“That’s not possible. Her name is Dewhurst. Who cares about midnight and mortal titles?”
“Midnight was part of the old Faerie inheritance rules. I didn’t think it necessary to share them, until today, and by then my thoughts were addled,” Mouse said, finding her voice. “And my uncle’s name was Dewhurst, as was my mother’s. My father’s name was Dunne, and so is mine. Lady Dewhurst is just a title.”
Thornwood turned to Mouse, his eyes wild. “But you’re called Lady Dewhurst. Everyone in town calls you Lady Dewhurst.”
“Everyone calls you Thornwood,” Mouse retorted. Belatedly, it struck her that he intended to betray her all along. Her heart sank to her stomach, and all the while the voice in her begged her to run.
Still, Mouse could not convince her feet to move. She could not tell if it was remnants of the enchantment, her fear, or both that rooted her to the spot.
No-Longer-Mr.-Hobb caught her eye. “Come here, little dove,” he said, and traces of his old inflection returned. The sound was unnatural, coming out of a different face. “There is no need to fear. I’m the same as I’ve always been. I looked after you, didn’t I? You, Bertie, and Roger. I watched your mother growing up. Is that worth nothing in the wake of a handsome boy?”
Mouse stepped onto the ballroom floor, but not toward No-Longer-Mr.-Hobb. She needed to leave this place.
“Who are you?” she asked.
“I have been many things. But among this band of traitors and wantons, I am a king.”
“The Faerie King?” Mouse whispered.
No-Longer-Mr.-Hobb nodded. When he smiled, he had Mr.Hobb’s teeth.
“And you let me in,” he said.
Mouse swayed. There was a reason, beyond her uncle’s classism, that she never saw Mr.Hobb inside the Hall.
Her own words from the story of Thistlemarsh came back to her, echoing in a loop through her enchantment-mangled mind.
They cheated the Faerie King, but by the time he discovered their betrayal, it was too late. The magic was done…
Yet, Faerie lives are long and Faerie Kings can wait.
“I am sure this boy told you all sorts of horror stories about me. And more than half are true, I can assure you. But did he tell you that his father as good as murdered my daughter?”
Thornwood shot forward. The Faerie King waved his hand, and Thornwood went still.
“It’s true, although they deny it. My Viola came here to win the house back from the mortals. His father convinced her that she could. Of course she fell in love with one of the Dewhursts. She was always a stubborn thing. Admittedly the man was not as wicked as others of his race, but he did not account for his brothers. He got himself murdered, leaving my child heartbroken. Worse still, who did the other humans blame for his death? His young Faerie bride, of course! They killed her, but she left behind a child.”
“What are you saying?” Mouse asked, but her breath caught in her throat.
“That child went on to have more children, and their children had children, all the way down to your mother, Mouse. Your mother, a copy of my child pressed into a mortal body, was also stolen from me by her own folly.”
“My mother was not a fool,” Mouse said.
“She was stubborn. I could have saved her from the disease that took her away, but she refused to return to Thistlemarsh until your father was welcome.” The Faerie King continued before Mouse could interject. “Do not misunderstand. Of all the humans in the world, I liked your father best. Your brother and Bertie gave me renewed hope for the Hall and the world. But we both know how that ended. And now you have managed to betray me as well by allying yourself with those who seek to manipulate me.”
“You masqueraded as a gardener to spy on us all these years,” Mouse said.
The Faerie King laughed. “No need to sound so irate. It was my right to watch over my kin, and I never broke my word. In all my years here, you have never seen me pass through the doors until tonight.”
The Faerie King pulled in closer to her. “Until you, in your sweetness, invited me to your wedding. For that, I am in your debt.”
It was odd, seeing him up close. Snatches of Mr.Hobb were stitched over his true skin, like a patched coat. Horror built in Mouse’s stomach. She kept her lips tight, her eyes on the chandelier over his head instead.
“It was not intentional,” she said through the haze of magic.
Mouse avoided Thornwood’s gaze as the Faerie King continued. “I am sorry I could not reveal myself and save you from this rogue’s plans. He meant to use you, as his father used my daughter.”
As he spoke, thoughts battled in Mouse’s mind. The idea that the Faerie King had been there all along, with his magic and his power, but had not helped to end the war, lit a fire low in Mouse’s belly. Hehad not helped to protect Bertie or Roger. He was a Faerie King! He could have done something. But instead, he brooded and skulked around in a garden for centuries, dreaming of revenge against people long dead.