Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
EMYR
The spark in the beginning always dies. This is why I’ll never be the one to break this gods forsaken curse.
At least someone is happy—my parents are pleased to find that my betrothed is a princess. She walks like a princess and speaks like a princess, which I must have overlooked at first.
Did I ever truly like her, or was it only the idea of her?
I don’t know, but I’m trying harder than I have with anyone else. For heaven’s sake, I’m eating brunch.
Brunch is pointless. It may as well be lunch or breakfast, but instead, we are eating brunch. No amount of spiked drinks or scones can compensate for how dull I find brunch to be.
Or perhaps it is the company I find dull. The idea of breakfast food and unlimited drinks isn’t so terrible on its own; the problem is that I am being forced to spend time with someone, and it’s not going as expected.
Rain clouds loom above us as we sit in the garden. Although it rarely rains this time of year, the skies still taunt us with the shadow cast over what was once a beautiful land. Even in the hottest days of summer, the trees hang without leaves, and we can’t get a single thing to grow.
Our rose bushes wilt. They’re the flower of love, but I have none in my heart for the woman across from me. We’re not the only ones in the garden. Happy couples, including my parents, sit around and have polite conversations.
My good friend, Spark, rests by my feet, taking up too much space. Even if it means my legs are cramped, I’d prefer to keep him around. He is the only comfort to be found in this frigid garden.
I bend low to pet him, my hand gliding against his sleek, black fur. He’s a common beast fae, the sort often used as guardians, and he has been a loyal companion to me for decades. Electric magic and a silent nature make the large beast the right company for me.
Spark’s long tail swishes as I pet him, but he doesn’t appear pleased. If I didn’t know better, I would think he’s glaring at my betrothed. Soft electricity zaps against my fingers, and I swiftly pull my hand away.
How strange. He is not usually so moody.
“Emyr?” Minetta’s voice is a ringing bell, yanking me back to my senses.
Spark lowers his head.
I tear my attention from Spark and offer her the only smile I can muster—forced but polite, just the way I’ve been taught. “Yes, my dear?”
That’s what my father calls my mother, and I’ve never taken after him, but the artificial pet name feels appropriate for my sham of an engagement.
“I get the sense you’re not listening to me.” She pouts and leans forward. “Is there anything I can do to capture your attention once more?”
There’s a hint behind her words, a sparkle of something that would usually send a thrill rushing through me, but I feel nothing, even as her soft purple wings flutter behind her. Those wings had seemed so endearing when we met.
They look the same, don’t they? A little darker. I’m unsure.
There’s something wrong with me. My stomach turns, and I’m rendered silent, looking through my fiancé rather than at her.
My parents are watching. I must remain calm. I must—
I clear my throat. “You have my full attention. Apologies. I was only thinking about the garden.”
“It will bloom again someday, you know.” Her deep, violet eyes sparkle. “Our marriage will bring life to this dead place.”
“Yes. I suppose it will.”
But how could it, if we are not in love? My shoulders slump under the weight of the burden my father left me with. I inhale, nearly wheezing.
Pull it together, Emyr.
We can’t break the curse if I can hardly sit through a brunch with her, but it’s too late to call off the wedding. She’s already wearing my grandmother’s quartz ring; the sight of it resting on her delicate finger nearly makes me tip over.
Did my parents give it to her?
“Emyr?” My name echoes. I hardly hear my betrothed speak.
Something is wrong. This is all wrong. There must be another way to break the curse—my studies. I can’t give up on my studies until it is done. We cannot wait for another generation. Not with the possibility of my future child dying, just like…
Just like my brother.
“I need a moment.” The legs of the metal chair scrape against the ground as I rise.
I run through the garden before I can see my parents’ disapproving glare or hear what Minnetta has to say—words of comfort, surely, but I don’t want them. My court shoes slam against the marble floor as I enter the palace.
My vision blurs. Tears threaten to spill.
Forty years ago. I lost my brother forty years ago, and the rest of my life followed him into the pit of the Hells. When Carwyn was taken by the corrupt fae, the ones who gouged his eyes out and ate him whole, I became next in line for the throne.
The only thing they left was his bones. Bones can’t sit on a throne. He needed flesh. He needed a heart. They took it all. They took him from me.
