11. The Fae King
Iclosed the door between my ”bride” and I.
Away from prying eyes, I collapsed into my luscious silk sheets and sighed. I had forgotten how hard it was to really try. For so long, I had believed the curse was unbreakable. I had resigned myself to a half-life filled with near constant deceit. Then with my crown and isle at stake, I had been forced to make a move.
Would it prove miraculous or disastrous? That was yet to be determined.
Still, I was drained–emotionally, physically, and magically. I had traveled to the human realm, glamoured my fae characteristics, bound our bargain, ensnared her family, and called down lightning. Just thinking of it made me exhausted.
Not to mention I had saved her from drowning and carried her halfway here. Though, I wasn’t sure I had saved her. Part of me believed she had faked the entire thing. She couldn’t possibly be so fragile.
After all, my bride wasn’t just any mortal. She was the daughter of my enemy–the witch who had turned me into a frog. With such powerful magic coursing through her veins, surely she could hold her breath and swim through some cold water.
But she had looked so helpless under the waves, kicking at the water sprites. Her eyes had been round with fear. Even still, I couldn’t help but think somehow she was playing me.
Before I could rest my head against my pillow, my whole body began to shake. My exhaustion was triggering the curse. I gave in, and the change came swiftly. Soon, I was a bullfrog once more. I released what would have been a swear but came out as a ”ribbit.”
My emotions, so long deadened, had awakened this weekend. I had felt short bursts of joy, still outweighed by sorrow and self loathing. I had hoped our betrothal might free me from my curse, but that hadn’t come to pass. Then, I thought perhaps her arrival on my ancestral soil might do the trick. No such luck.
Unfortunately, it seemed the witch’s curse required more.
What had been her exact words? I ran quickly through my memories of that day. It felt as if they had been carved into my gray matter. ”You can break your curse, but I doubt someone like you ever will.”
Not exactly helpful. The other witches I had consulted suggested I marry within the witch’s bloodline. One even had the gall to suggest a love match would be best.
A love match? With a human? Absurd.
No matter how pretty her ocean eyes, I would not be bound to a woman with the lifespan of a goldfish (and likely the intellect to match). I could never love a human. But I could make her fall in love with me, and I suspected that would be enough to satisfy the magic.
Still, hours later, I lay awake wondering. How would I live with her just paces away? How would I keep up this facade? Who could possibly want what lied beneath?