Dethroned_An Inimical Prequel Novella

by Genevieve Iseult Eldredge

  Syl looks like she wants to say something, then her look softens. “Sure.” She keeps one hand on mine and rubs the other over the wound. It’s only a red seam now. “It’s already mostly healed anyway, so no real harm done.”

  My Syl. How she can forgive an evil dark Fae like Etana fills me with love and admiration. Her bright smile captivates me. I’m the dark Fae with the powers of persuasion, but I’m helpless in the face of this beautiful Summer princess.

  My love for her staggers me. I blow out a shaky breath. “If I ever lost you…”

  “Hey, now.” Syl clasps my hands to her heart and kisses my knuckles. “I’m okay. It’s healing.” She ventures the next question gently. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah.” But now that I’m unearthing old memories, the bad ones resurface, too—Father layering praise over cruelty, preying on my devotion to force my forgiveness, how he’d give just enough love to keep me hanging on, suffering his abuse and neglect.

  My Etana theory aside, the truth is: I was never good enough for him.

  Him making me queen was supposed to change all that.

  “I thought…” I swallow down my hurt like swallowing jagged glass. “I thought this time I’d be good enough.”

  Syl hugs me tight. “You are good enough. More than good.” She pulls back, those storm-grey eyes serious. “And it’s okay that you want to trust your dad.”

  “Really?” Ironically, Father’s always said dominance was better than trust.

  “Yes, really.” Syl nudges me. “But first…” Her pretty face breaks into a bright smile as she drags me toward the Nanci’s back exit. “We have a Christmas Eve dinner to get to.”

  That’s when I notice the yummy, delicious takeout bag sitting by the door. The spicy smell of sausages, pork sandwiches, and—ohhhhh, deep-fried fritters.

  Between tasty Portuguese food and my girl, my mood’s already improving.

  Besides, my girl’s never one to dwell on gloom and doom. “Your dad might not be trying to kill us” —she flashes that thousand-watt smile— “but if we’re late for Christmas Eve dinner, my mom just might.”

  She’s got me there.

  “Not to mention.” Syl grins and holds up two twenties. “Pru wouldn’t let me pay, so now we have money for a Christmas tree.”

  Christmas. Riiiight. This particular holiday is the epitome of confusing mortal customs, but I’d do anything for Syl, so I stuff all my angst down deep and blow out a breath. “Tell me again why you kill a perfectly good tree. Is it some kind of sacrifice?”

  Syl snorts then swats my arm. “Don’t be a Scrooge. They’re grown specifically to be cut down. Besides, don’t you decorate a tree in Dark Faerie?”

  “With the skulls of our enemies.”

  “Oh, um…”

  “Well, that got awkward.”

  Syl laughs. I laugh, and my mood lightens with hers. “All right, let’s go get your tree.”

  Beaming, Syl leads the way out into the night. The chill air soothes me, calming my frayed nerves. We head to my Harley parked near the house band’s black van. I get on, kickstart the bike, and it roars to life. “C’mon, princess.”

  Syl’s small hand folds into mine. Her touch always hits me like a blow to the brain, dizzying me, shoving me off balance. I’m rendered speechless as she gets on and wraps her arms around my waist. Her vanilla scent hits me, and the soft weight of her body against mine is my whole world.

  She holds tight as I pull out of the parking lot and zip toward Richmond center. “There’s a guy near the interstate turnoff that always sells trees,” she sends to me.

  “Right on, princess.” We head that way.

  Traffic is light at this time of night, and the city is cold and quiet. By now, everyone’s at their destination with family, drinking hot cocoa before a roaring fire, if those Christmas movies can be believed.

  For us, it’ll be Portuguese takeout and this absurd “Yule log” video Syl always insists on. It’s supposed to turn your TV into a crackling fireplace. As illusions go, it’s seriously the worst.

  But it makes my girl happy, so Yule log it is.

  In short order, we pull into the gravelly Christmas tree lot, a sketchy pop-up near the overpass. There are only a few trees left. One of them’s a giant, seven feet tall. The perfect tree. Syl beelines right over to it, her eyes shining. “Whoa…how much?” she asks the guy.

