Dreams of the Fae: Transcendence

by Anna Patrick Paige

  Divine. Royalty. Deity. No matter what title we were given, it didn’t change the fact that even luxury could be a prison.

  I shut my eyes for a moment, trying to forget the small girl in the mirror who wanted anything but the lot she was given.

  Elizabetta’s comb ran along my scalp, pulling each strand of my hair. Daphne set a bathing dish on the vanity and gingerly washed my hands, then repeated the process with my feet. Camille brought a hot curling iron from the hearth and handed it to Elizabetta, who wrapped each lock into a tighter spiral. Ridiculous.

  Elizabetta slid the heavy robe from my shoulders. I firmly held the bedpost for stability as she cinched a silk boned corset around my waist. The laces crushed my lungs, my intake of air cut in half. Before I could catch my breath, an elaborate blue silk gown with silver embroidery was thrown over my head, and my arms were quickly fed into the sleeves. Daphne attached the dress train to the back of my shoulders and smoothed the fabric.

  The crown jewels of Brisleia were the final ornament for a public appearance. Elizabetta placed the tiara on my head. The heavy crown was so encrusted with diamonds—arranged to hide little flowers within the pattern, to mimic the Brisleian Mandala—that the silvery base vanished beneath the gemstones. By the end of the night, my neck would be sore.

  She clipped matching diamond earrings to my lobes, then turned me to face the mirror. The flickering candlelight sent reflected sparkles dancing across the walls.

  The Divine Royal Highness Ayleth Rose of Alamantia. The words echoed through my head with all the emptiness and loneliness that accompanied them. I projected an image to the outside world: Brisleian perfection. A valuable piece of the Divine King’s property. The Princess whose quiet demeanor was as renowned as her tenacity.

  Another performer in the inescapable choreography of fate.

  A certain sadness accompanied the life of a Divine, a sorrowful inevitability I wasn’t sure I’d ever learn to accept. I would forever be owned by a king and obligated by one royal duty or another.

  Lost in my reverie, I almost missed the faint knock from within the walls, to the right of the fireplace. Elizabetta dismissed my ladies, and I rushed to my only glimmer of happiness.

  Rarely dismissed, Elizabetta knew the most intimate details of my life, including the secret way my brother and I communicated within the palace. When Luken and I were children, she introduced us to the intricate web of stone tunnels within the walls of Alamantia. Once used for safe passage during the War, they had long since been forgotten. To our knowledge, Luken, Elizabetta, and I were the only people who knew they existed.

  The embellished gilding gave way to reveal a little hidden door, which opened into a dark corridor. My elder brother, the Divine Royal Majesty Luken Rose of Alamantia, Crowned Heir to the Throne of Brisleia, stood in the dark, a gleaming smile across his handsome face. He entered the room and kissed my cheek, a little too close to my mouth, and handed me a shiny rectangular black box. “A gift for Princess Ayleth on the evening of her eighteenth birthday, from her loving and charming older brother,” he proclaimed, stifling a laugh.

  “Charming?” I scoffed. “Don’t flatter yourself. They may celebrate you most days, but today I dare overshadow you. Jealous?”

  “Completely,” he teased, closing the door behind him. It melted into the wall as if it had never been there. “So, how does it feel to come of age?”

  I raised an eyebrow, then set the box on my bed to embrace him.

  “Supper was awkward without you,” he said. “Father was . . . displeased, to say the least.”

  I let out a short burst of laughter. “I was tired.”

  “You? Tired? Never.” He winked with eyes the same shade of pewter as mine and nudged the parcel towards me.

  I lifted the pristine lid off the birthday gift.

  “It’s very fine,” he bragged. “Fit for a king.”

  Inside rested a purple satin purse. I untied the gold drawstring and emptied a dagger into my hand.

  “Exquisite, isn’t it?” He plucked the weapon from my grasp and ran his fingers up the black leather scabbard. The grip was crafted from a solid piece of ebony bog-wood, with a rounded black diamond pommel. The small guard had the insignia of Medial Alexandria carved into the grain: a circular geometric pattern comprising elements of all four Atheran Mandalas.

