Page 2 of The Mortal Queen

Nemed brought both himself and his daughter to an abrupt stop. Aisling lifted her gaze, fighting the invisible weight pressing her eyeline to the earth. For now, Aisling and her father stood alone at the center of the circle of fire, surrounded by both races. Races who kept their distance, dividing themselves down either side of the circle. Fortunately, the night veiled the Aos Sí’s fine features, a small mercy to the princess. She need not lose her resolve now. Not yet.

“As high king of the Isles, I gift my daughter, Aisling of the Clann Neimedh, the sole northern princess,” Nemed declared, holding Aisling by the arm with an iron grip.

“There is no greater honor.” Aisling fought with herself internally. “This is your purpose.”That was what Nemed had told her. What her tuath and court had branded into her mind over the past several months.

Clodagh and all four of Aisling’s brothers, as well as the majority of the Tilrish court, stood frozen on her right-hand side. They were waiting, searching the crowd. Fear flickeredacross their expressions. Their terror for these wicked beasts near tangible in the shared wind, thick enough to slice. Doubt crept into her brothers’ knuckles the more tightly they grasped the hafts of their blades. It was a pointless reflex, Aisling knew. Swords, weapons—even if made of undiluted iron—would bear little consequence against so many Aos Sí gathered in one place. By now, there was nothing to prevent these savages from taking what they wanted.

Through the folds of Aos Sí, three riders emerged. They rode ivory stags, larger and mightier than any steed Aisling had laid eyes on––dressed in strange armor and crowned by their tangling diadem of antler and bone. But the riders, gilded by the firelight, were plated in sheets of fine metals themselves, armor so slick, so strange, Aisling’s breath caught at the sight.

A year ago, Aisling never could’ve imagined laying eyes on a member of the Aos Sí, these primeval deities imbued with ancient, arcane magic and power. Much less stand before them as she did now. It was enough to stun her. To erase the fear, the nerves, even for a moment. But even fear itself was intoxicating, a perfume Aisling was eager to smell more of. To quicken the pace of her heart and breath, both tempered into strict obedience all her life.

The three riders dismounted and lined themselves before the mortal princess and Nemed. The two flanking fae followed the center rider’s example, fae knights, legendary warriors nursed on death’s tonic. Mortal children battled in Tilren’s thoroughfares with spatulas as swords and cutting boards as shields, the largest among them pretending to be these primeval warriors ambushing Tilren’s streets and laying waste to their mortal homes, claiming their wives, and devouring their babes. Reenacting the stories they’d all been taught.

The center rider removed his antlered helmet and tossed it to the side. Through her veil ofscarlet, Aisling willed herself to meet his eyes. Her hands may have trembled at her sides, her knees weak with fear, but she was no coward. So, with every ounce of will she could muster, she fixed her violet eyes upon him. She knew not his name, but she knew he was the one who would take her. The one who would accept the mortal offering. And beyond anything she could have imagined, what stood before her was far worse than anything she’d dreaded.

He was remarkable in appearance, stealing her breath the moment their gazes connected. His eyes, viridescent, were not the shade of the swaying oaks, the weeping willows, the bristling pines. Theywerethe trees, imbued with the spirit of the forest. They were the green of an arcane wood, the blurred portrait of every tree and shrub and flora that bloomed from the earth. The whisper of their leaves in spring’s gale.

That was not all that left Aisling’s stomach in knots. His dark hair swept his fine cheekbones, several strands braided at random. He bore the great fae height for which they were renowned and the pointed ears. Features Aisling often heard described in passing amongst the chambermaids after their shifts in the dungeons. And just above the collar of his armor, Aisling could see his warrior markings trailing the edge of his throat.

He was beautiful. Frighteningly so. All the fair folk were, but nothing like the creature that stood before her, indulging her as she did him. His armor was the most intricate, artfully forged as if by the supple fingers of the rivers themselves. And as he stood before them all, the mortals, the forest, the crags, and even the Aos Sí held a collective breath, in either veneration or fear, Aisling couldn’t tell. Perhaps both.

Aisling dared a glance at her father then at her tuath standing to the side, to see if they felt as overwhelmed, as struck and dumbfounded as she did herself. For these fair folk were not the ghoulish monsters they’d been described as, those hunched creatures who lurked in the wilds eager to stealmortal land and women alike. Ugly, demonic entities that shied away from the light.

Perhaps this was an enchantment, Aisling realized. The Aos Sí were known for their mischief, capable of wielding unnatural powers.

“They will try to deceive you. They will spin lies as easily as they spin their thread.” Aisling repeated what her father had told her, rehearsing it till it grew stale in her mind.

