The Twelve Dancing Princesses

by K. M. Shea

  Quinn twirled her blade and swung it straight at his side in a move that would likely crack his ribs and take him down, if not fatally injure him. She glanced at his face. Roy howled in anger—recognizing the move she was about to impact upon him. He seemed more animal than human, the curse twisting him so thoroughly in his anger.

  This is it. In defending the elves, in defending myself, I’m going to take down one of my own band members. Her heart twisted in her chest. But this isn’t right—this isn’t Roy! It’s the curse!

  Quinn froze at the last second, locking up her muscles so the blade stopped just short of cutting through Roy’s clothes. She breathed a sigh of relief. I can’t kill him. No matter what terrible things he says to me. No matter how the curse twists him. This is Roy. My friend. If it’s my end, so be it.

  Quinn panted from the exertion of stopping, and Roy’s sneer became darker. “Why did you STOP!?” He roared. He swung his sword back around, extending it hilt first.

  Quinn tried to raise her blade to block it, but the world grew hazy, and her short sword slipped through her trembling fingers. I’m out of time.

  Roy’s hit slugged her in the ribs with enough force to send her sprawling. She fell backwards, landing on the pavilion with a painful thud. She wiped blood from her face and struggled to rise, but her limbs shook and couldn’t hold her.

  Roy joined her on the pavilion. “Stupid, stupid Quinn,” Roy said. “You always were a fool.” He savagely kicked her in the stomach, making her yip and roll, hitting Emerys’ long-abandoned throne with a crunch.

  Her eyelids fluttered open, and she could see the wet trail her blood left on the pavilion. Her injured shoulder had crunched into Emerys’ white throne, leaving a crimson smear. Quinn gripped it and tried to rise, but her hand was slick with her own blood, and she collapsed, smacking her head on the edge of the seat.

  Her eyes closed as the world swam. She could still hear the music of the celebration which whirled along, unbothered by the bloody fight and spurred on by the curse. Emerys shouted, though he sounded far away even though Quinn knew he, too, was on the pavilion. Roy snarled as he stalked up to her, dragging the tip of his sword across the pavilion, but Quinn thought the loudest noise to her ears was the drip drop of blood falling from her wounds and pooling around Emerys’ lovely throne.

  Get up! Quinn tried to tell herself. Move! But she had done too much. It was all she could do to open her eyes again and look up as Roy stopped at her side.

  Drip.

  Drip.

  Roy raised his sword over his head. “Goodbye, Quinn,” he snarled.

  Chapter 14

  The Elf King

  Roy swung his blade down, and several things happened at once.

  First, there was a massive cracking noise—like an iceberg breaking.

  Something cracked and shattered into a thousand pieces. Quinn couldn’t tell what it was, but suddenly the air seemed cleaner, and Roy’s face twisted from rage to horror. His eyes grew wide, but he couldn’t stop his swing in the prime, and his blade descended towards Quinn.

  Out of the corner of her eye, Quinn saw at least five elves go hurtling through the air from behind her, and Roy’s sword sang when it was abruptly stopped.

  It took Quinn several moments to realize Emerys stood over her, his back to her and his hand holding Roy’s blade, stopping it in its path. His white mask slipped off his face and landed on the pavilion, cracking in half. He squeezed his hand around Roy’s sword, and it shattered.

  The pressure in the air seemed to increase, and everyone in the area fell to their knees and turned to Emerys, staring as pale blue magic flickered to life around him.

  The music screeched before it stopped all together, and suddenly cries and exclamations of joy bubbled around the meadow.

  Did the curse break? But how? Quinn blinked slowly, her thoughts as slow as molasses as her vision blurred again.

  Roy looked from Quinn to Emerys, his shoulders heaving as he breathed. “Quinn,” he started.

  Emerys lashed out, striking Roy in the sternum and knocking him from the pavilion just as he had effortlessly tossed the other elves.

  He slowly turned, and for the first time ever, Quinn saw his face.

  He was more handsome than she had imagined. Between his cocky attitude and blunt mouth, she had thought for sure he would have gotten his nose broken several dozen times, or at least knifed in the cheek once. Instead, he was flawless, with a square chin, a full lower lip, a long—straight—nose and eyes that swirled with midnight and pale blue. A moon and star were tattooed just above his brow, and he shook his head to flip his silky bangs from his eyes.