  “This is an Onyx Guard weapon,” I observed, amazed. “How did you get this?”

  “It was given to me by the Senate master during my last visit to Medial Alexandria. Knowing your birthday was approaching, I thought it would make the perfect gift for you. It will hold in place around your ankle, if you wish. Medial weapons are the best in Athera. It’s a shame the Senate won’t distribute them.” He tapped the diamond pommel.

  I took the dagger and examined the most unusual gift I had ever received; a dagger was typically a present for a boy. “What would make you think a dagger would be a suitable gift for me?”

  “I have a theory you may need it someday. Better you be protected than outnumbered,” he confessed.

  Elizabetta laughed, stirring the fire.

  My brother always saw me as more than a perfect Divine Princess. He knew the things I wanted, unusual as they were for a Divine. One day he would rule as King of Brisleia, and I would at last be allowed to live a life I could only imagine. Dress how I wished. Marry whom I wished. Come to court if it pleased me instead of when I was ordered.

  Maybe the dagger was proof of this promise. I couldn’t help but love Luken as much as the rest of Brisleia.

  I dropped the blade back into its purse and placed it within the gift box.

  “Are you not pleased?” he asked.

  “It’s beautiful.”

  “By your expression one might think it’s the worst thing you’ve ever received,” he drawled.

  “I’m used to jewelry and fabrics. I don’t know how to accept a gift I truly am going to treasure.”

  Luken pulled me back to his chest and squeezed, crushing my arms to my sides. “Eighteen is a rite of passage. I hope you remain open to the changes lying before you.” He kissed my forehead.

  Be open to change? My heart fluttered with the possibilities.

  He eased me out of his arms, and his face fell, as if there was more he wanted to say. The expression quickly passed, replaced by his glorious smile. “So, what do you think, Elizabetta?” He turned to my nurse.

  “You’re foolish to give her a weapon,” she chided. “She will commit bloodshed.”

  “Don’t be so dramatic.” I rolled my eyes. “It’s just a knife. Besides, Luken promised to teach me swords someday.”

  “The King will have me jailed if he sees her wielding a sword.” Elizabetta shook her head. “And she will ruin every dress I’ve made her.”

  Luken chuckled, squeezing my shoulder. “I have to leave for Daraban in the morning.”

  “What? Why?”

  His eyes landed on the remaining food next to my bed, and he strolled to the nightstand. “Business.”

  I rested my hands on my hips, waiting for a more thorough answer.

  “Curtus Lamare and I have something we need to attend to in Duval.” Luken tore away a chunk of chicken breast and crammed it into his mouth.

  “Duval?” I tried to make my disapproval clear. “For how long?”

  He shrugged. “Three weeks.”

  I scoffed. “The last time you said three weeks, it became three months.”

  “I have to visit Nerodia Citadel to meet with Prince Tydous,” he mumbled, swallowing. “Politics, Ayleth, it wouldn’t interest you.”

  “And you have to leave tomorrow? You just came back from Medial Alexandria.”

  “I heard a rumor going around the Senate that Prince Marcus of Podar is trying to convince the Duvali heir to turn sides when he claims the throne. King O’dern is growing feeble. It won’t be long before Prince Tydous is the Divine King of Duval. Marcus’s influence could destroy the peace we’ve grown accustomed to. He’s just .
. . too radical.” He disappeared into thought. “I don’t want to imagine a world where Duval becomes combative or, worse, joins forces with those damn Podarians. Divinity won’t help us if that occurs, and another war can never be in Athera’s future. The duke of Daraban will be accompanying us. We need to keep the Divine of Duval in our good graces.”

  I sank onto the mattress. “You seem worried. It’s unusual.”

  He rubbed his palms together. “Preventing hostile activity on a continental scale.”

  “Traveling the world to do so.”

  “Being constantly homesick and missing my little sister.”

  “Influencing people.”

  “Would it be absurd to say how, through it all, I envy you.” He sat on the opposite end of the bed.

  “Envy me, trapped here every day with a few maids to keep me company?”

