by H. E. Edgmon
Briar squeals as she reenters the room. “Dragons!”
“A fan of the sky puppies, are you?” Jin asks, sweeping toward her and giving a too-deep bow. Their energy crackles around them, a deep purple streaked with white, like the night sky painted by flashes of lightning. “Jin Ueno. The little red one with the bad attitude is my girl Auriga. I could take you for a ride sometime.”
Briar looks gobsmacked. “Yes. Absolutely.”
“Witches aren’t allowed dragons,” I say, though I suppose it makes me sound like I don’t know anything about anything, considering this witch just said they do, in fact, have one. But that’s fine, I guess, because witches aren’t allowed dragons, as far as I know. And also, I don’t know anything about anything.
Jin smiles at me, shrugging and flicking their wrist in a way that feels like feigned nonchalance. “I’m not most witches. I work with the herd actually. Head handler. That’s how your boy and I first became friends.”
I’m assuming by my boy they’re referring to Emyr.
Which... No.
Clarke snickers, rolling onto her belly on my bed and propping her chin in her hand. She flutters her eyelashes at Briar. “I’m Clarke. We never get humans in Asalin. You’re precious. I love your outfit.”
Briar is wearing her favorite ratty, paint-splattered old sweats and a tie-dyed T-shirt, having maximized comfort on the plane. She frowns, considering herself and then the other girl, as if doubting the sincerity of her compliment. Still, she manages a “Thank you.”
“Clarke. Jin.” Emyr forces the words out. When his hands unclench, I can see there is blood trickling over his fingers. “My fiancé and I were in the middle of a private conversation. If you would like to get acquainted with Briar, perhaps you should—”
“Briar? Oh, that’s such a pretty name.” Clarke sighs dreamily, her fingers brushing against her chin.
“Pronouns?” Jin asks.
“She/her are fine.” Briar flushes under the attention.
“How are you enjoying Asalin so far?” Clarke asks. “Well, I suppose you haven’t seen much outside of the dungeon, but—”
“Clarke!”
Clarke huffs, finally turning away from Briar to glare at Emyr. “We heard your private conversation with Wyatt. You told him you didn’t care if he had a side piece so long as he stayed with you for the Throne. It was the least romantic thing I’ve ever heard. Frankly, I don’t trust you to be alone with him ever again.”
“Perhaps you should allow all communication between the two of you to go through us first. We’re great at romance.” Jin hoists their very large body onto the footboard of my bed, before brushing back some of their thick, ear-length black hair.
Emyr stares at them before meeting my eyes. “I don’t think he cares about romance.”
Oh, screw you.
He has no right to sound as disappointed as he does. I was fourteen, acne-riddled, and pissed at the whole world the last time he saw me. Hell, I was barely bigger than a freaking toddler when my mother pricked my finger to sign me away in our contract! Regardless of his opinion on the matter, I don’t see the makings of an epic love story here.
“That’s not at all true.” I shrug. “I just don’t care about romance coming from you.”
“Oooh. Sick burn.” Jin reaches over to clasp Emyr’s shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. “That’s gotta hurt, huh, buddy?”
Emyr just glares at me.
I offer him my most peachy-sweet smile in return.
“So, you’re still planning to marry him?” Briar asks, as if she’s only just remembered what’s going on here. “I suppose that means you don’t think he’s going to be...you know.”
“Charred to a crisp?” Jin suggests. “Ugly business, that. Wouldn’t recommend it.”
Emyr rubs his thumb against the bridge of his nose, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. “I’ve spoken to my parents and they’ve met with Derek. Wyatt will sit before the Guard the day after tomorrow to offer his side of the story. I cannot imagine them actually executing him for an accident when he was a child.”
“It wasn’t exactly an accident,” I say, but no one is listening.
“I mean, they might.” Clarke gives a considerate wiggle of her wrist. “People did, like, die.”