  “Quinn,” he said, his eyes pinched with pain and fear as he knelt at her side. He carefully eased her upper body onto his lap. “Hold still. I have some healing magic.”

  “Don’t worry,” Quinn said. “I’m not in the mood to go sprinting off.”

  He snapped his fingers once, and nothing happened. When he did it again, he pressed his lips together and put more force into it. A third time, and finally a pale blue light lit up his fingers.

  He brushed his hand over Quinn’s arm wound, and his cool magic flooded her body.

  She closed her eyes and felt his grip on her tighten. “I’m not dying, Emerys,” she said drolly. She took a shuddering breath, then forced her eyes open again. “The curse is broken?” She watched several elves—Alastryn included—emerge from the crowd of laughing and hugging elves, who appeared to be dancing now for a far different reason, and stagger up the pavilion stairs.

  “You broke it,” Emerys said. “A personal friend of mine had to shed their blood on my behalf...on my throne.”

  Quinn whistled between clenched teeth. “And with you locked up in here and your only friend missing, how could you have done that?”

  “Yes, that’s the long and short of it,” Emerys agreed.

  Alastryn crouched next to them. “Let me help. You’re still too weak to try healing.”

  Emerys hauled Quinn closer and scowled at Alastryn. “After what you did? Not likely.”

  “You held him back from helping me?” Quinn guessed. “So I could break the curse?”

  Alastryn hesitated. “Yes.”

  “Good.” Quinn shut her eyes again. It was so comfortable leaning into Emerys, she couldn’t find it in her heart to regret getting blood all over his robes. “It’s about time this nightmare ended.”

  “I told you she would approve,” Alastryn said.

  “I don’t care whether she approves or not,” Emerys snarled.

  “Emerys, stop being stubborn. You’re not even good at healing, and her wounds need to be sealed up immediately, or her blood loss will become life threatening,” Alastryn said.

  “Fine,” Emerys snarled.

  Quinn peeled an eye open and watched Alastryn apply her hands—which glowed gold—to the arm wound Emerys had been trying to heal. “Your magic is back?”

  “Barely,” Alastryn said. “We’re still weakened. This is much harder than it should be…Cynbryn!” she shouted. “We need help!”

  An elf with bright green eyes joined them, plopping down next to Emerys. “She has a shoulder wound, yes?” He made several gestures before green magic swirled around his fingertips. He winced when he appeared to pull too much, then gently pressed his fingers to her shoulder.

  “It’s incredible,” Cynbryn breathed reverently as he stared at his fingertips. “I dreamed about using my magic again, but it’s been so long.”

  “Too long,” Alastryn said grimly. “Quinn, speak. How are you feeling?”

  “It aches pretty badly,” Quinn admitted, “but the nausea isn’t so bad anymore.”

  “We need more magic,” Cynbryn said. “Our little trickle alone isn’t going to be enough, and it seems like it will be a while before we fully recover.”

  Emerys stirred, but already a female elf with white-blonde hair was kneeling at Quinn’s side. “Here, take mine!”

  Immediately, another
elf leaned over Cynbryn and placed his hand on Cynbryn’s shoulder. “And mine.”

  When Cynbryn blinked and glanced up at the volunteer, the volunteer arched an eyebrow. “She’s our savior, isn’t she?”

  “And your beloved?” the female volunteer asked Emerys.

  “Yes,” Emerys said.

  Alastryn smiled down at Quinn. “She is.”

  Beloved? Wait, what? Quinn didn’t have the blood left in her brain to ponder the statement for long. Her vision alternated between going blurry and black, though she was aware she soon was at the center of a large circle of elves. Each elf offered out the sputtering bits of magic they had, and slowly, her muscles and veins began to mend.

  It was a gentle experience—like floating on top of warm water. Gradually her pain decreased, and her wounds stopped bleeding. Faster than Quinn thought possible, she was steady and able to slowly sit up without Emerys’ aid.

  “You’ll have to be careful,” Alastryn said as she administered the last bit of magic. “This is an emergency patch job. You’ve lost a lot of blood—something we can’t restore—and we haven’t fully fixed you, just sealed your wounds so they won’t bleed anymore.

