by Tasha Black
“The veil is thin in some places,” he said at last. “My home appears to be one of them. Though it’s strange, my home was on the moor the last time I was free.”
“Oh,” Sara said. “You have been trapped a long time. The castle was moved here over a hundred years ago.”
He nodded, as if it made perfect sense.
“The magic is in the stones,” he explained. “Great power was used in building my home. Some part of it must stretch thin the veil.”
“The place where you were,” Sara said. “It was your home. But you were trapped there, reliving a single day?”
“Yes,” he said, an echo of horror in his voice. “I took in monsters, though I was of the Seelie court, and such acts are strictly forbidden. I suppose in a way the creatures reminded me of myself and the other children I was raised with. We were all taken in from different families because our special abilities made us outcasts, like the monsters. But in time, we grew to be more than that. We became brothers. In my foolishness, I thought I could do the same for these misfit creatures. But I was wrong.”
“That doesn’t sound so bad,” Sara admitted.
“To defy the Seelie court is one of the worst offenses a fae can commit,” he told her. “In my arrogance, I thought I knew better than they did. Since mine was a crime of vanity, my prison was a mirror. My punishment was to be trapped on the other side with the monsters for an eternity, reliving the same midnight revels over and over.”
“I’m so sorry,” she breathed.
“I begged for my freedom,” he said. “But they only laughed and dubbed me the King of Midnight.”
She bit her lip, unsure what to say.
Dorian leaned in and brushed the top of her head with his lips. “But I’m here now, thanks to you. Your powers are extraordinary.”
“Someone in your court called me a halfling,” Sara said. “What does that mean?”
“A halfling is a human who is small like a goblin,” he told her. “It’s neither a compliment, nor a jibe. But I think what she meant was that you are not quite mortal. You are half one thing, and half another.”
“What am I?” Sara asked, finally hearing herself ask the question everyone else had been asking her for the last two days.
“That’s what we’re going to find out,” he told her. “But I’m sure there is fae blood in you.”
“Fae blood,” she echoed.
“Yes, like mine,” he said proudly.
She pondered his words as she flipped the pancakes onto plates.
“There’s more,” he said, sitting in one chair as she came to sit on the other.
“What else could there be?” she asked. He had just told her she wasn’t fully human. She wasn’t sure how much more she could handle.
“Sara, you are my queen,” he said simply.
She blinked at him, wondering if that meant something different where he came from.
“Say something,” he said after a moment.
“What do you mean I’m your queen?” she asked.
“I am the King of Darkness,” he said. “But my darkness cannot dim your bright spirit. You are the light to my shadow. I am the shade to your sun. Together we will reign over my kingdom.”
His words sounded like something out of a Shakespeare play.
But they were heartfelt, she could see it in his eyes.
And the talk of light in the darkness brought her back to last night and the imagery in her head when he touched her.
“Give me your hand and I will indulge your every desire for all eternity,” he said, his voice rough with emotion.
“We just met,” she murmured, knowing already that she couldn’t resist him.
“Fairy weddings take a long time to plan,” he told her.
She laughed and he tilted his head, as if trying to understand what she found funny.
“I’m sorry, Dorian, all of this is new to me,” she told him.
He didn’t answer. He only held out his hand, palm facing her. She reached for him and placed her own much smaller palm tentatively against his.
A jolt shot through her, like touching a live wire, but she didn’t pull away.
She stared in awe as a small mark appeared on her ring finger, like a tiny dot of blackest ink. As she watched, it began to spread, to grow, like a tiny black vine encircling her finger, complete with minuscule black leaves.
When it was finished, Sara pulled her hand away to study the mark, mesmerized. It was as if she had gotten a tattoo, but from the inside. She opened her mouth to say something, but then closed it again when she realized she had no idea what to say.
“We will eat breakfast, and then we will speak more about it,” Dorian told her, as if sensing all the unspoken questions whirling around her head.
“We will eat breakfast, and then we will find you some clothing,” she suggested. “And then we will talk about it.”
“What’s wrong with my clothing?” he asked, sounding a little hurt.
“It’s just a little unusual for our world, that’s all,” Sara said. “Knee high boots and leather pants aren’t really in fashion right now.”
“I see,” he said.
“Besides, you’ll want more clothing than just the one set,” Sara added. “That’s a big thing here, everyone has different clothes for each day.”
“Not the peasants,” he scoffed.
“Uh, we don’t really use that term,” she explained. “But yes, even the regular working people have fresh, clean clothes daily.”
“Then we shall do as you suggest and meet with your tailor at once,” he said. “After I eat this breakfast.”
He took a bite of pancakes so enormous that it instantly had her wondering if she’d made enough.
She decided to eat her own breakfast before breaking it to him that she didn’t have a tailor.
As she took her first bite, she watched him watching her, his pale eyes so serious as he took in her every movement as though he wanted to imbibe her.
Maybe she really was the light to his darkness.
