Dreams of the Fae: Transcendence

by Anna Patrick Paige

  King Hugo’s silver brows narrowed. His mouth quivered and his body went stiff. “Where did you ever learn to speak before your lord and master instructed you to do so?” he hissed and shook his head. “Of all traits for a Divine Princess to have developed . . .” Composing his voice, he continued, “You had every reason to expect counsel with me today. Foolish of you to think otherwise. I am beginning to suspect Sir Helms isn’t teaching you a single aspect of respect and manners.” He surveyed the room, his eyes sweeping over the stacks of books on the tables and the untouched piano in the corner. “Your actions last night were disgraceful. Prince Marcus has proclaimed love for you, which he has honored by a proposal of marriage. This is a grand occasion—”

  “Marcus is presumptuous. As for love, he can’t love me any more than he must love his kitchen cat, and I certainly do not love him.”

  Astonishment contorted my father’s face. No one dared interrupt a King. He paused to subdue his frustration. “Luken warned me you are a freer spirit than what is suitable for a Divine Princess. Your brother has always made excuses for your lack of social graces and arrogant character. Yet, despite these inadequacies, I am content to inform you that His Majesty Prince Marcus will still have you as a wife.”

  “Have me?” I scowled, looking up from the floor to meet his gaze.

  The King immediately grabbed my shoulders and pulled me up from my knees, his hands digging painfully into the meat of my arms. I craned my neck back and stared defiantly into his eyes. What else could he do to me? This King, related to me by nothing more than blood, had failed me in every measurable way.

  “You have such beauty,” he said, his voice calm but his body radiating anger. “Do not make me destroy it.” He released me, and my bones fell back into place. “I am true to my political agreements. You represent a lineage of royalty that exists for one purpose. We are privileged as we are burdened. Hated as we are loved. These are crimes for which Athera will forever punish us. Be thankful to me for providing a future to you.”

  “Ugh!” I turned my back to him and leaned on the window frame.

  “I hope your attitude improves by this afternoon, as Prince Marcus will be coming to your chambers to visit with you. Elizabetta will be instructed to have you dressed and well prepared for the occasion.”

  “I have no interest in entertaining Marcus. Ever!” I slammed my fist into the glass, causing the frame to rattle.

  “You will give him the respect he deserves as a fellow Divine royal. You will not speak to him so informally, or you will have my wrath to answer to. I will not hesitate to take action against you if you insult a foreign Divine Prince a second time.”

  I spun around to face him, crossing my arms over my belly. “The consequences?” I inquired petulantly.

  “I will imprison you for a duration of my choosing. All this”—he gestured to the room around him—“will not be going with you. A Divine Princess living in squalor will be your existence until Prince Marcus comes for you on your wedding day. You will marry no matter your actions, so I suggest you take the respectful path and remain in my favor.”

  It was everything I expected. My father planned to dispose of me if I didn’t capitulate. My mother could not carry out the order herself. Banishing me from court and taking my ladies had been the only punishment she could manage.

  As always, my choices were clear—prison in luxury or prison in chains.

  Shortly after the King’s departure, Elizabetta dressed me in an emerald taffeta gown fitting for a royal interlude. She curled my hair and searched among the birthday gifts for jewelry to match the attire. At first, I refused to wear the Podarian beaded jade necklace and earrings she discovered, but having no strength left to argue, I soon conceded. I spent the day agitated, and my resolve wavered with each passing hour. I never wanted to see Marcus again. How long would he be in Brisleia? When did they expect this wedding to take place? How was I supposed to love someone I hated? How could I pretend such an emotion?

  The clock tower in the center of town struck four, and His Divine Royal Majesty Prince Marcus Ember of Caldera stood in my receiving room with two attendants behind him, each holding a parcel. With a nod, he instructed them to place the additional gifts on the table.

  “You look strikingly beautiful this afternoon.” Starting at my feet, his eyes worked up to my neck, and he smiled at seeing one of the many presents he had bestowed upon me. Did he have to gawk as if he was imagining our future wedding night?

