Page 132 of Court of the Fae Princes

Prim and proper it is!

“You can’t be one of these weak queens,” she tells me as she sets up wood for the fire. “You know what I’m talking about, right? They ride in carriages and only care about looking pretty. Weak queens make weak rulers.”

“No need to worry. I’m hardy, like the oldest tree in this forest.” I puff out my chest briefly. It hurts. “Hardy like the hands of an old woman. Or the butthole of a whore. Hardy like the rocks in the mud, and the arms of a mother.”

Lady Nova stares at me wordlessly.

“You should see me scrub a filthy floor on my knees all day. And the way I move around a broom… hell, I’m the best sweeper you’ve ever seen. Plus, I can make a bed that looks, okay, not awesome, but super good.” Okay, I’d been trying to defend myself, but had I really just started listing off chores?

She clears her throat, eying me. “I’ve heard stories about your cleaning prowess. You’re a legend in the palace. It’s probably why you matched with all four princes.” She’s trying to hold a serious face, but it’s not working.

Oh, the lady can joke!

“A person has to be tough to handle those four.” I hold my head up high enough that I’m hoping she can’t see my insecurities.

This elicits a chuckle out of her. I smile back.

She stands in front of the wood she’s piled, her hands outstretched, and a raging fire crackles to life in the wood. My jaw drops. I know fae can do some pretty awesome stuff, but they usually don’t do it in front of us lowlife humans.

“You just did that with your hands?” I ask, staring at her and her hands. It looks so easy.

“You can’t make fire with your magic?” Her eyebrows furrow.

My stomach clenches. I’m human, or at least an incredibly weak fae as far as everyone is concerned. That should be common knowledge at this point. Of course I can’t make fire with my magic. I don’t have any.

I shrug. “I’ve never really tried.”

Lifting my hands, I try to move them like she did. I know nothing’s going to happen, but I try all the same. There’s half a second where I swear the fire grows, but then I realize it was just a trick of the light.

I’ve had one miracle in my life. I’m pretty sure that’s the limit.

Pointing at the burns on my wrists, Lady Nova’s face turns grave.

I feel uncomfortable for reasons I don’t understand. “Just the marks from my shackles. No biggie.”

Her expression doesn’t change. “Human bastards have always used iron to muzzle fae magic. I can’t believe those assholes used it on you.” Then she sits down next to me and touches my wrists. “These remind me of old images from wars of the past. Historians made sure we all remember how the humans treated us. The humans kept the fae in chains, all made of iron, so that not only did they not have their magic, but their skin burned all the time.” Her voice trembles with anger.

I wonder if whatever happened during those wars is a part of why humans have so little now and fae have so much. It’s strange that I never really thought about how the scales became so unevenly tipped. I just thought that them having magic meant they were bigger and stronger than us, and we just had to take it. If what she’s saying is right, once upon a time we humans were the ones in charge, and we were as cruel as the fae are to us now. Maybe crueler.

I need to read up on our history.

Yet, none of that explains why she thinks little old me had iron cuffs. Even though, technically, they were. What makes her so certain they were iron? The healers never mentioned anything about it, although they seemed too scared to say much to me at all, for some reason. Although I did hear something about the princes putting the fear of the gods in them about making certain I was properly cared for…

But I digress. “Couldn’t these marks just be from the chain chafing against my skin?”

Lady Nova gives me a funny look. “No, these are burn marks, not chafing marks. Didn’t you know?”

It’s awkward, trying to decide what to tell her, because I don’t want to completely lie. “Remember, I thought I was human until that ball. I don’t really have experience with iron or burns. Hell, iron is forbidden! If I had experience with it, you should be a little worried about me!”

“Fair enough,” she says, amusement in her tone, but she turns over my arms to continue inspecting my injuries.

Then her words settle over me. My marks… do look like burns. Does this mean that I have magic? And if I have magic, doesn’t that have to mean I do have some fae in me? My pulse races at the thought. How much easier could my life have been if I had magic? If I had been aware of any fae in me?

I shake my head, not understanding how it’s even possible. I’m just a human. My father is human. And from what my father has said about my mother, which hasn’t been much, she was human too. So… could I have some distant fae relative? And… how do I find out if I do?

Something tickles the back of my mind. Distant memories in which my father shut down any conversation involving magic or our family line. Until now, I never thought about that being weird, but maybe it is?

My gaze goes to Lady Nova. She drops her hands from my arms, but still looks troubled. “You should know some basic things. Someone has failed you terribly, Lady Cassia.”

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