Page 9 of A Kiss From a Faerie King

Wherever here is.

A chill runs through me as I consider the very real possibility that one of the royal guards caught and killed me. Now, my soul is trapped with these creatures for the rest of eternity as punishment for defying my father’s wishes.

The king’s grip tightens ever so slightly, and I’m jolted back into reality and into the strange world I now find myself in. This is all real, too real. The meadow’s grass is damp against my bare soles. The night air is perfumed with the wildflowers that cover the ground. The creature in front of me smells like soil and crisp air.

Nestled in his white hair sits a crown of gnarled branches that sprout into deep green leaves. A seemingly uncomfortable accessory to highlight his importance. His skin is pale, milky green save for the dark ends of his fingers. His eyes are completely black and glossy. He doesn’t so much as blink as he surveys me from head to toe. His gaze is hot and curious as it runs along my body.

I may not have died, but I most definitely hit my head because my body isn’t reaching as it should. I should be clawing at his grip, fighting to escape his heated stare. Instead, my body feels…strange. Aware and warm and not entirely unpleasant.

This creature seems to know this as his lips twist into a smile, revealing two rows of sharp teeth.

We stare at each other momentarily. My breath hitches as he drops his hand from my face. His gaze lingers down my body, and I’m reminded that I’m practically naked in my thin shift. It’s tattered and torn, exposing more of my body than I ever have, save for my lady’s-in-waiting, who helped me bathe.

Instinctively, I wrap my arms around my chest. My captor only smiles wider.

“Pond, Puddle, Port!” he growls, his voice practically feral. I watch with wide eyes as three plump sprites break from the others and shimmer before me. They glow a deep red before tangling in the king’s long hair.

“Yes?” they giggle in unison.

“Prepare our guest.” His tongue licks over his teeth on the last word. “We will have a feast tonight to celebrate her arrival.”

Before I can unstick my tongue, the three shimmering beings lounging on the king’s shoulders fly towards me. The three sprites glimmer and shake until they transform with a gentle glow. They land at my feet, larger than before but barely over a foot tall. However, they pull me with the strength of full-grown men.

The whole meadow around me erupts in cheers as they drag me over the slippery meadow. Two of them pull me by each arm while the other yanks me by the tattered hem of my shift. My head whips back as I stare at the king. His dark eyes narrow as he licks over his sharp teeth, causing me to shiver.

What is going on? Where am I? What’s happening?

Why couldn’t I voice my protests? I suppose they don’t matter. I’m stuck here despite…everything. How have I managed to escape one unfortunate fate only to end up trapped in another?

The evening breeze on my heated skin feels real. Once again assuaging the idea that this is some delirious dream I’m having. The grass squishing between my toes feels sticky and familiar. The hands of the faeries dragging me are small, but they pulse with life and warmth.

Again, my voice is trapped inside my throat as my three chaperones lead me toward an opening in one of the larger trees. Its branches are lined with rich green and gold leaves. It’s larger than any tree I’ve ever seen, with the hollowed-out trunk being wide enough for three of me to fit through. Once we pass through the wooden arch, the breath is stolen from me, and my feet pause.

“Keep walking,” one sprite chirps.

“No stopping,” complains another.

“Time is ticking,” states the last.

They murmur to each other in more riddles, but I am transfixed on the sight before me. We’re inside the tree, yet we are in a palace. A grand one with an entryway and tile-lined floor. A sparkling chandelier hangs from above, illuminated with golden candlelight. It is in the shape of overlapping branches, matching the crown around the king's head. This place appears to stretch far back—seemingly endless despite us being nestled inside a tree.

It makes no sense, yet nothing here seems to.

“Hurry, you’re too important to delay.”

Small hands yank me again and I follow. The air inside is crisp and fresh. The three of them pull me past different rooms. A few are bedrooms with their beds decorated with fluffy pillows and silks. We pass another set of doors that seems to lead to a kitchen. The scent of fresh bread and roasting meats makes my stomach growl.

“What is this place?”

My voice is rusty from disuse. It sounds foreign to my own ears.

“The king’s palace, of course,” the one holding my right arm says.

“Quickly, Puddle, in here. Time is ticking,” the one holding my left arm whispers.

“Don’t rush. She must be perfect, Pond,” responds Puddle.

“She will be. Right, Port?” asks Puddle.

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