  “You are Divine royalty with no expectation. If it suited you to do so, you could do nothing all day but wear pretty dresses and dance.”

  “Is that what you think I do all day?” I asked, offended. “You talk as if I’m no different than my maids, who only care about finding a man of stature to marry. Dresses and dancing? Honestly, Luken?”

  “If you followed the protocol the King and queen wanted, then marriage and stature would be all you cared about as well.” His eyes fell, and he poked one of the white crystals sewn into the bedspread. “Still, marriage . . . it might do you some good to start considering the possibility.”

  I jumped off the bed, and my stomach did a sick twist. Luken never talked this way. “Prince Luken Rose! Where have you gone and who has replaced you?”

  He rolled his eyes. “I need you to promise me something.”

  I petulantly folded my arms over my chest.

  “Promise me you will always remember I have your best interest at heart. If I were King, I swear, I’d make sure you were always well kept. Happy. Free. Or you could run around in trousers, if it pleased you. I wouldn’t care. You would have privilege beyond measure. But . . .” He paused for several long seconds, then swallowed hard. “I am not King, and there are things not even my influence can change.”

  The blue paisley rug flew beneath my feet as Elizabetta and I sped down the hall towards the ballroom. She held an armful of my gown while adjusting stray curls around my face. Instead of her daily indigo satin dress and crisp cotton apron, she wore a black taffeta gown with trumpet sleeves, laced up the back with maroon cording that matched her hair. Her beauty and graceful manner resembled royalty.

  My ladies struggled to keep pace with us as we hurried past the doors of the dining hall. The servants inside busily carted away dirty dishes. Startled by my unexpected appearance, they dropped to their knees. The crash of porcelain echoed through the corridors.

  We turned the corner and came to a halt, my heels skidding across the marble. I smoothed the front of my dress and straightened my back, folding my hands in front.

  Proud and tall, Luken stood by the colossal stained-glass doors leading into the Rose Court. His silvery crown perched atop his head. The diamonds garnishing the metal flickered in the candlelit hallway. He wore a white silk tunic cinched at the waist with a blue belt, and the deep purple sash strung across his chest was embellished with the pattern of the Mandala. His sword hung at his side, half-hidden by the velvety eggplant cloak brushing his boots. A fine chain around his neck and his most opulent black trousers completed the affluent ensemble.

  A familiar cheerful smile spread across his face. “Always late.”

  “Your Majesty,” I huffed, trying to catch my breath, and bowed. My ladies mirrored the movement.

  Luken bowed in response. “May I escort you, Your Highness?”

  I offered my hand. He kissed it before slipping my arm around his elbow.

  “Are you wearing the dagger?” he whispered with a devious smirk.

  I scowled. “No, of course not.”

  “You should. All the time. It suits you.” He led me to the arched doors, our entourage of attendants following behind.

  “As grateful as I am, it isn’t proper.”

  “When did you start paying heed to what is proper? Would you have worn it if I had told you that you look like the type of woman who is secretly armed?” he teased, suppressing a grin.

  “You’re ridiculous,” I grumbled.

  The guards opened the doors, bowing their heads and reciting a polite chorus of Your Majesties. Inside, the Rose Court lay before us.

  Rays from the evening sun pierced the immense gilded windows, causing the air to glitter. Numerous blooms of white and pink roses budded over the pillars and across the lavish stained-glass ceilings. The flowers grew year-round, and petals constantly littered the gray marble floor, filling the court with the most luscious aroma in Athera.

  Down a massive alabaster staircase, a festal reception of couples danced in unison to the enchanting music.

  “Happy birthday, Ayleth.” Luken kissed my temple, then turned to his adoring lords and ladies.

  Fanfare drowned the music as he stepped into the light at the top of the stairs. The crier’s voice boomed above the trumpeting. “Presenting His Divine Royal Majesty Prince Luken Rose of Alamantia, Crowned Heir to the Throne of Brisleia.”

  The crowd of noblemen fell to their knees, bowing their heads to welcome the beloved Divine Prince. Luken didn’t miss a step gliding across the blue-and-gold runner and down the stairs, his two personal attendants—Curtus Lamare and Aaron Rolf—following behind in a magnificent display of Brisleia’s future leaders.

