A Dance with the Fae Prince (Married to Magic)

by Elise Kova

  “Yet you tried to run the first chance you got, regardless of what I vowed to you.” He hasn’t pulled away, not physically at least. Yet I can see I’ve wounded him. The deep hurt resonates dully within me, echoing from his palm to mine.

  “I could trust you but not the others,” I point out. “They did spend the first day talking about how I was going to die.”

  “Didn’t I betray you, though?” He steps forward, wings twitching with his agitation. “Didn’t you say that how I concealed the truth from you turned into a wound? Can you trust someone who betrayed you?”

  “I…”

  Davien comes to a stop a hair’s breadth away. I can feel every inch of his tall, lean form. He stares down at me with an intensity that no one has ever given me before. He waits for my answer, our hands still locked.

  “You can’t have it every way, Katria. You tell me one thing. You do another. You trust me, until you don’t. You’re interested in understanding my predicament but do little once you know it. What is it that you really feel?”

  “I don’t know,” I whisper, admitting to both myself and him. That’s likely the root of all our problems. “I don’t know what I feel about you. I don’t know how to reconcile the man standing before me now with the Lord Fenwood I knew back at the manor. Because that man… That man…” I was beginning to develop real feelings for. The confession is a quiet, begrudging whisper across my mind. And the second it’s heard, every barrier I’ve ever built is strengthened once more.

  I will never let myself fall in love.

  To love is pain. Even just the start of it has me aching. Confused. Torn apart at the seams by conflicting interests. Was this how my father felt? Did he know Joyce was terrible for him and yet something…something refused to allow him to leave? Even when he knew she was wicked, he called her his light.

  Now I’m falling into the same trap. This man began to spark feelings in me I never wanted and I have to stop them now, otherwise I might follow him to my demise in this world that threatens to kill me at every turn. I must, at all costs, ignore the emotions brewing in the depths of my heart.

  “I am that man,” he says.

  “Lord Fenwood was a lie.”

  “I am fae, I can’t lie, no matter how much I might want to. Everything I told you—everything I was then—is who I am now. You cannot pick the parts of me you enjoy and abandon the rest.” He releases me. “I am both the Lord Fenwood who enjoys mead as a nightcap with a brilliant conversationalist, and Davien Aviness—fae and rightful ruler of the Kingdom of Aviness, which I have every intention of restoring. You trust me as I am, want me as I am, or don’t.”

  I watch as he leaves, struggling for words. It doesn’t matter anyway, does it? He’ll get his magic out of me and then we’ll be done. I’ll go back to my world and live alone in that manor he bequeathed me, far from where anyone could ever harm me. He’ll stay here and be king of all the fae and forget I ever existed.

  He doesn’t look back once.

  I hover in the antechamber, not ready to reemerge back in the main hall. I can hear them talking in hushed tones. I wonder what’s being said but think better of trying to listen. I don’t want to hear it…not really. They’re talking about me. No, they’re talking about Davien’s magic within me and how they’ll get it back. I’m just an unwanted vessel. An extra step everyone loathes. A burden, yet again.

  Hanging my head, I bite back a bitter laugh.

  A door opening across the hall startles me. I see a young boy step through. Two tiny horns are perched just above his temples. A small, wiry tail twitches behind him as he heads toward Vena’s audience hall, a plump messenger bag slung over his shoulder.

  “Excuse me?” I say softly. He jumps, clutching his bag protectively. His chest heaves with the panic of surprise. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.” I point to the door. “Where does that go?”

  “What’ll you pay me to know?”

  “I have to pay you for an answer to a simple question?”

  He puffs his chest and wipes his nose with his thumb. He no doubt looks very tough in his mind’s eye. “Nothing is free.”

  “I’ll just walk over and find out myself, then.” I push away from the wall.

  “Oh, you’re no fun, miss.” He groans. “Fine, it’s just a side access to town. Are you needing something? I can fetch it for you.”

  “For a price, right?”

  “You learn fast, I see.” The boy has a snaggletooth grin and soft purple eyes. “I’m little, so I can sneak anywhere and—wait…you’re her. The human. Aren’tcha?”

