by H. E. Edgmon
All I can do is laugh. “I swear, humans have magic of their own.”
She raises her eyebrows. The hell are you talking about?
I shrug. “You feel things like no one else I’ve ever known.”
“Hmm.” Her fingers brush up and down my arm. “Well, I’ve always suspected I was magical.” Her gapped teeth nibble at her full lower lip before she shoots me a smile. “Bright yellow magic. Like sunshine. That’s me.”
“That is you.” I laugh, softly. “We’re like day and night, you and me. Good and evil.”
“Hey.” Her face has suddenly gone hard. Apparently she didn’t find my joke funny. “Black magic isn’t evil. Why would you say that?”
Well, it seems pretty obvious, but I don’t say that to her. Instead, I offer, “Uh, you know. Black...magic. Don’t people usually associate that with being evil? Plus, um. Well, I have magically murdered three people without even trying.”
“They were going to kill you. The fae the other night was probably going to kill all of us. What you did was save us. You, me, Emyr, Tessa. That’s not evil.” Briar’s words are urgent, intense, as if she desperately needs me to hear and understand what she’s saying. The hand on my arm squeezes a little tighter. “And anyway, I don’t believe black magic is evil. Maybe we’re taught to believe darkness is inherently tied to badness because racism is everywhere. But, I mean.” She takes a deep breath. “Haven’t you ever heard the phrase under the cover of darkness?”
I can only nod, because I have no idea where she’s going with this.
“Well, people say that because it means the darkness is keeping them safe. It means they can move freely without being seen.”
“Yeah, seen doing shady shit.”
“Maybe. Or maybe not. Just because something happens in secret doesn’t mean it’s evil.” Briar groans, running her hands through her hair. She places her palms on either side of my face, looking me directly in the eye. “Darkness means safety. It means protection. Just like you protected yourself, and everyone else, from the fae that night.”
I suddenly feel very uncomfortable. I don’t know what to say to that.
“You are not a bad person, Wyatt. You are not evil. Your magic is not evil. You know that, don’t you?” She’s pleading with me now. I can hear the desperation sliding into her voice. “I know the kind of person you are. And you’re good.”
Briar and Jin. Both of them looking at me like that. Like I can save the world.
I can’t save shit. I am not the good guy other people want me to be.
“C’mon, it isn’t that serious.” Or maybe it is. I don’t know. I don’t want to talk about it anymore.
Briar hesitates. Clearly, she wants to keep at this. But she finally sighs, pulling back and climbing out of the bed.
“You should get up. Get some fresh air. I’m going to go check on Clarke. And Roman and Lorena, too. Why don’t you come with me?”
The way Briar loves, the way she cares about people, and causes, it’s one of my favorite things about her. The passionate, full-hearted way she throws herself into things is something I’ve always admired.
I’m never going to care the way she does.
“Nah.” I roll onto my stomach, nuzzle my face into the pillow under my head. “Think I’m gonna stay here. Jerk off and take a nap.”
She scoffs but doesn’t argue. “Yeah, okay.”
A moment later, she dusts by me and brushes her fingers over the top of my head.
“Tell Emyr I said hello,” she trills. “That is who you’re texting, isn’t it?”
I huff.
“Mmm-hmm. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you have a crush on him.”
“I do not have a crush on him.” I might have a little bit of a crush on him. “Why would I?”
“Maybe because he’s gorgeous and you’re gay and horny.”
That much is true. “He isn’t my type.”
“Yeah, okay.” Briar scoffs. “Why? Because he doesn’t look like a twink who watches too many YouTube documentaries about aliens?”
“There are some very interesting YouTube documentaries about aliens,” I counter. “And there’s nothing wrong with a good twink.”
“I can’t stand you,” she says, but I know she doesn’t mean it. She leans down and kisses my temple, and then she’s gone.
My phone dings again.
