by A.J. Dixon
Chapter One
The beats from the drums echoed, resonating through the multitude of oaks in the dark forest. Laughter was loud, faces awash with joy and confidence. A woman with wizened eyes of the brightest blue sat in the centre of all the excitement, smiling at the passers-by. The flames of the fire before her caused her purple wings to sparkle, casting flickers of colour along the pale skin of the small baby in her arms.
The little thing shuffled, opening its mouth in a large ‘O’ to yawn before settling back to sleep. She pressed a kiss to its forehead and stared into the fire.
Azalea Summerton, Princess of the Fae dwellers of Rueltin, was happy, as happy as she could be in this condition. Her people were perishing; the food shortage was getting out of control. And yet, they were celebrating the birth of her son, Atticus.
He was a miracle among her people, and that word had travelled fast. From the near barren lands of Tyrida and Gamelsh, and the prosperous village of Yadher, people had come.
Granted, Azalea’s kin had not been on the best of terms with Queen and Princes of Yadher, but they had been more than generous in the months past, providing Azalea with all the healing wonders of their kind and allowing her to have a swift and easy delivery. They were more than prepared for a girl Fae; they were cherished among the Fae, raised as warriors and strong leaders. Thankfully though, she’d borne a son, and named him Atticus, the same as his father.
“He is a miracle, you know.”
The light voice came from the shadows behind Azalea. She smiled, knowing who it was before she turned and looked.
“He is your son after all,” she laughed. She smiled at her husband as he took their son.
“I can’t thank you enough,” she said softly.
He fell beside her, sitting on his haunches and cradling the week-old child as if he were as brittle as a feather. “May I ask what for?”
She smiled. “For providing me with a miracle child. I remember once when I had not the ability to - -“
“Hush, Lea. Do not fret yourself over unimportant things. What matters is that he is here now, and that I love you.”
Atticus, Third son of Gerty and Hert of Rueltin, had wedded Azalea on her sixteenth birthday; Fae often eloped a few years short of their eighteenth birthdays. She was no exception. Her father had wanted her married as soon as possible, but her mother had protested against it, saying that she was much too young to be married at her father’s chosen age of fourteen. She was already betrothed to Atticus and he courted her until the day of their wedding.
For years she had tried to get pregnant, her family trying everything from magic to using blessed flowers in the farthest lands. None had worked, and she was dubbed barren. Until the day her sister Lily had died. Three days later she found out she was several weeks pregnant; hence the miracle.
She smiled and kissed his cheek tenderly. “Thank you, Atticus.”
“You’re welcome, Azalea.”
There was a crash by the forest. Screams bellowed out of whoever had the strength to shout them.
“It’s a raid!” one of the faeries shouted.
Azalea looked from her husband’s eyes to her child still cradled in his arms.
“Go, Lea!” He thrust the child into her arms and propelled her toward their dwelling. “Go, and do not look back!” He spun around so fast he was a blur; his wings unfurled, dark and as beautiful as the other Fae who were preparing to fight.
Azalea caught a flash of pale white skin before she ran into the palace; white skin and wavy black hair.
A gasp left her lips as the guards shut the doors behind her. A human! A human was in their world, fighting with their kind.
With no time to think amount how to get out of the village, Azalea ran down the lengthy corridors and upstairs to her and Atticus’ dwelling. She shut the doors and fell back unto the bad, the only place she could go.
Atticus stirred in her arms and began to wail.
“Hush, benuh,” she said in their native tongue.
He wailed a little louder, as if taunting his mother.
Azalea clamped her hand over the baby’s mouth, being careful enough to miss his nose so that he could still breathe.
“It’s going to be alright, benuh. You father is going to come back to us.” Azalea said those words to comfort her child, but she couldn’t be certain whether they were really for Atticus or her.
The screams escalated outside, the sounds stinging Azalea’s ears. The harsh masculine shouts she heard came closer and closer to her door until…they stopped.
She held her breath, staring at the door. Her eyes held the crack where the door joined the wall and her mind sent signalled to her retracted wings, telling them to be ready for flight.
One crack and the door flew off its hinges. It sailed across the room toward Azalea. She tucked Atticus closer to her chest and ducked her head into the bed. The door sailed over her, the wind that followed ruffling her hair.
She set her jaw and looked up into the dark green eyes of a man, dressed in a bloodied white shirt. She felt a sharp pain in the back of her head and then saw nothing but darkness.