, surrounded by wheat fields and endless night. The moon’s smile seems more like a mocking smirk. Was it mocking me all along? Did it know this was only a dream and that I would wake to a nightmare? I run my fingers along the stalks of wheat, hoping to hear them chime once more, but I feel nothing, hear nothing.
    “Adelaide,” beckons the girl. The weight of a dainty hand rests on my shoulder though no hand is there. My shoulder shakes with a shove, and all goes black.

    The blankets rustle as I shift to the side. A pop from the fire startles me. Galadriel’s hand gently shakes my shoulder, and I roll upon my back, opening my eyes. Father’s furrowed brow unravels. I’ve worried him. A guilty knot rises in my throat, but quickly melts away as flashes of my dream return.
    Father and Galadriel take Ivo away from me, and if I protest I may lose my freedom, Ivo, or both. I turn away from him, not bothering to mask my disappointment.
    Father brushes sweaty tangles of hair from my neck. “How do you feel?”
    I regard the question. I am sad, disappointed, and homesick, but this isn’t what he wants to know. I lift my heavy arm. Moving my limbs is like swimming through pottage. “I am tired.”
    “Just like I was, Ansel,” Galadriel remarks before turning to me and adding, “We caught a sleeping sickness.”
    “How long have I been asleep?”
    “Since yesterday afternoon,” Galadriel replies, “but I feel fine today, and you will tomorrow.”
    “She needs to rest at least another day,” Father says to Galadriel.
    “Of course,” Galadriel’s agreement is rapid and sweet like his words were a question and not a command. “Do you feel sick, Adelaide?”
    “No.”
    “Neither did I,” she says. I sigh, hoping her