My hands twist together, and I dig my nails into my wrists; the bones poke through my thin frame. Oh, to tear them out. To be somewhere else. To disappear. To give the corrupt fae my bones instead, as an offering, and get my brother back.
No. Do not.
Hold it together. Everything is all right. You are only—
A yelp breaks me from my spiral, and a young woman is pressed to my chest, my hands gripping her elbows.
A fae.
A… a maid…
No. Not just any fae.
It is the little halfling from the tavern.
OPHELIA
Finding my footing in the Sun Palace is easier than expected. Thanks to Isa’s magic, no one recognizes me from the ball, and they accept me as I am.
As a fae and maid, of course, never as a halfling. Nevertheless, it is comforting to drop my glamour for so long.
The outfit I wear while working, a long black gown, is not as glamorous as my attire at the ball, but it is free of holes, and the little white hat is growing on me… sort of.
It’s easy to make friends with my roommate and the other workers. Even though I spend my days cleaning up after strangers, it’s a softer life than I’m used to—until I run into something rather hard. Prince Emyr is surprisingly chiseled, if a bit bony.
I didn’t see the prince in my first few days at the palace. It had been a disappointment and a relief, but in the end, it’s best to avoid him. I came to a place of acceptance, knowing I would probably never see him again.
He’s marrying someone else, after all; the palace is abuzz with the rumors. I’ve gotten good at smiling and pretending that I care about the royal engagement.
Now, he runs into me, wearing wild eyes and a tear-stained face. My frustrations dissolve into concern, his eyebrows scrunching together as he steps away and wipes his face on the back of his hands.
“Pretend you saw nothing,” he mutters.
How am I supposed to greet a prince? I’ve been taught, but the instructions slip from my mind.
“That will not be a problem, Your Highness.” I bow. “I am spectacular at keeping secrets.”
“Stand up, little halfling.” He lets out a choked laugh and shakes his head. “What are you doing here…? Gods, I still don’t know your name, do I?”
“You do not.” I hesitate. Does he recognize me from the tavern, or from the ball? Either way, it’s safe to give him the information now. “Ophelia is my name, if you must know.”
“Ophelia.” His shoulders drop. “I suppose that answers one of life’s mysteries. I was disappointed not to see you at my ball, you know. Didn’t you receive an invitation? We invited everyone in Far Water.”
He does not recognize me from the ball, then.
I should be relieved, but the feeling never visits me—instead, a strange sensation I hardly recognize twists in my gut.
Am I… envious? There is no room for envy in my new life.
I’ve been given everything I’ve wanted and more.
I’m free. That’s all I have ever needed.
Is lying to a prince about something so minuscule as a ball an act of treason? Surely not.
“I did”—my throat tightens—“but I could not make it, Your Highness. Apologies.”
“Ah. Probably for the best. It was a bore, as far as balls go.”
Then he thinks our time together was boring? What a brat. If only I could tell him who I am.
“Was it?” My tone sharpens. “Rumor has it you met your wife-to-be at that ball. Do not let her hear you say such things so plainly… Your Highness.”
His eyes twinkle, no longer from tears, but from the mischievous side of him I’m so used to, even after our short time together. “I thought you were good at keeping a secret, my… well, I suppose you truly are not a lady, at least not in title, are you?”
I scowl. “I told you that from the start.”
This isn’t how I should speak to a prince—it’s not how anyone should—but this prince in particular is quite vexing. He is a rake, a terror, spoiled, a bit of a brat, and…
He still looks quite fetching, even with his eyes red from tears. I push away the treacherous thought.
Seeing him here, no longer in the dim tavern but surrounded by shadows and gold, I can’t believe this is his home.
I suppose it fits his sullen nature, but he still speaks to me of adventure, magic, and mischief.
Perhaps that can no longer be the case, now that he is engaged to be married.
He is nothing more than a prince now—my prince.
I swallow my bitterness.
“There is much for you to learn about this land, little halfling. My marriage is one of necessity.” He looks at the garden door. “I should return before rumors spread.”
“Ah… I believe you should clean up a bit first, Your Highness.” This isn’t my place, is it? Yet I don’t rescind the offer. “Come along.”
Without waiting to see if he’ll follow, I turn on my heel and guide him through the hallways I’m only beginning to memorize. The golden frames are dust-free, holding images of Emyr and his family, or their royal pets.