  I wonder how he knew. I couldn’t tell Oren was fae for weeks, until I saw his wings. Without the inhuman features visible, it’s impossible to tell the fae are any different from me.

  “I have no interest in working with you.” I bristle at being discovered.

  “Hey, hey, no need for the long face, miss. I’m not gonna hurt you.” He laughs. “I’ve just never met a living, breathing human before.”

  I fold my arms over my chest protectively, rethinking my course of action. He doesn’t look older than ten. But maybe his appearance is a glamour. Maybe he’s another monster in disguise.

  “Sorry, I have to go.”

  “Wait, didn’t you need something?” He dashes in front of me. “I can help you get it. Really. I won’t even ask much.”

  I glance back to the door, biting my lip. “I want to go somewhere with music and song. What will that cost me?”

  He thinks about it for a second, puffing out his cheeks while he does. “I’ll do you one better. I’ll get you a cloak so no one notices how funny you look without claws or tails or horns or wings”—Oh, I’m the funny looking one?—“and then I’ll take you somewhere with music. And all it’ll cost you is…”

  I brace myself.

  “A dance.”

  “A single dance? That’s it?”

  “A single dance is my price for everything I just said.”

  Fae can’t lie. Which means he can’t go back on his bargain. It seems harmless enough… “Sure.”

  “Really?” He blinks and then his smile widens. He bounces from foot to foot with restless excitement. “Excellent. You just bought yourself the best guide in Dreamsong. There’s nowhere Raph the Light-Footed doesn’t know how to get to.”

  His enthusiasm is infectious and I can’t stop a smile from cracking my lips. One that widens as the door opens and sunlight hits my face.

  Chapter 15

  The air is sweet and tastes like freedom. I tilt my face toward the sky, relishing in the warm sunlight. As my gaze drops, my heart begins to race as it truly hits me:

  I’m in a world of fae and magic.

  Men and women wander the street, going about their business as though their unnatural features are utterly un-noteworthy. I see a couple laughing, hooking arms with each other and spinning around a bend. There’s a father and his children, dutiful assistants for today’s trip to the grocer. A girl flies overhead, chased promptly by two others, shouting something between them that’s lost in the sounds of their buzzing wings and magic.

  Everyone has something unique—horns and hooves, tails and wings. I see bright pink hair and cat-like eyes. I should be terrified. Find fear! my better sense shouts at me from the back of my mind, these people are your mortal enemy.

  But I’m not afraid. My heart beats with a rhythm that matches their footsteps. My eyes drink in everything about them. And my feet want to run toward something utterly indescribable—something that I’ve no idea who, or what, or where it might be. I want to see and touch everything around me. My drab world has found its color and I want to make it mine.

  “If you keep gawking, people’ll notice.” Raph tugs my hand and jerks his head to the right. I take his cue and we begin to move.

  Every building in Dreamsong is more magnificent than the last. They’re made of wood and stone, iron and glass. Silken bedsheets hang out to dry on lines strung across the street, perfuming the air w
ith lavender and soap. I stop at one particularly stunning gate to run my fingertips over the ironwork. Thousands of tiny holes have been punched through a thin sheet of metal, turning it into a delicate lace. Ribbons and bows are unfurled along it, so lifelike that I’m shocked they don’t blow away in the breeze.

  “Come on.” Raph takes my hand and tugs. “I thought you wanted music, not…what was it that you were doing just now? Human magic?”

  “No, humans don’t have magic.” I chuckle softly. My eyes are still on the gate even as he tugs me away. “I was admiring it. The construction is so beautiful; I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  “It looks pretty normal to me.” He shrugs. Oh, to grow up in a world where all this is normal. “This way.” We round the building with the lacy gate, ducking through a back door and into a small courtyard in the back-left corner of the lot. “You wait here.”

  “All right.” I remain in the shadow of an arbor over the side door as Raph scampers up to a kitchen door and knocks several times. It opens and a red-faced maid pokes out her nose.

