by K. M. Shea
I settled deeper into my seat and glanced at Rigel.
He was staring at the stage—the red curtain was shaking a little as someone scurried around behind it.
I don’t know how I feel about him anymore. I still love him—that’s not something I can stop even if he hurt me. But now…
Something stirred in my gut, and it felt horribly similar to hope.
Not hope that he loved me—I wasn’t so far gone that I was delusional about that. But hope that he had disappeared for a reason. That maybe he was being silent because he couldn’t tell me, not because he chose not to or didn’t care about me.
The curtain rose, and I turned my attention to the stage.
A pretty dryad who had tendrils of weeping willow branches growing with her hair glided onto the stage. She stopped under the spotlight and smiled at the audience. “Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for attending the first performance of the Courtly Night Acting Troupe.” She squinted, peering through the intense spotlight. When she saw me she bowed. “Queen Leila!”
She wasn’t standing up out of her bow, so I waved to her.
The dryad smiled and linked her long fingers together. “This evening we will perform a modern mystery musical romance.”
A what?
“I will be your narrator, and will introduce you to the characters of our play,” the dryad said. “First, we have our hero of the story, Detective Hershel and his assistant Miss Daisy.”
A brownie scurried in from the wings and tipped his bowler hat to the crowd while a siren sauntered in from the opposite side and waved.
“These characters are visiting the mansion of Miss Daisy’s family friend, Log-an, and came back from dinner to discover someone has mortally wounded Log-an!” The dryad set her hand over her heart as a troll wearing black clothes walked across the stage, carrying a tree trunk dressed in a suit with a knife stabbed in the back.
I furrowed my eyebrows as I tried to make sense of what was going on.
What the heck are they doing?
The dryad introduced a couple more “characters,” including a centaur who was playing a butler, a pixie who was Log-an’s sister, her boyfriend, who was played by a troll, and more than I could contemplate.
They opened with a catchy song about spooky old houses which was actually pretty good and earned them one of the Paragon’s many flowers, and then cut the lights as the stagehands scurried around, getting the set pieces into place.
When the lights came on, Log-an was placed on top of a baby grand piano.
The siren—Miss Daisy—walked on stage. She stopped in the center of the stage to bow to me—I really hoped this wasn’t going to be a thing—then dramatically turned and shrieked. “Log-an—someone has stabbed Log-an!”
Detective Hershel bounded into the room. He locked his legs and also stopped near the center of the stage to bow to me, then turned to Miss Daisy. “I say, Miss Daisy, what is wrong?”
Miss Daisy gestured to the log. “Log-an is dead!”
The centaur butler clip-clopped onto stage, pausing to bend over his arm in a knightly bow to me before he turned to the log in a suitcoat. “Dear, me, what a sight.”
“Indeed.” The brownie detective climbed onto the piano and touched the log. “He has no pulse.”
Miss Daisy cried.
“I say, Miss Daisy, you appear to be terribly shook.” The pixie fluttered on stage, too. Instead of stopping to bow she actually fluttered out over the audience, bowed to me when she was just over the Paragon’s head, then flew back to the stage. “I suppose it is because you may have lovingly cared for Log-an. Of course, not as much as we all love Queen Leila.”
As one the cast turned and bowed to me.
Ehhh, yeah. They’re making it a thing. But what’s up with this dialog? They’re phrasing things pretty weirdly for a play—Wait.
Fae couldn’t lie.
How the heck are they going to pull off a mystery-romance play if they can’t lie?
I leaned back in my seat with a new sense of apprehension, but when I peered around the theater, my Court looked absolutely enthralled.
But isn’t this the kind of thing I wanted for my Court? For them to have fun—real fun, not the insulting-humor-hidden-behind-pretty-smiles kind, so they can enjoy more than tea in their life.
Relaxing, I returned my attention to the play, feeling a lot better about my Court than I had recently.
In the end, the play was buckets of fun—mostly because the fae couldn’t lie—though all the bowing had mildly traumatized me enough that a week later, I was still over my bow-limit.
