Beatrice turned and gaped at Benedict. Surely she hadn’t just heard those words exit his mouth. Coming from a fae, that was very nearly a vow. One he wouldn’t break.
Munch held Benedict’s gaze, his hand dropping to his quiver at his side in a gesture that was too deliberate to be anything but a statement of what he would do if Benedict failed. “See that you do.”
Benedict held Munch’s gaze unflinchingly before he gave a slight nod.
With one last glance at Beatrice, Munch turned and disappeared into the crowd with the silent grace of a trained forester who had grown up stalking prey in the wilds of the Greenwood.
Leaving Beatrice alone with only Benedict for protection.
She swallowed and peeked up at him. Strange that she should feel almost safe, standing there with him. Years ago, he had been her greatest tormentor here in the Fae Realm. The two of them couldn’t be in the same room together without a war breaking out between them.
Now he was the one charged with her protection.
He tilted his head toward the stage before he held out a hand to her. “We should hold hands so we aren’t separated.”
She hesitated before she nodded and clasped his proffered hand. His fingers were warm as they closed over her smaller hand, his grip stronger than she had expected. The golden glow suffused their fingers, but in the brightness of the sunlight it wasn’t too noticeable.
Holding on to her, he shoved into the crowd, and she dove into his wake. His broad shoulders saved her from the worst of the jostling, and she pressed close to his back.
Near the stage, they found themselves even more hemmed in by various groups of people. The fae, of course, didn’t have anything so organized as a sign-up sheet or even someone coordinating the acts. No, those wishing to take to the stage had to wait below. As soon as one act left the stage, those hoping to perform next had to hop onto the stage to claim the next spot.
“Let’s wait for a few minutes.” Beatrice had to tuck herself against Benedict’s side to avoid being elbowed in the face. “Perhaps letting a few others go first will allow some of this chaos to dissipate.”
Benedict nodded before he tugged her to the side where there was enough space for them to breathe. “I’m not sure it will improve with time, but perhaps by waiting a few minutes to observe, we can better judge our timing.”
She grimaced and nodded. This was a Faerie Market, after all. Hoping for less chaos was a vain wish.
Once the jugglers stepped down, another fae toting a canvas sack stained with blood hopped onto the stage. Dragging a table to the center, he poured out the bag, revealing what appeared to be a pile of raw meat.
No, not just raw meat but hearts, which Beatrice could only hope had come from animals and not slaughtered humans.
She squeezed her eyes shut, turning away, as Benedict’s hand tightened on hers. She shouldn’t find such comfort in the gesture. At least he wasn’t teasing her about her squeamishness.
There came an extra loud cheer from the gathered crowd.
“Do I want to know what’s happening?” She didn’t so much as peek at the stage.
“No.” Benedict’s voice was tight, almost sickened. “He just took a bite of one.”
“He’seatingthem?” Beatrice had to swallow at the bile rising in her throat. That was horrific, even for the Fae Realm. Yet based on the cheering, the audience was eating it up as much as the performer.
Once that performer finally wrapped up his display, the two of them waited through several acts. Thankfully none of them involved torturing humans, even if a few others were of the more gruesome variety.
Once Beatrice and Benedict had a sense of the timing, they tried to take the stage a few times, only to be beaten to it each time.
After their latest attempt, Benedict crossed his arms and scowled. “I can’t believe that Nick Bottom and his acting troupe beat us.”
“They were surprisingly fleet-footed, considering how clumsy they are on stage.” Beatrice took in the donkey-headed goblin man currently proclaiming his lines on the stage. He paused, repeated the beginning of a line, and paused again, as if he’d forgotten his line. Behind him, the other goblin folk in his troupe pranced about with elaborate, over-exaggerated motions. One, dressed as a tree, toppled over into one of the other players. “I see they are just as terrible as usual.”
Nick Bottom’s earlier strangeness didn’t seem to have affected the quality—or lack thereof—of their performance. She couldn’t help but smile almost fondly at that. It would bea sad day indeed if this particular troupe ever had a good performance.
“Even worse, by my estimation.” Benedict shook his head, although his gaze remained fixed on Nick Bottom with something unreadable in his eyes. Almost as if he had something against the donkey-eared goblin man.
What that could be, Beatrice didn’t know. Nick was generally rather harmless, his recent and suspicious bout of anger notwithstanding.
Perhaps Benedict had the noble fae’s usual distaste toward the goblin folk. Knowing Benedict, that wouldn’t surprise her in the least.
At last, Nick Bottom and his troupe seemed to be nearing the end of their performance. Benedict gripped Beatrice’s hand and all but dragged her forward. After so many thwarted attempts, Beatrice didn’t resist. Instead, she used her own elbows to help shove their way into the knot of people waiting at the base of the stairs.