  He’s standing there in a parka with gloves and a hat pulled down to his bushy eyebrows, sipping a cold coffee. “Sixty.”

  Syl’s face falls. “Oh.” She shoves the crumpled twenties back in her pocket and turns away. The strings of murky white lights wash her in stark sadness.

  I’ve got the money from my gig, but that goes toward rent. I could Glamoury up some cash, but Syl doesn’t approve. I mean, who cares if Glamoury money turns back into leaves or whatever?

  My girl. That’s who cares. So I don’t.

  “It’s okay.” I go to her. “There are some small ones over here.”

  They stand in a row, scraggly looking and sadder than sad. I grab the first one. “Here, this one’s not too” —the branch I’m holding breaks and the tree flumps to the ground— “bad.” I shove it back before the guy catches me. “How about this one over here?”

  Syl gives Tree Number Two the side-eye. “It looks like it’d die if we put one bulb on. Total Charlie Brown Christmas.”

  The tree guy comes over. He chin-nods at Syl. “Don’t want the big one?”

  Syl shakes her head. “I only have forty.”

  “Tell you what.” The guy holds out his hand. “Gimme the forty and we’ll call it Merry Christmas.”

  The burst of gratitude and hope that comes over my girl’s face makes my heart soar. “Thanks! Merry Christmas to you, too.” Syl pays the man, and we collect our seven-foot Christmas tree.

  Now the only problem is…

  “That’s definitely not going to fit on my bike.”

  Syl’s eyes sparkle. “I’ve got a plan.”

  “You always do, princess.”

  Somehow I know her plan involves me hoofing a huge Christmas tree across town. No prob. That’s the easy part of my night.

  All my messed-up feelings about my father?

  That’s the hard part.

  Chapter Four

  Syl

  Family is sacred to the Fae

  Until it isn’t

  - Glamma’s Grimm

  You’ve probably never seen a dark Fae princess with a Christmas tree strapped to her back windwarping across a city skyline. Well, I have, and I can tell you, it’s equal parts adorable, hilarious, and so, so sexy-hot.

  Watching Roue in action makes me forget all about dark Fae plots, redcaps, my wound, that crazy-sharp icy blade...

  Also, the pain’s mostly just a stitch in my side now. Mostly.

  Also, also, I think the crazy fun of it helps Roue put her troubles aside, and that’s what matters most to me.

  Roue hoists the tree higher on her back, our makeshift bungee cord/duct tape solution keeping it from sliding off and tumbling twenty stories to smash on the streets below. Leaping from the top of the bank building to the hotel, she looks a little bit like the Grinch in the “stealing Christmas” montage.

  Laughter softens her words. “I heard that.”

  “It’s okay,” I tease back. “You were meant to.”

  “The things I do for love.” She sighs like she’s so put-upon and chin-nods at her motorcycle. “Just don’t wreck my baby.”

  “Right.” I loosen my death-grip on the handlebars of her black and violet Harley. All roar and rumble, the souped-up bike feeling like it’s going to rocket right out from under me any second. “This thing’s a beast.”

  “That makes you Beauty.”

  I can practically feel the dark part of her telling her how corny that sounded.

  “I love corny,” I tell her, and she lights up with a sexy smile. My Roue can be a bit broody at times, but when she smiles just for me?


  It’s the sun breaking bright through the clouds.

  I know she’s still hurting beneath her smile, and I vow that, tomorrow, I’ll help her in every way that I can. But tonight, the best way I can help her is to take her mind off all things queenhood and Dark Faerie.

  As her soul-bound girl, it’s my duty. So, Christmas Eve, here we come!

  It’s almost midnight as we speed across the city. The streets are all lit up with trees and wreaths and plastic reindeer, but they’re pretty deserted. Everyone tucked into their beds with visions of sugarplums, and all that. A few stragglers mill around, smoking outside Canal Club. A couple’s out walking their dogs, breath pluming in the brisk winter air.

  Roue and I’ve both got our Glamouries up, though I can tell she tempted to drop hers and give the few onlookers a show. I mean, who’s going to believe anyone saw a leatherclad dark Fae carrying a Christmas tree through the city?