  “The mistress of the house is going to skin you for certain this time. You can’t keep calling like this.”

  “She doesn’t have to know I’m here. Can you get Ralsha?” Raph clasps his hands and holds them up like he’s begging. The woman puts a hand on her hip and arches her eyebrows. “Fine, I’ll give you a delivery whenever you want it. But you’re not getting anything else out of me.”

  “Good boy. Wait a moment.”

  Everything has a price here, I remind myself as I watch the interaction. I must remember that and to pay attention to every word people use. Luckily, I have experience from my father in doing so. It’s not just what people say, but how, he would tell me. Pay attention to everything. Before Joyce came around, he even let me sit in on some of his meetings and would ask me for advice after. One of the few times I felt like I could use my senses about lies to be helpful to someone beyond myself.

  Ralsha is a young girl, no older than Raph. But where Raph has short auburn hair, Ralsha has long, deep violet curls. She squeals at the sight of Raph, throwing her arms around his neck. There’s clearly some young love brewing and I bite back a warning to them both. Maybe the fae are immune to the pitfalls of love we humans must endure. Regardless, their mistakes are not my business.

  With some eyelash batting from Raph, Ralsha goes back in the house and returns with a cloak. Raph gives her a peck on the cheek and a wink before returning to me. Ralsha melts into the doorstop…before she’s summoned back inside by the maid I saw earlier.

  “Here you go. It’s actually a good cloak, too. Ralsha’s mum is the best tailor in Dreamsong. Ralsha says she’s even got an enchanted loom that can weave invisible thread into fabric.”

  “If it’s invisible thread, how would you ever know it’s there?” I grin.

  Raph considers this for far too long. It only makes me grin more and he sticks out his tongue at me. “If she says it’s there, it must be.” Oh, right, they can’t lie. “Now, turn around and let me put this on you.” He holds out the cloak.

  “What service.” I laugh softly and turn.

  “Well I told you I’m the best guide—” His words have a distinct halt. I flinch instantly. I know what he’s seen. This stupid silken dress and its stupid swooping front and back. I feel a small finger press into my spine between my shoulder blades. “How’dja get this one, miss?”

  He’s a child. He doesn’t know better. He doesn’t know that it’s rude to ask about people’s gnarliest scars so plainly.

  “I don’t remember,” I murmur. As I say the lie, the metallic taste fills my mouth. But it’s not just because I’m lying. I tasted blood that day, too. I’d bitten my tongue from the screaming and thrashing. I smell the singed aroma of burning flesh peppering my memory. “I’ve had it forever. Since I was a little girl. No older than you. It’s always been there.”

  He snickers. “It’s wicked looking. You must be one tough human to endure something like that and still be all right.”

  I shrug the robe onto my shoulders, feeling much less bare. My ugliest secrets are hidden once more beneath the armor of fabric. “I like to think so.”

  “Good, you have to be tough to survive the fae.” He grins again and we’re back out in the streets.

  After another few minutes of walking, we come to a tavern. I hear the scorching hot strings of a well-played fiddle. Underneath is a feverish drumbeat, setting a lively pace for the other performers. A pan flute soars above them all, stringing together a melody that turns the whole raucous collection of sounds into breathless song.

  “What is this place?” I whisper.

  “The Screaming Goat.” Raph grins. “You wanted music. There’s none better in all the fae wilds. Well, don’t just stand there. Go in.” He gives me a shove and I stumble toward the arched entry.

  There’s no doors or windows in the Screaming Goat. Just columns and archways that make up the front facade, letting in the sunshine and letting out sound. There are also no chairs—only high tables that men and women stand at, stomping their feet to the music and watering the ground with frothy ale.

  My eyes are drawn to the low stage opposite the entry where the band plays. Men and women twirl on a dance floor in front of it.

  “Try to look less conspicuous, gosh.” Raph pulls me to an empty table by one of the archways. He scrambles up onto the half-wall, standing like he owns the place. A barmaid comes over, setting down a flagon in front of me. “Hey, where’s mine?” Raph whines.