I went to my early morning lesson with Lord Linus—the lessons had taken a distinctly serious turn ever since he’d shown all his cards to me so to speak—and Skye and Chrysanthe arrived just around when I finished.
“Queen Leila.” Skye bowed and offered me a towel—Linus had me practicing running and casting runes at the same time, which was a pretty good workout considering how much my top heavy staff weighed.
He’d been nice and just had me sprinting back and forth across the cleared section of the castle patio—the cool, forever-night air should have kept me from getting too hot. But no, I had to be the Sweaty Sovereign so my workout clothes stuck to me and I smelled.
I leaned my staff against a stone bannister and took the towel, wiping my forehead off. “Thanks, Skye. Wow, my arms feel like noodles.”
“They will get stronger as you practice,” Lord Linus said. Of course he looked perfectly fine—not a hair out of place or a wrinkle in his clothes even though he’d been sprinting with me.
“Maybe I should lift weights or something—gah!” The stone bannister my staff was leaned against cracked. Concerned it was going to crumble entirely and my staff would tip over the side and fall down to the ground level, I snatched my artifact up, narrowly avoiding bashing myself in the nose.
“That’s it,” I said. “Skye, I know you said we could have a cleanup day in a few weeks, but we’ve got to prioritize it.”
“Why?” Chrysanthe asked. “The state of the realm mirrors the state of the Court. You can’t artificially fix it—they’re a reflective image.”
“Yeah, well you can still use window spray to clean a reflection,” I said.
Chrysanthe propped a hand on her hip. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“That we can sweep up the glass and everything that’s busted and ruined.”
Skye flicked through a few screens on her tablet. “You have a free day next week Friday.”
“You can’t get in any earlier?” I asked.
“I’m afraid not. You have some pressing meetings—including one scheduled with the other monarchs at the Summer Court.”
I rubbed my face off on the towel again, but I was already starting to cool off, making my sweaty clothes feel clammy. “It’s not for some stupid ceremony, is it? I mean, the ceremony for the transition from autumn to winter was pretty awesome since Fell faceplanted in a snow bank on his way to present Rime with his stupid leaf wreath. I don’t think the ceremony from winter to spring can top that.”
“It’s not a ceremony, but a meeting,” Skye said.
“Hmm, okay.” I glanced at the castle—which I swear looked worse than when I’d first been made queen.
There used to be a tarnished, but still pretty crescent moon that was settled on a peak of the roof, but it had toppled off and punched a hole through the ceiling when it fell. The stone walls seemed unsteady—like they’d collapse in a strong wind.
It’s incredibly depressing to see what terrible condition the realm is in. I mean, my Court seems happy enough, but they need the Night Realm to survive.
Part of fae magic was that fae needed to visit the realm every once in a while, to stay in tip top condition because the land itself powered them up. Half fae—like me—were luckily exempt from this rule. But if the Night Realm continued to deteriorate, it was going to become a major problem.
What’s wrong with me that it’s not fi
xing itself? Is there something I’m missing?
“Are the Court and realm naturally supposed to fall into alignment?” I asked. “Or is there a ceremony or something we forgot about to help it speed along?”
“It’s a natural relationship.” Lord Linus bravely leaned against the decrepit bannister and joined me in peering up at the castle. “It self-adjusts—that way no ruler can falsely manipulate the realm. It reads the health of the Court and feeds off your connection with the land.”
Connection with the land? That sounds uselessly vague and open to interpretation.
“Uh-huh.” I tapped my fingers on my staff, then broke off in a groan. “It’s not fair!”
Skye didn’t even look up from her tablet. “What’s not fair?”
“I try so hard and—” I cut myself off and leaned my forehead against the metal crescent moon topper of my staff. “Maybe I’m being impatient.”
“Undoubtedly,” Chrysanthe said.
“Fae magic—the kind that defines the very foundation of Courts and realms—acts within certain patterns. Give it time, Leila.” Linus patted me on the back like he was the coach of a little league soccer team. “The night mares wouldn’t have chosen you if they didn’t think you’d be capable of restoring the realm.”
