Page 10 of A Kiss From a Faerie King

“She already is.”

The three of them continue their chatting before yanking me into another room. My eyes adjust to the bright light. Candles cover every surface. The walls are painted gold, and it matches the metallic veining decorating the pale tiles on the floor. Along one side of the room are three massive wardrobes. I watch in shock as they fill with an array of items. Silks and fine linen dresses hang from the inside. There are fresh shifts to replace my tarnished one. I’m unfamiliar with an array of short, silk garments I see being hung next to the rest of the items. It takes me a moment to recognize them, and only because of those salacious novels I once read. Nightgowns, they were called. Short and in every color of silk imaginable.

My face warms as the three faeries pull me in front of a large mirror. I gasp at my reflection. The evening has taken a toll on me. There are a few faint scratches along my cheek. Dirt is smeared across my forehead and nose, and I know there’s plenty stuck under my nails. My curls are limp as they cling to my neck. My hair is one big tangle, having come loose from its braid.

“Come sisters, let’s get to work,” says Port. “Puddle, fetch material for her dress. The green will make her eyes glow. Pond, tend to her cuts, and clean her. I’ll handle her hair.”

The three turn their full, unblinking attention on me before they break into a flurry of activity. Their glowing bodies sparkle in the candlelight. Pond appears in front of me with a pair of golden scissors. I jerk back as she glides the cool metal up my shift.

Port pushes my shoulders and forces me into a plush, white velvet chair.

“What are you?—”

The question dies on my lips as Pond uses her wings to fly up and slice my shift clean up the middle. With a wave of her hand, my shift slips off my shoulders and pools on the chair around my hips. I yelp and try and cover my breasts, but that only makes the three faeries around me giggle.

“Stop this!” I shout. “You can’t just cut my clothing off.”

The three sprites stop their laughing, and their glow dims a little. They don’t seem remorseful. No, they seem moreconfused.

“But,” whispers Puddle, “it was filthy.”

“You can’t just strip me. Not without asking me first. Bring me a robe to cover myself,” I order, trying to remember my old life. Nudity is immodest and not something to be so cavalier about. I’m sure these three sprites, dressed in a mere smattering of leaves, have no concept of shame.

“A robe?” Pond asks.

“Humans,” Puddle huffs. “So fickle. Just like all the others.”

“No,” Port chimes, “she’s different. Even if she can’t see it yet.”

A damp cloth appears in Pond’s hand, and she buzzes on her wings towards my face. I wave my hand to stop her movements as she leans towards the marks on my cheek. A new feeling settles into my bones. Anger. How dare these creatures drag me into their debasement? I am not like them. I do not want to be special to them.

“Don’t touch me. I demand you let me go at once.”

I pray they can’t hear my shaking voice. It’s hard to be authoritative while sitting naked in a chair. My cheeks heat as I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror.

“You’re never leaving,” states Pond.

“I’m not staying.” I cross my arms over my chest, my face flaming even further. “Wherever it is that I am. I need to get back to my world.”

“You are in the faerie kingdom.The Great Oakhas sent you to us,” chimes Puddle, who’s half buried in fabric from the wardrobe. “You will bring back life to our realm.”

My brows lower.What does that mean?

I must’ve voiced my confusion because Pond swiftly responds, “The king will choose you.”

“You will serve him,” adds Puddle, floating towards me with gossamer green fabric.

“He will serve us,” finishes Port, producing a wide-tooth comb and slowly brushing through the ends of my hair.

Her skin glows a deep magenta at my tangles before she produces a bowl of water and a thick jasmine-scented cream. Her small hands rake through my curls, saturating them until she easily glides the comb from bottom to top. It’s not an unpleasant sensation. It reminds me of the handful of times my mother was ever gentle with me as a young girl.

Still, I can’t let this pleasure distract me from what they’ve just said.

“Serve him? What does that mean?”

That sets the three sprites into a fit of giggles once more. Their laughter echoes around the room. Pond dabs a wet cloth on my cut cheek, and I gasp as the scratch heals instantly. She gently wipes behind my ears and along my neck. I jerk as she grazes under my breasts and down my legs. My face warms as the the three share a look with their wholly black eyes.

“An innocent, I can smell,” sings Pond.

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