She opened her hand and let the faerie burst out. “I’m not a demon, just a witch.”
“Well whatever you are, you aren’t very nice,” the faeries muttered and then flew off to wherever they felt safe.
Perhaps they would let the Mountain King know a very “not nice” witch had invaded the forest. Maybe he would come to find her first, although she doubted it. Faeries didn’t like to work all that much, and she had a feeling the king would be the worst of them all.
Continuing through the woods, she reached up and shifted branches out of her way. Gently. Ever so gently.
She might be a little rough around the edges with other beings like herself, but plants were special. Growing up, they were the only things she could control. And Morgan had gotten very good at controlling them.
Her gardens always grew out of hand. They produced more vegetables and fruits than any other field in the area. It was the only way she’d known she was a witch.
Others had accused her of magic because her crops were far better than anyone else’s. They swore she was casting spells to make everything grow. At the time, Morgan hadn’t realized she’d been doing exactly that.
On the way to the largest tree, Morgan stopped and palmed a fern who struggled to grow in the shadows. “Here, little one,” she whispered. Breathing out, she gave the tiniest bit of her own life force to the plant. In response, it grew two feet higher. Large enough to soak in the sun’s beam.
Would she ever heal a person? Hopefully never. People were cruel and harsh in her experience. Plants weren’t judgmental or unkind. They liked a person because they could see into their souls and know if they were pure of heart.
The largest tree in the forest loomed before her. She was shocked at the size of it, though perhaps she shouldn’t have been. This was a faerie forest. They knew how to make plants grow better than the greatest of hedge witches.
The tree was the size of a mac truck, and though she tried to stay out of the cities, it reminded her of a skyscraper. So tall it touched the clouds. It was like a god.
Morgan got down onto her knees and bowed low, forehead grazing the ground. “Well met, being of old. Grow strong and may your roots descend into another realm.”
The tree shifted, its leaves fluttering in the breeze.
She’d consider that a good omen, even though she had gotten very close to the Mountain King now. She turned to the left and picked her way toward the clearing. The castle should be nearby.
What kind of castle would a green king like this live in? She could only imagine it was something ostentatious. Perfectly manicured and earthy. Perhaps covered in roses, because everyone liked the romance of roses.
The ground rose into a strange, almost mountain like outcropping. Moss covered every inch. She’d have to get down on her hands and knees to clamber up. Breathing hard, Morgan swore as her boots slipped.
She used these boots all the time. They were sturdy, and the heel had always given her purchase. Something in the ground was preventing her from climbing, or at least making it difficult.
“Hands stick and boots level, make this stupid, earthy ground mellow.” The remainder of her pinky nail fell off, and she felt one of her teeth loosen.
She hated performing magic when there was nothing else to sacrifice. This is how witches ended up ugly, she thought. Sacrifice something other than yourself.
The ground flattened. It allowed her to finally climb to the top of the rise where she was certain the castle would appear like a whale from the ocean. It would be too flashy and she’d judge the king even more than she already did.
But no castle rose before her. Instead, the only thing in the valley below was a circular clearing and a small, moss covered hut. Someone who knew what they were doing had laid the simple thatch roof. Moss grew atop it, and none of the grass had rotted.
Stones were placed all around the circle, creating a swirl that started in the center of a small walkway and spread out around the house, through the garden, and out to the edges of the clearing. On all sides, steep hills rose to protect it. Or perhaps keep something deep within.
This was where the Mountain King lived? Surely not. She even shook her head in denial. No faerie king would catch himself dead in such a simple abode.
His right hand must live here, or perhaps the servant who delivered people to the king.
Her mind wrapped around the thought and settled upon it, certain this was the only possible outcome. A faerie king didn’t live here.
A sharp thwack echoed through the clearing. She ducked lower, pressing her belly to the moss and waiting for some kind of attack. Another thwack followed the first. Perhaps arrows sinking deep into the trunk of a nearby tree?
But the sound was familiar...
Was someone chopping wood?
She crawled along the rim of the crater or clearing or whatever the faeries called it. The edge was dangerously steep in some places, but finally she saw what was behind the moss covered cottage.
A man stood at the back, chopping wood.
“Oh no,” she muttered. “Why’d he have to be handsome?”
This couldn’t be anyone but the faerie king. Though the lesser fae were small and adorable, the leaders of the faeries were remarkably human in their beauty. He was at least six and a half feet tall. Long, dark hair reached the middle of his ribs in tangled, sweat stained locks. His back was to her, but impressive muscles flexed as he lifted the axe over his head. Not just back muscles. Strong, bulky muscles along his sides rippled as he brought the axe down.
His pants, an old style that suggested he hadn’t been to the human world in a very long time, rode low on his hips. The tops of his round buttocks glistened with sweat and they shouldn’t be as attractive as they were. Damn, the man had a downright bitable ass on him.
Oh, how was this fair? She was supposed to kill the man, not drool over him.
Why was she so attracted? Not a clue. She shouldn’t have the desire to actually lick a person, but there it was. She wanted to lick those two dimples just above his delicious ass and see what noise he made.
