Three

Stalling before returning to the manor to discuss Regina’s unsettling idea in length placed me in a field of dying daisies—fitting for the only eternal resting place in Ashbury. Upon death, people in Ashbury are burned by the faeries, and the ashes are spread amongst soil that smells of ash and bleeds red when the sky opens for rainfall. 

Bunching my aged skirt in my hands—a hand-me-down from Dolly—I sit on the dry, cracked field and pluck a brown stem from the ground. The soil in our valleys isn’t potent enough to grow crops or plants, and the ash littering the air quickly suffocates any plant or flower trying to spout.

Before Ashbury fell to the king, our resources came from Hogsfeet, the kingdom across the river, far below a cliffside. King Jasper took their lives, ransacked their merchant tents, and left the castle to rot. It has decayed from neglect over the years.

On the rare occasions when the sky clears, turrets can be seen from the cliff’s edge, but searching the castle is forbidden. If caught by one of the king’s guards, the perpetrator would be cited and dragged back. Like the faeries, we are never allowed to leave our crumbling kingdom.

If someone does somehow manage to flee, the elements would handle them. In my twenty-one years, no successful story of someone finding life outside of Ashbury has graced my ears. King Jasper would go to murderous lengths to prevent anyone from discovering the faeries.

After my father’s passing, fear spread quickly throughout our town. Without his protection and closeness to the king, we waited for the day the king would cross the bridge to finish what he started a quarter of a century ago. He doesn’t need any of us. 

Why keep us alive?

Revenge could lead to the warping of my soul, but marrying the prince might be worth the sacrifice of my independence if it will offset the betrayal of my grandfather, our once reigning king, by his own heir.

Our people suffered while we continued to benefit from my father’s traitorous actions. I did not understand as a child how wrong it was for us to live lavishly while others struggled to feed their families. But Nemesis enacted her justice against us as we faced the consequences of his decisions shortly after his death.

The marriage would only need to last until an annulment or until Ashbury could be restored. After living through years with Regina, how much worse could a prince be?

I sigh aloud at my own naivety.

Aside from his age of twenty-eight, my knowledge of the prince doesn’t extend past the rumors. He has been nicknamed a womanizer since women never last more than a night by his side, though many have tried. His travels are always assumed to find a princess, but his standards must be unreachable for him never to return with one by his side.

Aside from my loyalty—if only for my time spent bettering Ashbury during the proposed schemed marriage—I have nothing to offer him.

“Ellie?”

The deliciously warm voice pours over me. Shirtless and antagonizing with his blatant beauty, Cedric stands beside me, his cropped hair swaying in the sticky, humid breeze. The heat, combined with the muggy air from incoming storms on the horizon, melts off him and onto me. 

I shrug off my shawl. “Cedric!” I beam. “Does Dolfe know⁠—”

“No,” he interrupts with a sheepish grin, lowering to sit. “He is still tending to his mate.”

I wrinkle my nose. “Right, sure,” I say as if I don’t have questions about what ‘tending to’ entails. “How long have they been bonded?”

He flicks his gaze up toward the sky in pause. “Ah…. For as long as I can remember.”

“The obsession never fades?”

He chuckles warmly. “Not with bonds.”

“And you’ve never…. Felt that way?”

“Not with another faerie,” he replies in a low murmur, giving me nothing else, though I wouldn’t know how to respond if he had.

Even as a male of few words, I never dislike his company. Dolfe works hard to keep us apart, so shared moments between us are few and far between. And flirting with him is a guilty vice. The distraction it gives us makes our reality slightly less dreary.

With Cedric nearly as tall as his brother, I remain as mismatched against him as I am with the rest. His muscular frame would swallow me whole if we ever did more than graze accidentally.

And that description doesn’t include his wings.

Tucked in and brushing the soil, the tips of hundreds of black feathers shift with the wind. I’ve spent many evenings studying them when close enough to watch Cedric work, but Dolfe always prevents me from touching them.

That never stops the longing.

Membranes spread throughout each wing like tangled webs of color and beauty—violet and red interweaving to create magenta netting.

