Page 7 of The Forbidden Fae King

There are so many ways a pilgrim can be murdered or abused in the Otherworld.

This is way it is the highest honor for a woman to travel to the Otherworld and to return with a relic infused with their power. Ithelps us replenish the magic of our world, when it has been slipping away with each generation.

But falling pregnant to the magic itself? The child would be born immensely powerful, and that magic would last for generations of their lineage. The pregnant mother would have magic infused through her from the fetus, increasing her abilities for the rest of her life and utterly changing her destiny.

Peasant girls have become queens and their unborn babe the heir to the kingdom.

I shudder at the idea of being impregnated by such a foreign source. By pure magic in an immaculate conception. They say it can happen during the crossing, when a woman steps into the zone between realms.

My family has been gifted with great magic. It is our blessing to live close to the boundary and consuming the magic that bleeds from the portals and gaps in the barriers. In these highlands, there are streams of water that have their source in the fae world.

There have been many magical pregnancies in our ancestral line. My grandmother took the pilgrimage and conceived my father by the magic. His power is the strongest by far in our entire kingdom.

We walk back to the meadow and Caitlin barks orders until the Protector Guard are back on the road. She sets a fast pace through the last passes of wooded valleys and mountains of slate, as though she is eager to get away from this place.

The lands open out to meadows, which give way to sprawling farms that smell of freshly churned soil. I scan the horizon as Appleshield Castle comes into view, my breath catching at the sight of my home on top of a great rise.

Golden towers jut high above the immense outer wall that encircles the entire hill, enclosing both the castle and orchards that our family’s wealth depends on.

The outer wall defends against human armies or thieves, but the castle itself is a fortress designed against a siege from the fae. It is a massive rectangular structure that has tall turrets and high walls, with a few courtyards.

The windows are either slit or heavily barred.The entire building is purely of a military design, to defend against an enemy who could fly and wield great amounts of destructive magic.

Haloed by the high sun, my home cuts a formidable body against the blue sky.

I examine the path that snakes from the outer wall to the entrance of the keep, trying to make out the procession of black clad bodies there. My mind hits a blank as I try to remember which house of the lesser nobility of the North have those colors.

“Shit. Shit. Shit,” Caitlin snaps ahead of me, then holds up a hand. “Halt!” The entire hunting party stops abruptly. Caitlin volts off her mount and stalks right up to me. “Get off your horse.”

“Sorry?” I stumble as I realize that entourage is in dark purple, not black.

“The king arrived early. Get down now.”

I don’t argue. I slide down in shock.

Caitlin takes out her handkerchief and pours water from a canteen over it, then attacks me with the wet cloth, wiping my face and scrubbing at my clothes. “I would have brought a damn governess had I known this would happen. Gwyneth! Can you do something with her hair?”

I glance between both of them. “Caitlin? Do you really think the prince is going to lose interest in me if I present a little disheveled?” I can’t hide my disbelief. He has seen me unraveled so many times when we sneak away to the old gardens.

“He is a prince. They expect refinement in a woman. We’re meant to be dainty, helpless, blossoms, remember?”

Gwyneth picks leaves and twigs from my hair before braiding it in a crown, tugging the hair with such force that I wonder if Caitlin’s statement was triggering for her.

I grit my teeth to stop myself from yelping.

She leaves a third of my curls free to trail down my back to my waist. Caitlin stalks the line of guards until she commandeers two clean surcoats from female trackers.

“This will have to do.” She looks me up and down. “Diarmuid!” she yells as Gwyneth gets to work on her hair.

Diarmuid appears at my side, pulling a vial from a sleeve and patting the liquid onto my neck. “Rose oil,” he mutters. “So you don't smell like death.”

“Not you too?” I groan. “Why do you even have that on you?”

“It's useful for wound healing.” He shrugs, then dabs some on Caitlin.

I consider the king’s entourage again and I can’t help the smile that creeps up onto my face. I haven’t seen Prince Finan in months.

“There is nothing more we can do with you.” Caitlin’s lips press into a thin line. “With either of us. I would have preferred to present to the king as the proper ladies he expects. It makes life easier. No matter that he wouldn’t bat an eyelid if he caught father dirty after a hunt.”

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