by Sage, May
He expects me to falter, shiver, and drop my gaze to the ground like the flock of gentry buzzing around him.
My eyes widen in feigned dismay. “Kindness? Why did no one think to tell me you had any?”
I have to allow him that one concession: Rydekar is fun to tease.
He doesn’t even smile. I don’t think anyone has taunted him. “I have none. You will beg nonetheless.”
I just may, in his dreams. And in my nightmares.
* * *
No one was ever born less suited to ruling than Rissa, the thorn of the seelie realm—a half-fae so wild she’s spent the better part of a hundred years in the woods.
For all her flaws, she’s the last of the high court bloodline, and the southern king seems to think that’s reason enough to slap a crown on her feathered head. He needs her to unify the seelie forces. She needs him to forget about that nonsense.
In an effort to aid her people without condemning herself to a lifetime of misery, she sets off on a journey to find the one person with a stronger claim to the throne than hers: the cursed prince.
Sealed in the mountains of the Wilderness, under many spells, the heir of the first seelie queen is the only royal strong enough to protect the fae lands from their immortal invaders.
Surviving the untamed tribes and awakening a thousand-year-old prince seem a lot easier than ruling an entire kingdom where everyone hates her very nature.
And her choices won’t come without consequences.
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Out in December
Songs of Tenebris—A Series of Novellas
More soon in the Coven and on May Sage’s Newsletter!
An Arrow In the Mist—A Noblesse Oblige Trilogy
Hayden’s life as a diplomat’s assistant used to be simple, but the untimely death of the emperor of Alfheimr throws the entire realm into chaos.
The throne collects dust and blood while the crown heirs settle their differences at the point of a cursed blade.
Everyone in the Inner City has picked a side.
Except her, the young woman whose choice will define the fate of the realm.
No heir thought to court a simple sprite, but Hayden’s past holds the keys to a treaty the future ruler will need to keep their crown on their head—or their head on their shoulders.
One treacherous friend, one irresistible foe. How could she possibly favor one over the other?
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Masters of Alfheimr
Twins. One girl, one boy, both destined to rule the empire.
Lenka and Nikandre are the two sides of the coin that will dictate the fate of the world.
Only, fate hasn’t yet chosen heads or tails.
* * *
Masters of Álfheimr is a Noblesse Oblige Trilogy prequel novella.
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More from May Sage
Pick Your Poison
I set out across the lawn, to the woods, moving at a brisk jog.
My muscles immediately protest against the unfamiliar exercise. It’s been a while since I’ve run. Back in middle school, I used to be part of the track team, but I've since given up on anything even resembling team spirit. My father insists that I keep at least one extracurricular activity, “for my future”. I’ve chosen chess.
I’ve vaguely thought about running through the woods, simply because they’re right there at our doorstep, and pretty enough, but I don’t think I’d truly meant to do it. Now, with my lungs burning, my shins weighing five tons each, it’s a matter of pride. I haven’t even cleared a quarter of a mile. As a kid, I used to be able to run four or five without straining. I feel like I’m dying!
My ears ring, and my breathing gets so uneven, I have to stop. I bend forward, holding my knees. Damn. I’m going to start working out. What if a murderer was running after me? I wouldn’t last five minutes.
I calm down enough to start appreciating the view again. Sometime in the last quarter of an hour, dawn rose in the horizon. The sky is all shades of blood and water over the line of trees surrounding me.
To my surprise, I have to admit I like it here. It’s peaceful. Quiet.
And I haven’t felt any itch, any pain.
Not since I left the house.
Not since I woke up, actually.
I’m fine.
I haven’t been fine for such a long time, it’s a little odd to me. Fine feels uncomfortable on my skin.
Then I see it, right in front of me, almost close enough to touch my nose. A little folk of some variety. Three feet tall and purple-skinned, creased like that of an elephant, and covered with a soft layer of white fur. It’s fluffy enough to be cute, although I don’t think I’ve ever seen a face so grisly. Its droopy, beady eyes are surrounded by a million wrinkles, and it has no nose—just two slits, farther apart than that of a snake. It licks its lipless mouth with a long, serpentine green tongue that looks slimy.
I lift my torso abruptly, eager to keep my face far, far away from it.
“Sorry,” I say impulsively, like the well-bred girl I’m not.
I freeze, the realization dawning on me.
It’s the first word I've ever said to one of them, and with good reason.
The folk of this world glamour themselves to be invisible to mortals like me when they roam our world. Animals see them, or at least sense their presence, hence why cats and dogs sometimes stop dead in their tracks, staring at what seems to be nothing. Humans cannot see them, and therefore, I act like I don’t.
