by Faith Ellis
I stop, and Aiden looks to see the awe consuming my face. The structure is made of white stucco with stones plastered in, clustering at the bottom and trav-
eling about halfway up. There are beautiful, thick brown shutters on every window, open to let in the natural light, and matching thick brown double doors at the front entrance. A porch runs about half the length of the front of the house, one end near the river, the other looking out at the mountains. The roof is high pitched, and there is a stone chimney billowing up from one end. Yellow tulips decorate the sides of the path leading to the front, and hydrangea bushes line the home, coming just below the windows. Perfection and serenity all in one.
"I built it for you. For us." His smile is hesitant, al- most shy. It makes my face split into a goofy grin and color fill my cheeks, causing them to heat.
"It is beautiful. This whole place is unbelievable. I love it, Aiden." I jump up and throw my arms around his neck as he catches me by the waist. He doesn't stumble when my weight knocks against him, he just holds me firmly, lifting me from the earth.
"Anything for you, my princess." He nuzzles into my neck before gently setting me back on solid ground. "Shall we go inside? The back is perfect for our prac- tice. The bedroom overlooks the river to the side, and you can see the whole meadow from the kitchen win- dows." He offers me his arm, and I loop mine through his, excitement flooding my veins as we walk, then race each other to the front door.
The inside is even more welcoming, with the open and spacious rooms and large windows inviting the sun to shine through and looking out over the fields. The
decor is transitional, classic with bursts of color: pop- ping orange pillows on the lush couch and loveseat, a shimmer of gold from the vase on the glass coffee table, a black-and-white abstract painting in a teal frame.
My voice is tight with emotion. "This whole place—you created this realm for us?"
Aiden dips his head. "We're safe. We're alone."
I beam. "How in the world did you create all of this wonder?" Spinning around the open space, I throw my arms wide.
Aiden simply answers, "Magic," which makes us both laugh. "The ways of our world are often mysteri- ous with the way the realms work. The ability for the High fae to travel between realms and then to discover I could create my own realm, albeit far smaller, with just a little blood each time to get in: it's extraordi- nary."
The fireplace in the main room burns bright, filling the space with cozy warmth. This is a home, not for the prince and the princess, but for Aiden and Andryad. Lovers and friends. Family. Tears blur my sight and threaten to overrun when Aiden squeezes my hand re- assuringly as his dangerous voice booms within the openness of the home.
"Our future is here, Andryad. Our vacation home, maybe, if you want. A place for us to be alone when our duties begin to overtake us. Here we can be ourselves, be with each other, and build our lives together." His
lips kiss the back of my hand, and his eyes sparkle with happiness.
"I would want nothing else." Maybe I can lean on his strength to muster my own for the war ahead. The fear curls in my gut, the unknown like a monster hiding be- neath my bed. If I let it, it will surely devour me. But I can gain my strength and the reassurance I need from this male in front of me.
"Let us unpack, eat, and rest. We will start training tomorrow." He shrugs off the pack from his shoulders onto the floor. Slowly, deliberately, he lays out all of the items onto the floor, many more than it seems the pack can hold.
"Aiden?" I turn, running my hand over the gray can- vas couch in the main room. "I was wondering some- thing along our journey here."
Aiden sits the water and food aside and refolds the extra clothes as he responds to me. "What is it my, dar- ling?" Endless pairs of black leggings sit in a pile that he grabs from, neatly smoothing and folding them be- fore placing them in a tidy stack.
I wait for him to finish with the clothes and help pick up the food and water and follow him into a large kitchen. "Within all of this, what happened to the king and queen of the First Court? I had a memory in the forest about my parents. I remember them Their love—it was real, and they loved me so much."
The kitchen, too, is open, with a large window look- ing out over everything, just as Aiden promised. I lean against the island with a glossy cream top that sits in
the middle of the room. On the other side of the room is a large, open white brick hearth.
"How very elegant." I eye the room.
