Page 29 of How to Keep a Fae

“August!” My mother sweeps over, her long golden hair and bright blue eyes so different from mine. “I swear you look more like your father every day!”

And I do. I’ve met Aurelius enough times to know I am looking at myself years from now.

Manyyears from now. My birth father’s lifespan can be measured in centuries that do not show on his face. But his eyes, the same golden ones I bear, tell a story that reaches back to the great battle of Sendar.

He was my mother’s first, and still visits on occasion, a point of contention with her human alpha mate. My mother has a dozen children, and only the last two were by my stepfather. Most fathers still visit, where circumstances permit, to see their children. But some fell, as is the risk of a warrior’s life.

My stepfather accepts them with grace—he is on friendly terms with most of them. Only Aurelius, my father, whom I have long recognized my mother to be still in love with, stirs his ire—an impressive feat in one of the most composed men I have met.

“How have you been? Can you stay for tea?” my mother asks.

The children, more of which have appeared from the playroom hearing my arrival, make their demands.

“Stay!”

“Stay, August, please!”

“I can stay,” I say, smiling. I would have a riot on my hands if I tried to leave now.

I take a seat. My mother bustles off, talking about cake and urging the older ones to set the low table and bring things through.

They are good children for the most part—a couple have more than their share of mischief. My longest memories are of my mother’s quiet patience. She loves her children. It isperhaps a blessing that her blood holds no benefits, and she got to embrace the role.

I swallow, thinking of Adaline with our children, of her belly swollen with my seed.

“William woke up!” Sally announces, carrying my youngest brother, who is still a babe, into the room.

My mother does a double take as she returns to the room with a tray. She raises a brow. “Did he really?”

Sally, thirteen and hitting the rebellious stage with gusto, lifts her pert nose. “He did.”

My mother mentioned during my last visit that Sally revealed imperial blood during testing. She will soon begin her training in portal lore. My mother was conflicted by the news. Thrilled for her daughter, but also aware that the elevated status brings danger in the form of quests for the king. Quests that will take Sally outside the safety of Sanctum.

No matter the rank of fae or human, there are compromises. Things we gain and things we lose.

“Sally.” There is a distinct warning in my mother’s voice as she places the tray on the table where cakes and pastries, plates and napkins, already wait.

“Fine, he was asleep. But helookedlike he wanted to wake up.”

I fight back a chuckle. Sally, unrepentant, presents William to me.

He waves his chubby arms when I take him and blows bubbles at me. His big blue eyes are all my mother’s. His pink, round ears are all his father’s.

I love all my siblings. And even the ones who are brats. Sally takes the seat beside me and slips her arm through mine. I want to hold onto this innocent version of her, the one before training turns her into an imperial in ways more than blood.

Imperials who do the king’s bidding.

The king, who, in turn, is guided by the whim of the chosen—I shudder, thinking of their pale, ageless skin. Fae live for a long time. The king is near immortal, or so I heard.

The chosen live forever, and we, the fae and human underlings, are no more than a fleeting moment in the wheel that never stops.

“How have you been?” my mother asks, bringing me out of my dark rumination. The children are already enthusiastically diving into the assembled spread while keeping their eyes on me. She takes baby William from me and encourages me to select something from the spread.

“Good,” I say. Last week, I battled orcs. The week before, it was raiders who had harassed a small community south of Sanctum. The week before that, it was a long, uneventful patrol.

The days blend into one another, as do the years.

Until Adaline.

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