This time, it’s a picture of the most beautiful plate of cookies I’ve ever seen, next to what appears to be black coffee topped with thick whipped cream. I can just barely make out Boom’s nose in the corner of the photo, like he was thinking of stealing a cookie for himself.
ROYAL PAIN
New recipe.
i’m a little turned on rn i’m ngl.
ROYAL PAIN
...Oh?
asdfghjkl
I pitch my phone across the room and make good on that nap.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
IT’S FUCK FAE HOURS
Three days after the riot, I wake up to pounding on my bedroom door.
“We have a problem,” Wade announces when I fling it open to find him standing on the other side with Emyr, Tessa, and Clarke.
“Is your problem that no one here knows how to let me rest?” I ask, rubbing sleep from my eyes and moving back to the bed to shake Briar awake—only to find she’s propped up with her book in her lap and her hair in braids. “Because I agree. That is a problem.”
“Why are you still asleep, anyway?” Wade snaps. “It’s noon.”
Ah. Well, whatever.
I wave him off with a yawn. “What’s the big emergency?”
“I have been trying to handle this myself. I didn’t want to drag everyone into it, in the wake of the other night. But as it turns out, even my charming ass can’t fix what you screwed up.”
“What the hell did I do?” I demand as Briar sets her book down and shifts her legs to the side of the bed.
Emyr sets his laptop down on my bedside table. Until then, I hadn’t realized he was holding it. He opens the lid and pulls up a video.
On screen, I’m standing in his room.
The afternoon before the riot.
Oh, shit. With everything else going on, I’d completely forgotten about this.
On-screen Wyatt waves at the camera, a shit-eating smirk tucked into the corner of his mouth. On-screen Wyatt has yet to live through the next twenty-four hours of his life and has no idea that everything is about to start feeling very, very fucky, and that maybe his priorities are not the best. On-screen Wyatt is a douchebag.
“What’s up, Fae TV, it’s ya boy, Wyatt Croft.” The only way I am going to survive having to watch this thing is if I pretend it isn’t me. Did he just say ya boy? What if, perhaps, I simply died? “And I am coming at you today with a very important announcement.”
In real time, I make eye contact with Emyr.
I do not think I’ve ever seen someone look less impressed with me.
On-screen Wyatt continues, unphased. “Fae ain’t shit.”
Next to me on the bed, Briar groans. “Oh my god, what the hell is this?”
“Please, keep watching,” Tessa says simply, arms crossed, standing at the foot of the bed.
I put my head in my hands. I cannot keep watching.
Doesn’t stop me from having to listen to it. The recording of my voice—and seriously, my voice cannot actually sound like this to other people—blares from Emyr’s speakers.
“Fae really and truly are not shit. I don’t know why anyone would appoint you as kings and queens of anything. You don’t deserve your own Facebook page, much less entire kingdoms to run. But that’s okay. That’s okay, you know why? ’Cause I’m about to take over. And when I do, I plan on making some big changes. Number one—it’s fuck fae hours 24/7.”
“Okay, t
hat’s enough.” I scramble forward and slam my hand on the spacebar to pause the video.
“You’re right. That alone probably was enough to piss off every other kingdom around the globe. To say nothing of the fact that you proceeded to go on and list all the ways you intended to...overhaul the system.” Wade actually might look less impressed with me than Emyr does.
“Wyatt.” Briar puts her face in her hands.
“Well.” I cough, rubbing my hands on my thighs. “I was having a bad day.”
“Your bad day has cost the entire Committee three days of trying to placate the very high emotions of a bunch of powerful fae monarchs,” Wade snaps. “And it could not have come at a worse time.”
“Well...had I known what would happen later that night, I wouldn’t have done it.”
“Why would you do it in the first place?” Emyr demands, leaning forward with his claws digging craters into the tabletop.
“I was PMSing,” I offer, in the hope it’ll make him uncomfortable enough to drop it.
Emyr just stares at me.