“Yeah…but explain this to me! If the Day Court and the Night Court are intertwined, why is the Day Court fine and dandy while our castle is crumbling down around our ears?” I asked.
“It has not escaped my notice that you are deeply jealous of the Day Court,” Skye said.
“Of course I am!” I scowled at my steward. “You saw the place when we met with the other monarchs there in late fall. It’s gorgeous! The towers are pristine white—not even a cracked window among the lot of them! The place is flawless and beautiful beyond reason. If I didn’t like Solis as much as I do, I’d be tempted to hate the guy!” I paused. “Maybe. A little. No, never mind. He’s too nice to hate.”
“It is a little odd,” Chrysanthe said.
“Yes, thank you!”
Skye ignored my exuberance and shut her tablet down, which meant she was finally focusing all of her attention on the problem. “What do you mean?”
Chrysanthe shrugged. “My grandmother has some friends in the Day Court and has been trying to fix me up with one of their grandsons, so she’s been dragging me over there a lot recently. King Solis has been able to hold onto most of his land despite the failure of his wards, and the Day Realm is gorgeous.”
“In all fairness, before Leila arrived, Solis was the most beloved monarch in the Midwest,” Linus said.
“Even though Rime and Fell are more powerful?” I asked.
“Indeed.”
“Huh. Maybe that’s how he’s restricted by the Night Court’s failing? He doesn’t have the power they do because the Night Court is barely hanging on, even if his own Court is fine.”
Skye rolled her eyes. “The Night Court is more than hanging on. Under your leadership, it is starting to flourish.”
“Tell that to the Night Realm,” I grumbled. “Maybe I should try asking him what his secret is when we go to that meeting at Birch’s place.”
Chrysanthe shrugged. “If he had a secret, he’s not going to tell you.”
“That’s a mean thing to say,” Linus said.
“Why would he want to make the Night Realm more powerful?” Chrysanthe asked. “Leila already won the fae representative position, and the respect of everyone else even though our realm is in such a state. If the Night Realm recovers, no one will catch up to her in terms of Court-unity, and only Queen Rime—the most powerful monarch the Midwest has had in generations—will have stronger magic than her.”
“Solis isn’t like that,” I said with certainty. “He wants the Night Court to get better. He’s told me that numerous times, and he helped us after that skull monster when he didn’t have to.”
“Also, an increase in the Night Court’s power would mean an increase in his own,” Skye pointed out.
I groaned. “Why are fae obsessed with power?”
“If it makes you feel any better, the Paragon thinks you’re the best thing that happened to Solis,” Linus told me. “Apparently before you were made queen he’d bother the Paragon all the time. After Nyte died, the Paragon said Solis looked like a man shoved out on a cliff’s edge. He knows what you’ve done, and he’s thankful for it.”
“I’m thankful for him, too.” I scowled up at the ruins of my castle. “I just wish I knew what the heck he was doing that makes his realm so wonderful!”
Chrysanthe patted my arm. “You’ll figure it out.”
“Thanks, Chrys.”
A glass-shattering scream pierced the air. Curious, I turned around in time to see two of my night mares trot across the burned-out lawn. “Hey there, Twilight, Blue Moon!”
I dragged my staff down the stairs and set it on the ground so I could greet the pair.
As night mares, both fae equines were skeletal things with jagged teeth and glowing yellow eyes, but Twilight was the smallest of my herd with more of a dusty black-gray coat and Blue Moon had web-like hair that covered his hooves, and his black coat had a hint of inky blueness to it.
Although they looked scary, the night mares gently nuzzled me, accepting the kisses I placed on their scratchy muzzles.
Chase emerged from the dead gardens—he’d probably come with the pair. “Queen Leila.”
“Hello, Chase. Something wrong?” I asked.
The werewolf raised an eyebrow at me. “You didn’t call.”
“Oops.” I grimaced. “Sorry.”
I’d been attacked so many times I was supposed to have phone call check ins with Chase after I finished my magic lessons with Linus.
Chase folded his arms across his broad chest. “This time it was fine—Skye was with you and notified me.”