  I smirk because I simply cannot get enough of her. “I’m pretty sure if people found out St. Nick was really a hot goth rockstar, there’d be a major uproar.”

  She snorts, hoisting the tree higher. “I’d only ever do this for you, you know.”

  “Yeah.” My words come out all syrupy, dreamy. “I like it that way.”

  I’d do anything for her, too.

  Minutes later, we’re turning down the street toward the tenement in Jackson Ward, flashing past the few lit trees and lit-up houses. The multicolored glow washes the trashy streets in a haze. In the stillness, the Harley’s roar seems super-loud.

  Worry tightens into a knot in my stomach, making the wound in my side throb.

  I’m worried about that, but there’s a more immediate concern.

  Roue gets it. “If your mom sees you on my bike…”

  “I know.” It’ll be instant grounding till I’m twenty-five. Never mind that I’m a fully Awakened sleeper-princess of the fair Fae and nigh indestructible by mortal means.

  None of that helps against the Wrath of Mom.

  But tonight, luck has my back.

  Mom doesn’t check out the back windows even though by now, she knows the rumbling purr of the Harley. I park in the usual place in the alley, throw the kickstand down, and head up the fire escape into my bedroom window. Roue goes around the front because there is no way that tree’s going to fit through my window.

  Pang, pang, pang-pang! My Docs make tinny, happy noises as I pound up the fire escape to my window, each footfall throbbing in my side.

  Darn it all. It should’ve fully healed by now.

  The instant I step foot inside the apartment, I’m distracted by the sweet smell of gooey awesomeness. “Cookies!”

  “Chocolate chip!” Mom calls from the kitchen.

  How does she do that?

  “All moms are a bit supernatural.” Roue sounds sad for a sec, and then she bursts in the front door with the tree. “Ho, ho, ho! Merrrrrry Christmassss!”

  Okay, this I’ve gotta see.

  Tapping into the Summer in my blood, I windwarp to the main room to catch the look on Mom’s face. Fwoosh, and I’m there. She’s open-mouthed for a hot second before she schools her expression into sternness. “Syl, I told you. No windwarping in the house.”

  Sheepishly, I eye the scattering of newspapers, shoes, and cloth grocery bags kicked up in the wake of my Summer winds. “Uhh, sorry!”

  Mom turns to Roue. “And just where do you think you’re going to put that monster?” She pointedly eyes the small explosion of pine needles on the carpet.

  Roue sags a bit.

  I do, too. “It’s too much, isn’t it? I never thought—”

  “I love it.” Mom breaks into a smile. “Thank you.”

  “Oh, you!” I swat her as she dances back into the kitchen, laughing like a loon.

  She pokes her head back out. “But, Rouen, you are going to vacuum up those pine needles.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Roue wrestles the tree toward the windows. Even with her dark Fae strength, the thing’s unwieldy and clumsy. On her way, she bumps into the side table.

  Glamma’s old antique teapot goes tumbling.

  Whoosh! I windwarp there and catch it before it can shatter. Relief pours through me. “Whew, that was a close one.” Glamma’s teapot is made of special porcelain. It’s one of the only things we have left of her. I step back, cradling it.

  Roue’s relief is evident down the bond. “How dead would I have been?”

  “Knowing my mom? So dead.”

  “Thanks.” Roue gives me that killer smile.

  I melt but manage to tease her playfully. “Hey, even dark Fae princesses need help sometimes.”

  She laughs, and we spend the next ten minutes sawing off the bottom half of the tree to make it fit in our teeny living room. Who knew Roue’s lightning was good for cutting trees? Then we jimmy a makeshift stand from one of Mom’s old pots. I think it once held a spider plant. We killed that thing good last year.

  Meanwhile, Mom’s outdoing herself in the kitchen.

  Once the tree’s up, Roue and I head over to find chocolate chip cookies and sugar cookies. Hot from the oven. The sugary, buttery, melty-chocolate scent lingers in the air, and I take in a big whiff. Heaven.

  My wound almost forgotten, I reach for one.

  Mom swipes the cookie sheet. “Dinner first.”

  “Right!”

  Roue and I unpack all the delicious takeout, and I put the deep-fried fritters under the broiler. The rest goes in our old beat-up microwave. I crank the dial and wait.

