Page 13 of The Forbidden Fae King

Years ago, Caitlin and I put together a double pronged attack on Prince Finan to make sure he became attached to the right Appleshield sister. I was sweet and kind to him, and Caitlin was abrupt and almost insulting. The personas matched our temperamentsnicely, if somewhat exaggerated, and the tactic had worked, but Caitlin never dropped her end of it.

At times, I have wondered if she despised him in truth.

The way opens to a cross section, and we turn down a wider path. There are retainers spread amongst the trees. Some move their hands in an elaborate dance, conjuring fire and air magic to create heat volleys and spread them through the glasshouse. Others crouch at the base of the trees, small trickles of water running over their fingers as they call up the stream.

We stop before a row populated with many workers.

“Over here, the harvest is taking place,” my father says, hand gesturing upwards, where clouds of fruit float gently down from the trees and into waiting carts. “Our air wielders pluck the fruit with their magic. It takes a fraction of the time compared to manual labor, and none of the risk that comes with people climbing ladders or trees.”

“Well. Everything looks in order here.” The king nods curtly. “I was worried that evenyourlands were losing their magic. This kingdom would be plunged into the dark ages if it came to that.”

My stomach twists. We hardly have the skeleton staff to operate our glasshouses, and we scour our county for more wielders each year. Too much of our lifestyle and technology is fueled by magic.

The sole reason my match was made with Finan when we were both barely more than children was because his family needed the magic in my pedigree to replenish their bloodline, and mine needed political connections and new opportunities. We cannot rely on our magic alone for much longer.

“I can definitely confirm that the fruit is delicious,” Finan says while biting into a plum, drawing everyone’s attention. “But, of course, I need to sample your cider and wine facilities as well.”

My father laughs, the sound forced to my ears, and puts a hand on Finan’s shoulder. “I like the way you think. I believe we should sample it immediately. Reward ourselves for a little hard work.”

I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding.

“Hold up there, Edmund. I’d like to see your other glasshouses,”Niall commands. The undercurrents are clear. He believes we have shown him only our best face, and it is true.

My father glances at Finan regretfully, the opportunity for distraction lost. “As you wish Niall. We have nothing to hide.”

We visit another glasshouse orchard, this one set in spring. The trees are filled with clouds of blossoms; white dainty flowers on the apple trees, dark pink ruffles on the peach trees and yellow, wiry sprigs on the avocado trees.

Fallen petals cover the ground like a fine dusting of colorful snow. Here there is a large team of earth wielders at work, using invisible tendrils of magic to churn the soil with compost.

When we leave, the world outside seems colorless and cold in comparison.

“I can show you more, King Willard, but the others will be no different,” my father says.

“I would like to pick the next glasshouse we visit,” Prince Niall cuts in.

“Of course.” My father spreads out his arm toward the expanse of buildings.

My heart thuds so hard it hurts. Perhaps the king and princes won’t know enough about farming to pick up on signs of neglect.

Niall takes the lead, inspecting each glasshouse we pass, as the druid Murdoc takes up whispering in the king’s ear. The prince picks out a building that is dark and dank, with trees completely devoid of leaves.

I almost sigh with relief.

He has selected an orchard that has been forced into a winter snap. To the untrained eye, it would seem dead and neglected. There are no guards at this glasshouse, and my father pulls open the door of glass and metal framing himself.

A deep chill passes over us as we step inside. The lightest covering of frost crunches beneath our feet.

“Is it dead?” A deep scowl crosses Finan’s face. I know that look. It twists his sweet face whenever he thinks he has been cheated at cards.

“Not dead. Dormant,” I reply. “The trees won’t flower unless they have undergone a chill first.”

Finan pats my hand tucked into his elbow absentmindedly, but stares at my father. “Edmund? What is this?”

“As Keira said, this is winter. The orchard needs a time of rest before we can bring spring on again. Come.” Father leads us down one face of the glasshouse, peering down every row, pointing out the sparse workers. “These fire wielders are drawing heat out of the atmosphere, to further cool the orchard. If there were more moisture in the air, we would have snow.”

The king, Niall, and their druid adviser pick over every part of the glasshouse, demanding explanations. Then we visit another orchard, with the same interrogation.

“Why are you not drilling my father with them?” I murmur to Finan.

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