  “Your Majesty, if I may ask, would you please stop staring at me in such a tasteless manner?”

  He smiled fully and my core twisted; I was right, his incredibly straight white teeth were slightly pointed. “There is no need to address me so formally. Marcus will do.”

  I hid my amazement and gulped. “I may be your fiancée”—my pulse spiked at the word—“but that doesn’t mean you can look at me so immodestly.”

  “Forgive me if my glances give away my desire. I’d heard tales of your beauty, but it appears not even stories can capture one so fair. However, as you are now my property, I will look at you as I see fit.”

  He took my hand in his. I jumped when he touched me, his skin soft, cold, and smooth, almost reptilian. I had expected him to be coarse and full of heat. An undeniable fluid wave moved through my hand and along my arm, causing my spine to tingle.

  He dipped his free hand into his cloak pocket and removed a black velveteen box. More gifts. “I must apologize for last night. I acted brazen. You angered me in a manner I did not expect.” He opened the box by flicking the lid with his thumb. Resting on a piece of red silk was a shining platinum ring. Its twisted band sparkled with inlaid crystals, and at its center was an obscenely large rectangular diamond haloed by small white pearls. He pinched the ring between his fingers and slid it effortlessly onto the third finger of my left hand. “Let me not be your enemy,” he whispered in a rumble that made the hair on the back of my neck stand on end.

  “What’s this for?” I dreaded the answer.

  “I would think someone as opposed to marriage as you would know an engagement ring when presented with one.”

  The extravagant jewel weighed down my hand. It fit with precision, claiming me as Marcus’s property. I hated it.

  He wiped a tear from my cheek I hadn’t known was there. “I know this is all overwhelming.”

  “I do not oppose marriage,” I hissed. “I oppose marrying someone I don’t love so I can be used as an experiment. Please, release me from this engagement. Do not force me into something I don’t want.”

  He dropped my hand, and the fluid wave vanished. He stood straighter, his brow dropping to shade his malicious eyes. “And what of what I want?” He touched the jade beads clinging to my collarbone, lifting the necklace slightly off my neck.

  Despite my father’s warning, I jerked away. “The King has forbidden me to be impudent to you during your stay. Because I have decided to remain in my apartments rather than a dungeon to await our wedding day, I will speak to you no further to spare myself the indignity. Please, leave, and refrain from further forcing your company upon me.”

  Prince Marcus gave a dark laugh. “I had thought to spend the evening with you.” The same lewd gleam flashed in his basil eyes. “I have many plans for our future. Upon hearing them you may have been more charitable towards me. But since you have chosen for us to be strangers on our wedding night, I will honor your request. It makes no difference to me. Instead, I shall depart for Caldera in the morning. I am needed elsewhere, and it would have been a sacrifice on my part to stay in Brisleia for your benefit. During our next meeting I expect to find you matured, obedient, and prepared to become my wife. The King of Alamantia grants you many allowances that I simply will not tolerate.”

  “You will find I am harder to break than you assume.”

  “For your sake, best that not be true. Dungeons are a humane and uncreative way to punish disrespectful future Queens.”

  At three in the morning, I p
aced the balcony, unable to rest or even be still. The night air rushed through me, freezing my skin, and an icy burn sped up my legs each time my feet met marble.

  Elizabetta offered me my fur robe several times, but I refused her. I was numb. A robe wouldn’t make a difference. She bustled uneasily within the bedchamber, stirring the fire and repeatedly heating the kettle with fresh tea.

  I scanned the sparse stars, searching for answers. The twinkling sparks of light seemed lost among the cold blackness. Luken was out there somewhere, risking his King’s love and the lives of his closest friends for my sake. The guilt slowly devastated any claim I had against Prince Marcus’s proposal. I couldn’t refuse this engagement if it meant bringing harm to my brother.

  When we were children and summer had thawed the frost, Luken and I would play in the palace gardens and let the smell of blooming roses fill our lungs. The gardens of Alamantia Palace reached up the side of the mountain, where willow trees shaded patches of green meadows and small streams flowed down stretches of exposed granite. Luken used to weave rose crowns for me. We would pretend he was King and I was a simple peasant who had come from afar to be presented to him. My brother loved that game. Childhood imagination would run away with us, and often I believed the fantasy.

