A Dance with the Fae Prince (Married to Magic)

by Elise Kova

  I knew this was coming, but hearing him say it makes it no easier. “The world is cruel.”

  “I will still come and visit you whenever I am able, I swear it.”

  For a brief moment, I indulge in that fantasy. I think of summers in the forest clearing when I sit on the stump and play my lute for him. I imagine winters huddled by the fire, planning what we will plant in the garden next spring. I think of him coming to me in that manor, as though he lived up the road and we were torn apart by a minor inconvenience—like him needing to live closer to town for his work—rather than the reality of us existing in different worlds.

  “I would like that, but you must also act as the king of the fae for however long you are. And that might mean you need to take a strategic wife.”

  “If I am the king of the fae I will do what I want,” he insists. I resist pointing out how much his tune has changed on the matter and keep the thought as a personal delight. “Or, perhaps I will find the true heir soon. And when they are established on the throne, I will come and live with you in the Natural World forevermore.”

  It is a lovely fantasy. But I know better. This love, however meaningful it was, was not meant to last.

  There is a knock on the door followed by Oren saying, “My lord—I mean, Your Majesty—fae have begun to arrive claiming they are heirs to the Aviness line and are demanding to try on the crown. How would you like us to proceed?”

  Davien heaves a mighty sigh. “I thought I would have more time.”

  “Duty calls,” I needlessly remind him with a coy smile.

  “I will return as soon as I am able, my love.” He kisses both of my hands and then shouts to the door, “I’ll be there in just a moment.”

  Davien stands and begins to dress. With every article of clothing that covers his pristine flesh, my chest grows tighter and tighter. I wonder if this is the last time I will touch him, will kiss him. I’m so lost in my own thoughts that his hand is on the door handle when I blurt, “I love you.”

  “What?” Davien blinks at me several times over.

  I sit up, clutching the blankets to my chest, although modesty seems like such a foolish notion between us now. “I love you, Davien,” I repeat, enunciating each word. I had hoped to say it at a more meaningful moment. But our time is fleeting, and every second that passes without my saying it is a tragedy.

  “I thought you swore you would never fall in love?”

  “A wise man taught me that I didn’t know what love was when I made that promise,” I say coyly. “And besides, I think that when I made that promise to myself, I was thinking about human men… You’re not in that category. So I’m not breaking any of my old rules.”

  He grins and is back at the bed in an instant, cradling my face with both hands, and bringing his lips to mine again and again. “And I love you; I will always love you.”

  We breathe in tandem, relishing in the swell of emotions that those three words can bring. But all too soon, he releases me. Davien gives me a smile. There’s a spark of yearning to his eyes, like he wants to stay. Yet he leaves…and I know this will be my life for the rest of my days.

  I will yearn for a man I can never have. A man who will always walk out of the room, and out of my life, to a world that I’m not a part of. And I will live alone, in an empty manor, with the knowledge of a world that no other human has or would believe.

  Part of me is grateful, even still, to know this love, this completeness.

  And the other part of me is slowly withering for a reason completely unrelated to magic…already crushed by the incomprehensible loneliness that awaits me.

  Chapter 38

  I thought I would depart for the human world immediately. But Davien has been so busy that it’s been logistically untenable for that to happen. He’s insisted that he will be the one to escort me when we ultimately return. For that reason, neither Shaye, nor Oren, nor Giles, nor Hol has been given permission to take me across the Fade, causing the delay.

  Miraculously, I’m still doing fine in Midscape. They ask me regularly how I’m feeling. But after a good night’s rest, the weariness from recapturing the High Court has vanished from my bones. Food still has taste, too. All this fascinates Vena. She eats with me at almost every meal now, asking relentless questions about every single flavor. Once, she even tried to test me by serving me food that was laced with an intense spice. I passed that test, much to my annoyance.

  The current theory is that the ancient kings’ magic was in me for so long that a bit wore off on me. It gives Davien unexpected hope that perhaps I could stay. Vena tries to curb that, but to no avail. Davien still seems to think that he’ll find a way to grant me the ability to live in Midscape with the power of ancient kings reigniting the old human magics, hidden within me, languished from living in the Natural World.

  Yet despite all this, I know the truth. I know what’s going to ultimately happen. And I’ve been bracing myself for it every day. If anything, my time here is becoming more torturous than fantasy. It is growing harder and harder to wake up next to him in the mornings, knowing that I will have to leave him. Returning to the Natural World will be a kindness when it finally happens.

  During the day, Davien is busy with the relentless parade of fae coming to try on the crown. Each claim is more ridiculous than the last. Initially, I stand in the main hall as part of the audience. Watching each man and woman come up to explain how they were somehow, tangentially, possibly related to the Aviness bloodline. The tenuous relations are almost as ridiculous as their stories about how they were “lost to history” and “came to remember their calling.”

