Page 97 of Beyond the Faerie Gate

I’ve never noticed such a divide between the two before, but I suppose I’ve never seen fae in large numbers so rigidly defined into one or the other. Physically, there’s no real difference. The same diverse array of skin and hair colours permeates the two groups.

Magically, they’re chalk and cheese.

And I’m walking down the no man’s land between them. An outsider, who apparently belongs to both, but also neither.

I pass the final row of courtiers and have to work hard not to visibly sag in relief. I haven’t fallen over yet, and now my Guard is within reach if I trip. I have no compunctions about grabbing onto them if I accidentally take a nose-dive towards the floor.

All four of them, perhaps sensing my nearness, dart a look up. Only to freeze.

Jaro growls, the sound washing over my skin and giving me goosebumps.

Did I do something wrong? I smooth my hands down the long, floating skirts of my dress self-consciously and glance down to check it hasn’t ripped or something.

The maids assured me this was the perfect dress, and even though I wasn’t comfortable with showing quite so much skin, I trusted their advice. Two deep indigo straps extend from the waist, covering my breasts, while leaving the sides completely exposed. The two pieces connect behind my neck with a single golden clasp, leaving my back completely bare so I can flutter my wings freely.

Every time I move, my breasts threaten to fall to either side, and the sheer matching shrug the maids shrugged over the top seems superfluous considering it conceals absolutely nothing. Like the dress, it’s backless and tied behind the neck. Its main purpose seems to be to add floaty, translucent sleeves which cut off with a graceful flare at my elbows.

Golden lace flowers decorate my waistband, reaching up to caress the underside of my breasts and spiralling down onto the translucent skirts. The layers of fabric just about cover everything which should be covered, but every time I move, my leg escapes the slit in the side, flashing my jewel-covered thigh—because apparently thigh chains are about to come into fashion in Elfhame. The silk is so fine that, as the colour transitions from rich dark indigo into a pale gold-flecked cream at my ankles, it reveals more and more of my legs.

My eyes flick back to my Guard, all of whom are still staring at me. Their eyes have gone dark, and if I didn’t know better, I’d say they were… hungry.

“That,” Maeve notes, grinning like a loon as she gestures towards them. “Is what a fae who wants to rip your clothes from your body and feast on you looks like.”

Her words have an almost proud lilt to them, but I can’t focus on that.

No. Something about the way my Guard is looking at me, combined with that carnal word… feast has sent a shudder running along my limbs. Suddenly, it’s taking every iota of focus I possess just to breathe and walk. Low in my abdomen, heat is unfurling, and muscles I didn’t even know I had clench in anticipation.

“Your maids need a raise,” Titania agrees with Maeve, which is a miracle in and of itself. “You are one lucky female. Now, sit down so you can get the rest of this over with and skip to the fun part.”

My face is so warm from their comments alone, and I wobble on the first step up to the gilded throne.

The chair is a part of the immense tree which commands the room. The enormous gnarled hawthorn is dripping with a combination of its own fragile white blooms and the vines from the wisteria which have wound their way across the branches. The contorted trunk seems to have grown naturally to form a seat-shaped depression in the centre, with its roots forming the steps up to it. The bottom of the seat is even lined with a cushion of velvety emerald moss.

It’s a marvel of nature, but in these shoes, I can’t really appreciate it.

Is it too much to ask for a chair at ground level?

My second step up is even more unsteady and my ankle almost gives way beneath me.

Jaro is there before I can stumble. His hand wraps around mine, holding all of my focus as I finally turn and half-drop into the plush moss, which is soft and velvety beneath my fingers. Not at all damp or coarse like I expected.

For the first time, looking down at the fae who are looking up at me, I finally feel like a queen. Unbidden, I reach for my connection to Danu, and the entire assembly gasps as a flash of light washes across my skin.

Beside me, Jaro’s hand falls away as he—and everyone else—drops back into a bow.

“Behold, my chosen Nicnevin.”

It’s her voice. Danu’s voice. Clear as a bell in the silent room.

“Long may she reign.” The answering cry echoes through the space.

The white light emanating from me disappears, sucked back into my body like it was never there to begin with. The sudden weight of my own body makes my posture sag slightly, but no one else has noticed.

Somewhere in the back, ethereal music has started playing, and couples are already clearing away from the centre of the room, leaving it free for the dancing.

Only it’s unlike any dancing I’ve ever seen before. Nothing like the barn dances or even crude attempts at waltzes of the humans in my old village. Couples with wings take to the sky, twirling in the air beneath the flowering vines. Below them, the fae who can’t fly mirror their careful sensual spins on the floor. It’s an intimate yet showy kind of dance with quick light steps that must take hours to learn.

“Are you all right, my lady?” Jaro asks, drawing my focus away from the dancers.

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