Page 39 of Death of a Mortal

Something was charming about him. I couldn’t help but like him. And he definitely didn’t argue when I said the fae treatment of mortals was unfair.

“Noxie? Can you hear me? We’re…uh, headed to the castle, but don’t panic. We got jobs.”

“Are you out of your mind? You went with the perfect stranger?”

We argued the entire way to the castle. He didn’t like this plan, and I didn’t like him knowing how perfect I thought this stranger was. I made a mental note—that Noxie likely heard—to figure out what he’d meantby mental shields.

We got to the castle gates, Noxie having caught up to us while keeping a safe distance. The walls surrounding the castle were just as tall as those around the city and made of the same gray stone.

As we approached, the guards on each side gave the male a nod and opened the gates. Just like that.

“Who are you?” I asked again.

“I expect you’ll find out soon enough,” was the only reply I got.

My frustration grew over not knowing who he was. It felt like we were on the outside of some big secret.

“I saw you in the city a few days ago. You transformed into a white wolf.”

He didn’t answer me, although it hadn’t really been a question. I just wanted information.

We walked through the gates and into a courtyard. Deep-green grass grew along the wall behind us, and a white stone pathway stretched out before us, leading straight to the entrance of the looming castle.

We passed perfectly manicured hedges and marble statues of what I assumed were previous Ashenholt rulers. There were fountains with birds of all different colors flitting around, chirping, and bathing. I noticed Noxie following us, going from fountain to fountain, but still not talking to me after our disagreement.

Closer to the castle were rows of tall trees with vibrant flowers covering every branch—deep purples and reds, striking against the green of the grass and the blue of the clear sky.

Ahead, I saw a green banner hanging on either side of the open castle entrance, each at least three stories high, with Ashenholt’s crest and Caedryn’s motto. The sigil felt unsightly and cruel compared to the beauty of the courtyard we had just passed through.

“Does it…hurt? When you change?” I was tired of the silence, and we still had quite a walk to the castle.

He was strolling casually beside me, hands held behind his back. “It might have at first. I don’t really remember. The first change happened many years ago.”

“What do you mean, many years ago? You don’t look much older than me.”

He laughed the hardest so far at that, the sound jovial and genuine. “I’m fae, Naci. We’re nearly immortal. Surely you knew that.”

“Of course I did! I just…didn’t realize that you aged so slowly. How old are you?”

“Very rude of you to ask.”

I felt my cheeks heat, feeling embarrassed. I was being too comfortable with this male.

“I turn 237 this year,” he continued anyway. “So I’m actually quite young.”

I guessed he was right, fae could live to be 1000 or so, according to school history books. So he would be comparable to nearly my age for a mortal. That thought was…weird.

“Well, here we are,” he said as we finally arrived at the entrance, guards on each side with ears as pointy as the swords crossed at their backs and shorter blades at their sides. It was quite intimidating. “Welcome to Ashthorn Castle.”

We walked into the large, open foyer, and my breath hitched. The domed ceiling was plated with ornate gold filigree and stretched high above us. The floors were pure white marble, polished to where I could nearly see my reflection.

My dirty, bare feet were an eyesore standing on the pristine floor. We’d left our cloaks and boots back on the rooftop.

To my left was a set of large, open glass doors that led to a dining hall that could easily seat a hundred people at the long, lone table covered with candles and bowls of fruit. To my right was a fireplace that looked as if it had been carved from a single slab of gold, with green emeralds inlaid in swirling and floral patterns. The fire was roaring, flames taller than me, and surrounded by plush white couches and chairs adorned with fluffy pillows in every shade of gray and green. It looked so cozy and inviting.

In front of us was a grand staircase, the steps made of the same white marble as the floor, stretching up to a hallway above. The wholeentrance was white, green, gray, and gold, the colors of Ashenholt. It was stunning, really, so unlike the cruelty that sat upon its throne.

A servant came ambling up to us, older with gray hair and definitely a mortal, and stopped in front of the male accompanying us with a bow.