The room goes very, very quiet. Emyr glares at Clarke.
In her defense, Clarke looks pretty ashamed of herself. “I’m so sorry. I have such a big mouth.”
Jin offers me an apologetic look.
I don’t let myself react at all.
“Regardless,” Briar pushes forward, and I have no doubt it’s because she knows better than anyone not to bring this topic up. She does put her hand in mine and squeeze my fingers. “Emyr, you think it’ll be okay?”
“Because it was clearly an accident—” Emyr may be trying to convince himself of that “—the Guard will never be able to justify an execution, much as they might like to. I anticipate the most they’ll expect from him will be reparations for the destruction that was done.” He shrugs. “As I suspect he is destitute, my family will pay them.”
Briar smiles at me as if this is good news. As if I should be happy.
This is going to be a disaster.
CHAPTER FIVE
A LOADED QUESTION WITH
MANY ANSWERS
Briar and I were in love once.
Or maybe that’s not true. Maybe I was never really in love with her. Or maybe I still am. I guess it depends a lot on your definition of being in love with someone versus loving them. Maybe the difference is too minute to really be able to explain it. She still holds my heart in the palm of her hand like a caretaker tending to a wild animal. I would still rend the spine from the body of anyone bold enough to try and hurt her.
The webs of our lives are too sticky and tangled to ever separate, even if we wanted to. She was the first person to ever love me in a way that felt selfless, to love me even though I couldn’t do anything for her. She was the first person to look at me and make me feel like she really saw me, and not just what she wanted me to be. At my most vulnerable, my most broken, my most self-hating, she sat with me and never let me stay too long in my own abyss.
I think I’m still in love with her. It just isn’t being in love in the way most people understand it.
So, let me start over.
Briar and I used to make out once.
It didn’t last long—that time in our lives, not the individual make-out sessions. There was this blip in my timeline, this brief period between realizing I was different and realizing why I was different where I landed on “lesbian.” And when I tried that word on, tried fitting into yet another box I didn’t fit into but didn’t realize was improperly shaped yet, I figured, why not Briar? Why not the person I loved that much? My best friend, keeper of my heart, the most beautiful girl I’d ever known?
When it ended, I expected the world to be ripped out from under me. Instead, it just got a little torn around the edges. I have Briar’s endless grace to thank for that.
As it turns out, my type skews more toward lanky dudes with piercings and patches on their jackets, with nimble fingers and sharp tongues and, like, unfortunate nicotine addictions. At least, that is apparently my type, since that describes the only two guys I’ve dated since I ended things with Briar.
There is a point to all of this. And that is to say that the guy who wakes me up the next morning with a knock at my door may not be my type, but he was definitely my gay awakening, even if I didn’t realize it at the time.
Derek has velvety black wings and two thin horns shooting straight up from the sides of his head. His blond hair is slicked back, but a single tendril falls over the most irritatingly blue eyes I’ve ever seen. His jawline is sharp enough that it could probably slit my throat, if the fangs peeking out from behind his full pink lips didn’t rip
it out first. His dark clothes are perfectly tailored to his muscular frame, his white skin tanned and perfectly unblemished.
He’s way too old for me, I’m technically engaged, and also I hate him.
But damn, that face.
“Wyatt?” His voice has a lyrical quality to it, like he’s someone used to talking to other people. I can see him standing on a stage somewhere giving speeches, holding an arena at attention.
Something tugs at the back of my mind. The memory of the Guard cuffing Briar as she cried out in fear and pain. Derek’s taunts as he told Emyr I would be put to death. This was only yesterday. Why does it feel so long ago? Why can’t I seem to summon up the appropriate rage or disgust?
He’s just so nice to look at.
“Mmm?” I tell myself it’s the early hour and nothing else that’s apparently robbed me of my ability to speak.
“Do you know who I am?”
How could I not? That face has rendered me speechless hundreds, if not thousands, of times throughout my life already. I’m pretty sure that face was the star of my very first wet dream. “Derek.”