Wade pushes on. “Because I am brilliant, I’ve managed to quell the rage of three of the other four families. But Paloma and Maritza are threatening to start a war.”
I manage to drag my attention away from Emyr to look back at Wade. “Paloma and Maritza?”
“The queens of Eirgard.” Clarke crawls into my bed and drapes herself onto the pillows next to Briar.
There’s an alternate reality version of me who might be very excited about two girls in my bed.
Wait, queens?
“The Eirgard monarchy is gay?” I ask, because I feel like someone should have told me about gay fae queens, like, the second I stepped foot back in Asalin. No one ever tells me anything I want to hear.
Eirgard is the fae kingdom in South America. The five kingdoms don’t have much to do with one another, except for occasions when the Court needs to come together. I have vague memories of Paloma, now that the name has been stitched together with the kingdom. She took over the Throne from her parents a couple of years before the fire, and in that time she never came to Asalin. She definitely did not have a wife at that point. I would’ve remembered.
“Quite sapphic,” Clarke confirms with a bob of her head. “What, did you think you and Emyr would be the only queer royals? Please. The kings of Monalai just had twins.”
Monalai is the farthest kingdom from Asalin, an island tucked away somewhere off the coast of New Zealand.
And I do remember those kings. I would just like to be kept more up to date on all the gay happenings, is all.
“Right. Anyway.” I rub the back of my neck. “So, uh. How do we avoid a war?”
Without warning, Emyr reaches down and places a hand on my shoulder, too warm and too familiar. He’s getting used to this...this touching me whenever he feels like it, this casual intimacy, like we’re some real, actual couple. And apparently I’m getting good at pretending it doesn’t bother me, because my black energy doesn’t even spike, doesn’t seem to notice or care. Instead, it stretches out underneath his palm, flexing into his touch. “Well, firestarter, why don’t you tell me? You’re the one who got us into this.”
He isn’t wrong. Looking back on it now, the video was...ill-advised. I can’t believe that’s the person I was only a few days ago. It churns my stomach with embarrassment.
“I’m not sure they’ll want to see me,” I begin, shaking my shoulder so his hand falls away. I really don’t like the mental picture of my energy as a housecat that’s purring for the prince.
“I’m sure there are many people who don’t want to see you,” Wade agrees.
“But,” I snap, narrowing my eyes at Wade. “I guess...if they’ll agree to it...it would make sense for me to go and beg for forgiveness in person.”
I hate this idea. I don’t want anything to do with it.
But eventually, I’m going to have to start accepting the consequences for my actions. On the long, long list of my sins, this is nowhere near the worst thing I’ve ever done. It’s a start, though.
Wade rubs a hand over his stubbled jaw, considering me before looking to Emyr. “It isn’t a terrible idea. Maritza is probably the one who threw out the idea of war. And Paloma would drink up a little ass-kissing.”
“It isn’t terrible,” Emyr agrees. He’s still staring at me. I can feel his gaze on my throat and I pointedly don’t tilt my head in his direction. “But can we leave the kingdom right now? Think of the optics, with the riot and the prisoners’ escape. How will this be interpreted?”
“The optics of a war will be worse,” Tessa offers. When I look up at her, though, she isn’t looking at me at all. She’s watching Clarke and Briar, snuggled together in the bed behind me.
I bring my hands to my face, rubbing my palms against my cheeks with a groan. “She’s right.” At the time, pissing off the whole fae world seemed like a very good idea. Now, I can’t remember what purpose it was supposed to serve. I suppose Derek will be ecstatic.
Emyr clears his throat. “All right. I’ll make the arrangements for you to go and grovel, then.”
“Wait.” Without thinking about it, I reach out and grab his wrist. When I realize what I’ve done, my fingers wrapped around his warm skin, I let my hand fall away. “I can’t leave Briar. Even if Derek doesn’t know I was behind the witches’ escape, someone probably suspects. She’ll be walking around here with a target on her back.”