  Davien listens dutifully—more patient than I could ever be—and then invites them up onto the dais with him. The man or woman sits on the throne, and Davien lowers the crown onto their brow. Time after time, it falls to the floor. Naturally, I quickly grow bored of watching this farce, and begin to explore the castle instead. I’m not going to wait around as he places the glass crown on every fae in the kingdom.

  But distaste for their disrespect of the glass crown and all Davien suffered to finally achieve it isn’t the sole reason that I begin to wander.

  Something is haunting me, chasing me. It has been in my darkest dreams. It is a memory that fades more and more with each passing day, as though it wants to be forgotten again. Part of me wants to forget. But the other part of me remembers that second of clarity I gained during the fall.

  That’s how I ended up back in the king’s chambers—the one place that has yet to be changed from how Boltov left it.

  That’s how I ended up here, staring out the shattered window, heart pounding. Shaye found Boltov’s body later that night. He has crossed the Veil and into the Beyond. But the ghost of him remains. The memories he forced me to confront seared in my mind.

  I bite my thumbnail, worrying it with my teeth. I don’t want to remember. But I have to. This night has haunted me for years and I am on the cusp of recalling something that feels so incredibly important. My back aches again as I stare out and into the sky.

  “Remember what?” I curse and storm away from the window. How can my memories become distorted like this? What happened that was so bad my own mind refuses to allow me to recall the details? Why is this truth just out of my grasp?

  I pace the room, frustration rising with every turn until I end up punching one of the bookcases with a grunt. As I massage my stinging knuckles, my eyes turn up to the books. I run a finger over the spines, catching in an empty hole where a tome is missing.

  On each of the spines the symbol of Aviness is emblazoned. The eight-pointed star over the glass crown ringed in lilies. I run my finger lightly down the stretched leather, coming to a pause on the crown. Like this, the upmost spears of the glass crown’s outline look almost like a mountain.

  “No, it can’t be…” I breathe.

  “What can’t be?” I jump, spinning to see Davien. He approaches, hands folded behind his back. Even without the crown, he has the trimmings of
a king. His movements become more regal by the day.

  “I… You’re done early,” I manage to say.

  “I can’t stand another person coming into these hallowed halls, spewing their half-truths and half-baked claims of legitimacy.” He runs a hand through his hair as he comes to a stop beside me. “I waited for decades for the opportunity to assume that throne. I trained, and I struggled, and I fought, for the chance to bring peace and prosperity to our people. To see these individuals come out of the woodwork with no comprehension of what it is that they’re trying to assume—”

  I rest a hand on his shoulder gently, stopping him before he can get too worked up. “You could always stop the search,” I needlessly remind him. “And rule as you were meant to.”

  “Eventually, the Aviness heir would be found. Eventually, some son or daughter would learn of their bloodline and come to claim the throne. It is better to find them now, when I can teach them, when I hold the respect of the people and can give the throne graciously to ensure a smooth transition of power. I will find them no matter what it takes.”

  I shake my head. “And that is why you are the king that they don’t deserve.”

  “The bar was set fairly low when I assumed this position.”

  “And whenever you leave, it will be set far higher.”

  “What would I do without your encouragement?” He gives me a loving smile. Before I can answer he asks, “Now, what ‘can’t be’? And why have you come here?” Davien sniffs as if the air offends him. “It still reeks of usurpers.”

  “I…” I run my fingers along the journals. My fingers catch in the grooves of the embossing on the spine. I remember my mother’s book, its worn-away title and fraying binding. “When I fell with Boltov…I had a memory of that day.”

  “What day?”

  “The last time I fell,” I whisper.

  “The day you and Helen fell off the roof?” Davien rests a palm between my shoulder blades, over the scar.

  “Yes.” The word is gummy.

  “What did you remember?”

  “I thought I remembered flying,” I whisper. That idea has been what’s haunted me through these halls.

  “I’m sure, to a child, falling from a great height must have felt like flying.”

  “No, I—I think I actually flew. Clumsily. Not well. But…there’s no way Helen and I could’ve survived a fall from that height. No way I should’ve been able to catch up to her.” I continue staring at the bookshelf. My finger is still wedged in the missing spot between the journals. At the pieces falling into place that I wish desperately I could ignore. “Sometimes, ever since I came to Midscape, I’ve had these strange sensations of knowing, of belonging—”

  “The ancient magic of kings.”

  I give him a small glare in frustration. He’s not taking me seriously. Then again, I did just talk about flying. I haven’t been taking myself seriously for the past few days, either, with thoughts like that. But this damned bookshelf is forcing me out of my blissful ignorance. These things can no longer be ignored. “It’s more than just that memory though. Like these books. This one is missing…the book you used in the ritual that night came from here, didn’t it?”