  Time forgets. As Luken aged, our father’s demands weighed heavier on him. Parliament and the Senate took priority, and Divine obligation became his pressing concern. He was being trained to one day take our father’s crown and rule Brisleia. It was his rightful place in the world. His destiny. One he was proud to undertake. I fell to the wayside, his beloved sister now second to royal duty.

  I stopped pacing. Elizabetta stood behind me, holding a robe, her persistence amazing. “Ayleth, standing in the bitter cold is not going to change anything. It isn’t going to bring your brother back any sooner or make Prince Marcus rescind his proposal, and you are far too used to Brisleian temperatures to freeze to death.”

  I picked at the layer of frost accumulating on the marble railing.

  “It’s time to come inside.” She took my hand to warm it between her palms. “You feel like ice.”

  At last, I followed her back into my apartments. The hearth was in full blaze. Flames as tall as me spanned the length of the fireplace. A fresh pot of tea rested on the low table in the seating area, next to a carafe of red wine—something that had been carefully kept out of my reach since the proposal. Elizabetta poured a cup of tea and a goblet of wine and sat me down in front of the choices.

  “You are not as miserable as you are pretending to be,” she said.

  I took a sip of the wine. My entire body shivered.

  She knelt before me to put her hand on my heart and silently counted the beats. “Nope, not even close.”

  “Well, I feel dead inside, even if my heart disagrees.” I took the teacup and poured its contents into the goblet filled with wine.

  “Feel dead all you want. Your heart is still ticking.” She left me to wallow in self-pity and closed the curtains over the balcony.

  I curled into the feather pillows. The bizarre combination of wine and tea soothed my nerves for the first time since meeting Marcus, and I pulled my sleeves over my hands to form a barrier between the steaming goblet and my fingers.

  When the little hidden door in the corner gave way, I jumped in absolute fright, and Elizabetta froze.

  Ambrosia appeared in the dark passageway.

  “Good night, Ayleth,” she grumbled as she crawled out of the corridor, tripping on her silk nightgown. Dark circles puffed under her eyes, and her immense silver hair tumbled chaotically about her shoulders.

  “Grandmother!” I leaped to my feet to assist her as she struggled to pull her gown out from under her heels. Beneath her arm, she carried a bundle wrapped in purple cloth and tied together with twine. I caught her waist before she completely lost balance.

  “Thank you.” She breathed a sigh of relief, tossing her hair away from her face. “Those passages are far more treacherous than I remember.”

  “But I thought—”

  “You thought only Luken and you knew about them.” She placed the parcel on the bed. “I discovered the system when I was a child. These very rooms used to be my apartments when I was young. Long before I married . . .” Her voice trailed away, as if the memory pained her. “. . . your grandfather.”

  “Why did you never tell me about this?”

  “Naturally after the stir I caused all those years ago, I chose to hide their existence. Only today did it become critical that I use them again. They are not kind to old bones.” Her spine made a faint crack when she stretched.

  “The King reprimanded you for being with me this morning, didn’t he?”

  “No need to pry if you already know the answer.” She approached my nurse, greeting her with a pleasant nod. “Lady Elizabetta, might I ask you to allow me some time alone with my granddaughter tonight? I feel it is my duty to prepare her for the unpleasantries of being a wife.”

  Elizabetta flashed a quick glance in my direction, moving only her amber eyes. “Certainly, Your Highness.” Dragging her feet, she closed the doors behind her.

  Once we were alone, Ambrosia scanned the bedchamber, then went to the receiving room and bolted the front door. She peeked into my privy chamber and closet, but it wasn’t until she poked her head through the curtains and peered onto the balcony that I questioned her.

  “Looking for something?” I awkwardly balanced the last of my tea-wine between my fingers.

  “Anything. Anyone. We must be absolutely alone.”

