Page 44 of Sweetling
Molly’s brows rose to hear the vehement, almost vicious way he described Amaranthe, the current Fae Queen. She listened with interest to hundreds of years of fae history. How they were the last magic-wielding folk and took this responsibility with an ingrained sense of duty. How the women of their kind led them, headed by a powerful queen who oversaw the health of the faelands, its people, and its magic.
“But fae are not immortal, even a Queen. Amaranthe should have chosen a successor centuries ago,” Allarion said, and it obviously pained him to speak of how his land began to fall into turmoil as the cycle of queenship was broken. Molly listened with horror to how Amaranthe slew her daughters, sisters, and nieces to prevent any from usurping her.
“She keeps a cadre of loyal courtiers near, so none can get close. That somewantto be taken into her harem…” He actually shuddered with disgust. “I had to leave there—I couldn’t bear it any longer.”
It was much to take in, so much history and horror both, yet Molly got the feeling that wasn’t everything. Not knowing how to ask him to explain something she couldn’t articulate, her mind caught on something else he said.
“Her harem? Fae women take multiple husbands?”
“Some do. There are twice the number of men than women of our kind.” He called back to how their women held the most powerful positions, explaining that theirs was a more matriarchal society.
It wasn’t totally unlike how kinship and inheritance used to be decided in Eirea. Children usually took their mother’s family name, and lands often went to eldest daughters. It was a tradition that held all the way until the wars of succession, when part of the royal family married into a branch of the Pyrrossi royal family to help their cause. Pyrros kept much more patrilineal customs, and these had begun to trickle down among the common folk from the royal and noble houses.
Not that Molly had much of a family name and certainly no inheritance, but she liked the old way of doing things, on principle. This fae way didn’t sound so bad, either.
“So your women are heads of the house?”
“Often, yes.”
“Even though they’re smaller?”
“Indeed. Although smaller, fae women possess a stronger control of magic—as well as their wings. But it isn’t about one dominating the other. Our women are the knowledge-bearers and the life-bringers. Without them, our links to magic would wither, and our kind itself would die out.”
They came across a babbling brook that cut through the lane, no doubt left over from the heavy rains they’d had in the region over spring. The crystalline water shimmered in the sunshine, and spindly legged bugs skated across the surface.
Allarion easily stepped over it with his long legs, but he turned to hold out his hand for her.
Swallowing hard, Molly took it and let him help her jump across.
Without dropping her hand nor her gaze, Allarion said, “It is a male’s duty and honor to protect that which is dearest. To be a man is to protect, to serve, and to cherish.”
Throat gone dry, she croaked, “So you, what, came here to have your own lands and lord over a human wife?”
His brows snapped together, and for a moment, Molly was afraid. For a moment, he looked like the terrible fae the stories spoke of, the ones that threw lightning bolts and trampled their enemies to dust.
“Absolutely not,” he said, his voice gone dangerously low. “My greatest hope is to build a home where I and my mate are safe. Where she can be comfortable and protected.” His grip on her hand tightened, pulling her a little closer into the curve of his looming form. “I want a queen of my own, sweetling. One who is generous and kind, strong and willful, who will help lead our house, however small that may be.”
Molly lit up like a paper lantern, glowing with warmth not just from a blush but a throb between her thighs.
Fates, the words he said, the way he spoke, the intensity of his gaze…
There was little else for a human woman like her to do but turn pink under all that fae focus.
Burning up, Molly cleared her throat again and slipped her hand out of his. Unable to keep that intense gaze, she looked out at the rolling hills as she began to walk again.
“That’s quite a lot to hope for,” she said, sounding breathless even to herself.
“I am all and only hopes.”
She couldn’t help it—her gaze cut back to his in surprise, her eyes gone wide. His face had gentled again, that small grin spreading his thin lips a bit wider.
He seemed to take mercy on her, letting her drop her attention back to her footfalls for a while. He filled their walk with more innocuous facts about the fae, such as their journey to the faelands long before his time, sailing from the west to settle in the highlands adjoining what was now Eirea.
He even spoke of his bonding to Bellarand and how fae warriors worked for years, sometimes centuries, to hone their skillsenough to earn a place atop a unicorn. Molly didn’t quite understand all the intricacies of it, just that the bond formed through magic, forged when the fae first came to these lands and found themselves in need of allies. Magic-wielders themselves, the unicorns gradually became much-trusted allies and symbiotic partners.
Much like the fae, the unicorns too were ruled by fearsome mares. Female unicorns were often too dangerous to ride, and so it was they who remained wild and raised foals while the stallions joined the fae to patrol and protect the lands. Molly could hardly imagine anything more terrifying than Bellarand, a stallion, so to hear the mares were even fiercer made her shiver with terror.
They walked for hours even if it didn’t feel much like it, Allarion weaving interesting tales to pass the time. When the first thatch roofs came into sight, though, he turned to her, a curiosity in his eyes.