I bite my lip, expecting Dolfe to pop out and scold me for even considering asking, “May I?”

With a grin, Cedric nods. “I wondered when you’d ask, Ellie.”

Smiling and trembling with excitement, I move to my knees. I brush the muscles shaped like steel bars that connect his wings to his back, molding perfectly to his skin, almost as if sewn to his spine. He stills but does not stop me.

I ask, “Do they hurt?”

He shrugs. “The wings are heavy but never painful.”

“They’re beautiful,” I sigh. 

He spreads his wings. Their length easily outstretches my height and more, and he laughs when I extend my arms to compare our size. Lunging for the left wing, I lift the feathers to trace over a thick, membranous vein. Corded and delicate to the eye, the sturdiness beneath my fingers surprises me. I itch to take a needle to the thick strings of yarn his veins resemble and weave a portrait of the beauty I find in them.

He twists to remove the wing from my touch. “They’re sensitive,” he snarls painfully but lightens when he notices my fear. “You didn’t hurt me, Ellie. It’s a different kind of sensitivity.”

The desperation to explore what that means is always squashed by trepidation. Instead, I touch the tip of his slanted ear. “Are these? Azrea never allows me to touch hers.”

He gently lowers my hand with his. “Yes.”

I sink to my shins with a dissatisfied sigh. He flips my hand over and traces the lines in my palm. I ache for more serene moments between us that aren’t tainted with the unknown. “Tell me how I can help my people, Cedric. Tell me what to do. I’ll give you a kiss if you do.”

He throws his head back in laughter. The melodic sound is joyous and soothing. “Will you?”

I hum my approval. “Please?”

He applies pressure to my palm with his thumb. “Ah, Ellie, I’m not a leader. I’m a fighter.”

I tilt my head. “Can you tell me where you came from? Do you have stories of wars before you came here?”

Someone could find us and reprimand him for being with me. We aren’t far from the mountains, but the faeries can only stray a certain distance when they need a break. I have no doubt that one of the king’s men is watching us closely, armed to harm Cedric if needed.

The faeries are considered predators, and assumptions would be made about us if they haven’t been already. Aside from their pride and frightening powers, the faeries are gentle creatures. If either of us would prey on the other, I would jump on him. He has centuries of practiced self-control, whereas I am growing desperate to experience pleasure. And gods, he makes me sore to even look at. Touching him….

I stop all my thoughts there.

“I have stories, Ellie.” His tone becomes distant and sorrowful. “But they’re not memories I want to relive.”

I squeeze his hand instinctively from the pain in his voice. “But you made it,” I say, though I doubt it will take away the torment of the moments he has lived through. “There’s a reason Dolfe reminds me you’re a warrior as often as possible.”

Cedric huffs a laugh through his nose. “Dolfe’s beliefs are traditional, but they’re not mine.” His bright eyes stare into my dark ones. “You’re not less than me, Ellie. Don’t let him make you believe otherwise.”

Heat creeps up my neck, and I can’t hold his intense gaze. Instead, I look down at our locked hands. “I can’t live hundreds of years, Cedric. Our story would only be a moment in your lifespan. I am just a lowly human.”

He flattens his palm against mine. His hand is nearly twice the size of mine. “I’ve been around many species in my years, Ellie. I would take a lowly human over them any day.”

Prying never seems to get me anywhere with any of the faeries, but I silently wonder about the other species. I read many books before selling them and often doubted how fictional they were.

“Ellie?”

I wait with a smile, lifting my eyes to his once more.

“Watch the clouds with me?”

We lay on the rocky soil, our hands still touching but our fingers never interlocking, and watch the blood-red clouds inch across the sky until they disappear into clear blue across the bridge.

My heart chips away at the realization that this peaceful moment between us could be the last if I decide to sacrifice my freedom for the prince.

* * *

I delayed as long as I could.

Cedric wasn’t called back, but we knew Dolfe would seek him out soon. I said goodbye with a hug, not realizing how my cheek would be pressed against his bare chest, and his amusement was teasing me about how my red cheeks matched the color of the sky.

