Page 92 of Lady Knight and the Thief

Cypress sucked in a sharp breath, her hands curling into her skirt, unable to fathom the cruelty such a course of action would require. A cold ache settled in the pit of her stomach.

“Caelith had been quietly decimating the Fair Folk for years. My mother loved him, despite his cruelty toward her, so she confronted him with all of her evidence.”

“What did he do?”

“Threw it in the fire. They were separated within a fortnight, and his mistress Henrietta was crowned on the next moon.

"Cade was born ‘prematurely’. Everyone knew what was really going on, though. Henrietta had been pregnant with Cade before Caelith, and my mother had separated.”

“Why did Caelith exile Rosalind?”

“I was still heir, so exiling the mother seemed in poor taste, I suppose. But then my mother became too bold in her efforts to help the Fair Folk under Caelith’s watch. I suppose the final straw was when she proclaimed Thyodas as King of the Wylds in front of the court. Her charges of heresy and exile were served within the hour.”

“And you? Why did you get exiled with her?”

“Because even then, I knew what he was. Caelith was cruel, hateful. My mother had raised me on the tales of the Wylds, ofher people. Even as a boy, I felt far more connected to the Wylds than Grethnah… I saw no reason to stay with Caelith.”

“Cade?”

Torren shrugged, eyes cast to the floor. “We hadn’t acted as brothers in a very long time by then, Lass.”

Cypress’s chest ached, the pain radiating outward, pressing deep behind her ribs as Torren spoke.

“So with you and your Mother gone, Caelith could continue to slowly eradicate the Fair Folk, to wipe your existence from the Keep, from the hearts of the people.”

“Don’t forget about sending raiders after my mother’s carriage,” Torren reminded her and leaned back on the bench.

Rhene’s booming voice heralded his entrance when he was across the room, and effectively ended their conversation.

“Good mornin’, Lassie! Make my day merry and come give me a kiss,” He said and strode across the gardens with a jovial smile upon his face. His silver hair was braided tight against his skull today, and his beard was groomed to a fine point.

Cypress cracked a smile and said, “You can kiss my feet and thank me for it.” Then she raised one leg, wiggling her toes for Rhene to kiss.

Torren’s hand circled Cypress’s ankle and drew her gaze back to his storm grey eyes.

“Do you like to be worshipped, Cypress?” he rasped while his hand roamed up her calf.

Her breath caught, but then Rhene stood in front of them before she could formulate a response.

“Thank ye, Lassie,” He said in all seriousness, then kissed the very tip of her big toe with the lightest of touches.

Cypress couldn’t help but laugh. “I wasn’tserious, Rhene,” She said through her giggles.

“Aye, but I was. So, what’s the plan?”

Cypress pressed herself into the corner of the bench, knees tucked under her chin and arms wrapped around her legs. “We haven’t gotten that far,” She grumbled.

She refused to look at Torren. The weight of his gaze sometimes made coherent thoughts difficult.

“Well, we can’t just walk in through the front doors of the Keep and ask them nicely,” Torren jibed.

Cypress wanted to punch him in the ribs.

“Clearly, there are bound to be wanted posters all over the Keep with our faces.”

“What about my face?” Rhene asked, “They don’t know me. I could walk in through the front doors.”

“Rhene. You’re a nearly eight-foot-tall Fair Folk with silver hair. You’ll be at best recognized, at worst, killed on the spot,” Torren reminded him for the fourth time in a flat voice.