Page 2 of Facade

Turned out that when the leather bit into my skin, it eased an incessant itch in my back. During a full moon, that itch turned into outright pain. As if every inch of my back was being scraped raw with coarse salt, while something claws along my spine from the inside. I’ve blacked out from the sheer agony more times than I could count.

Sometimes I found myself baiting Blanche on purpose, just to get relief without appearing even crazier than I already did. I could only imagine the look I’d get if anyone knew I wanted the lashings.

My steps echoed as I stomped down the narrow staircase to the open room below. The table barely fit in the cramped kitchen. We rarely sat together, though. Our chores were scattered each day, so hot meals were rare, and having everyone gathered here together was even rarer. Not that I wanted to be around the others. I preferred solitude.

Blanche waited for me at the foot of the stairs, her chubby little foot tapping away as she pointed a finger at me.

“Don’t think for one second you have time to stop for breakfast. You were needed in the wash house early this morning, but since you felt entitled to more rest, I sent Lyra instead.” Her mouth curved deviously. “You can head to the stables.”

I fought the smile threatening to form, clamping my lips together instead.

“Don’t just stand there like an imbecile. Go!”

The dishrag whipped toward me again, but I bolted for the door before it struck, leaving Blanche ranting behind me.

Blanche thought Micah, the stable manager, was hard on us, treating us like he does his idiotic stable hand, Tristan. That Micah loaded us down with grueling work, like shoveling horse shit. A debasing punishment in her eyes.

I loved it.

Micah had always treated me with kindness—a rarity among the Fae. One might even call him my friend. He’d give me little gifts, such as sweets, when no one was watching, and tell me stories about the horses he’d rescued throughout the realm. Listening to his stories helped distract me from my anger and reminded me that someday I could have stories of my own. I told myself that my imprisonment wouldn’t last forever—a beautiful lie.

Our living quarters were situated downwind of the stables, creating a persistent odor that permeated the entire building. You get used to it after a while, but that doesn’t stop everyone else in the castle from smelling it on us as they pass by—our own little repellent. No matter how hard we scrub our clothes or skin, the stench of hay and manure lingers.

“Morning, Evanee. How are you doing? Bit of a late start, isn’t it?” Micah smiled, deepening the creases around his kind, gray eyes. It’s the first feature that stood out when I met him. Aside from his pointed ears poking through his thick, white hair, and the tips of his fangs flashing.

“Yeah… Just one of those mornings.”

“I assume that old hag didn’t give you anything to eat?”

My bitter expression was answer enough.

“That female's going to get what’s coming to her someday.” He scowled as he grabbed an apple from his satchel and tossed it to me. I bit into it instantly, savoring the sweet, tangy juice and the crisp crunch.

“Bet she thought I’d reprimand ya too.”

I only shrugged as I bit off another chunk.

“I’ll tell you what irritates me. Blanche sending those young halfwits. Those girls lack common sense somethin’ fierce, unlike you. There’s always been somethin’ about you that seems different than the others.”

“I’m not sure how different I am, Micah,” I mumbled around a mouthful of apple. “And it’s not much of a punishment to get to spend time out here with the horses.”

His eyebrows shot to his hairline in mock offense.

“And you, of course!” I added with a chuckle as I tossed the core aside.

“These beasts respond better to you anyway. I’m not tryna’ insult them, but those other girls are too caught up flirtin’ with my stable boy than gettin' real work done.” He glowered, glancing over to the gangly male, Tristan, as he moved hay, repeatedly flicking hair from his face.

“Want me to start with the stalls?” I wiped my hands on my apron and grabbed the pitchfork.

“I’d hate for a lady to do a task like that. I don’t know why they send you lot out here at all. Well, the others I understand. Especially that Lyra.” He shuddered. “It may be a small castle, but there are plenty of other young males like Tristan who are capable of doing this.” He grabbed a bucket of oats and walked to the first stall. The painted mare eagerly kicked at her door.

“I don’t think any of us are ladies,” I huffed, snatching the tool to begin mucking.

A scream rang out.

Our heads snapped up. The “neigh” that followed was full of fury. Micah let out a string of curses as he slammed the bucket down with a clang and stalked toward Tristan, who had curled into the fetal position.

“Dammit Tristan, how many times have I told you not to walk behind that stallion!?” Micah yelled as he hauled the young male by the back of his tunic, dragging him to safety from the angry steed.