Page 244 of Kingdoms of Night

ARABIAN KNIGHT

THE KNIGHTS OF CAERLEON BOOK 3

INES JOHNSON

CHAPTERONE

Running in heels was not a skill Enid had ever mastered. As a matter of course, fairies hadn’t evolved to run. When the Monteschia Vidalii, the first plant to flower upon the Earth, had pulled its stem up from the freshwaters of the Pyrenees Mountains over one hundred million years ago, it had only taken a few steps to cast its seedlings about. Those plants had taken root mere steps away from their progenitor. As the offspring grew and flowered, they’d done the same with their seedlings, each new bud taking a few more steps away from the others until the day came when fairies walked the fertile lands more than they rooted their stems into the earth.

But they did not run. Especially not the high fae.

As a high fae, even walking wasn’t a skill Enid needed. She only ever had to sit still, look pretty, and say as little as possible.

It wasn’t a bad gig. Most days. Today was not one of those days. Hence the need for running.

Enid’s feet hit the ground in uneven strides. For a fairy used to being rooted into freshly turned soil from her heels to her toes, it was disorienting to hit the hard ground toe first and for her heels to not even make direct contact with the earth.

As though her shoes heard her complaint, the toe of her right shoe touched hard earth at the same time as the stem of her right heel sunk into wet earth. Enid’s forward momentum came to a halt. The top of her body pitched forward while the bottom sunk down. Her gloved hands impacted the ground with a wet smack.

Being a highly evolved flower, none of her kind would look twice at the mud splattered up to her elbows. Her fingertips and her feet welcomed the nourishment of the rich earth that broke her fall. The delicate lace of her gloves, the exquisite gown of white silk, and the intricate tulle of the veil that covered her face, however, did not appreciate the dirt bath.

It was no matter. If Enid managed to get to her feet and run a bit farther, she would have no need of the ceremonial clothing. She just needed to determine which way to go.

The lands of Caerleon all looked the same to her. Drab hillside to the left. Cloud-covered knoll to the right. The human world was a study of sedate colors where her very flesh was the color of lavender—though no relation to the Lamiaceaes or any mint family.

A tendril of azure hair fell over her eyes, and she brushed it away. At this rate, she would never find the one she sought. The man who could save her from the fate that nipped at her ruined heels.

She could not give up. Not now, not when she’d come so far and she was so close. He had to be here, somewhere near. She sensed the magic she’d felt in him all around her in the air.

No, not in the air. There was magic in the ground.

Enid removed her hands from the mud. She reached to the side, where a cluster of wildflowers grew. She didn’t have to reach far. The blooms eagerly opened their petals toward her on the cloudy day.

Though after a moment, the stamens of the male flowers shrank away from Enid’s fingers. The carpels of the female flowers gave a sorrowful shudder, their sepals—the leaves that protected their flowering buds—rising higher around their petals. Enid balled her hand into a fist at the pity. Then her head lifted and her shoulders went back as she pulled on her royal status. Each petal bowed in deference to the fairy princess as she asked her question.

The flowers whispered to her in the ancient language of the Goddess’ first creations. They spoke through the soil in a series of energy pulses. Much like humankind’s Morse code, though that language came millions of years later and was a rudimentary dialect that even a sproutling would discern on its first day in the sun. The plants whispered to Enid the way to go to Tintagel Castle, the home of the Knights of Arthur, where she would find the knight she sought.

Enid rose from the mud. She let the rich soil have the satin shoes. She let the earth have her lace gloves. She let the grass leave their marks on the silk and the tulle. If Sir Geraint could help her as he’d promised, she would have no need of her wedding gown or the veil.

For now, she kept those two articles of clothing. Though humans had no knowledge of the fae or the high court, her appearance was not that of the earth tone colors of mankind. The people of Camelot were knights and witches, but they, too, had little to no interaction with fairies.

And so Enid hid her face, pulling the veil lower as she went into the town. There weren’t many people out in the setting sun. She felt her energy flagging as the star set. But she was part nightshade on her father’s side of the graft. It was the only gift from her father that hadn’t come back to slash her stalks.

With the flowers’ directions, Enid slipped through the town unnoticed and inside the castle with ease. She kept to the shadows, blending in like the chameleon her mother’s genes made her. Despite the many-hued people of this place, she definitely looked different from them all, with her violet flesh, her lilac hair, and her rose-colored irises.

She was only mildly surprised that no one had stopped her. The people here were magic, like her. But theirs was a different magic, a younger form where her powers were ancient.

She watched from the shadows, waiting for her knight to show up. Sir Geraint was a dark knight. His skin was the color of the richest, fertile ground that had made Enid want to rub her toes against it.

She gave herself a shake. Though she had felt an attraction to the knight when she’d first laid eyes on him, there could never be a liaison between the two of them. There might be magic in him, but he was still human. And he was in love with another woman.

Enid ducked deeper into the shadows as a man and woman walked by arm and arm. The man held a cone in his hand. Atop the cone was a melting blob of white cream. He offered the concoction to the woman. Enid held her breath as the woman canted her head and licked. Instead of clutching for her throat, the woman grinned up at the man and offered him her lips.

Across the street, a man called out to another. Enid pressed her back against the brick of the building. She watched in tense silence as both men extended arms to one another. But instead of dealing a death blow, they embraced.

She jumped at the sound of screams coming around the corner. Two women came into view. Their mouths were open, teeth bared. But their faces were contorted in joy and amusement, not horror and pain. Perhaps they were laughing and not at each other’s throats.

It was the most curious thing. Enid had been in the town of Camelot for over a quarter of an hour, and not a single drop of blood had been shed. Yes, the human world was strange indeed. Or perhaps it was just that her world was so different. A flower had to watch her front, her back, and her roots in the high court of her father’s gardens.

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