This was definitely not a dream.
But she was beginning to realize the world was a much more interesting place than any dream she’d ever had.
13
Sara
Sara pulled up in front of Le Sucre for her morning latte. It would be nice to sip her coffee while Dorian tried on clothes.
“You can wait in the car if you want,” Sara offered. “I’ll just grab a latte and come back.”
“I shall accompany you,” Dorian said firmly.
She smiled, glad he wanted to stay close.
Truthfully, she hadn’t been looking forward to being without him even for a moment.
You are my queen.
Sara looked down at the ring encircling her finger, wondering what it all meant, allowing herself to get lost in the possibilities for a moment.
She shook her head to clear the cobwebs.
The bells jingled quietly as Dorian held open the door to the café for her.
Carl was in his usual spot at the counter. He looked up and sang to her as usual. “Sara, Sa-a-a-ra, lattes are brewing in your eyes—”
She frowned, wondering why he had cut off his special song.
He was looking behind her.
Dorian was striding in, casting a shadow across the vinyl floor.
“Hey Carl,” Sara said. “How’s it going?”
“Fine,” Carl said. “The usual?”
“Sure,” Sara replied. “Would you like coffee or tea, Dorian?”
“What is that?” Dorian asked, looking at a beverage dispenser filled with fresh lemonade.
“That’s lemonade,” Sara laughed. “It looks good, doesn’t it?”
“Yes,” Dorian said. “One glass of lemonade, sirrah.”
Carl didn’t even respond to the strong directive. He merely nodded and began preparing the drinks.
Dorian was kind of big and dressed a little bit like he was playing a vampire in a community theatre
production, but Sara wasn’t sure why that would make Carl so quiet. The Carl she knew would have been delighted to ask questions about Dorian’s unusual ensemble. He would have had a clever song composed about it before the drinks were even poured.
Something about him was off.
As a matter of fact, the whole café seemed quiet today. The tables were full, but people seemed a little subdued.
She chalked it up to being there a bit earlier than usual. Maybe things didn’t start really swinging until nine.
Carl handed over the two beverages. Sara paid and they headed out.
“I’m sorry that I have no coin,” Dorian said quietly as they got back in the car. “When we ascend the throne our subjects will fill our coffers.”
“That won’t be necessary,” Sara laughed. “I have a good job. Our coffers will be just fine.”
“A man provides,” Dorian said darkly.
“Not in this world,” Sara said. “Everyone provides in this world.”
“The Queen of Darkness should not be forced to help her subjects buy used houses,” he declared.
“Maybe not, but I love doing it,” Sara said. “We can talk about it later though. Right now we’re going to the mall.”
“I would be honored to accompany you on a walk,” he said, brightening. “But didn’t you want to go somewhere to purchase garments?”
“Wait, what does mall mean in your world?” she asked.
“The mall is the promenade,” he said, as if it were obvious. “In most cities it is a picturesque spot with green grass and beautiful trees.”
“That sounds very nice,” Sara said. “In our world a mall is a place for shopping. We’re going there to find you some clothes.”
“A marketplace,” he said. “Very well.”
She took a sip of her latte and set it back in the console. The warm beverage was just what she needed.
Dorian observed his lemonade with a dubious expression.
“Everything okay with your drink?” Sara asked.
“What’s this thing?”
She glanced at the lemonade. There was nothing out of the ordinary.
“What are you talking about?” she asked.
He touched the straw.
“Oh,” she said. “That’s called a drinking straw. You suck on it and the lemonade comes out.”
“Why would I need that?” he asked. “I am not a suckling babe.”
“I’m, uh, not really sure,” she admitted. “But if you’re drinking something in a car it makes it easier to stay neat.”
He frowned at the straw and then put his lips around it.
A moment later his eyebrows went up. “This is very sweet,” he said. “You were right about having full coffers. This much sugar must have cost a princely sum.”
“Do you like it?” she asked, stifling a giggle.
He appeared to consider the question carefully.
“Yes,” he said.
She smiled and listened as he sucked the cup dry.
They drove on in silence for a few minutes.
She was beginning to get used to his moods. Though he looked as serious as ever, she could sense that he was pleased. He gazed out the window as they passed the little houses on the way to the mall.
“These homes are well-kept,” he declared after some time. “Our subjects are happy.”
Sara smiled and he placed one hand on her thigh.
She fought a shiver of lust and struggled to focus on the road.
They had reached the intersection with the main route into Springton. The mall was in sight.
“Oh, look, your subjects have homemade magic,” the king said fondly.
He was looking at a traffic light.
“It’s very clear that the light is electrified and mounted to a post,” he confided. “But the idea of the illusion is charming. It is a worthy tribute to my kind.”
“Er, thank— uh, wow,” Sara said, remembering too late that she was not to thank him, and unsure why she was trying to thank him in the first place. “That’s a signal to tell the drivers when to go. It’s not really meant to be magic.”