Especially when he realizes I’m on my way to Eirgard, to try and undo the one thing I’ve done right, in his eyes.
“I’ll take care of Briar,” Clarke offers, pink energy swirling like cotton candy surrounding Briar’s yellow.
“We’ll all keep an eye on Briar,” Tessa amends.
“I don’t have a passport, either.”
“The Committee will take care of that,” Wade says.
I look at Emyr again and he raises his eyebrows.
All right. I guess my apology tour is going international.
* * *
That evening finds Emyr and me thirty thousand feet in the air, back in first class. Most of the afternoon leading up to this moment is a blur. A loud, annoying blur.
Clarke and Wade dragged me off to find clothes to wear in front of the queens. Apparently, they were horrified at the idea I might show up in Eirgard looking as put together as I do every other day of my life. And apparently, if I don’t let them wash the hoodie while I’m gone, they’re going to incinerate it.
I’ve managed to glimpse a few looks at myself only in passing, but every time I do, I want to rip my own eyes out.
I understand the need to look presentable, especially when I’m groveling for forgiveness. But why in the hell was Wade’s idea of a compromise sticking me in pastels?
Seriously. I look like an Easter egg. The light green pants are cuffed at my ankles. The white button-down is embellished with a rose on the front pocket. And of course the outfit wouldn’t be complete without some ugly canvas slides. Hey, my socks have the same rose on them as my shirt does. Wow, I hate every single thing about this.
I look like a middle-aged heterosexual whose wife dressed him for church photos with the kids. I’m positive Wade and Clarke did this with the sole purpose of humiliating me. And it’s working wonders. At least Clarke was generous enough to offer me a glamour to hide the scars.
“I’m starving,” I announce, breaking my self-imposed silence to finally twist away from the window and glare at Emyr.
He doesn’t look up from the book he’s reading, one of the graphic novels I’d previously spotted on the floor of his cottage. They stuck him in the same pastels that were forced on me, but somehow he looks perfectly acceptable in his floral button-down and purple chinos. Although he looks just as ridiculous without his wings and other fae appendages this time as he did the first, hidden beneath a glamour of his own
to appear perfectly human. Or supposedly perfectly human. I still think he sticks out. There’s something too...much about him. Maybe it’s the gold energy thrumming everywhere, practically suffusing everyone else in the cabin.
“Mmm. If you call a flight attendant, they will provide you with a menu.”
“I still don’t understand why we couldn’t stop at the drive-through on the way here!”
“We were running late.”
“We were not! And the drive-through takes, like, three minutes. We could have wasted three minutes getting my chicken nuggets.”
“You wanted one hundred chicken nuggets. I sincerely doubt that would have only taken three minutes.”
“Oh, please!” I throw my hands up. “Everyone knows they’re already cooked and just sitting under a heat lamp for hours. All they had to do was throw them in a bag.”
He finally raises his eyes to look at me, disgust flitting across his face. “Why would anyone choose to eat at such a place?”
“Uh, because it’s delightful. Do you not understand how many chicken nuggets a hundred chicken nuggets is?”
Emyr groans at me, reaching above my head to press his finger against the call button.
I huff and drop back against my seat. When I do, my elbow brushes against Emyr’s invisible wings once again, bare skin to velvet softness. I refuse to pull back and cower, so it stays right where it is. I don’t look at him when he glances down at me.
“Everything okay over here?” A human woman appears too quickly at our side, smiling mechanically. Her cucumber-green energy seems to be settled all the way down at her feet, hovering against her shoes. I get the impression she hates her job.
“My fiancé would like to see a food menu,” Emyr drawls, going back to his book.
“Of course!” She whips the laminated paper from the front pocket of her apron so quickly I think it could have sliced someone’s head off if they were close enough. “Because this is an international flight, you’ll have access to our full menu today. Just let me know what you want and the chef will prepare it right away.”
I take the menu from her with furrowed brows. “Seriously?”