Page 1 of The Maleficent Faerie
1
The Princess and I shouldn’t be here.
As her bodyguard, I should know better than to indulge her, but—Eonnula help me—she’s so damn persuasive.
When she looked into my eyes this morning, clasped her hands, and said fervently, “Aura, I want to go to the Lifegiving Festival,” I couldn’t tell her no.
Mostly because I wanted to go, too. I long to feel the Surge, when the adoration of the crowd reaches its height and our magic is refilled, when the presence of Eonnula Herself becomes a tangible thing.
Two high-spirited young women can only be kept in a castle for so long before they decide to indulge in a little rebellion. So the Princess and I are standing side by side, at the edge of the vast courtyard of the Annoran Temple, with the sweetish smoke from the incense burners filling our nostrils. The sunshine heats my skin, soaking into my leathers. Even here, with the incense so strong, I can discern the faraway fragrance of hot spun sugar, roasted bricklebones heavy with grease, and steaming fruit pies. After the Surge, most of the guests will scatter to eat, laugh, and exclaim over the experience. Others will find cool, quiet corners in which to fuck each other, purging the sexual arousal the Surge can incite.
But we won’t stay for that part. We’ll leave the minute it’s over. It’s a brief carriage ride back to the summer palace—shorter if we take the road through the woods. That path veers a little closer to the Daenallan border than the main road, but it’s perfectly safe. None of the Daenalla have ventured into our lands for a couple of years now.
I’ve become a bit complacent, I suppose, but not totally careless. I insisted we bring along two of the best palace guards. They’re flanking us now, a pair of grim-jawed mountains in bluesteel armor. Like the Princess, they’re human, and the bluesteel offers them protection from magic. Not that they’ll need such defenses here, among the joyful crowd of humans and Caennith Fae gathered for the Lifegiving Festival at the Annoran Temple.
Music shatters the air, the thunderous drumbeat resounding through my body, mingling with the jubilant blare of bright horns and the soaring melody of strings. The throng of worshipers has already been whipped into a frothy sea of adulation, and they’re shouting along with the Priest who’s leading the song. He stands on a platform under the blazing suns, naked to the waist, his lean body shining with sweat. He raises his jeweled staff and pumps his fist as he sways and sings. He doesn’t have wings, but a pair of goat’s horns mark him as one of the Caennith Fae. One of my kind.
Here in Caennith, our worship of Eonnula is boisterous, glorious. Every rite, every gathering like this one unites our minds, hearts, and energy, clearing the way for a fresh infusion of the magic we crave. When the worship reaches its peak, the Surge will come, refilling us all.
The humans in the crowd can’t absorb and use the magic, but they will experience exhilaration and joy beyond anything they’ve ever felt. It will last for months, buoying them through their mundane lives.
I’ve been part of small Surges, minor adorations arranged by my three Fae mothers. Those gatherings did the trick, refilling my magic—but they didn’t come anywhere near the reports I’ve heard about these huge celebrations. I crave the feeling I’ve been told about—the sensation of pure power and utter fullness, the delight of being blissfully united with a greater Being.
My stomach flutters with excitement as I lift one hand in praise, the other gripping the hilt of the sword at my hip. Even in a moment such as this, in a place so safe, so joyous, so full of our people, I can’t afford to let my guard down. Our enemies haven’t been seen in years, but that doesn’t mean they’ve forgotten us.
It doesn’t meanhehas forgottenher.
I look to my left, at the bright, eager face of the Princess I’m sworn to protect. She left her coronet behind, and she’s wearing a blue dress with a plunging back, a daring choice that blends with the bold fashions of the festival.
Princess Dawn is my age—twenty-five. Well… almost. Three months from now, on her twenty-fifth birthday, she’ll come into her birthright. Like the other human royals before her, she will become a Conduit, a channel for Eonnula’s power. She won’t be able to perform magic herself, but her presence will bless gatherings like this one, opening the gates for an even greater Surge.
As the Crown Princess and future Conduit, Dawn is important to the kingdom. And she’s important to me. My best friend, ever since we were introduced at age eight and I was given the job of protecting her.
My role as Fae guardian to the human Princess is more complicated than the average bodyguard assignment. Because this kind-hearted girl with the wide blue eyes and yellow hair—she’s been cursed. Since birth. By no less than the King of the Daenalla himself.
I wish I could believe he has given up on her. Maybe he has, with her birthday so near and his curse about to expire. The assaults on the border have stopped, and there have been no attempted assassinations or kidnappings for over two years. I’ve been able to relax a little, and the Princess has been allowed some freedom—which might be revoked once her parents find out about this excursion.
Dawn has been shuttled from the primary royal residence to the summer palace, to the winter palace and back again, ever since I’ve known her. Kept inside castles, kept away from anything that might cause her harm—especially spinning wheels and spindles. She deserves to enjoy herself out in the world for once. To experience the glory of a Surge.
The Priest on the stage is practically screaming the lines now, urging the crowd to chant them after him. Every muscle in his torso stands out, hard and ridged. His mane of golden hair streams behind him, caught in the flow of wind across the great temple square. Magic is stirring already—building, swirling, rushing over him.
“He’s beautiful, don’t you think?” Dawn grips my wrist in a spasm of admiration.
“He is,” I agree, while a different kind of thrill traces through my body.
As the Princess’s bodyguard, I don’t have much time for relationships. The most I ever get is a quick fuck in some alcove of the palace with a randy guard. They usually fumble over my delicate wings with a hoarse, “You like that? You like it when I stroke your wings?”
For many Fae, parts of the wings are erogenous zones. Not for me. I usually fake a breathy moan and redirect my partner’s attention to more sensitive areas.
I’ll bet that Fae priest knows how to tend to a woman’s body…
Shaking my head, I clear away those thoughts and refocus my mind on Eonnula, our goddess, our protector. Giver of magic, by which our Priests and Priestesses hold back the Edge, the ever-encroaching darkness that surrounds our realm.
“Grant us your light, Goddess Magnificent!” cries the Priest.
“Grant us your light, Goddess Magnificent,” Dawn echoes passionately, lifting both her hands.
“Push back the maleficent dark, the shadows of the Void!”