Right. Witch and fae didn’t mix, not well at least. She’d seen it a hundred times. Magic like theirs couldn’t mingle without explosions happening, usually at the expense of the witch.
Faeries never took responsibility for their actions.
She needed to stop staring at the sweaty faerie king chopping wood, and figure out how she would kill him. The roof didn’t extend over his head, so she couldn’t pull it down. There was a boulder near him, though. If she could lift it quick enough, she might slam it against his skull.
Either would work, if she was fast. She’d have to untangle her tongue from the roof of her mouth first.
As if that were happening any time soon.
She knew faeries weren’t mind readers, but the king stopped what he was doing. Her thoughts hadn’t been projected, and she knew she hadn’t made a sound. Morgan was tongue-tied, not foolish.
He let the axe fall to his side and shifted his grip into something far more aggressive. He tilted his head, not looking at her but listening. An overgrown beard covered his face.
At least that was something. The Mountain King was also an unkempt mountain man.
That shouldn’t have made him even more attractive, but somehow it did.
She stayed frozen in place, waiting for him to either look in her direction or return to chopping wood. He couldn’t know she was here, not until she was ready for it.
Morgan sank lower and pressed her face against the moss. Casting another spell would only draw more attention. Besides, she didn’t want to lose a tooth just before meeting a king.
She counted to ten and then peered once more over the edge into the clearing. The king had disappeared along with his axe.
“Damn it,” she muttered. “Now what am I going to do?”
4
He pressed his back against the wall of the cabin, axe held loose between his fingertips. If he had to, he could sw
ing the weapon with enough force to cleave through flesh and bone.
It’d been a long time since he’d seen battle. Many years ago, he’d fought with the fae in the War to End All Wars. The one that had decided whether the magical creatures would hide from the humans, or if they would come out from the shadows.
He hadn’t cared. Faeries would continue to live as they desired to live. If they showed themselves, humans wouldn’t be frightened of his kind. They would revere them.
But the human hiding on the hill wasn’t showing itself. A few humans had stumbled into his realm before. They fell through a stray mushroom circle or even a few standing stones back in the day when those had been more prevalent. The humans always worshiped him as a god.
This one hid. And that meant she was dangerous.
Scales rasped up his arm, coiling around his bicep so his familiar could lift its mouth to his ear, “Liam, I cannot see her anymore.”
“That’s because we’re behind a building,” he responded. “You can’t see through buildings, Arcane.”
The snake hissed long and low, its tongue tickling his ear. “No need to be rude.”
His familiar was a strange creature, but one he’d grown rather fond of over the years. The snake had taken many forms in life. Once a boa constrictor. Once a python. These days, he was a small green garden snake. The form suited his purpose well.
Liam kept the snake coiled around his arm most of the time, other than when he cut wood to heat the cabin in the chilly nights. Then he placed the snake on the ground. His familiar had seen the woman at the top of the rise from his perch on the pile of cut logs.
“What did she look like?” Liam murmured, leaning around the corner of the cottage. He couldn’t see her just yet, but was certain she’d poke her head up again.
“Black hair,” the snake said. “Pale skin. Enormous eyes and strange garb I’ve never seen before.”
“Humans.” Liam hated them. Always chopping away at the earth. At this rate, there’d be nothing left in just a few years.
“Terrifying creatures. They’re so afraid of snakes they kill them on sight.”
Humans killed everything they feared. Insects, snakes, each other. It didn’t matter. They fed off bloodshed and violence.
Perhaps this one wanted violence as well. He had to find out. “Did you see a weapon?”
“Oh yes, huge weapon. Lots of danger.” The snake tightened around his bicep like a vise, clamping down on the blood flow. “Terrifying.”
“What kind of weapon, Arcane?”
The beast hesitated. “I don’t know.”
Liam closed his eyes in frustration and reminded himself he liked Arcane. The creature was even his best friend, if he was giving away titles. Killing him for being dramatic would only land Liam back in solitary confinement. “Did she, or did she not have a weapon?”
“I didn’t see one, but I’m certain she is dangerous.”
Right. So the snake had decided the human was scary. Therefore, she must have a weapon. Because that made sense.
Liam reached up and unraveled the snake from around his arm. Carefully, he set Arcane down into the grass. “Find her, familiar of mine.”
“What?” Arcane hissed. “You’d have me risk my life? Why?”
“To save mine. If the human wishes to harm me, then she is a threat I will remove. But I won’t attack her without knowing what she wants first.” He nudged the snake with his foot. “Now, off with you. Find her and see what nonsense she’s up to before I use the axe on you.”
Arcane hissed out a long complaint, but slithered off into the grass until Liam could no longer see him. The familiar was loyal, if he was anything. Cowardly and dramatic, but loyal.
In the meantime, Liam intended on returning to what he did best.
Green magic.
He reached behind him and laid his palm against the side of the cottage. With a heavy sigh, the building split down the wall, allowing him access through the wood which had once been whole. He slipped through the new opening and sealed it once he was through.