Even if what I feel for him isn’t the all-consuming love between mates, I will at least leave this world one day having felt something.

It is late afternoon before I return to the manor, having stopped by the market on the way home to purchase a stale loaf of bread and refill the honey jar halfway. Upon my arrival, Regina was waiting for me in my father’s study, further souring my mood.

He used to spend every morning here, pouring over personal and Ashbury’s finances. Though he wasn’t the prince anymore, he was still given the responsibilities of one, which is why I constantly have to remind myself that the king wouldn’t have had a reason to have him killed. Harry was in charge of estimating the costs of pails to deliver across the bridge into Pumpkin Hollow. They are costly to acquire for residents, and the king is constantly adjusting the price of each one based on pounds per pail. My people always receive whatever is left—usually no more than fragments.

Sometimes, Azrea sneaks a few into the pockets of my waist-apron, but I can’t carry too many without drawing suspicion. Regina caught me giving one to loiters in town once, then promptly scolded me for not thinking of how cold Daffodil and Dolly must be.

One day after Harry’s death, our manor was raided by a handful of the king’s men to obtain the financial statements. It was unnecessary since I would’ve gladly handed them over.

The study contained portraits of my mother until his death, and then Regina quickly tore them up or shoved them inside his desk drawers. After she retired to bed one evening, I tried to reclaim one of them, but she discovered it the following day. Hardly anything in the manor remains of my parents. 

And now, the smell of his cigars has been replaced by her stench—corpse lilies.

“Stepmother,” I greet plainly, holding up the tote of groceries. “Bread and honey.”

She dismisses me with a flick of her wrist. “If you agree to my plan, we will have the luxury of food and drink once more.”

Despite her trying to paint it differently, I knew this scheme had everything to do with her. I will only agree to it once I hear precisely what her plan entails.

“Close the door, Ellie. As much as I love my daughters, they do not keep secrets well.”

Fighting the urge to agree aloud, I spin on my heel and close the door. I learned firsthand how inept at secret-keeping the twins were during my twelfth year when I tasted a piece of my yearling cake before a gathering.

Regina had thrown such a fit that evening that she tossed the entire cake into the garbage and sent my friends home early as punishment. My father had saved for months to put together a decent soiree for me—had even invited the prince and princess, not that they bothered to show up—only for it to be ripped from my hands.

I blamed myself for years.

My father hid a piece of cake and split it with me in the dark long after Regina retired to bed. It was a secret we kept for years. 

And now, here I stand, plotting with her.

Sitting on the edge of a worn leather chair, I gesture for her to speak first. My legs bounce with anxious jitters. Partnering with Regina is not something I ever imagined doing, but going to irrational lengths to save those who deserve to be freed from the king is a risk I must take.

Clasping her hands together with elbows propped on the desk, her gaze turns serious. “The prince is unattached,” she begins. “He has been for quite some time….”

I interrupt with, “Was he once attached?”

“There are only rumors,” she replies, annoyed by my interference. “The king is anxious for a grandson to ensure a long line of succession. Like your grandfather, he was and is the first king of Pumpkin Hollow.” 

“He’s doing a wonderful job,” I mutter.

“Elora,” she emphasizes, “enough.”

I purse my lips, refraining from informing her that childbearing is out of the question. Children are the furthest thing from my mind, nor do I anticipate being with the prince…. Physically.

Her face twists into a sneer. “You resemble your mother.” Her way of saying, ‘you’re not hideous to look at.’ “And you were raised properly by a respected man. King Jasper hasn’t seen you. I believe he will find you as”—she pauses to clear her throat—“enchanting as your father did.”

I don’t smile, but I do warm from the compliment, as backhanded as it might’ve been. “If I do this, do you believe it’ll help Ashbury? Help our people?”

“If you do this correctly,” she answers, “and restore our fortune, keep us in the king’s good graces, and remain the prince’s beloved by providing an heir, then yes.”

An heir will not happen, but the rest could be possible. “And what happens if I’m caught? How would he punish me? Father spoke of beheadings, and I have heard something about the King’s Collection⁠—”

“All gossip,” she replies with a tight smile, though part of me believes she wants him to take my head. “He will simply banish you back to Ashbury, perhaps take our manor and everything we have left. It will certainly ruin your father’s reputation….”