  “Maybe when you’re older.” She winks and walks away.

  “Rude.” Raph rolls his eyes.

  I almost miss the whole exchange, instead too focused on the music. The lively jig is played in common time. The man with the panpipes leaps across the stage, egging on the dancers with his own fancy footwork. I’ve only ever seen one performance before… My father brought a traveling band to one of his last parties for the Applegate Trading Company after I had begged and begged. The party happened to be on my birthday and he couldn’t refuse, even despite all but banning music following my mother’s death as “too painful.”

  Joyce got to pick the music that night. So of course it was some dull collection of stuffy instrumentals played by men twice my father’s senior. Gods forbid we actually had genuine fun at one of those parties. If we had, this is what our manor might have looked like—might have sounded like. I try to imagine it and the thought is accompanied by a comical image of Joyce nearly losing her head from all the stomping across her ridiculously expensive rugs.

  A smile cracks my lips. I’m tapping my foot along to the beat. My gaze drifts as the man with the panpipes spins. It’s then I see a whole pile of instruments off to stage right. Leaning against them is a lute. It’s not nearly as fine as my mother’s, I can tell that from here. But the strings are intact and I would bet anything it’s in tune.

  “What’re all those?” I ask Raph and point to the pile of instruments.

  “Instruments for performers.” He shrugs. “I see people go up and take them whenever the bar is quiet. A silent tavern is a sad tavern,” he says as though he’s repeating someone else.

  Surely I’m misunderstanding. “So anyone can play those?”

  “I think so.” He shrugs. I wish I knew if he was telling the actual truth, or telling the truth as best he knows it. “I’ve never seen anyone get in trouble for playing them. Oh, wait, do you want to play?”

  “No, no…I’m not any good.” Yet even as I say that, I’m popping my knuckles. I’m itching for the harmonies to the panpipe’s melodies that I know are trapped in the strings of the lute.

  “Eh, you’re likely right.”

  “What?” I look at him, the echoes of Joyce and Helen suddenly tangling with his words.

  He drops his voice. “You’re a human. There’s no way you could play well enough to keep up with fae. I’m sure you’re just blown away by the quality of our bards.”

  I am. But that doesn�
��t mean I couldn’t keep up. I think I could…

  Stop that noise!

  Mother, she’s doing it again. She’s playing the thing!

  If you play the lute one more time I will chop off its neck or yours.

  Helen’s and Joyce’s words drown out the music for a dark second. I stare at the soundless instruments from underneath the weight of all the words they filled me with. So much of Joyce and Helen pressing down on me, making me small. Never enough of me to stand against them. Never…

  Laura’s temple is against my knee. She tilts her face up toward me. One more song before bed, she mouths.

  “No,” I whisper.

  “No, what?” Raph is confused.

  Understandably so. He wasn’t there the day my hand in marriage was sold for fortune. He wasn’t there the day that I vowed to never again let them or anyone else trap me, make me feel small, turn me into a tool instead of a whole person.

  “You’re wrong. I can keep up.” I glare at him. “And I’m going to show you.”

  “Wha—wait!”

  I’m already weaving across the dance floor. I approach the stage with enough intent that the panpipe player gives me a nod with his goat-horned head. I return the gesture and he steps away. It looks almost like permission.

  The thumping of the dancers’ feet rumbles behind me. The deep resonance of the drum is within me. The music drowns out every word Joyce or Helen ever said for a brief and glorious minute while I step onto the stage and head right for the lute, slinging its strap over my shoulders.

  “Hello, friend,” I whisper, lightly strumming, soft enough that no one will hear but me. As I suspected, it’s in tune. “Shall we?”

  I spin and step forward, falling into the melody. My foot taps along with the beat as my fingers begin to move on instinct. The other players regard me with excited glances and encouraging smiles. They nod their heads at me, I nod back at them.

  Now a quartet, the music is richer, deeper. I lock eyes with the fiddle player, a woman with a head shaved to display similar tattoos to what Shaye and Giles have. She grins at me and nods. I nod in reply.