The Faceless Woman Emma Hamm (ebook reader screen TXT) 📖

was still a wild thing, a woman with the heart of a she-wolf and a face that could tear down cities. Now, everyone knew that as well.

Bone Dance

The maid twisted Aisling’s hair, wrapping it around a hot rod that she kept dipping into the fire. She winced at the tug and bit her lip to keep herself silent. Arguing with them had already proven fruitless. It didn’t matter her hair was already curly. They insisted it curled the wrong way.

How was that even possible?

A small whimper escaped her lips at a particularly vicious tug. They refused to let her even move from her seat.

Aisling had walked on pins and needles earlier that morning. She worried they might see her face, the maids. How would they react? Would they think her beautiful? Would they know her family? Worse, would they throw her out because she clearly came from a Seelie bloodline?

But the women who walked into her room would never know that her curse was broken, for they had no eyes.

Their skin was dark as midnight, eyeless faces smooth as porcelain. Golden filigree decorated their faces like masks, accentuating the missing features that didn’t seem to hinder them in the slightest. They moved through the room with a grace that rivaled dancers.

They didn’t appear to be servants, at least not that she could tell. Their clothing was made of the finest silk. It slithered across their bodies, quietly hushing as they shifted and moved. Small circlets were woven through their braided hair. Even their fingers were dipped in gold.

“Who are you?” Aisling asked for the hundredth time.

“We are the favored few.”

“I’m assuming you mean the Duchess of Dusk approves of you?”

The faerie sagely nodded.

“Well that doesn’t clear up anything, now does it?” Aisling muttered. “Ouch!”

Another woman entered, the perfect twin for the one currently tugging on Aisling’s hair hard enough to yank it from her skull.

In the newcomer’s arms was a swath of black fabric draped over her arm. “Your outfit for this evening’s ball, my lady.”

“Not a lady.”

The faerie cocked her head and held out the dress regardless. Aisling didn’t want to touch it. It looked as though it were made out of far too fine a material for her, and she’d spent her whole life running from such things.

And yet, there it was. So close to touch, and she knew it would feel as smooth as it looked. Silk like that could only be made in faerie realms.

She blew out a breath and stood up. They helped her into the dress, pouring it over her body like a stream of water until it settled around her form like a second skin. The skirt flared just slightly over her hips, pooling at her feet. Her entire body was covered other than a dangerous dip between her breasts that stopped just above her belly button.

From afar, the dress had looked plain. But up close, she could see the dark embroidered threads across her shoulders and down to her waist that depicted the Wild Hunt. Tiny obsidian stones tangled with the embroidery, making her glimmer as she moved. But not with light. She shone with darkness.

“One last piece,” the faerie woman murmured and reached forward with a silver necklace. It was an impressively wrought piece. A tangled vine with sharp thorns created to encircle a slender neck.

Aisling gasped as the cold metal touched her throat. Thorns rested gently against her pulse, and each time she swallowed, she felt the threatening press. It was terrifying, and yet all her senses awoke in a wave of heat.

She pressed her fingers against her collarbone. “All night?”

“Yes, mistress, you must wear that for the remainder of the night.” The faerie sprayed perfume onto her exposed chest.

“Why?”

A rough voice answered her, “The Duchess wants to ensure we do exactly as she wants.”

“Bran,” Aisling replied. A blush spread from her chest to her cheeks, and she spun away from him.

He couldn’t see her face. Not yet. She wasn’t prepared. There were so many things she wanted to say, to explain.

Why hadn’t she told him before? Because a piece of her soul wanted him to always see her as the strange witch who had cursed him. She didn’t want to be a Seelie faerie, a contender for his thoughts and emotions. She was content with nothing, no one; she was a shadow in the night that never remained in memories.

Until him.

Her breath caught in her throat as the faeries dipped into curtsies beside her.

“Out,” he grunted. Their hurried footsteps nearly made her smile until she heard him walk forward as well. “Ridiculous fanfare for nothing. I don’t know what she thinks she’s getting out of a ball. We have work to do.”

“She doesn’t know we’re here for her heart,” Aisling whispered, frozen in the center of the room.

“Oh, she knows. She made it very clear that she was up for the challenge.”

“Then perhaps she feels safe with so many of her followers nearby.”

“Maybe,” Bran replied. “Or she’s just cocky. I’m betting on her thinking we’re weak. And we are anything but.”

She knew he meant it as a compliment, but she couldn’t breathe through the tightness in her throat. Aisling didn’t feel very strong right now. She wanted to crumple to the ground, press her hands against her chest, and beg her heart to remain still.

“Aisling?” he asked quietly. “Is something wrong?”

Everything was wrong, and she couldn’t tell him because she wasn’t brave enough to turn around. She wanted him to see her face, but every fiber of her being refused to turn.

“I-I-” she stuttered, then cleared her throat. “Everything will be fine.”

“It will.” He stepped into the room, his voice deepening. “She gave you a fine dress to wear tonight. Are you afraid to move in it?”

“No.”

He drew even closer until she could feel the heat of him against her back. He drew in a deep breath. “You smell like orchids.”

“I thought that might be the scent. Do you like it?”

“I prefer your natural scent.”