I stop her from continuing with, “I understand.”

“If required to make further appearances after the ball, you will choose a dress from Dolly’s wardrobe. You cannot arrive….” She dramatically waves across the length of my body with her hand.

I roll my eyes. The prospect of wearing dresses brighter than the sun nauseates me, but I have to take what I can get. “Very well. I will attempt to finagle the prince into marriage or a courtship⁠—”

“You will do much more than attempt, Elora.” As she leaned forward, the room suddenly became chillier, even with the solitary window raised to allow warm air. “The survival of your precious Ashbury depends on your success.”

* * *

The seamstress writing my measurements in chalk across her arm has sewn my dresses since I was young. She always speaks loudly about how my mother was her muse when Regina is nearby. As evidenced by her snippy tone when addressing the three other women, she cares nothing for Regina or her daughters.

Their measurements are hurriedly jotted down, so her focus can shift to me. Daffodil and Dolly stomp out of the sitting room from the snub, but Regina remains.

Her trust in me is nonexistent.

“I have the most beautiful fabric for this occasion!” Susannah, the seamstress, exclaims.

Short and plump, she reminds me of a mouse with her pointed nose set between eyes too close together, especially when her nose always wrinkles when writing numbers. But she is the only one left in Ashbury still interested in my well-being.

“Our darling Elora is attending a royal ball!” She pats my backside, unashamedly comfortable with me from knowing me my entire life. “Your mother would be so proud.”

I genuinely smile. My mother loved grand things, even if no balls or banquets were held in Ashbury after the war. She would sometimes speak of attending them as a young girl and detail how my father courted her by following her around the banquet halls. I used to lay in her closet—it was a luxury to have one at all—and stare at the bright tulle skirts above me, hoping to one day attend a ball of my own. Now, I wish to be excused from one. 

But Susannah is right: my mother would be proud. She would have been the one to dress me, brush my hair, and perhaps allow me to dab a bit of color on my cheeks despite the risk of toxins and being referred to as controversial. My mother was a natural beauty, but even she could not stop her curiosity when cosmetics were smuggled across the bridge.

“We need the dresses by late afternoon tomorrow,” Regina says, turning her nose up at the mention of my mother. “I do not pay for tardiness.”

Sighing, I mouth silent apologies to Susannah. A professional seamstress for so long will likely spend all night preparing the gowns. No threat is needed.

“They’ll be here,” Susannah responds with a bite. “Please tell me you have soap, Elora! You can’t arrive at the castle with unwashed hair!”

I wince when trying to brush through the knotted ends with my fingers. “I have to use it sparsely, Susannah. I haven’t enough⁠—”

Regina clears her throat. I snap my mouth shut. Of course, she doesn’t want me babbling about our lack of funds. No one is aware that Regina spent our fortune on frivolous things. “Elora will be washed and ready for the ball,” Regina replies. “I will style her hair myself.”

Oh, gods. My chances of snagging the prince’s attention are slim to none already.

Susannah sympathizes with me, her faltering grin a replica of mine. “All will be well,” she promises, rolling the aged measuring tape. “Your dress will make up for it.”

I bury a laugh and guide Susannah out of the sitting room and front door, falling against it with a sigh after her departure. I am not looking forward to this and cover my ears when Dolly and Daffodil squeal their excitement.

Absolute imbeciles.

Spending the last evening before possibly changing my life will not be wasted on them.

I climb the spiral staircase to the attic and fall to my bed, coughing from the dust that follows. Mountainside ash floats in the breeze and always lands in my attic. I often remind myself to close the balcony door every night, but the taste of the fiery air gives me hope that while I might be trapped, I’m not entirely alone. Azrea and Cedric aren’t far.

And freedom is always a wish away.

But the dreams that followed me in sleep weren’t as lighthearted as my last thought before drifting. Morose and dark, fire and war cries filled my chest with terror. But the screams of warriors as their wings snapped and tore drenched me in sweat.