Sleeping Roses

The Book of Stories

Some hours later, Kilan sat in the sunroom, tapping his foot, still waiting for the book to arrive, his elbows on his knees, his chin on his knuckles.

"Would you please stop that," Antoinette said from across the table, glancing up from her book. Kilan blinked and looked at her and she jabbed her chin - in a most un-lady-like fashion - to his jittering leg.

He looked at it, and only then realised he was the one making the tapping nose. "Sorry," he muttered, stopping and straightening up, leaning back against the sofa, before standing up and walking across the room to one of the huge windows, stopping in the sunlight and folding his arms, looking out over the lake, before walking across the room, then back again, before going back a third time.

"Mr. Denny!" Antoinette snapped, "I just asked you, fifteen minutes ago, to refrain from pacing. Are you incapable of remaining still?"

"Let him pace, Anne," Beldon said, not looking up from some papers he had been given earlier - which he had been perusing for the last hour. "He needs some way to release his anxiety."

"Then let him pace outside."

"Let him pace in here," Beldon replied.

Antoinette glared at him, then made to stand.

"And don't go bothering Luka about The Season again, not today; he has a rare break, let him enjoy it."

Antoinette sat down again, folding her arms and at that moment, a servant glanced in and drew Beldon's attention away, saying that he was needed elsewhere, thus taking away Kilan's only protection against Miss Antoinette as Beldon set his papers aside and left.

Antoinette turned on him as soon as her brother was gone and Rosalia cut in.

"Mr. Denny, you say you're a storyteller," she said, turning in her seat to look at him. "Tell me, does one make much money in such a profession?"

"Rosalia," her sister hissed - she may not have cared for Kilan, but it was still rude to outright ask a man how much he brought in a year.

"Oh, no, I don't make money as a storyteller," Kilan said, turning away from the window and Rosalia gave him a look of confusion.

"Did you not say it was your work?"

"Ah, I see how I mislead you. It is my work, but it's not one for earning money. It's more of a family tradition that I continue."

"What is it you do for income then?"

"Anything I can," Kilan admitted and Antoinette burned her look of displeasure into his forehead.

"So, you're a novelist then - in your spare time."

"In a way."

"What inspires your stories?" Rosalia asked with a smile. "How do you find them?"

Kilan was quiet for a moment as he defined his answer. "I suppose I go looking for them. I look for my fairytales and work where I can along the way. It's not a very glamorous or easy life, I admit, but it works." He smiled. "You'd be surprised by how many fairytales are out there just waiting for be collected."

And at that one simple sentence, the colour in the sisters' faces drained.

He stared at them in shock, half wondering if they had somehow instantly taken ill.

"You... collect fairytales?" Rosalia asked slowly.

"Yes," Kilan said, approaching them, "Are you alright?"

"Tell me," she said quickly, straightening, "That story you told me, The Fading Woods, was it based on a real story? It actually happened?"

Kilan stared at her. Stared for a very, very long time.