Page 22 of The Mortal Queen

A large clearing sat a stroll’s distance from Annwyn, lodged into the forest among its mighty trees. Trees that, as with all the forest thus far, seemed to bear a life of their own. As though they studied her. Waiting to see what she would do next. Whispering to one another the moment she came into view.

Within the approaching glade, torchlight gleamed, tents were erected, music flavored the air and flags billowed. The smell of broiled meat, freshly baked bread, and sparkling wines wafting in the breeze. Aisling could spot, even from a distance, the dream-like dances of the fair folk, twirling barefoot in the grass. It was a vision. a hazy, stupor of a celebration, a pyretic gathering where the fireflies lit the clearing with hundreds of small bulbs of light,floating aimlessly.

Aisling, the fae king, and the guards slowed their stags’ gait, indulging the view of theSnaidhmbeneath an overcast sky. A great, colorful festival filled to the brim with bipedal beasts, fae nobles and commoners alike, intermingling casually, an oddity in Aisling’s mortal eyes. Such neglect for class and the hierarchy such classes naturally demanded was strange. Aisling didn’t believe she’d ever spoken to a commoner other than her chambermaid. The more Aisling saw of these fae people, the more she understood how different her life had been from the one she was embarking on now. Her mortal life—the life pent up between Tilren’s walls, the one she wept over when she believed none to hear or see her tears—felt like a distant dream as she stepped into another.

To one side of the glade, stood an arena whose seats were already being filled. A stadium Aisling had only ever witnessed be used for jousting or sparring. One where spectators lined the seats to behold whatever competition took place at its center.

This was no ball, Aisling realized.

The Aos Sí parted as Aisling and the fae king entered the clearing. Aisling heard their whispers, the snickering from the fae people around them, but even when she was in earshot, she couldn’t understand their fae tongue.Rún, Gilrel had called it.

Duibhin and Alastair guided Aisling towards a large, raised box, positioned for perfect viewing of whatever spectacle they’d be witnessing at the center of the arena. Aisling sat in the throne to the left of a much larger, empty seat. A space clearly designed for the king of Annwyn and the greenwood.

And to Aisling’s surprise, Gilrel was already making herself comfortable in the little chair beside Aisling’s, politely nodding to the other nobles placed in the box.

As soon as her eyes fell upon the mortal queen, her muzzlewrinkled, eyes narrowing. Aisling knew the pine marten would be more than vexed she’d run off into the castle on her own, but it had hardly deterred the mortal queen. Let the furry chambermaid stew in her own anger, Aisling thought to herself.

Twelve or so other lords and ladies occupied their box, accompanied by their animal servants, sitting either behind or beside the thrones designed for the king and queen. They wore gold, ivory, crimson, violets, emerald greens, and vibrant oranges, tunics and gowns embroidered with gleaming threads of every hue, lace so delicate Aisling believed it would tear at the slightest of stretches, and chiffon so resplendent perhaps it would dissolve in water. Fluttering wings mirrored the colorful palettes of their dress. But despite their breathtaking attire, it was clear from their palpable disdain that none were too eager for a mortal, an enemy, to sit at the highest position of honor only second to the king.

Aisling and Lir took their seats, the fae king quietly, arrogantly soaking in his subjects’ praise. He smiled at her. A radiant beam that threatened to ignite the world around them. But Aisling knew it wasn’t truly intended for her. It was for them. For his people. For riding into Annwyn on his stag, and even his grin now was a performance for all the Aos Sí to behold. So that they knew the mortals and the fair folk were no longer at war. So that they felt safe. Aisling knew this. Understood this even as Lir took the mortal queen’s hand and kissed the back of her palm. As cold as a river glazing the rocks in a woodland stream.

Chills ran down Aisling’s spine as she willed herself to stay put. To not snatch back her hand and rub away his touch.

Once the Aos Sí decided where and how they’d like to enjoy their viewing, squirming amongst one another in the common rafters, Galad stood from where he sat on Lir’s right-hand side and cleared his throat.

“Is lócáid an-áragh minniu!” the knight shouted,capturing the animals’ and Aos Sí’s attention. Graciously, Gilrel translated Galad’s words for Aisling:

“Today, we celebrate a joyous occasion! The Sidhe welcomes our new queen, and we pray to the gods for the arrival of an heir!” The fair folk roared, stomping their feet, pounding their fists, and shaking the rafters, the air igniting with their excitement.

“The union of our beloved king is not only the marriage between twocaerasbut the union between the Sidhe and the mortals. An end to centuries of rivalry, bloodshed, and the spite with which mortals have haunted our kind.”

At that, Aisling whipped her attention to Galad. The rest of his speech was blurred by the anger smoking in her gut. Had he truly claimed it was the mortals that reaped violence on the Aos Sí? Hauntedtheirrace? As if the mortals held a single flame against the wildfire that was the fair folk.

Aisling bit her bottom lip. She wouldn’t stand for any disrespect against her kind even if she were surrounded by these creatures, a race she would do well not to forget were the devils her father had claimed them to be.

“A member of the Aos Sí could devour a little girl like you whole if it so desired,” Nemed had told her once after she’d been caught trying to escape Tilren’s city gates. “An Aos Sí wouldn’t hesitate to skin you alive and bathe in your blood if it had the opportunity.”

The Aos Sí cheered again, inevitably shaking the entire arena with their excited fervor. Galad finished his speech and took his place on Lir’s right-hand side once more.

From the corner of her eye, Aisling was aware of Lir’s persistent gaze. His need to study her, to watch her, exploring every curve of her expression.

“Does it make you angry?” Lir whispered, tipping his head down to address her. Even seated beside one another he was vastly taller.

“I am already angry. It simply awakens such rage.” Aislingsimmered, scowling at the fae king behind her thick lashes. These words were unwise, dangerous, lest Aisling have a death wish. But, in that moment, the mortal queen cared not for her own neck.

“I could have you hanged for such confessions,” he said coolly, smiling like a wolf grins at a cornered hare.

“Not eaten? Disemboweled? Roasted over a spit? Or do you prefer mortal flesh raw?” Aisling quipped, her voice raising above a whisper. He was a savage after all.

Lir laughed darkly, leaning closer till they were nearly nose to nose, “I prefer to toy with my mortal princesses first: chase them, play with them, and only then are they satisfying to eat.”

The fae king bit the air between them. Aisling willed herself still. She couldn’t flinch. Couldn’t expose the rapid beating of her heart, her pulse drumming around her throat. It was an empty threat she knew, his own desire to watch her squirm. To intimidate her. To ridicule her. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

“And you?” Aisling challenged in return, lifting her chin and steeling herself before this barbarian king. “What makes the king of the greenwood angry?” Her voice was steadier than she anticipated.

Lir ran his fingers through his tousle of hair, avoiding the braided strands. His hair was shorter than most of the Aos Sí, curling around his ears thanks to the sheets of mist gathering in the clearing.

“You,” he said. There was a tightness in his voice, repressed, tempered anger. Aisling knew the tone well enough. “Everything about your kind, your blood, your bones, your spirits.” His eyes flickered towards the neckline of Aisling’s gown before flitting back to meet her eyes. “Your hearts.”

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