Chapter 4 #2
“Then you’ll not attend the ball.” She taps my nose. “It’s that simple.”
I flinch from the slight touch.
My stomach turns as I envision staying home while my stepsisters spin around the ball, dancing with beautiful fae. The envy doesn’t become me.
“How can you possibly help?” I mutter. “It’s hopeless.”
“As I said, I’ve already thought of many ways.” She lifts a finger. “Shall I tell you of my current plans?”
No being, mortal or fae, can devise a plan that helps me attend the ball.
“Yes,” I say in a dry voice. “Please. Tell me more.”
“On the day of the ball, your stepmother will find a serious distraction. It will be disastrous, forcing her to leave Far Water for the evening.”
Unlikely. Nothing can distract my stepmother from ruining a lovely evening. Nothing. Nevertheless, I continue.
I lift a brow. “Will she?”
“Yes. Yes, she will.”
I sit down on a marble bench and cross my arms. “Go on, then. What is the rest of your masterful plan?”
“You’re worried about your lack of carriage, aren’t you?”
I squint. “How do you know everything I’m worried about?”
“Because your worries are loud, dear one—but that does not matter. I will arrange a portal like the one you saw in the fountain tonight.”
Is that what it was? A portal? I hope curiosity doesn’t reflect in my features, though I can feel it bubbling in my churning, anxious stomach. “Sounds terrifying.”
“It’s painless. Nearly.”
“You’ve missed the true problem.” I scowl. “I have nothing to wear, and I’m not fit for balls—certainly not the events the fae throw, which are sure to be luxurious.”
“Was your father not the lord of this land before his passing?” She gestures around the darkened garden. “What makes you believe you are unfit for a ball, fae or otherwise?”
This strange fae knows too much. My throat tightens at the mention of my father and the title that is rightfully mine.
“I have no true title,” I whisper. “It was taken from me long ago.”
“You don’t require a title to dance, my darling.” She sits beside me. “And as for your attire, don’t fret. I’ll have a gown made just for you, and you’ll wear the most beautiful pearls you’ve ever seen.”
This fae has set her sights too high. Pearls? Gowns?
I laugh bitterly. “That won’t be a difficult promise to keep. I’ve never seen a pearl in my life.”
“Ophelia!” Lady Ashbridge’s voice comes out in a shrill shriek. “Come inside at once.”
I jump up. “I’m sorry. You must go right this instant, or I’ll be in terrible—”
“Who are you speaking with, child?” Lady Ashbridge asks.
I turn to my stepmother with apologies on my tongue, but before she comes into view, the strange fae is gone.
“No one,” I say, training my expression into something neutral. “I was speaking with myself.”
“Good. Then you are as mad as ever.” Her eyes trace me up and down like a knife carving flesh. “Step inside before you catch a cold. We cannot have you making my daughters ill.”
I stare at the fountain for a moment longer, willing the strange fae to whisk me away to another time. Another place. Anywhere but here. Perhaps she can hear this wish, too, but she doesn’t appear again.
“Yes, my lady.”
EMYR
“Prince Emyr.” The knight behind me is supposed to sound commanding, but his voice shakes. He’s a mere mortal, a knight from their puny palace.
“I can’t believe my father sent you.” I sneer. “I have a guard of my own, you know. He does a fine job.”
The knight shakes. “I am aware, but”—he looks back—“I’m afraid I was told to bring you to the palace myself, Your Highness.”
“I am only one man.” Tibalt grunts. “Even two of me are not enough to ensure your return.”
“You are a traitor.” I groan and stand, feeling older than I am. “Not to worry. No one’ll have to drag me home tonight. I’m ready to face my fate.”
The knight looks uneasy. “There is no fate to face. I was only asked to bring you to the palace—”
“Which is where my fate is waiting. Come along now.”
Although he was the one sent to find me, it feels more like I am leading him to the carriage—and to the palace beyond Far Water.
The mortal palace is a third the size of ours, and despite my enjoyment of such comforts, I prefer the little room in the inn. It feels more authentic to a land like this, where many locals live in homes the size of my bedchamber.