The rooms beyond were quaint, simple, and filled to the brim with as many plants as he could fit indoors. A small seating area to his left was the only place to relax in the living room. Every other nook was filled with plants needing special help.
The other faerie kings were more inclined to live in lavish spaces with lots of room. Liam had to pick through the clustered pots, each of differing sizes, crowding every inch of free space on his floor. Someday the plants would go back outside where they belonged.
But for now, he wanted to make sure they were close at hand. Just in case they needed him.
Liam made his way back to the very end of the house. He kept most of the large plants here, and perhaps the most important one of all.
His monstera had grown far beyond the size she should have. She took up an entire wall with her leaves larger than he was tall. The humans called her a “swiss cheese” plant because of the holed pattern in her leaves. He thought it was rather insulting to call something so beautiful “cheese”.
“Hello, my lovely,” he breathed, closing the door behind him with a soft click. “I was wondering if you might help me.”
The plant moved as though a wind had stirred her leaves. With no windows in this room, he knew it was her happiness at his presence.
Her emotions were always a breath of fresh air in this place where he always felt so alone. She was more than a friend. She was family.
Liam picked his way past pots filled with sunburnt english ivy and rubber plants until he stood before his beautiful monstera. He pet one of her largest leaves, holding her against his side. “There’s a stranger in the forest. Did you know?”
Her voice whispered to life in his ear. Deep and vibrating with power, “I have spoken with the trees. They have seen her.”
Strange. The trees weren’t friendly to strangers, and if she had walked through the ones Monstera could speak with, then she had come by portal.
“Faerie made?” he asked.
“Yes,” Monstera replied. “They said she walked through a portal activated by faerie blood.”
He stroked a hand down her rubbery leaf. “But she’s human. Arcane could smell her on the wind. How could she open a portal with faerie blood?”
Unless she had sacrificed a faerie, as humans were wont to do. He’d seen them do worse things to his kind. And gaining an audience with the Mountain King?
A human would do anything for that.
Monstera shuddered. “She had no blood on her when she arrived. They do not believe she harmed one of your kind to come here.”
“The trees put their faith in her innocence?” Somehow everything got even more confusing. His most trusted guardians would allow her into their realm without complaint?
He continued to stroke her leaf wrapped around his waist. Monstera tried to reassure him in the only way she knew how. By letting him hold on to her and breathe in the scent of earth and growing things.
“How are you feeling?” Monstera asked. “You were... not yourself a few days ago.”
A flash of memory burned in his mind. He didn’t want to think about losing his temper the other day. How he’d been so angry he couldn’t think of anything other than power and greed and anger.
He’d awoken stuck to the wall. Vines growing in his hair and bark roughening his skin.
“A momentary lapse,” he replied. “I lost my head for a few moments. It won’t happen again.”
“Won’t it?” Monstera shook, her great leaves shuddering in his arms. “You know what happens if you continue to deny your destiny.”
Destiny. The word haunted his every step. When he was young, people wanted him to grow up and follow the path of a faerie king. He’d done that. Then they wanted him to become more powerful. So he had accepted the overwhelming amount of power his station required. Now, they wanted him to take an ancient throne that brought about the end of the world.
He knew how dangerous such
a path could be. He knew how dark his soul would become if he sat upon that throne.
But with it also came responsibility. The world would change for the better. He agreed with the fae that humanity had destroyed too much. Yet, he wouldn’t be able to hide in this realm of his own making with creatures of his own choice. He wouldn’t grow plants in his home and breathe life into them individually.
The throne, though good for the world, was the end of life as he knew it.
He released his hold on Monstera’s leaf. She settled back into the position she found most comfortable and waited.
“I promise,” he said. “Everything will work out the way it should. Destiny or no. But first, I need your help.”
Before he wasted another thought on such royal matters, he had a wayward human to deal with.
5
Morgan didn’t know how long she waited on the rise. She counted to three hundred before she gave up and finally lifted her head. The man still hadn’t come out from wherever he’d gone.
At first, she thought the faerie king would come for her. She listened to the forest, waiting for the sound of a footstep or even the crackle of magic. If he had known she was on the rise, then he would approach.
Faeries were territorial. The king would want her off his land as swiftly as possible. Which meant he would strike, pin her to the ground, and then force her to leave. Right?
When none of that happened, Morgan braced herself on her forearm and blew a sharp breath at the hair in her face. “Well,” she muttered. “I guess it’s time for me to meet the king.”
He couldn’t hide from her, and now that she’d botched this initial meeting, she had to try different tactics. No one wanted to be seduced by the woman who trespassed. But also no king lived in a cabin in the woods. So much for waltzing into court and playing the sultry temptress.
Scrambling to her feet, she made her way down into the clearing. Every step was treacherous, but this time the ground didn’t fight against her.
Her boots kept her stable and surefooted. She held her arms out to the sides, fists clenched with magic tingling between her fingers.
King of the Mountains Page 3
