The Unseelie Court.
Fitzroy and I followed Bronwyn through the candlelit castle. My corset pressed painfully against my hip bones, forcing me to shuffle rather than walk, yet at least I blended into the surrounding grandeur.
Bronwyn showed us to a stately oaken door and pressed against it with all her strength—but the wood wouldn’t budge.
She squeaked and strained until Fitzroy placed his hand above hers. “Would you like some help?” he asked—his considerate and courteous side shining through.
She nodded and wiped her brow. “Thank you, Your Highness.”
With an effortless thump, Fitzroy opened the door.
The Great Hall exceeded its name. The ceilings were neck-achingly high, drawing my gaze upward to gawk at the intricately wrought arches above.
Goblin servants were hard at work, hanging colorful tapestries on the stone walls, each depicting a tale of Regina’s victories.
One embroidery showed Regina riding her white dragon over a beach where ogres feasted on men.
Among the stitched figures, one bore an uncanny resemblance to Tom—my little prodigy—clutching his sword heroically.
I wondered if that tapestry memorialized the devastating invasion he died in.
Iron torches lined the walls, bathing the hall in a flickering orange hue that left scorch marks on the stone. On one side, a group of goblins decorated the banquet table, unfurling tablecloths and arranging fresh flowers and exotic fruits around sugar sculptures of castles, creatures, and knights.
One goblin carefully placed a gilded dragon-like head amid the candlesticks and lanterns adorning the tabletop.
“What is that?” I asked Fitzroy as we crossed the floor, strewn with rushes and pleasant-smelling herbs.
He glanced at the object. “Ah! That’s the head of the Knucker—a sea serpent that terrorized the Wetlands many moons ago.
It dwelled in the marshes, eating livestock and villagers.
The Lord promised his daughter’s hand in marriage to anyone who could slay the beast. After years of torment, Regina arrived and vanquished the violent Knucker within an hour of her arrival. ”
“Are you certain it menaced the Wetlands?” I asked.
Though I knew Avice had an elder sister, everyone in Green Vale believed she’d vanished during the Dark Days—not once had I heard a tale that spoke of her being offered as a prize.
Fitzroy shrugged. “Maybe it was the Marshlands… All I know is slaying that beast was Regina’s final good deed before my father banished her to this Isle.”
A shiver ran down my spine as I stared at the embalmed head of a once-living creature—now covered in gold and repurposed as a decorative centerpiece.
Beside the enormous fireplace stood two women, each draped in elaborate gowns and ornate headpieces.
One brushed her fingers affectionately across the other’s cheek, drawing a reluctant smile—as though the touch offered comfort.
As we approached, the taller of the pair turned her head, her thick black braid swishing elegantly through the air.
“Welcome,” she said, offering a graceful curtsy. “I’m Isobel of Elphame.”
I copied her gesture while Fitzroy bowed his head.
Isobel’s large eyes brimmed with ancient wisdom, but her beauty was ageless, with radiant skin in a deep, earthy tone. From either side of her cone-shaped headpiece, elongated, pointed ears poked out, twitching as though she could hear something I couldn’t.
The petite woman beside her, however, didn’t look away from the flames to greet us.
“Mabina,” she mumbled, her tone devoid of enthusiasm.
As she spoke, I noticed something glistening on the back of her emerald gown: A set of transparent wings hung limply from her shoulders.
“My wife’s Queen of the Fairies,” Isobel said with pride, deftly tucking a stray strand of her mousy hair back into place.
“Leader of the fairies,” Mabina corrected sharply. “Leader.”
Fitzroy presented his hand to Mabina. “I am Fitz—”
“I know who you are,” Mabina interrupted, turning away from the blazing logs to pierce his gaze. “In my twenty years confined to the Isle, not once have we had a visitor. You and your mistress have been the sole topic of conversation since your arrival.”
Before I could correct her assumption that I was Fitzroy’s mistress, the grand doors groaned open.
Curls of auburn hair flurried over the threshold, coiling like flames—graying strands interwoven like fragments of ash. A woman, alarm burning in her eyes, rushed into the hall, clutching her headpiece with one hand and hoisting the layers of her skirt with the other.
Stalking after her came a tall figure cloaked in flowing black fabric, leaving an ominous trail in his wake.
“The Queen’s coming!” she announced, her voice as frantic as her hurried movements.
Goblin servants swiftly formed two orderly rows stretching from the main entrance to the fireplace.
Fitzroy took my arm and guided me to the far end of the hall, where we stood opposite Isobel and Mabina.