  Unlike me, my brother luxuriated in his role as a Divine. I envied his ability to find happiness in a world I had always known as bleak and shallow.

  At the far end of the ballroom, three prodigious oval windows illuminated a round raised platform, where five satiny blue chairs created the Divine throne. The rest of my royal family stood there in adoration.

  Leaving his attendants behind, Luken climbed the stairs of the dais and fell to his knees in front of our parents. The Divine King nodded in approval, and the Prince took his seat at our father’s right hand.

  As I’d done many times before, I crept into the light at the top of the stairs following my brother’s glorious entrance. The heir not quite as important. The Spare. The fanfare replayed. The trumpeting made my eardrums throb. “Presenting Her Divine Royal Highness Ayleth Rose of Alamantia,” the crier yelled. The crowd touched the floor, and I descended the stairs.

  Different from Luken in political power, I was equal in grace and poise. Back straight. Head high. My ladies striding in perfect unison with me. Like the flowers inside a garden, we were the decorations complementing the beauty of the Rose Court.

  The walk to the platform felt endless. Noble eyes glanced up to admire the charade. Judging. Waiting for my perfect Divine image to falter. It was enough to turn a person insane.

  After an eternity of silent ridicule, I reached the stairs and bowed before the King and his queen. King Hugo sighed in disappointment, placing his hands on my shoulders and pulling me from the floor. He was tall and wide, with thick gray hair that still held threads of black from his youth. A full beard, crafted from the same pewter color as his eyes, covered his chin. “I’m glad you are well,” he said skeptically, taking my chin between his fingers. “We will be discussing your behavior in the days to come.”

  I lowered my eyes and nodded meekly.

  The King released his light but forbidding hold on me. “Happy eighteenth birthday, Daughter. You become more beautiful every time I see you.” I hadn’t seen him in two weeks.

  “Thank you for my gifts,” I said with a quiet sweetness that did little to hide the fraudulency in my voice. “As always, Your Majesty has been more than generous.”

  My mother gently kissed my forehead, her puffy, pouted lips identical to mine. “Happy birthday, Ayleth,” she whispered against my skin. I’d inherited her large eyes, petite features, almond curls, and sour expression.

  My father escorted me to my ch
air. Instead of retaking his seat, he took my mother’s hand, and they promenaded to the ballroom floor.

  “You’re late,” my grandmother, the Divine Queen Mother Ambrosia, said without looking in my direction. She scanned the crowd from her elegant throne next to Luken.

  Two generations ago, Brisleia had fallen into chaos when my grandmother became the only living Divine tied to the country after her brother died. Parliament forced her into marriage to produce Divine children. I’d heard she didn’t mourn upon her husband’s death and rejoiced when my father, her only son, took the throne. My grandmother’s scandalous youth was a popular topic of gossip. Many still talked about how she had run from the palace, frequently disobeyed the King’s orders, and publicly disagreed to her arranged marriage. Defiance seemed to run in the family.

  “I didn’t spoil the party,” I observed, watching my parents glide across the dance floor.

  “No.” The glowing shimmer of her Mandala caught the light. “People at court are far too self-absorbed to notice. You made your brother late. I see he waited for you.”

  “With no regrets.” Luken flashed a proud smile.

  “Punctuality was never your strength,” she added, “even if the tardiness does infuriate your father.”

  I would be at the mercy of a severe lecture from the King tomorrow. “I’ve been distracted.”

  Luken chuckled. “Distracted.”

  I glared at his mocking tone, but he already had his eyes on Lady Camille.

  “Excuse me, ladies,” he said as he left the platform.

  Ambrosia waited for Luken to interrupt a conversation between my lady and one of the Sloan brothers before continuing. “He’s worried about your welfare. Whatever ails you has him bothered.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I fibbed, suppressing the concern that Luken’s strange behavior this evening was linked to his bizarre birthday gift.

  “I’ve recently learned that Luken had a concerning disagreement with the King about a subject in Parliament. It has become a heated debate in the Senate.”