“Nonetheless,” he said. “Even if the primary intention was not magic, everything about the design says its maker dreamed of illusions. Look at the slenderness of the pole, which matches the sky, in contrast to the bright lighting mechanism. The pole is meant to visually disappear.”
He wasn’t wrong. If not for the flyer announcing the Rosethorn Valley Elementary School end-of-year talent show, it would have been virtually invisible. The rest of the pole was the color of the sky, which really was a steely gray today.
The weatherman had called for sunshine, but it was about as overcast as possible without an actual storm.
She hoped it wouldn’t rain. Her umbrella was missing from the console of her car. She must have given it to a client at some point.
They pulled up in the parking lot.
“Are you ready?” she asked him.
“I would readily accompany you into battle, my queen,” he told her. “I am ready to sacrifice my life for yours.”
“Well, this is just a trip to the mall,” she said with a smile. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”
14
Sara
Sara stood inside the smallest entry area of the Springton Mall, watching the King of Darkness take in the sight of capitalism at work.
Giggling teenagers clung to each other as they walked. An older couple was clearly just doing laps. A woman on her phone marched past carrying several shopping bags.
“This is your marketplace?” he asked.
“One of them,” she said.
“But it’s indoors,” he said. “This seems unwholesome.”
“People in my world like to be comfortable,” Sara explained. “They don’t want the rain or the sun to interfere with their shopping.”
“Where are the merchants?” Dorian asked suspiciously.
“They’re in their shops,” Sara said. “Each room of this building is its own little store.”
Dorian frowned. “How can they sell their wares if they are inside their stores? They should be outside, encouraging customers.”
“Come on,” Sara suggested. “Let’s find out.”
They set off along the corridor, Dorian avidly searching the glassy shop windows.
“Ah, sundries,” he said as they passed the Dollar Store.
Two young moms with strollers passed and stopped mid-conversation to gape at Dorian.
“Fair lasses,” he said, inclining his head slightly.
The women giggled like schoolgirls and the king smiled approvingly.
A man with three children passed by next. One child was tugging at his hand, one was plastering her face to a glass store window, and the littlest one was wailing in his arms.
“The people in this realm are unusually fertile,” he said to Sara in a pleased way.
“Are your people not fertile?” she asked.
“No more than usual,” he said.
“What does that mean?” she asked. “How many children do most couples have?”
“One, if any,” he said, frowning. “Not all couples are blessed with a little one, of course.”
“In our world, most couples can have as many as they want and can afford to provide for,” Sara said.
“Ah, mortals,” Dorian said. “You must replace yourselves more frequently when life is so fleeting.”
Sara opened her mouth and closed it again.
“I meant no offense, my queen,” he said. “You are not fully mortal. And human laws may not apply to your lifespan when we ascend.”
There was a lot to unpack there. Sara decided it was a conversation for another time.
“Let’s go in here,” she said quickly, steering him into the nearest clothing store. All the talk of ascension was making her feel like she was being inducted into a cult.
“Welcome to The Gap,” the teenaged salesman said, looking Dorian up and down appreciati
vely. “My name is Marcus. How can I help you today?”
“I wish to have garments made,” Dorian said. “Where is your tailor?”
“Oh my God, hysterical,” Marcus laughed. “What kind of clothes are you looking for?”
“Clothing befitting the King of Darkness,” Dorian replied before Sara could stop him.
“You do seem to have a pretty wicked goth rock style going on,” Marcus replied thoughtfully. “That’s not exactly on-brand for us, but I think I can help. Let me get you guys set up with a dressing room.”
Dorian allowed himself to be led to the dressing room.
Sara waited just outside as the salesman brought back a pile of mostly dark colored clothing.
A few minutes later, Dorian appeared at the door of the dressing room. He wore a pair of tight black jeans and a flowing white button-down shirt.
“Wow, perfect,” Sara said.
He still looked like himself, but modern. He would almost be able to blend in, if only he weren’t so enormously tall and wildly attractive.
He went back into the dressing room and the kid brought more clothing.
At last Dorian chose several pairs of jeans and shirts. He also selected packages of socks and underwear.
“You can try Shoe Paradise for footwear,” Marcus suggested.
Sara noticed that the salesman seemed tired now. His energy had flagged compared with the enthusiasm he’d shown when they first arrived.
It seemed odd, he should have been really pleased with himself for finding great clothing for Dorian. All told, it was a pretty hefty sale.
On the way to the register, they passed a display of backpacks, and Dorian selected one made of sturdy leather.
The salesman checked them out in silence.
“My compliments, squire Marcus,” Dorian called to the boy with a flourish as they headed out.
The kid perked up slightly, giving him a half-smile back.
Back out in the mall, a small crowd had gathered near the fountain.
Sara approached with Dorian at her elbow.
She slipped past a group of lanky high school boys to try and get a view of what was happening.
When she succeeded, she was barely able to restrain an audible gasp.