  “How was your gig?” Mom asks Roue as she transfers hot cookies to the cooling rack.

  “It was all right.” Roue shrugs casually, leaning against the counter, her long legs stretched in front of her. She’s still dressed in her Euphoria leathers, and suddenly my mouth is watering, and it’s not for cookies or takeout.

  My girl looks positively yummy.

  She slides Mom some money for rent and then tries to use her Glamoury to sneak a cookie, but Mom’s keen to that trick. Without even missing a beat, she fends Roue off with the spatula. “Quit it, you.”

  “Hey!” Roue grumbles. “I keep forgetting you were once a sleeper-princess.”

  My mom gives Roue a look that says, I’ve got your number, missy, though it’s a million times more playful than in the past. Roue and Mom used to be enemies, too, but now that’s water under the bridge. Mostly.

  Hmm…tonight seems like the night for mostly’s. I rub my aching side.

  Roue catches my eye, worry staining her aura a deep blue and shooting down the soul-bond.

  “I’m okay. Really.”

  Mom breezes by with more cookies. “Syl, set the table.”

  “On it!” I hop to it.

  “And you.” Mom points at Roue with her spatula. “Wash your hands.”

  “All right, all right,” my Roue grumbles, but I see the slight quirk of her lips. She doesn’t mind being mothered too much.

  Her own mom died, and I know Roue still misses her.

  I touch the winter topaz ring on my finger. Roue gave this to me a few months ago. It used to belong to her mom. In return, I gave her Glamma’s ring.

  Roue’s part of my family now. I want her to feel like my mom’s her mom.

  Especially if this thing with her dad goes south…

  She finishes at the sink, and I set the table. Together, we pull the food out and plate it, working around each other in the small space like it’s an intricate dance.

  It’s a little thing, but I see us never bumping into each other as a sign that we’re meant to be together.

  “Always,” Roue says, catching my stray thoughts down the bond.

  I sneak a quick kiss, and we bring the plates to the tiny bar area. As usual, Mom eats standing up (even though Roue offers to, instead), and me and Roue tuck in on the barstools. The first bite of pork sandwich is savory, rich, cheesy heaven. Pru made mine just the way I like it—light on the spices—while Roue’s is so spicy it makes my eyes water.

 
; We all lapse into silence as we eat.

  Demolishing the takeout doesn’t take long, and then Mom gets up. “I’ll grab the Christmas lights out of the storage area.”

  Suddenly, an idea flashes in my mind. “Let’s string popcorn, too.”

  I head to the teeny closet-pantry and take out the microwave popcorn.

  As Mom heads for the basement storage, Roue and I both steal cookies. Mmm… The chocolaty, sugary goodness hits my system like a punch of adrenaline. Then, lights retrieved and popcorn popped, we decorate the tree with old lights, strings of popcorn, and paper cranes.

  In the end, it’s a Frankenstein monster of a tree, but it’s ours.

  “I deem it perfect,” I announce, twirling around in front of it.

  Roue jumps up, grabs me around the waist, and we waltz around the tree, laughing. Even Mom joins in, throwing on a scratchy Christmas album, crackly and staticky on the old turntable.

  If it wasn’t for the ache in my side, this night would be perfect.

  We watch Christmas movies on our 16” TV, hunched on the loveseat, cramming our faces full of cookies and leftover popcorn. After Mom goes to bed, me and Roue end the night stretched out on the floor beneath the tree, sharing a cup of hot cocoa.

  When I get a little whipped cream on my lip, she kisses it off.

  “Merry Christmas, princess,” she says, the lights dancing in her eyes.

  “Merry Christmas, Roue.”

  It’s the perfect Christmas Eve, and I barely feel my wound at all. Barely.

  I just hope that giving Roue’s dad the benefit of the doubt doesn’t blow up in our faces.

  Chapter Five

  Rouen

  Can’t stand it

  The thought of losing you

  All the light in my world

  Turned to darkness

  “My Light,” Euphoria

  Screams jolt me from a dead sleep. Screams and pain.

  My side hurts like someone’s stabbing me, but when I touch it, my hand comes away clean. No blood. It’s not your pain, Roue.