  “I understand.” Quinn worked to keep her expression tranquil when Emerys leaned in and kissed her on the temple. She stood with his help, her legs still shaky. Even with her pain muted, her muscles still trembled with exhaustion.

  “You did it, Quinn!” Alastryn laughed as she embraced Quinn—mindless of Quinn’s bloody uniform. “You saved us!”

  Quinn grinned as Emerys tugged her away from Alastryn. “I’m glad it’s over.” She stood on the edge of the pavilion and peered out at the crowd.

  Many of the elves were still dancing—whether it was from the philtre or out of sheer joy, Quinn didn’t know. She could see the humans—the men and women who had followed the princesses and gotten cursed were gathering at the far side of the clearing. They laughed and embraced each other.

  The younger princesses were shrieking with happiness, but Alena wore an expression of startled elegance, and Carrill and Cassya were openly pouting. Princess Brittany and Princess Diana were hugging, tears leaking from their eyes.

  Everyone is free. We will no longer have to plan for the worst. We’ve beaten it!

  Emerys wrapped his arms around Quinn and leaned his cheek against her head. “I’m glad you weren’t seriously hurt,” he said gruffly. “I—uh—we...” Quinn felt something brush the rounded tops of her right ear.

  Did he just touch my ear? Quinn bit back a chuckle and leaned into Emerys. He grumbled something into her hair and held her close.

  Quinn could have stayed that way forever. Emerys was warm, and he smelled of the woods—though his silky hair tickled her nose. But Quinn’s thoughts interrupted her.

  …Everyone is free. We no longer have to plan for the worst, but— “The goblins!” Quinn ripped herself from Emerys’ grasp as her heartrate kicked up again. “Emerys—the goblins! They have Alabaster Forest surrounded, and your curse just broke!”

  Emerys briefly squeezed her shoulders. “They’ll slaughter us,” he said. “If they realize our wall is down…”

  Together, they twisted around.

  “Leigh, Guy!” Quinn yelled.

  “Alastryn!” Emerys shouted.

  “I’m right here,” Alastryn said, her elegant voice pinched with irritation as she tapped her foot on the pavilion. “I’m a horse-length away—there is no need to shout like a—”

  “Stop talking,” Emerys snapped. “We forgot about the goblins.”

  Alastryn stilled. She breathed out shakily and nodded. “What are your instructions, Your Majesty?”

  Quinn listened with only half an ear as she peered through the masses that crowded around the base of the pavilion, searching for her band.

  “Whaddya need?” Guy asked, popping out of the crowd. Leigh squirmed to get in front of him, and the two entered an impromptu shoving match.

  “Run back to Navia,” Quinn said. “Guy—tell King Dirth the curse is broken, but the goblins are likely on the move right now.”

  “And me?” Leigh asked.

  Quinn licked her lips. “…Get Bridget.”

  Leigh’s eyes widened, but she nodded. “Come on,” she said to Guy. Together they pushed their way through the crowd at a hurtling sprint.

  The Farset Army may take time to deploy, but Bridget and her horses can arrive much more swiftly. I only hope the soldiers will get here in time…

  She paused, searching out Kenneth and Roy. She didn’t see them, but it wasn’t surprising given the sheer number of elves that pressed closer to the pavilion in hopes of expressing their joy to their king and leaders.

  Reluctantly, she returned her attention to Emerys, who was grimly giving orders to Alastryn, Cynbryn, and several other elves. “We have to consolidate our forces. Try to save as much magic as possible. Have the younglings who shouldn’t fight use their magic to purge the ètonse philtre from those who are still affected.”

  Alastryn’s lower lip trembled, and she pressed her hand to her mouth to stop it. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

  Cynbryn mournfully shook his head. “We’re finally free…but tonight still might be our end….”

  “Don’t talk like that,” Emerys snapped.

  “But we’re not soldiers,” Cynbryn argued. “The few of us who have battle-ready magic are retired, or we would have been rounded up with the wanderers, as well.”

  “We have to use the resources we have,” Emerys said. “The forest will stand with us, so gather everyone at Jasper Circle in the white woods.”

  “The goblins will destroy those trees,” Cynbryn argued. “It will take years to bring the area back.”

  “We can’t replant the white woods if we’re dead, Cynbryn,” Alastryn pointed out.

