Page 30 of The Forbidden Fae King

The world outside is bathed in the silvery light of a full moon. I soak in the entire sight, committing every single detail to mind. There is a sharp drop from my chambers to multiple levels of red-tiled roofs slanted against the main body of the castle.

A full view stretches before me, of the snaking inner wall with guards prowling its top, to the expanse of the meadows and orchardsbeyond the bridge and ravine. There are more protectors making their rounds in the shadows, especially with the king in attendance.

It seems hard to believe that my grandmother was once one of those guards. That she met my grandfather and fell so deeply in love with the heir to the lord protector that she took the pilgrimage to fall pregnant to the magic, so she could throw off the shackles of her low class and marry him.

How far she rose in her lifetime, born as a peasant, to become Lady Appleshield, then high priestess when my mother took over the role of matriarch of our house.

There is fighters' blood in my veins.

I remain there, a silent sentinel, as the sun rises above the horizon, bleeding light across the sky in streaks of orange and red, and the Appleshield grounds wake up.

Teams of people and oxen erect marquee tents along the road that leads through the orchards, huge ones where performers and musicians will entertain crowds, and rows of smaller ones for market stalls. They tie thousands of ribbons to the branches of trees and large garlands of colorful blooms are brought into the courtyard and tied along the bridge.

The celebrations will not begin until the portals open and we pilgrims leave this realm. My legs turn to jelly at the thought.

You are braver than any warrior.My grandmother’s words return to me, and I know the truth of them.

The bell of the clock tower chimes eight times, marking the hour, and servants flood into my rooms. Sick anticipation rolls through me as my hair is brushed, pulled, and fixed, and my face is painted. A mirror is brought before me so I can appreciate my maids’ handiwork.

The top half of my hair is braided into a simple crown with fresh white flowers woven into it, and the rest of my fiery curls drape down my back. My full lips are painted in a shade of crushed berries. Colored powders make my already huge, hazel eyes look wide and innocent and the hint of rogue covers some of my freckles and adds to the image.

A sweet harmless human girl, hiding the killer of fae beneath.

The servants then help me into a simple gown of pale sage green wool. It laces at my bust, and the skirts are very narrow, parted discreetly for riding, like wide, flowy pants. Leather boots lace up my shins, with discreet blades tucked into each one.

A maid approaches from behind and drapes an olive cloak over my shoulders and fastens it at my neck, while another holds out a leather satchel to me. It is my only accessory, containing everything I need to take with me. A change of clothes, a needle and thread, contraceptive herbs that will stop my cycle while I travel, a spar blade and so much more.

I leave my chambers in a daze, and follow the sounds of revelry to the small ballroom, where the other pilgrims gather nervously.

We are arranged into a procession by rank, the priestesses at our head, followed by Caitlin, then me, with the lower nobility behind us, then the women of the villages. We appear drab and plain compared to the glory of the priestesses in their showy white gowns, like we are a shadow cast by their brilliant light. They are dressed to inspire awe, and we for travel.

I can’t help smiling at Caitlin’s outfit. She wears a dark blue variation of her guard’s uniform. A light woolen dress that reaches just past her knees, instead of her overcoat, but split at the sides to reveal tight leather pants and knee-high boots. Her cloak is of a deep navy, with slits in the sides for her arms to reach through.

I am surprised they managed to stop her from wearing a sword at her side. There are flowers braided into her hair, and they are at complete odds with the scowl on her face.

My heart twists as the procession begins.

The cool morning air bites my skin as we step outside, moving in our long column through the main courtyard. The usually drab space has a rainbow of petals scattered across the grey pavers and my house banners drape from the inner wall and gatehouse. They billow slightly in the breeze, their flapping the only sound other than our feet clicking on stone.

The line moves across the broad bridge that spans the gap between the castle and the orchards beyond, its entire parapet colonized byfreshly picked flowers bound to it with string. A thick mist hides the valley below, with only the treetops visible.

Slow, winding music reaches my ears, and a cheer rises as the high priestess rides her elk onto the road that winds down the hill of the keep. Our people line it on either side, forming a thick tunnel of bodies. The sight of support is uplifting from the bridge, but when I reach the midst of that crowd it becomes utterly overwhelming.

People throw petals at us, reaching out to touch our arms as we pass, and so many smiling faces compete for my attention, waving and calling out my name.

Their joyful voices are incredibly loud.

I am being crushed under all those well-wishers, under those eyes expecting something from me. The world constricts to a sea of faces and of moving bodies that all become alike.

My breaths come hard and fast, as I try to acknowledge every single person who sacrificed their morning for this show of support, but it is too much. I glance at Caitlin. She stares straight ahead, and I use her tall, slim form as an anchoring point. I plaster a smile on my face and wave absently, instead of trying to hold each person’s eye.

Often, I try to give so much more than is expected.

My feet continue on that path of crushed petals as the amalgamation of voices and wind instruments jumble around in my head, causing it to spin, but I keep my spine straight.

The moment I step through the outer gate and leave Appleshield Fortress, it is like a bubble pops. There is not a single person flanking the road through the countryside and the stillness and quiet is incredibly peaceful. A bright blue sky without a single cloud soars above us and the calls of birds are the only songs we need.

Our steps on the paved road take us through rolling meadows with sleepy villages in the distance, past farms and orchards, toward the woods. The great, open expanses of green end at the foot of the woods. My second home.

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