“Woohoo! Thanks, Skye! You’re the best.”
Skye smiled a little at me. “I am glad to be a part of your Court.”
“Aww, now you’re going to make me blush!”
Chrysanthe elegantly swept down the stairs, stopping to pick up my staff. “You ought to not let this rest on the ground.”
“Why?” I asked. “You’re the only other one who dislikes the Original Creep as much as I do.”
Chrysanthe blushed a bright red that showed fetchingly on her olive skin. For the first time since we’d become friends in the fall, I noticed the light dusting of freckles across her nose and cheeks, and her blond hair fell loosely around her shoulders in pretty waves, that weren’t as perfect and frizz-free as they’d been back when she hated my guts.
She’s been wearing less fae glamour, I realized.
Fae glamour—basic illusion magic almost every fae was capable of—was mostly used by common fae when venturing among humans. It disguised them so they could appear more normal.
Personally, I’d never bothered to learn more than the basics—it was never going to help me care for my parents’ farm or ride horses better. I knew nobles used some glamour, but I hadn’t realized how much they used it to starch out their imperfections.
No wonder they’re otherworldly-beautiful. I wonder if Rigel uses it?
I only had to think on that for a moment before I knew the answer.
Nope. Definitely not. Glamour magic would be traceable. He’s naturally that gorgeous—which is not fair.
Chrysanthe awkwardly cleared her throat and bobbed her head at Chase. “Director Washington.”
Chase nodded back to her. “Lady Chrysanthe.”
My eyes flicked back and forth between them. Chase was his usual attentive but kind mannered self, while Chrysanthe was getting increasingly flustered.
Oh my gosh, how does Chase not know? I’d figured out last fall that Chrysanthe had an enormous crush on the werewolf—she was so obvious!
“You know, Chrys, you can call Chase by his name,” I said.
Chrysanthe sputtered. “I-I couldn’t possibly…proper protocol…manners and such.”
“The lady doesn’t feel comfortable using my name, my Sovereign,” Chase gently told me. “Her manners are flawless as it seems she feels we don’t have that sort of comradery.”
Chrysanthe stared at Chase, and I could almost hear her heart audibly break in half.
Chase!
I forced a smile. “Don’t be ridiculous, Chase. Chrys is just shy and assumes you are not that comfortable around her.”
Chase scratched his arm. “I believe I have the right of it, my Sovereign. I have seen her interacting with you and Skye with great exuberance. But I’m sure we shall continue to see each other as she is now your close friend, and perhaps one day she will feel comfortable using my name.”
Chrysanthe made a wheezing noise at my side.
Chase nodded to both of us, then wove around us so he could go up the stairs, taking two steps at a time. “Lord Linus, I have a few things I wish to consult you about,” he called.
“Of course you do, youngling. Bring the issues before me that I might bless you with my wisdom, haha!” Linus crowed.
Chrysanthe’s wheezing turned into a high-pitched keening.
I stared blankly at Chase’s back, then swung my gaze to Blue Moon and Twilight.
Blue Moon stomped a hoof, and Twilight shook his head and flicked his thin tail.
“Yes,” I agreed—certain the two felt my emotional failure. “But it’s not my fault. He’s my director of security—I’d thought he’d be more observant!”
“As you like to say, Queen Leila, ‘it’s fine,’” Chrysanthe said.
I glanced sideways at her, feeling guilty for accidentally ripping open a wound. “I really am sorry.”
Chrysanthe offered me a relaxed smile, then she drew up her shoulders and nodded. “It just shows me that I need to change my strategy!”
“I’m glad you’re chipper about this.”
“Of course! I don’t intend to remain satisfied with observing him from a distance,” Chrysanthe scoffed. “I’m a noble! I shall do whatever it takes.”
“I’d start by calling him by his name,” I suggested.
Chrysanthe glared at me, then sighed. “I’ve tried, but my throat won’t spit it out. I will practice more.” She balled her fingers into a fist and shook it at the shimmering moon. “I won’t give up in the face of rejection. I will push on!”
