Page 81 of The Maleficent Faerie
“Good, good… And tell me this isn’t permanent.” I risk another glance at the mirror.
Szazen casts a sidelong look at me. The worry on their face is answer enough.
My hands fall limply to my sides. “Well, fuck.”
TWO MONTHS LATER
I sit before the mirror in my dressing room, staring at myself. Seeking any hint of change.
It’s all the same. Striated red tissue. White tendons and pale bone.
I work my jaw, watching the muscle pull and flex. My horns emerge straight from my exposed skull, gray at the roots before they darken to black. I look like the monster Caennith has always believed me to be.
It’s laughable that they have faith in me now. Once the Caennith rulers verified the stability of the Edge, the Priesthood began to call me “Eonnula’s savior.” I was lauded, celebrated. The fickle masses praised my name, and peace talks began.
I’ve let Fitzell handle the peace negotiations. The treaty was signed just yesterday, in a fortress near the broken border wall. Neither I nor the Royals attended, so our emissaries signed in our stead.
The bastard Royals barely spoke of their princess during negotiations. There were some vague demands for Aura’s body to be sent home, but when I returned assurances that she was resting safely in my palace at Kartiya, they didn’t press the matter. Nor have they responded to my pleas for someone to come and wake her. Perhaps they will, now that the treaty has finally been signed.
It should not take eight fucking weeks to secure a peace agreement.
Meanwhile, I’ve passed the time in my study, poring over every book I could find about the dissolution of curses. I can’t break my original curse, but if it’s passed on to someone else, it will be weaker. I’ve written out most of a dissolution ritual, including ingredients and an accompanying chant, but since my great work, my magic has been unpredictable. I need to wait until it stabilizes.
Still, having the dissolution spell on hand is one more incentive for someone who loves Aura to consider kissing her and taking her place. I’m not fool enough to think I could break the curse. I only knew the Princess for a few days, and the breaking of the spell requires the person who loves her best. There is no way that person could be the selfish, foolish King who ruined her life in the first place.
A knock from the next room draws my attention and I rise, wincing as my robes brush over the open wounds on my body, none of which have healed, despite the best efforts of every healer in my kingdom. As it turns out, my nerves were not gone, only temporarily shocked. Since my great work, I have suffered more agony than I ever thought I could endure sanely. Potions take the edge off, but I only take them before sleeping. I need my mind sharp during the day.
My wings remain undamaged, but flying is torture. I can’t bear the flow of the wind over my exposed flesh.
If there’s anything to be grateful for, it’s that Midunnel is no longer shrinking. My spell worked. The two kingdoms are at peace, and Aura is alive, sleeping peacefully in the north tower of the palace, under constant rotating guard.
The knock occurs again. Stiffly I walk into my bedroom. “Who is it?”
“A visitor from Caennith, my Lord.” Kyan’s voice is muffled by the door.
“Have Fitzell deal with it. Or Andras. Or the Chief Steward, or Lord Wiggam. Anyone else, Kyan. I’m indisposed.”
“At the risk of inciting your wrath, my Lord,” Kyan says. “This visitor is one you’ll want to see. We’re coming in.”
“A moment,” I growl, snatching one of my masks from the bedside table. Another delightful trait of my new visage—it can’t be concealed by any glamour. It’s a permanent kiss from the Void, all over my body. Even my cock bears a long slit up the side. No pleasure to be found there, only anguish.
Even if a glamour worked on my mangled form, I could not assume one here. My palace in Kartiya, like the royal castles of Caennith, is spelled to prevent glamours from working within its walls. A visceral glamour would stay intact despite those precautionary spells—but I’ve been torn apart enough. I won’t let someone fragment my soul just to make me beautiful again. I’m not desperate enough for that—yet.
Placing the mask against my raw facial muscles sets my teeth on edge. But the mask is lined with a soothing gel Szazen concocted, so once it’s secure, it offers me a little relief.
“Come in,” I snarl.
Kyan opens the door. “May I present Dawn, princess of Caennith.” He nods to a yellow-haired girl, who steps forward into my room.
“Just Dawn now,” she says quietly. “No title or surname.”
I don’t recognize her, though I know she was the girl who crawled away from the wrecked carriage on the day I captured the Princess. She and Aura were kept within coaches and castles, always protected by walls and spellwork that prevented me from ever seeing their faces clearly through my winged spies.
Dawn is pretty, and sad, and her bearing reminds me enough of Aura to hurt. She gives me a deep curtsy, bowing her head for a moment.
“I heard what happened to you, Your Majesty.” Her blue eyes take in the gouges along my arms, the gaps where skin is missing from some of my fingers. “Thank you for what you did.”
Her gratitude—simple and succinct—means more to me than all the odes, poems, and prayers I’ve received during the past weeks.