Wolver and Billy entered first, both donning lavish cloaks embroidered with the daisy-wheel emblem.
The goblin nearest to the door cleared his throat and proclaimed, “All bow for Queen Regina, sovereign of Annwn and rightful heir of Lyonesse.”
Regina’s presence was magnetic—I sensed her spirit even before she stepped foot into the Great Hall. As she entered, everyone bowed or curtsied. I bent my knees and ducked my head but peered through my brow to catch a glimpse of her silver locks.
Dripping in jewels and pearls, her golden crown gleamed blindingly.
Her deep red gown—crafted from silk so luxurious it looked wet—drifted regally.
Flowing sleeves, trimmed in white fur, added to her majesty, and a long train edged in golden brocade skimmed across the floor as she moved slowly down the center of the congregation.
Despite being the elder sister of the decrepit King, she didn’t look his senior. As she smiled warmly at her servants, the fine lines across her ethereal skin deepened, which only enhanced her grace.
“Welcome to my Unseelie Court,” Regina announced in a deep, commanding voice—reminiscent of Fitzroy’s.
“Nephew, I’ve been waiting for you,” she said, a warmth in her tone, as though she’d always known he would visit. “The last time I saw you, you were merely a boy. Now you’re a man.”
She looked upon him fondly, her kind eyes glowing the same purple hue as her ungloved hands—a clear testament to the magic that pulsed through her.
“And you don’t look a day older,” Fitzroy said, turning on his charm.
Regina smiled softly at his flattery. “I hope my guards didn’t frighten you or your companion. They mistook you for invaders and acted accordingly.”
Fitzroy inclined his head. “I understand. We weren’t harmed, and your subsequent hospitality has more than made up for the misunderstanding.”
Regina acknowledged his words with a nod before turning her attention to me. “And you are?”
“Niamh,” I answered, curtsying awkwardly.
Fitzroy shook his head slightly, signaling that I’d done the formal introduction all wrong.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Niamh. I assume you’re my nephew’s wife?” Regina inquired, raising an eyebrow.
“No, she isn’t,” Fitzroy cut in, amusement tinting his tone as if the notion of us being married were comical.
“Fitzroy would prefer a woman with a head full of air—so any thoughts she had could float right out of her ears,” I quipped, knowing I was right. His fragile ego would prefer a wife whose simplicity made his intelligence seem scholarly.
A gentle laugh escaped Regina’s lips. “With all due respect, I can tell you’re not from a noble household. Who are you?”
“I’m a blacksmith,” I declared, without hesitation.
Regina’s brows lifted in surprise. “You’re a woman—and a blacksmith?”
I faltered, suddenly feeling foolish for speaking so confidently.
Looking down, I no longer saw breeches, but a restrictive skirt. My corset was uncomfortably tight—it pressed my ribs and squeezed my breasts, forcing them to sit unnaturally high.
Without a doubt, I was no longer Smith. And I supposed that meant I was no longer a blacksmith, either.
I shook my head. “I’ve been living as a man.”
“I see,” Regina murmured, nodding as though that made more sense. “Here, on the Isle, you can be both.”
She gave me a reassuring nod, and it felt as though the lacing around my ribs slightly slackened.
Isobel took a small step forward. “You can be whoever you desire.”
At her comment, Regina’s gentle demeanor hardened instantly, her warm eyes turning icy.
“Isobel,” Regina said, without turning to face her. “How many times have I warned you about interrupting me?”
“I’m ever so sorry, Your Grace,” Isobel stammered, bowing apologetically as if Regina had eyes in the back of her head.
Regina rolled her tongue around her mouth, taking a moment to compose herself.
The courtiers and goblins waited in tense quietude, while unease twisted my stomach.
“Let’s feast,” Regina announced at last, breaking the uneasy silence as a flicker of light returned to her eyes. “I’m eager to hear your reasons for visiting Annwn, Nephew.”
The goblins exited the Great Hall, only to return moments later with metal platters piled high with pickled vegetables, assorted meats, and freshly baked breads.
Meanwhile, the goblinettes pulled out the high-backed chairs surrounding the banquet table, ensuring the courtiers took their assigned seats.
I felt a tug on the sleeve of my gown. “This way,” a goblinette squeaked, guiding me to my seat.
Regina claimed her place at the head of the table, with Wolver on her left and Billy to her right. I wanted to sit beside Fitzroy, but he was placed next to Wolver and Mabina, leaving me wedged between Billy and Isobel.
As I settled, Mabina smiled at me through the steam rising from a porringer of stew. Her eyes lacked the sparkle of her iridescent wings.