With each step down the darkened hall, a new lamp lights up, reacting to the presence of the sunny prince. He no longer seems so bright to me, but I suppose it comes down to something we all know to be true…
The sun is the very thing that creates shadows, and Prince Emyr appears to have both sides to him.
“Where are you taking me to in my palace, if you don’t mind me asking?”
I lift a shoulder. “Why, the kitchen, of course.”
“The kitchen?” He laughs loudly. “You can’t take the prince to the kitchen.”
He makes me feel like such a fool.
Heat rises to my cheeks, but I force my voice to remain even rather than shaking with embarrassment. “Why not? It’s the nearest place with cold water, which may be the only thing to get rid of those puffy eyes of yours.”
Sure enough, we attract strange looks as we weave through the bustling kitchen, but no one dares ask us what we are doing. For the first time since arriving, I’m no longer out of place—not with the prince at my side. I can go wherever I please.
Is this what freedom truly feels like?
“I need a pitcher of water for the prince,” I say, “at once.”
A metal pitcher is quickly thrust into my hand.
“And two slices of cucumber, please.”
“Surely you don’t need a snack,” the prince mumbles.
I tilt my head and look at him with a heavy, annoyed gaze. “Hush. You’ll see. There’s always a method to my madness.”
“And you are certainly mad.”
I’m in no position to give orders to Prince Emyr—or anyone, for that matter. I take demands more often than I dish them out in this position. Even Helena, who seems to be at the bottom rung among the employees, is higher than I.
My fellow employees listen to me now that I am with the prince, rushing about the kitchen until they deliver what I requested.
The prince and I huddle in a corner, hardly avoiding the bustling spirit of the space. I dip a cloth into the cool water and rub it over his face, wiping away the hot tears.
“Ah, yes,” I murmur. “That is a bit better.”
“If only you were a Venusian Fae.” His lips tug up at the corners. His closed eyes make it all too easy to admire his intense nose and plush lips. “The ones with the pink wings, that is. Have you met one?”
“I haven’t.” My eyes narrow. “Why would you want me to be one of them?”
“They can make someone beautiful in a flash.”
I know a Moon Fae who can do the same, but I don’t dare mention it to the prince.
It’s safe to smile when his eyes are closed, so I do. “You’re quite pretty now, Your Highness. Not to worry. Tilt your head back.”
I float up with my wings—experimental, considering how infrequently I use them—to bridge the distance between us.
I place the cucumbers on his eyes. “This will help. Tilt your head back.”
“Is that—”
“Yes, it is. An old trick, taught to me by my stepsisters.”
“How odd.”
“It will work, I tell you—” I yelp, my wings giving out, sending me falling back down.
Emyr’s hands move to my waist, keeping me in place and slowly lowering me to the floor. For the second time in one day, my chest presses against his.
He clears his throat. “Moon Fae don’t use their wings in that way, you know.”
Am I already doing something wrong?
I touch my wing self-consciously. “What do you mean? How else could they be used?”
The corner of his lip ticks up. “I mean to say that you cannot fly for long distances. You may be able to do a bit of hovering, as you did, but your wings are not sustainable for long.”
My face pinches. “What’s the use of having them? That seems unfair.”
“You have other ways of traveling. You can create portals. The rest of us cannot.”
Hm. I hadn’t looked at it that way. “I suppose you’re right.”
“Nevertheless, thank you for your assistance.”
He appears to realize that his hands are on me, swiftly pulling them away. I miss the gentle touch, but it’s for the best. What if someone is watching?
“It is all part of my job, Your Highness.” Offering emotional support is not precisely within my duties, but it shows my ability to go above and beyond for the position. Perhaps he’ll tell Lucille how great I am.
“Then you are very good at it.” He lowers his voice. “And about my betrothal—”
“Say nothing more. Your secrets are safe with me.”
The prince, a man I’ve spent days fuming about… he does not wish to marry his wife-to-be. How peculiar.
What can I do with this information, besides keeping it close to my chest? It means little to me. He may still feel affection for the person I was at the ball, but that’s not who I am. It was all an act.
I am but a maid, and in a way, I always have been—a servant for my own family, but one nevertheless. What would this prince understand of my struggles and losses?
Nothing, and he means nothing to me.