  “Can’t you use your mounts, as well?” Quinn asked. She shifted uncomfortably when three sets of elf eyes focused on her. “The Red Rider is coming, and with her horses, she’s better than an army squad. But you gave the king those horses. Don’t you have mounts who thirst for battle?”

  “She’s right.” Emerys grinned as he pulled Quinn in for a short but tight embrace. “Alastryn, pick your three swiftest runners and send them to Sideralis to release the war mounts.”

  Emerys grabbed Quinn’s hand and threaded his fingers through hers before he started to turn away.

  “Where are you going?” Alastryn shouted after him.

  “To beg our last hope,” Emerys said grimly. “Jasper Circle in the white woods. Get there—now!”

  Quinn walked side by side with Emerys as they strode towards the back of the pavilion. Emerys let go of her hand long enough to jump off the side. He turned around to offer Quinn his hand, which she ignored and then regretted when she jumped and almost collapsed upon landing due to her weakened muscles.

  “Who is our last hope?” Quinn asked after she regained her balance.

  Emerys led her to the edge of the clearing. “Angelique.”

  “You think you’ll have to beg her for help?” Quinn asked, surprised.

  Emerys lower lip turned down in a sharp frown. “No. But I will have to plead with everything I’ve got to get her to use the most powerful magic she’s got.”

  “Her core magic?”

  “Yeah. Oi—Fluffy!” Emerys shouted into the shadows of the forest.

  Quinn glanced up at the sky as small snowflakes began to fall. “We’re not riding Pookie?”

  “No. Pookie’s great at fighting, but he’s slow compared to Fluffy.”

  Despite the serious situation, Quinn shook her head. “You really need help naming your mounts.”

  “I was a kid; I thought I was being original,” Emerys snapped.

  “Your mounts are that old?”

  “Comes with the territory of riding mythical creatures,” he grunted. “Fluffy!”

  An animal—a large animal—stepped out of the shadows of the forest and into the dim light.

  It was a str
ange mixture of horse and stag. It had the delicate face and muzzle of a deer—along with large antlers and a flippant deer tail—but the shape of its body and hooves were that of a horse. No mane covered its neck, and instead of a slick coat, it had fuzzy fur like that of a wolf. Like Pookie, it was mostly black, but it had a stripe of white going down the crest of its neck and its back, white socks on each leg, and gray swirls that seemed to crawl up and down its neck, across its shoulders, and shifted across its rump.

  Quinn didn’t know precisely what Fluffy was, but he moved silently and his eyes—dark blue like the night sky—glittered with intelligence.

  “Fluffy, this is Quinn. Get used to her,” Emerys instructed. “Come here, Quinn, I’ll give you a boost.”

  Quinn paused in front of Fluffy long enough for him to press his wet nose to her forehead in an animal kiss. Then—having learned her lesson from jumping off the pavilion—she let Emerys lift her onto Fluffy’s back.

  As she got situated—he was much narrower and more delicate than the average horse—Emerys hopped up behind her.

  “Hold on,” he warned. “He’s pretty fast.”

  Quinn dug her fingers into Fluffy’s fur as Emerys murmured to the animal, and Fluffy bolted.

  His gait was smooth but jarringly fast. Trees whipped past them, and they moved with such speed Quinn’s eyes watered. Fluffy smoothly jumped fallen trees and maneuvered around overgrown bushes before Quinn even recognized something ahead of them blocked their path.

  The frigid night air stung her cheeks, and Quinn felt like the breath was getting stolen from her lungs with fleet-footed speed.

  Faster than Quinn thought possible, the trees opened up into Sideralis—which was awash with moonlight.

  “Angelique!” Emerys shouted into the silence of the night.

  Fluffy slowed to a long-strided trot as they approached the palace.

  “Angelique!”

  Angelique stood in the courtyard, petting a mount as strange as Fluffy. It was a horse with a mane of blue fire and a coat that looked like someone had stolen the night sky and wrapped the animal in it. “I know, I know. Your curse is broken.” Angelique brushed snow off her shoulders as it continued to fall from the sky. “It woke me out of a dead sleep when it shattered. Congratulations.” Angelique smiled and folded her hands in front of her while her mount pressed its muzzle into her shoulder.