Chapter 7 CHAPTER SEVEN

ELLA

All my life, I had only ever taken care of other people.

I took care of Mira when she was overwhelmed by our mother’s expectations. I took care of the garden when no one else remembered to water the flowers. I took care of the stray cats that wandered into Silverthorn Manor’s grounds, feeding them scraps and giving them names even when they hissed at everyone else. I even took care of the silence in rooms where no one wanted to acknowledge I existed.

But no one had ever taken care of me.

Until now.

I sank deeper into the enormous marble tub, the hot water enveloping me like a living thing. Steam curled around my face, carrying the faint scent of lavender and something sharper… storm glass essence, perhaps. I had never felt water this warm before. Not like this. In Silverthorn Manor, my baths were always lukewarm at best, rushed affairs so I wouldn’t waste hot water or take up too much time. But here… the water stayed perfectly hot, as if the tub itself refused to let it cool. It seeped into my muscles, loosening knots I hadn’t even realized were there.

I scrubbed at my arms slowly, watching dirt from the garden swirl away in the water. My skin tingled. For the first time in my life, something was taking care of me. And it terrified me.

Why is this happening?

I had spent years preparing myself for two possible futures. The first was the one I feared most: ending up completely alone. A half-fae with round ears and no noticeable magic, too human to belong in any court, too fae to ever fit in the mortal world. I had accepted that I would probably grow old in some quiet corner of Silverthorn Manor, watching Mira build her perfect life while I faded into the background like an old piece of furniture no one remembered to dust.

The second fear was almost worse: being forced into a marriage I didn’t choose, to someone I didn’t love, simply because it benefited the family. I had seen it happen to other minor noble daughters. Polite, political unions. Cold beds.

Empty smiles.

I had always told myself I would rather be alone than live the second one.

And now… the latter was happening to me.

A broken sound escaped my throat…half laugh, half sob. If someone had told me two weeks ago that I would end up in Stormhold, betrothed to the High Prince of the Court of Storms himself, I would have laughed in their face and called them utterly deluded. Me? The invisible half-human embarrassment with no magic, no pointed ears, and a reputation for being the family footnote? Married to Damon Vale — the cursed, winged, terrifyingly beautiful prince?

It was ridiculous. Absurd. The kind of thing that only happened in the fairytales.

Despite knowing fairytales were out of reach for someone like me, I had still let myself dream sometimes. In those quiet moments, I imagined meeting someone who saw me. Not the half-fae mistake. Not the girl who looked too human. Just Ella. Someone kind. Someone who laughed at my terrible jokes and didn’t mind that I talked too much when I was nervous. We would have a small home….nothing grand…maybe with a garden where I could grow flowers and rescue angry cats. I would be loved and chosen. Not because of politics or status, but because I was enough.

Instead, I was here.

Naked in a tub that felt too luxurious, in a fortress that felt too vast, promised to a man who looked at me like I was a puzzle he intended to solve whether I wanted to be solved or not.

I scrubbed harder at my skin, as if I could wash away the reality of the situation. The hot water soothed my aching muscles, but it did nothing for the panic clawing at my chest. 

Why?

Why me?

I stayed in the tub until the water began to cool slightly, then forced myself out. 

One of the maids… the younger one who had stayed after I dismissed the others  was waiting patiently with a thick, impossibly soft towel and a robe draped over her arm. She looked around my age, maybe a year or two older, with warm brown skin that glowed under the soft fae lighting and kind, intelligent eyes that didn’t hold any judgment. Her hair was a deep, rich chestnut brown, braided neatly and pinned up in a practical style that still managed to look elegant. 

I took the towel and robe from her without a word at first, wrapping the towel tightly around myself like armor.

“I’m Ella,” I said quietly.

The maid smiled gently. “I know, my lady. I’m Neva. Neva Ashcroft.”

“I owe you an apology,” I said.

Neva blinked, clearly surprised. “My lady?”

“Earlier. When we arrived. I was—” I searched for the right word and settled on honest. “I wasn’t in the right frame of mind. I wasn’t kind to any of you and you were only doing your jobs. I’m sorry for that.”

Neva’s expression moved through several emotions I couldn’t fully read… surprise again, and something softer underneath it that might have been reassessment. Then her face gentled further.

“It’s alright, my lady,” she said. “We understand. This must all be very overwhelming.” She paused, then added quietly, “It’s a frightening thing… to arrive somewhere new.”

I looked at her.

She looked back with those warm brown eyes that were definitely thinking considerably more than they were saying.

“Yes,” I said. “It is.”

Neva helped me into the robe without being pushy. The fabric was buttery soft and heavier than anything I’d ever worn…deep midnight blue with faint silver threading that shimmered like captured starlight. I finally stepped out of the bathing chamber and into the bedroom proper.

The room was enormous.

High vaulted ceilings soared above me, carved with subtle storm motifs that seemed to shift when you weren’t looking directly at them. Massive windows overlooked the cliffs and the restless sea, currently reflecting the bruised twilight sky. The bed alone could have fit five people comfortably, draped in silks and furs that probably cost more than everything I owned. A sitting area with deep armchairs and a low table took up one corner, while another held a writing desk and shelves lined with books that looked ancient and untouched.

It was beautiful.