There’s safety in feigning ignorance. I’m just another girl, if I’m not aware of them. I can’t see them? They don’t bother to see me.
Aunt Julia told me that from the moment she started to interact with the folk, her life took a turn for the worse. They started to tease her, play with her, to catch her attention or ask for favors.
In my childhood, I think I used to wave at them, but they don’t pay attention to little boys and girls. Most children can see the folk, until they grow to believe there’s no such thing as fairy tales.
I’ve been so, so very good, for years and years.
And now, I’ve spoken.
To my surprise, as I stare at the creature with dismay and fear, it stares back, and it’s terrified.
What could the likes of him have to fear from me? I’m one hundred and fifteen pounds, soaking wet. I took self-defense lessons, but I’m aware I’m lacking in the threatening department.
The strange thing doesn’t agree. It’s shivering from head to toes. “I beg your pardon, my lady. My queen!” it squeaks, bending at the waist, so low it’s shoving its face on the muddy ground.
By then, it’s quite clear that this is a case of mistaken identity. In a split second, I decide to ensure the creature keeps mistaking me for whoever he thinks I might be.
Did he say queen?
I don’t have much to work with, but I stand upright, throwing my shoulders back and lifting my chin in what I imagine is a queenly way. I’m ridiculous, sweating, out of breath, and imitating Lady Di.
“You’re pardoned. Now, go, I need my privacy.”
There. Not too bad, right?
The little folk pops its head up, suspicion written in his puckered, leathery skin.
Dammit. I gave myself away, somehow.
“If I may, why is Her Majesty so far from the bright lands, and at such a time as this! Should they find you here, on unseelie soil—”
The words make little sense to me. I think back to Julia’s tales, trying to decipher its meaning, so that I might give a convincing answer.
I settle on sticking to my guns. I am queen. He’s…whatever he is. I doubt he can be very far up on the food chain. “Tell me, since when do I have to justify myself to you, exactly?” There’s a threatening edge to my words.
At first, it works. The little folk is trembling and shivering, reacquainting its face with the moss.
Then I hear a low, rumbling laugh, followed by a pointed slow clap
. I turn to the sound, and freeze.
He stands feet from me, leaning on a black oak tree. The man from yesterday, still in black under the coat. Now that he’s ten feet away, I can tell it’s forest-green leather, stitched with gold embellishments. Trees and leaves, birds and hearts, follow the edges of the garment.
I concentrate on it, studying it in great detail, if only to avoid looking at him directly. I’ve had a glance. It’s enough. Enough to realize my terrible, terrible mistake.
I should have locked myself in yesterday. I should have convinced my family to pack up their bags and move far, far away.
Run, run, run away.
I don’t. I don’t move at all. As much as I want to flee, I obviously suck at running. Besides, I can tell. He’ll enjoy the chase.
The fae is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever beheld. There’s no need for any posturing on his part. I itch to kneel. To bare my throat to him, like a spineless bitch.
Come, come, come closer.
His dark eyes whisper promises of pain and pleasure, wordlessly beckoning me, but it is his mouth I fear. His playful, full, bloodred lips have no business on the face of a man. I note the delicately curved point to his ears, poking out under his waves of black curls.
Screw it. I need to go, and I do just that, willing myself to ignore both of the folk as I storm past them, sprinting in the direction of my home.
At least, I hope it’s the right direction. Suddenly, I’m not sure at all.
A laugh follows me. I don’t stop, concentrating on one single goal. Getting back home alive. And whole.
Part of me wishes I were religious. I could pray right now, if I knew how. I could swear to be good. I could swear to be a better person, a better daughter and sister, so long as a higher power intervened, ensuring I got home in one piece.
Please, please, please.
One moment, there’s nothing but the muddy ground in front of me. The next, a root lashes like a whip, curling under my foot. I see the ground approach, and wince in anticipation. At my speed, the fall is going to hurt.
I close my eyes, willing reality away, but the pain never comes.
Instead, I feel something much worse.
Warm, soft hands holding my middle. The scent of wood, blood, musk, and ashes hits my nostrils. I open my eyes to see the fae right under me, lying on the ground, his elaborate coat stained with mud and moss. He doesn’t seem to mind at all. He’s smiling as though he couldn’t be more pleased.
Run, run, run away.
I don’t. I know it’s far too late for that.
* * *
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Note that May Sage also writes fantasy romance under Alexi Blake