Read Online The Countess' Captive (The Fairytale Keeper Book 2) by Andrea Cefalo - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Andrea Cefalo
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question stems from concern, not suspicion, and she truly believes a sleeping sickness plagued us. “I had the most wonderful dreams,” she adds dazedly. “Did you?”
Father’s grey eyes darken at her question. They almost seem black. “Don’t press her,” he snaps.
“It was a simple question,” she defends with a nonchalant laugh. “I meant no—”
His glare silences her mid–sentence.
This feigned illness did more than pass time. In Father’s heart, I outrank Galadriel now. The convent that felt so close, now feels far away, a speck on the horizon. But Father’s heart is fickle lately. His affections may turn at any moment.
He rises and grips my foot through the blanket, wiggling it playfully. He brushes past Galadriel. “The sun sets. Supper will be in an hour.” He raises an eyebrow at me. “Do you think you’ll be well enough to join us?”
There it is again. That word, us . I try not to cringe and nod obediently. He leaves. His footsteps drifting evermore silently down the hall until they hit the steps. He goes down into the tavern rather than back to his room with her.
I expect Galadriel to scowl at me like a child bested in a game, but she does not. And unlike a child winning at a game, I do not gloat. We gaze upon each other expressionless. After a long silence, she leaves, closing the door behind her.
I sink heavily into the bed . I could sleep for days. But Father wants me to join him for supper. I cannot disappoint him now.
I prop myself up, leaning against the wall for support, and toss the covers off the bed. Perhaps, Father shall want to go home now. He seems disappointed with Galadriel again, and postpones our departure another day.
I rush onto my legs, and they give. I fold, falling back onto the bed. I huff. My limbs take too long to wake. I plait my hair as I wait for them and dress slowly, the effort painstaking and deliberate. When my legs strengthen enough to support me, I make my way to the basin and dunk my head a half–dozen times into the cold water.
Father sits alone at a table, hunched over his mug. I sink into the chair beside him, relieved to rest my shaky legs. My stomach roars loudly, so Father summons the kitchen maid to fetch bread and wine.
“I am sorry I worried you,” I say, and I do mean it. If it had been him and not me, I’d surely have lost my wits with fear.
He shrugs. “You’re well. That’s all that matters.”
I keep my mouth stuffed with bread or sipping on wine to avoid losing Father’s favor with words. He remains silent, blindly staring forward. I squelch the urge to prod, letting his thoughts fester. Galadriel arrives an hour later, and we eat in a fermenting silence. Father rises from the table with a groan, and Galadriel follows him.
I finish my wine alone. My back aches from lying in bed for so long. I nearly order a stronger wine to dull the soreness but remember the headache from yesterday’s indulgence and go to bed instead.
I ascend the stairs with deliberate steps, feeling far beyond my fifteen winters. Raised voices come from Father’s room. I utter a curse, wishing I had tread the stairs more lightly. Perhaps they heard me coming and shall mind their tones. I inch toward the door when it whips open, Galadriel, red–faced and teary–eyed, nearly plows me over. She slams the door behind her.
“I suppose you heard that.” She swipes tears from her cheeks.
“I heard raised voices but not words.”
“So are you here to find out what was said or to gloat?”
“I’m not sure yet.”
“Oh, leave me alone!” she huffs and storms past me.
“Is he going to send you to a convent, too?” I jest, following her out of interest not concern.
“Your father is a beast!”
I give a laugh. “And you’re a fool if you expect that to change.”
“So he has always been like this, even with your—”
Mother is what she doesn’t say. That unspoken word is like a punch in the stomach. My fists quickly curl in response.
Father’s grey eyes darken at her question. They almost seem black. “Don’t press her,” he snaps.
“It was a simple question,” she defends with a nonchalant laugh. “I meant no—”
His glare silences her mid–sentence.
This feigned illness did more than pass time. In Father’s heart, I outrank Galadriel now. The convent that felt so close, now feels far away, a speck on the horizon. But Father’s heart is fickle lately. His affections may turn at any moment.
He rises and grips my foot through the blanket, wiggling it playfully. He brushes past Galadriel. “The sun sets. Supper will be in an hour.” He raises an eyebrow at me. “Do you think you’ll be well enough to join us?”
There it is again. That word, us . I try not to cringe and nod obediently. He leaves. His footsteps drifting evermore silently down the hall until they hit the steps. He goes down into the tavern rather than back to his room with her.
I expect Galadriel to scowl at me like a child bested in a game, but she does not. And unlike a child winning at a game, I do not gloat. We gaze upon each other expressionless. After a long silence, she leaves, closing the door behind her.
I sink heavily into the bed . I could sleep for days. But Father wants me to join him for supper. I cannot disappoint him now.
I prop myself up, leaning against the wall for support, and toss the covers off the bed. Perhaps, Father shall want to go home now. He seems disappointed with Galadriel again, and postpones our departure another day.
I rush onto my legs, and they give. I fold, falling back onto the bed. I huff. My limbs take too long to wake. I plait my hair as I wait for them and dress slowly, the effort painstaking and deliberate. When my legs strengthen enough to support me, I make my way to the basin and dunk my head a half–dozen times into the cold water.
Father sits alone at a table, hunched over his mug. I sink into the chair beside him, relieved to rest my shaky legs. My stomach roars loudly, so Father summons the kitchen maid to fetch bread and wine.
“I am sorry I worried you,” I say, and I do mean it. If it had been him and not me, I’d surely have lost my wits with fear.
He shrugs. “You’re well. That’s all that matters.”
I keep my mouth stuffed with bread or sipping on wine to avoid losing Father’s favor with words. He remains silent, blindly staring forward. I squelch the urge to prod, letting his thoughts fester. Galadriel arrives an hour later, and we eat in a fermenting silence. Father rises from the table with a groan, and Galadriel follows him.
I finish my wine alone. My back aches from lying in bed for so long. I nearly order a stronger wine to dull the soreness but remember the headache from yesterday’s indulgence and go to bed instead.
I ascend the stairs with deliberate steps, feeling far beyond my fifteen winters. Raised voices come from Father’s room. I utter a curse, wishing I had tread the stairs more lightly. Perhaps they heard me coming and shall mind their tones. I inch toward the door when it whips open, Galadriel, red–faced and teary–eyed, nearly plows me over. She slams the door behind her.
“I suppose you heard that.” She swipes tears from her cheeks.
“I heard raised voices but not words.”
“So are you here to find out what was said or to gloat?”
“I’m not sure yet.”
“Oh, leave me alone!” she huffs and storms past me.
“Is he going to send you to a convent, too?” I jest, following her out of interest not concern.
“Your father is a beast!”
I give a laugh. “And you’re a fool if you expect that to change.”
“So he has always been like this, even with your—”
Mother is what she doesn’t say. That unspoken word is like a punch in the stomach. My fists quickly curl in response.
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