The princess struggled to catch her breath. Obviously, she’d never laid eyes on one of the Aos Sí before. Much less one of their kings. She’d seen illustrations, drawn her own conclusions based on the tales she’d been taught since she bore the capacity to sit still long enough to enjoy them. But this noble fae who towered over her was beyond anything her imagination was capable of conjuring even if they’d been described correctly. A savage, yes. A barbarian, yes. Something touched by an otherworldly hand. But there was more. More than she’d anticipated but couldn’t quite articulate.

And just as she studied this fae king, he studied her, exploring her like a predator appraises its prey. His gaze burned where it met her skin. Herself, flinching under his scrutiny, his disgust, his disapproval potent in the air between them.

Once he had his fill, he smiled wickedly, flashing two finely pointed canines. The very fangs that had disemboweled hundreds before her, the princess imagined. Innocent mortals who’d wandered too far from their homes. From the man-made world.

This wasn’t as it should have been. Aisling should’ve been gazing into another’s eyes, reassured by mutual love, trust, excitement for the future and all the Northern Isles. Another should have stood before her, her mother by her side, her brothers laughing, her father swallowing mead with the king of Roktling in celebration.

Aisling shivered and her skin grew colder thenearer these beasts approached. These creatures could slay the princess and her clann on a whim. With a flick of their wrists. With curses they hissed beneath their breath. But her father had known the dangers and organized this trade regardless.

The fae king gestured to the riders beside him. At his silent command, each unsheathed their greatswords and the metal screeched against their scabbards. All but the knight furthest to the right, who instead, unsheathed one of two twin axes.

Aisling recoiled, reaching for her father, but Nemed remained still, chin held high before his enemies. Never had the high king wilted before a threat and Aisling didn’t believe he’d start now, even if in the presence of these strange creatures.

The rest of the humans, on the other hand, matched the princess’s shock, gasping. Her brothers took a step forward instinctively. The Aos Sí laughed, their chatter rippling through the mass of spectators. Strange voices, nearly ethereal. Like the gentle chime of bells ringing in a soft wind.

Lifting their fae weapons above their heads, Aisling held her breath. Would Nemed truly stand here and watch them slay her in cold blood without so much as a protest? Starn cursed beneath his breath, holding Iarbonel back by the arm. Her mother whimpered but remained stunned, unmoving. The princess wrenched her eyes shut, swallowing the stone lodged in her throat.to Aisling opened one eye, then the other. The fae king and his two riders staked their blades into the earth, a line of weapons standing to attention. Aisling exhaled a sigh of relief, hoping none had seen her flinch. Perhaps the veil had shielded her expression.

All three riders then turned their attention to Nemed and his daughter, waiting for a response. Aisling looked to her mortal high king, but he appeared just as bewildered as she. All these years at war and still, they knew so little about theAos Sí. Even their language was as foreign as it had been the day these demons arrived centuries ago.

Her youngest brother and nearest in age to herself, Annind, stepped forward from the crowd and leaned close to her ear.

“You are to choose the correct blade, Ash,” Annind whispered. “Only one belongs to the fae king and it is not necessarily the one which he has unsheathed from his own back.”

Annind had studied the fair folk for as long as Aisling could remember. What began as a curiosity for the enemy of mortal man, grew into fascination and eventually a means to communicate, translate, and aid in such exchanges between the races. A knowledge and expertise to which Aisling was now eternally grateful.

The princess regarded the three weapons, each as unique and as strange as the wielders themselves. Aisling knew little of swords or axes or weapons. As princess of Tilren, she trained alongside her brothers, but never did she demonstrate any proficiency; her arrows never stuck their target, her kicks never formed the correct arc, and her muscles never carried more than a shortsword. And so, she’d lost interest in combat, preferring to ride and ride quickly, her only skill amongst a family bearing deadly talents. Talents she envied, for their knowledge of such practices made them great, and her lack thereof made her weak. A fact that bred fire in her bones.

Staked before her now, the sword on the left bore a pommel embellished with sapphires. The sword in the center boasted a braided, golden haft with a fuller engraved in what Aisling could only imagine was fae. And the axe to the right wore an elegant, knotted wooden haft followed by a wide, black head speckled with etchings and nicks. Metal, leafy vines wrapping around each.

Although the three riders appeared only a handful of years older than Aisling herself, she knew it to be a deception. The Aos Sí lived for centuries, and while mankindrotted in the earth, these strange warriors maintained their youth and strength. And a king, one of the descendants of the twelve fae monarchs, would have lived the longest, had likely wielded his blades since the mythic destruction of the Forge.

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