Their royals live lavish lives rather than taking care of their people. Disgusting. As cursed as we may be, our people don’t go without food and comfortable shelter if we can help it.
I keep my cruel comments to myself and drag my feet through the puny palace.
My parents have already taken over a wing for themselves.
The locals may not trust the fae, but we have a treaty with the royals.
They know the truth of our curse, though a select few may still believe the rumors of snatching and killing children.
Ridiculous rumors. What need would we have to take their babes?
The trembling knight who leads me back to the palace is likely worried I’ll eat him. Lucky for him, I’m not particularly hungry.
As I enter the palace, I stretch my white, feathered wings out and groan. The knights at my side startle, scurrying away so the feathers don’t smack them in the face. Drops of glittering gold fall as I flap, just twice, getting a proper stretch for the first time all day.
“Mother. Father.” I bow. “Thank you for sending your finest soldiers to escort me. As you can see, I’ve arrived safely. You can rest peacefully tonight.”
“How can I ever rest knowing my son is so reckless?” My mother narrows her eyes. “You should count your blessings, princeling. The mortals outside of this palace are not so kind to us.”
“Yes… and? I’m stronger than they could ever be. Why would I fret about upsetting a mortal?”
“And as arrogant as ever.” My father pinches the bridge of his nose. “How will we ever find a suitor for you?”
I flash a smile. “With ease, considering my title and good looks.”
“Ah… but, of course.” My father waves a hand to the knights. “You are dismissed. Thank you for your good work.”
Tibalt remains at the door, lingering just close enough to eavesdrop. He loves seeing me scolded—especially when he is not the one doing it.
“We will leave this dreaded land in three days,” my mother says. “Until the night of the ball, please remain within the palace walls.”
“But it’s so cramped in here.”
“You can enjoy the garden,” my father says. “I think you’ll find it quite spacious.”
“I think I will not. The garden is half the size of ours, and there’s so much more for me to explore in this town.”
I’ve already met a halfling—something I keep to myself. She’ll remain my secret, a pocket of brightness in the dreary search for my perfect spouse.
My search for the one who will break the curse.
If my parents are already worried about mortals, they’ll be more concerned about a halfling. I don’t believe she is the prophesied one, but there’s no saying what my parents will think. They’re paranoid and old-fashioned, as one tends to be when they are nearing a thousand years old.
Perhaps I’m too optimistic to trust that she may not be the dreaded one from our tales, but it doesn’t matter. I’ll never see the moon halfling again.
“I know what has you so worried.” My mother’s expression softens, and she steps forward, taking my hand. “Don’t fret, princeling. If you can’t find anyone to marry in this town, we will move on to the next. There are plenty of eligible suitors for you to fall in love with.”
Of course, my mother thinks that is my concern. Has she considered that I don’t wish to marry for such reasons?
I scowl. “That is not my worry, Mother.”
My parents taught me the truth of our darkened land when I was still a lad. The curse will not break until an heir to the Sun Throne marries their true love. I am the only one who seems to realize what tremendous pressure comes with it—perhaps because I am the only heir.
And I was nothing more than a spare.
What if I choose wrong, and I can’t fall in love with them?
What if they don’t love me? Or worse, what if I’m unable to love at all?
What if I fall in true love every other night, whenever I find an attractive fae to bed?
The sorceress who cursed my father used those words—true love—on purpose, to ensure that we are never free of her hatred.
True love is a rare thing, after all.
I pull my hands from my mother’s and rub my frigid chest.
“Go,” my father says. “Rest until you are sober. Whatever your worries are, they will be gone when you can think straight.”
Perhaps I should be offended by the sudden dismissal, but I’m not. I don’t care why they’re sending me away, as long as I can break free of them for the remainder of the evening.
I saunter to the door. “But I’m thinking straight now.”
“How can that be when you cannot walk straight?” my father asks in a booming voice, one tinged with amusement.
I humor him with a laugh. It’s the least I can do, considering what a disappointment I am.
Beneath all my father’s jests and snide comments, there is a hidden truth none of us dares to speak, words that echo in my shadowed mind when I am at my lowest: the wrong son died, and I will fail our land.