  “We have to be alone for you to talk to me about sex with Marcus?” I put down my drink in disgust.

  “If you truly believe that is what I’ve come here to discuss, then you really are as naive as everyone expects. Jonathan allows you to read contraband.” She grimaced. “I am confident you have a well-rounded grasp on sex.”

  I crossed my arms over my chest. “Then why are you here?”

  “Ayleth, no one can hear you except me.” She placed her hands on my shoulders. “I need you to understand how imperative it is that you tell me the unadulterated truth.” She paused and took a calming breath. “Has this abhorrence towards marriage been a facade?”

  “Grandmother!” Appalled, I jerked out of her grasp.

  “Answer the question!”

  “Are you completely daft?” I yelled.

  “Is there positively no chance you could grow to love him? Are his gifts meaningless? Does being his Queen hold nothing for you?”

  I threaded my fingers into my hair and gripped my scalp. “You all astound me! I cannot believe I am having this argument again!”

  “I asked you for the truth. If there is even the smallest part of you that regrets how you’ve acted and wants to reconcile with the Podarian Prince, you must admit it to me now.” She had never been more serious, as if life and death balanced on my answer.

  “I will never love him. I will never want to be his Queen,” I declared, wearied of making the same argument to people who refused to listen.

  “Very well then.” She took my wrists and pulled my hands from my hair. “I have a gift for you.” She nodded at the purple parcel on my bed.

  I groaned. “I’ve had enough gifts.” I didn’t want a family heirloom passed down before marriage. I didn’t want a veil or fabric from her own wedding gown to be woven into mine or a jewel belonging to Divine ancestry.

  She clenched her teeth. “Open. It.”

  Relenting, I loosened the humble twine. Ambrosia glared at the wrappings as if they were going to explode.

  I pulled back the fabric to reveal a bundle of worn tawny wool. Confused, I took the thing off the bed. It unraveled into a simple woolen dress with long, tight sleeves. The bodice laced up with leather cording, and the crude fabric was badly frayed at the hem. It was out of fashion and ugly. Not even servants wore something so poor. This was a dress that belonged to a peasant living far from the palace, someone working in the fields every d
ay and barely surviving on what she had. Where had Ambrosia acquired such a horrid thing, and moreover, why would she think I would want it?

  “This dress belonged to me,” she began. “I’ve kept it as a memory.”

  I tried to grasp the significance of keeping an awful bit of tattered wool. My grandmother had never been poor. She was born at the palace. A Divine heir. “I don’t understand,” I said, mulling over the dress with skepticism.

  “I was just like you as a young girl. The idea of sacrifice to my country, my elder brother owning me, marriage to someone I didn’t love simply for continuation of the bloodline—it wasn’t the life I wanted. So I stole some wool from a maid in the kitchen, and I made this dress. I escaped the palace for the first time at thirteen.”

  My mouth fell open and my throat stiffened.

  “I disappeared for weeks at a time but never stayed long enough for my absence to be noticed. I saw villages and met many people, some that altered me forever. But the palace always beckoned me. I always returned. I thought I would find myself deep in the mountains of Brisleia, but as the years passed, I learned that my place was here.”

  My arms started to shake as I gripped the fabric; the rattles traveled all the way down into my feet.

  “Ayleth, I offer you a choice. Stay at the palace, give in to your father, marry, and fall into the history of the Divine . . . or run. Find what you are searching for. Return if you wish, or disappear into Brisleia. I did not have the courage to leave this behind, but I suspect you do.”

  I dropped the dress as if it were on fire and covered my mouth to stop myself from screaming. My trembling legs turned to jelly, and I collapsed on the floor.

  She knelt beside me. “You do not have time to deliberate. Dawn is approaching, and you must be out of Alamantia before sunrise.”

  “Luken . . .” My voice cracked. “He—”

  “I know exactly what Luken is up to. There is nothing he could find, no miraculous information he could retrieve, that would break this treaty. He is on a fool’s quest. You cannot rely on your brother to change your fate. If you stay in Alamantia, you will become the Queen of Podar. It is as certain as the rising of the sun.”