He smiles, flashing those bright white teeth. “I was hoping you might want to take a walk with me.”
Douse of cold water. “I don’t.”
Childhood crush or not, I don’t have any interest in playing nice with Derek Pierce. He’s the one trying to have me executed.
He seems undeterred by my dismissal, glancing over my shoulder to peer into the bedroom. Briar is still asleep, stretched out to take up well over half of the bed. I step out of the room, pushing myself closer to him so I can close the door and block her from his sight.
Oh. He smells like expensive cologne, clean and sharp and masculine. That’s fine.
The chaotic energy of me entertaining gay thoughts right now is unmatched.
Derek chuckles. “There are things I wanted to discuss with you. I assume you don’t want us waking up your friend. Go, get dressed.”
“Which part of my no confused you?”
“I want to help you, Wyatt.” He leans in closer. I dig my nails into my palms and refuse to inhale. “The Throne may be able to still my hand from having you sent to your death. But I can make your stay here as miserable as possible. And that’s to say nothing of what I can do to your human.”
Immediately, heat flares in my palms again. After years of disuse, the fire in my veins seems determined to make a comeback. I bare my teeth, tilting my head up to meet Derek’s gaze, our noses nearly touching.
He raises his perfectly groomed brows. An almost-smile taunts at his lips. “Alternatively, I can help you get everything you want. Are you certain you don’t want to take that walk?”
* * *
Derek’s energy is the same shade of blue as his eyes. It bounces around us as we walk through the maze garden on the northern side of the castle, cerulean crests swirling around my own aura like a whirlpool.
“How much do you know of the situation here in Asalin?” he asks, hands clasped behind him as we make our way down paths lined with thick ivy and rows of blossoming flowers. It’s peaceful here, in this tangled bouquet of a labyrinth. It feels like a secret, the tall hedges standing between us and the rest of the world.
“I know you want to be king,” I offer up.
Derek sighs as if disappointed by that answer. “I don’t want to be king. I want someone qualified to be king.”
“It just so happens you’re the only one qualified?”
He pins me with an exasperated sort of look. “I’m next in line, after Emyr. I don’t have any grand lust for power, you know. I just care a great deal about this kingdom.”
Can’t relate, but fair enough. I guess it’s admirable to be patriotic or whatever. I’ve never felt any allegiance to anything bigger than myself—and Briar’s family—so I wouldn’t know. Of course, I’ve also never been admirable in any capacity.
Still, it seems doubtful one would plan a coup because of their great love of their kingdom.
“Really?”
Derek considers me at length and finally shrugs one shoulder. “Perhaps I also lust for power. A bit. But don’t we all?”
There we go.
“And what makes Emyr so unqualified?”
“That is a loaded question with many answers.”
“Why don’t you toss me one?” I roll my eyes. I hate diplomats and the roundabout way they talk, the way they try and weasel out of any accountability by being as vague as possible. Yet another reason I would make a terrible political leader. I have no idea how to be coy.
Derek rubs a hand over his stubble, thick black claws gently scraping against his jaw. “You are aware of Kadri North’s...interesting history?”
Kadri North is Emyr’s mother, queen of Asalin.
But Kadri is notoriously unlike any queen who’s sat on Asalin’s Throne before her. When she married Leonidas, she didn’t accept that her role was to sit back and quietly allow her husband to rule. She expected them to be equals. She held meetings. Enforced new rules for the Guard and Committee. Plotted innovations for the kingdom that now belonged to her. Leonidas choosing to take her name, rather than passing on the Pierce name the Throne had held for generations, was a scandal of apparently epic proportions. The rest of the family believed she was trying to distance herself, and the Throne, from them. From people like Derek. And in fairness, they might have been right about that.
Of course I know her story. Every fae and witch in the world probably knows her story. I nod.