"Mind you, we won't have servants here, but I don't mind doing the cooking if you don't know how." He smiles wickedly.
I tap a finger to my chin thoughtfully. "I don't know if culinary has really ever been on my list of honed skills."
He laughs as he neatly places the waterskins on the counter on the other side of the island.
"Where are my parents, Aiden?"
He stops, one hand midair, going for the rest of the items with the window at his back. The light makes his black hair shine like raven wings. It is a few moments before he straightens to his full height. His eyes are shadowed, and he looks not at me but past me, as if he is reminiscing. His hand falls to rest idly on the coun- tertop.
"They did love you very much. I was always envious of you for having them; I didn't have that myself." His throat bobs. "I tried, Andryad." His voice is low, soft, and gentle. "I tried to warn them, to protect them."
I shake, expecting the worst but not knowing how to form the words within my mind. My skin goes cold as the blood in my veins turns icy with dread. My stomach churns as I listen but don't quite understand his next words.
"Everything happened so quickly after I got you into the human realm. Once I returned, it was chaos.
The Second Court was on the First Court instantly, and the Second had the element of surprise. Your parents were focused on looking for you, and I couldn't reach them to let them know you were safe."
Tears blur my vision as Aiden continues.
"It was perfect. All the Second Court was in- vited across the borders, right up to the First's palace. Your parents were assassinated. Queen Mable cur- rently controls both courts. Everyone believes she had you killed."
Something inside of me crumbles, and I pull out a chair to sit down. I don't trust my legs, which quiver. The wooden seat is cool and solid. I place my hands on the counter, but they shake uncontrollably, and the way Aiden looks at them is unbearable, so I tuck them into my lap.
I had it. The one thing I so desperately wanted for as long as I can remember. The only thing Halsey and I dreamed of: loving parents. And I felt it—their love was strong and real and raw. They had a connection, a link with me that no one else could ever compare to. And now that I was back and I felt and experienced it again, it was immediately ripped away from me, severing my heart into pieces.
Aiden's saying something, but I am numb, I'm not listening. My ears feel clogged, like cotton is stopping them up. Mable did this. She took them from me. And for what? To get to me? Or because she couldn't get to me at that moment? I don't care, whatever her reason; I hate her for it.
My nails bite into my palms, bringing me back, and I urge the lump from my throat. "My Folk, they believe me dead as well?"
Aiden's lips thin into a line, but he looks at me. "Yes, my darling."
I clear my throat and straighten. "What is she doing to my court?"
"As of yet, nothing." His hair swings as he shakes his head. "I think she's waiting for me to show my hand. She wants your Folks' trust. I think she knows I have gone for you, and she needs your court to believe in her, not you."
"Does she know you've betrayed her?"
"She knew immediately once you went missing. I've hidden from her since then, An."
My brain is racing to process the overload of infor- mation. "Do you think my Folk will?" His green eyes find my stare. "Believe in me, I mean. What if they think I abandoned them?"
Aiden walks around the length of the kitchen island and takes both of my shoulders
in his hands, turning me to face him. His emerald eyes and my blue ones are like the green fields dancing with the river.
"You are, without a doubt, heir to the First Court. We're going to find this in your power. It's your belief that the Folk can coexist in harmony. They will turn on her. Many already have, but she answers those rebels with death. They will stand with you—they are bound to you by oath."
My eyes search his. "What oath?"
"Every court vows an oath to their ruler, and you are the rightful heir by blood. I will explain that you did not abandon them, that you had no choice—I took that from you. We just need to keep you alive, we need to get you honed in on your ability and trained and get you home safely. Then we take her down."
"And you believe they'll listen to you?"
"I believe they'll listen to us. As a united front, An, I believe in our ability to change a hell of a lot. We've always believed in that." He stares at me a moment longer, and I finally nod in agreement, but a heavy weight settles in my chest. Who am I to save anyone, much less multiple Folk? Not to mention, the doubt of any ability to go against Mable. Aiden continues to stare. I'm sure he notices the thick gray aura of doubt that surrounds me, but thankfully he doesn't say a word.
