Free The Countess' Captive (The Fairytale Keeper Book 2) by Andrea Cefalo Page A

calluses, and I’ve earned our name.
    I put my hands to my nose and inhale, disappointed at the rosewater fragrance they carry—missing the leather scent they once held. If we are not Schumachers, what are we instead?

    I exit the tavern, carrying my skirts to keep them from getting filthy in the mud, though I’m not too careful about the gaudy, green shoes.
    They are like something the DeBelles would wear, with their silver buckles and threading to match, except the DeBelles would have had enough sense to order them from us. These things are merely decoration. They shall fall apart before Christmas. Although, if Galadriel plans for me to have new clothing for each day of the week, and a pair of shoes to match, perhaps they shall last a bit longer than that.
    I raise my skirts an inch higher than necessary as I duck into the carriage, displaying my garish, new shoes. The icy fingers of a frost sneak beneath the fabric, raising goose flesh along my legs. I shiver against the cold and softly clear my throat. Father doesn’t look. Something outside the carriage window holds his gaze, so I sit across from him, sliding out the toes of the shoes. They peek beneath the fine wool of my chainse and surcote, but he still doesn’t look.
    I cough.
    “Are you feeling ill again, Adelaide?” Galadriel’s words drip with warning. I shake my head, afraid to speak. She shoves a folded pile of fine green wool toward me. “Take this and wear it if you get cold. This is your cloak for today.”
    “Thank you, milady,” I reply, feeling more like a well–trained pup than a person.
    Father shifts away from the window. “Milady? Why is she calling you milady ? You said we were equals in your eyes.”
    I mask my pleasure at this inquisition, however tardy it is, and busy myself with the evergreen cloak.
    Galadriel’s smile is amused, placating. “You are,” she soothes, “but I am still a countess, and there are rules that even I must abide. It is not any different in the armies. Even if she were my daughter by blood, she would call me lady mother.”
    “And I?” he asks.
    “Ansel, I fear you make seas of puddles. What would you have called a countess in Cologne?”
    He pivots toward the window again. We all know the answer to her question. He would call her milady.
    Why had he expected anything else? Did he think sharing her bed made them equals?
    Once we enter her gates, he will be nearly as powerless as me. She might name him a merchant, but what will he have? He will no longer be a husband, the ruler of his own house. He won’t even be a member of the guild. Never again would he make a shoe—if we stayed.
    “You know how the world works. It is only words,” Galadriel adds. “You will have to call me by my title, too, but only when we are before my people.”
    “Then why must she call you that now?” he shoots back.
    “I thought it good practice so she does not forget. A woman hasn’t a man’s intellect. We must practice new skills. And she shall be around me more than you. Besides, she does not mind. Do you, Adelaide?”
    My compliance adds injury to his insult, making the lie strangely easy. “No, milady.”
    He unleashes a skeptical gaze on me. “Since when are you two getting along so well?”
    “I know it has taken a few days—” Galadriel starts.
    “I want to hear from her, milady .”
    “You said I must behave, or you shall send me to a convent. I am merely doing what you ask of me.”
    He shrugs away the intended sting in my words. Galadriel sits beside me. The carriage thumps downward as our driver jumps into his seat. He whips the horses, and we are off.
    “Are you not cold?” Galadriel asks Father, motioning to the garish mantle lying in a pile beside him.
    “No,” he snaps, and then his face warms as he looks upon her. “You should wear it, milady, to keep off the chill.”
    She beams. “Thank you, milord.”
    With this slip of the tongue, my fears are confirmed. I know why she makes us give up