Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
EMYR
“There’s hardly any light here,” I mutter. “What’s the point of a holiday if not to bask in the sun?”
It’s not as if there has been sun in our land as of late. No, the Sun Palace has been drenched in darkness for over a century, coinciding with my length of life. It’s all I have known, and I yearn for holidays in the sun.
“What did you expect?” Tibalt, my faithful guard, is a man of few words. When he does speak, it’s often to cast judgment in my direction.
I tend to laugh it off, as I do now.
What a boring land Far Water is. It’s rare for me to venture into a land with so many mortals and so few fae.
This isn’t the first town we’ve stopped at on my quest to find a suitable spouse. No, it is our sixth. This place is remarkably similar to the last. Little wooden homes, a tiny town square, and a great big castle off in the distance—though nowhere near as vast as mine.
“I’m expecting to fall madly in love with a stranger.” I gesture wildly, willing the stranger to reveal themselves. Any moment now. “What else should I expect when that’s what my parents expect of me?”
Tibalt clicks his tongue. “I’m certain you can save it for the ball.”
A grin stretches across my face as I stroll through the town square, locking eyes with someone who quickly runs in the other direction. They’re afraid of me. How amusing. “Perhaps, but that’s nowhere near as fun.”
This village may be dull, but being cooped up in that distant castle is just as boring. If I’m being forced out of our palace walls, I should enjoy myself. There may be magic to be found here, after all…
And perhaps it’s the magic we’re seeking.
Mortals possess magic of their own. Theirs is simpler, the kind anyone can use. Some practice the craft, while others do not, and those who do are called witches. They work with the earth to create potions and salves. While their magic is different from ours, it is potent nevertheless.
There are others, with crueler magic, but we don’t speak of them. Their gifts are nowhere near that of the fae, but their curses…
I push the thought off. This is my holiday. Why should I think of such things?
“Where are you leading us, Your Highness?” The title always sounds like a quip coming from Tibalt. He rubs at one of his eyes, which is lined in red paint that doesn’t budge an inch. He is the very picture of his palace—the Mars palace, home to hulking warriors.
My guard is healthy, several inches taller than I am, and much stronger. He keeps his vibrant red hair short and neat, and there is nary a wrinkle in his uniform. I cannot boast the same strength or tidiness, but we get along despite our differences.
“To a tavern, of course.”
“We should find one soon,” Tibalt says. “We’re already attracting strange glances.”
He’s right. Sharp glares cut me as I amble through the village, but Tibalt will keep me safe. He’s as intelligent as he is strong, and always able to stop threats before harm comes to me.
This happens when we visit the lands of mortals. Fae do not consider mortals our enemies—that would be petty—but the pesky humans hold animosity we can’t reciprocate. Rather than getting to know us, they spread fear and rumors. The mortals near the other fae palaces do not, but…
The mortals in this land have their reasons to fear our kind. Of course, my dreaded father is to blame.
“This way.” I take a sharp turn. “Who knew it would be this hard to navigate such a puny town. Eh, Tibalt?”
“Indeed,” he whispers, “but a tavern won’t cure the dirty looks you’re receiving.”
“The looks you are receiving.” I clap a hand against his back. “You can’t come to the mortal realm covered in glitter and expect less than this treatment. Do not misunderstand me—you look fantastic—but what were you thinking?”
“I wasn’t thinking, Your Highness.” Sarcasm drips from his dull, flat voice—and yet, I know he is fond of me.
“Well, that’s nothing new.” I come to a stop.
A flicker of lavender wings catches my attention. It’s gone before I can see it, leaving a perfectly average mortal woman behind. Strawberry blonde hair falls into her face in ringlets, and my stomach twists into a similar shape—knots of nerves and curiosity.
She’s a mere mortal, yet her presence tugs at my chest.
“I must speak with her,” I mutter.
“You must what?” Tibalt’s words go in one ear and out the other.
Her head turns, and her gaze locks with mine. A whiff of magic, sweet and salty, breezes into my nostrils. The vision around her is muddy. What color are her eyes? I can’t tell.
“There’s magic on this one,” I say. “A strong glamour on a mortal being. How peculiar.”
Did witches learn to work such magic?
“I fail to see how a simple witch is any of our concern.” Tibalt holds my shoulder. “Come, now. Did you forget the tavern already?”
But she’s not a witch, is she?
“It will only take a second.” I wait for the moment to pass, the infatuation to pass. It doesn’t.
“Emyr,” Tibalt says. “Please.”
Tibalt wishes to speak with me about something, or so it seems, but I can no longer pretend to care. My feet carry me as if I’m on a cloud, floating to the stranger. Somewhere behind me, a low groan comes from my guard.
“Yes?” I ask faintly. “What are you grumbling about?”
“Bloody—” Tibalt lets out a string of curses.
Some mortals would run from me, but this one doesn’t. She holds a bag in one hand, clutching it tighter as I approach, but she doesn’t scurry or look away.
“You don’t know that mortal,” Tibalt says. “Please, Emyr. Think before you do something to get us in trouble.”
“I’m not worried about that. She should be worried about the trouble I’ll get her into.”