Instead, he pulls some of the items on the counter toward us and hands me a few nuts.
"For now, you need to rest awhile. Let's get you freshened up first."
Accepting the nuts, I put them all into my mouth in one bite. Their salty tang sits on my tongue before I crunch into them. They stick in my teeth, but it feels good to do something to occupy myself. As I swal- low, Aiden leads me through the cottage, picking up some of the fresh clothes as we stroll through the main room. I follow him up the carpeted stairs to a beautiful room to bathe, change, and rest.
My dreams are attacked by Mable's uninvited ap- pearance. She is exactly how I remember. Her smile is as sharp as any dagger. She hides behind it, as though beauty could conceal the truth, armor for the ugliness she has created around herself.
Images of those she's tortured for her own sick plea- sure integrate themselves into my mind. There doesn’t have to be a reason. She is someone who thrives by watching others suffer. It gives her some feeling of power, knowing she could hurt someone else. She deems herself some sort of god. And who doesn’t want that type of power? Something must have led Mable to behave this way, to feel the need to take out her mali- ciousness on everything around her, even her own son. Since I was born, no doubt she has felt like a threat- ened animal, wild and desperate. Though she can hide the desperation well behind her smile, it shines over- poweringly in the killings that pour from her own
hands.
My dreams are wracked with rivers of blood, the ev- idence from those unlucky enough to have been in Mable's path. My arms shake and my teeth chatter to- gether as I look around into a void of absolute nothing- ness, just pitch blackness.
Suddenly, Mable as I remember her appears in a beautiful long red satin gown with her dark hair loose around her in cascading waves. She saunters down a dark, damp stone hallway, her heels clicking against the surface. Her mouth opens unnaturally wide, her bloody lips spewing a heavy stream of inky blackness
right at me where I stand naked in front of her, shiver- ing in the cool room. The blood rains over me so fast I lose my footing and thrash around in the waves of blood carrying me away from Mable. My hands reach out for her. The thick liquid chokes me. I cough and sputter, but the blood is hot, clinging to the back of my throat. I am slammed into the stone wall and pulled under by the waves of blood. My violent thrashing soon stops as the liquid fills my lungs and my breath- ing catches.
Gasping and drenched in sweat, I wake up. A dream, just another dream, a normal dream as it should be. Re- ality floods back as I lie in the large, fluffy bed within the master room. A sliver of sunlight illuminates the room, seeping through a breach in the cream-colored curtains drawn over the large window. The silky, sheer drapes around the canopy of the bed sway slightly, in- terrupted by my sudden jolt awake.
The smell of spicy, sizzling meat floats into the room. The clinging of metal on metal and running wa- ter curl up from the kitchen as I pad across the fluffy white rug to the bathroom to splash cold water on my face. It shocks me awake from the crazy images still lin- gering in my head. I grip the porcelain sink, waiting for my breathing to steady. I can't let Aiden see me like this. I have to try to be strong—he's counting on me.
Drying my face on a soft white towel, I study it in the large mirror. Turning this way and that, I notice my eyes look a little bit more rested. They are brighter, and my silvery hair reflects the light like the river. My
skin glows this morning. The scales glitter like tiny di- amonds under the incandescent bulbs.
Setting the towel down, I turn off the lights and follow the smell down the stairs to the large kitchen. Aiden stands over the hearth, deeply engaged in his duty. It is almost comical, the Second Court prince cooking what looks like a bird, judging by the feathers gathered in a small pile on the counter. I lean against the doorframe, content with just watching him as he seasons and browns the meat. He is completely un- aware of my presence, so engulfed in his work. The dream has left a chill in my bones, but the comfort of the home and doing something so simple as cooking thaws away some of it. The kitchen tiles are shiny, as if they were recently cleaned. Their contrast between black and white make the kitchen feel glamorous, like the foyer of a mansion I saw on TV shows back in the mortal world.