“Well...” Derek sighs. “As I’m sure you recall, the queen has passed some of her more...questionable eccentricities on to her son.”
“Eccentricities?”
“Her values have always been in contrast with the traditions of Asalin. She’s raised Emyr to uphold a certain set of ideals that many in our community don’t understand. The two of them are so set on pushing our kingdom forward they don’t seem to have any concern for what they’re leaving behind. The traditions we’ll lose as we become more and more like the humans. After all, progress for the sake of progress often does more harm than good.” He frowns, reaching up to rub a hand over his mouth. “Which is to say nothing of the fact that Emyr is rather...melancholic.”
“Melancholic,” I repeat, because I have no idea what he’s getting at.
“Emyr is an odd child. He always has been.” Derek shakes his head. “I love my cousin, I do. But he’s a weird little thing. Always disappearing into the fields, spending all his free time with the animals. And now, with all his...human gadgets. The people here don’t understand him.”
No one in Asalin has ever embraced change. I remember that well. When news broke about the prince’s engagement to a witch, people were furious. I was too young to understand at the time, too naive to see the way the fae would sneer in my direction or understand the cruel things they would whisper about my family and me. But I got older. And eventually I realized I would always be seen as other to the fae. My bitterness grew from there.
“Do they need to understand him? Plenty of kings are eccentric.”
“Emyr was never meant to be our king.” Derek snaps the words between his teeth like cracking a whip, and I stop walking. He pauses when I do, reaching up to press his thumb to the collar of his shirt. He composes himself and says, “That may sound harsh, but it’s true. He is not a Pierce. Not by name, or by blood.” Derek eyes me and shakes his head. “Wyatt, my family was given this kingdom because of our commitment to protecting faekind. As the other kingdoms change around us, we have always held fast to our most sacred traditions. We are the keepers of the door. We maintain a tether to the ways of Faery.”
I’m actually pretty sick of hearing about the ways of Faery. You’d think, after five hundred years, they would have developed some new ways. Even Emyr, as worryingly progressive as Derek finds him, threw those words in my face
just days ago, reminding me I had no choice but to marry him.
Faery is dead. These people need to let it die.
“And then, of course, there is the issue of the humans,” Derek continues. “Already, Emyr has welcomed a human into our midst, and he is not even king yet. Staying hidden is our most hallowed law, and he’s spit on it. You’ve lived in the human world, Wyatt. You should know better than any of us what humankind would do to the fae, should they learn of our existence.”
He isn’t wrong about that. The magic that protects the fae kingdoms keeps humans from accidentally stumbling upon them, but what if they came looking? How would fae magic hold up against human technology if the two were to face off one-on-one? Once upon a time, iron was the worst thing the fae had to fear from humankind, but now they’ve got weapons of mass destruction at their disposal. And they have a tendency to destroy anything they don’t understand—as soon as they find out how to take whatever they want first.
Of course, that is not entirely unlike the fae. They have more in common than they realize.
In fact, the way witches are treated here reminds me distinctly of the way queerphobia manifests in the human world. Witchlings (queer kids) are born to fae (cishet) parents and so often treated as if this huge part of their very existence is a terrible mistake. Of course, it isn’t. But those with power have never really needed an explanation for oppressing people other than they can.
And it isn’t like it’s escaped my notice that Kadri and Emyr, who’ve never had the chance to rule without their every move being questioned, don’t look anything like the rulers who’ve sat on Asalin’s Throne before them. Fae and human history are not closely interwoven, and the fae don’t have the same racist origin story humans do. The oppression of people of color, especially Black people, people who look like Kadri and Emyr, isn’t the entire foundation our civilization is built on, the way it is for humans.
But how much might human influence have changed the way we interact with race ourselves over the last five hundred years? Are there microaggressions I’ve never noticed, protected by my own whiteness? Is part of Derek’s motivation rooted in the color of Emyr’s skin? I guess I don’t really know, and that’s my own fault.