I watch Aiden's strong shoulders working, bunching with his movements, and the room seems to grow smaller. We suddenly feel too close even in the open expanse. Feeling my eyes on him, he looks up and stands straight, and one side of his mouth lifts.
"Don't tell anyone their prince does his own cook- ing, agreed?"
I smile and bow my head to one side in acknowl- edgment. "But only if that's for me. I am starving." I sit at the island and grab a glass and the pitcher of wa- ter he has set out, pouring myself a drink. It is cool in
my throat and makes me feel better, more awake, as it slides smoothly down.
"Princess, everything I do is for you."
A blush gathers in my cheeks as I stare down at the food he is plating. He piles the bird, some bread we brought, and dried fruit and nuts onto a plate and places it in front of me. I look up at him through my lowered lashes, trailing every outline of his strong arms up to his shoulder and chest. The black shirt he wears is fitted, with the first few buttons undone, revealing the crevice in the middle of his chest. My mouth goes dry, so I drink most of the water in my glass in one gi- ant gulp, causing me to choke and cough.
He raises an eyebrow as he grabs a hunk of the bird and stuffs it between two slices of bread. He walks around to seat himself beside me, chewing as he sits. He is far too close. Close enough that I feel the heat ra- diating off him and smell the earth that still clings to his clothes from where he hunted our meal—a sweet scent, maybe water, and that sticky pine smell that al- ways stays on his skin.
My breathing grows more difficult, and I swear my heart skips a beat. My hands grow clammy. I turn to face him, and our eyes lock. Anticipation is taut be- tween the two of us. Aiden looks at my mouth, his eyes lingering before he leans in closer to me. His aura is a bright red. I part my lips, ready and anxious for his touch, his kiss, his body pressed against mine—
"I come bearing provisions!" a familiar young male's voice booms from the main room.
I jump back, embarrassed, nearly toppling the stool I was on, and stumble to the floor. Aiden barely moves an inch except to help me back up. However, a frus- trated sigh escapes him.
My eyes grow wide. "Who is that?" Aiden doesn't reach for his weapon. In fact, I don't see his sword on his hip where it usually is, but didn't he say we were safe here?
As I right myself back on my feet, a fae male, tall, with blond, messy curls, strolls into the kitchen with an arrogant swagger, grinning widely.
Chapter 8 Andryad
> The air around is thick enough to choke on as the room swirls in a blur. Everything tilts, rushing over me in a dizzy wave. My heart stops dead in my chest, and my breath lodges in my throat. I scramble to process why he is so familiar and soon remember him. His fig- ure takes up most of the doorway, a crooked grin on his face that reminds me of the young boy I played with as a child. Those rambunctious blond curls fall over his brow in a carefree way that would make any mother peg him as a heartbreaker. The calm, collected, almost lazy and haughty way he holds himself—the confidence he exudes is something everyone should take notice of.
If I didn't know him, I might mistake him for roy- alty. Being elven fae, his ears stand taller than mine and Aiden's, and beautiful gossamer wings of brown and green arch up from his back and fold neatly be- tween his shoulders.
How have I not thought of him before now? With his ethereal face right in front of me? He stares, full
lips parted slightly. The packs over his shoulders fall to the ground, but I don't hear them at all.
I regain my sense of self, and my heartbeat evens; I gulp down air. I wrench from Aiden's grasp. He lets me go, and slowly, as if in a dream, I move toward my beau- tiful best friend.
Choking on a sob, I nearly fall into his outstretched arms, throwing myself around his neck to lift and wrap my legs around his middle. His wings spread wide to help him balance. They shimmer like the silk of a spi- der's web outlined in brown and green, intricately de- tailed.
A laugh booms from my throat, and I smile so wide it hurts as he embraces me, holding steady and un- shaken under my weight. It is as though we were never really apart, like he wasn’t forgotten, just out on a mis- sion, like when we were young and he'd travel with his dad.