  “I believe so.” He sighs softly. “That book was one of the few to have ever escaped the High Court.”

  “What are these books?” I dare to ask.

  “Long ago there was a Court of Stars, seers of the fae. For every Aviness, they would record their destiny upon these pages with an ancient magic that could be read only by the individual. Every book on this shelf represents an Aviness lost… recorded by a magic that the Boltovs stamped out.”

  I swallow thickly. I’m wrong. I have to be wrong. This is insanity.

  “Do you know how my father got that book?” Please have a simple, logical explanation, I silently beg.

  He shakes his head. “No one in the Acolytes could figure out how the book made it to your father’s estate. The last known person with Aviness blood was said to have escaped with it. She took it and ran, disappearing into the night.” I think of what Boltov said: the last true Aviness to escape my clutches. “It took ages for Vena to track the tome down to your father. At least the book got as far away from Boltov as possible. I’m sure it would’ve been reclaimed or destroyed otherwise. I tried for years to get your father to sell it to me but he would always refuse.”

  What do I say? How can I explain this to him? Fear that Davien will see this secret I’ve kept as a great betrayal coats me. “That book…”

  “It would’ve been impossible for you to know what it was as a human. Don’t feel bad.” He has no idea why my skin has gone clammy. “And your father, as a merchant, I’m sure he came across it at some point in his dealings. How it made its way across the Fade is a mystery, but I’m sure the last of the Aviness bloodline was just trying to keep it safe before Boltov got his hands on her. Stranger things have happened and—”

  “That book was my mother’s,” I interrupt him. I’m unable to face Davien. Instead I stare at the place on the bookshelf where that tome should have been slotted. I pantomime fitting a book into the slot, my fingers sliding down the shelf to fall at my side.

  That was it. The piece that was missing for everything to make sense. My gut wrenches and I’m not sure if I’m going to be sick or cry.

  “What?”

  “I told you, my birth mother wasn’t Joyce. My mother died when I was very young. She was the one who taught me all my songs. After she passed, my father forbade me from the woods, just like he forbade me to ever tell others who the book belonged to.” I face Davien. “I thought he was just being cautious, overprotective because Joyce destroyed everything of my mother’s. Or, I thought he wanted me to know how sentimental it was so I never gave it away.”

  “And that’s why, when you saw me throw it into the fire—”

  “I lunged after it. It was one of the two things that I had left of my mother.”

  He grabs my shoulders, shaking me. Davien is beginning to see it, too. “The other thing of hers—you said it was your lute, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “The woman who should have been Queen Talahani Aviness was rumored to be an excellent musician. The songs you know, always knew, fae songs…” Davien’s grip goes slack. “No, no, it’s not possible.” He shakes his head, staggering away. “And yet, the songs, the secrecy, the scars on your back… Your memory of flying…Queen Talahani’s book being found at your father’s estate.”

  “Wait, you don’t think—” It’s not possible. This can’t be possible.

  “You summoned wings the day you fell. Your father didn’t let that woman burn you out of callousness. He let her burn you in a misguided and draconian human attempt to keep you safe—to keep you ‘normal’ by their standards. You sprouted wings and they clipped them.”

  A shudder rips through me as the memories return in full. The memories I tried to repress but can no longer ignore. The memories of that day that made no sense to me as a girl and even less as an adult.

  “My father knew too much about the fae,” I whisper. “I always thought it was chance. Or his proximity to the woods. Or the stories he’d encountered on his travels. No…he knew so much about the fae because he fell in love with one. He always said my mother wasn’t made for that world,” I echo my father’s sad lament. “He meant it because she was made for Midscape.”

  “You’re half fae.” Davien steps back and leans against the bookcase as though he needs to catch his breath. “Queen Talahani was always rumored to have fled in an effort to save the bloodline. The Boltovs claimed they killed her, but her body was never found. Then the book the Boltovs were searching for—the one that Vena knew to look for through Allor—was discovered in the possession of your father. Talahani must have escaped to the Natural World. She must’ve fallen in love with your father, and given birth to you.”

  “No, I can’t—I might be half fae, maybe, but I’m not—if I am, I’m sure my mother was some rando
m fae. No one important.” I begin to laugh, slightly crazed, wholly overwhelmed. “You’re making no sense.”

  “I’m making every sense. You thrive, even still, in Midscape. You can eat our food and live here without withering. The magic of the ancient kings went to you—not me—because you are the heir; you are the true heir. And you could not give me the power, without first formally being anointed, and then abdicating, because the crown should have been yours to begin with. I was wrong. So wrong. You weren’t a thief ever. You were claiming your birthright.” Davien runs his hands through his hair, shaking his head. He vibrates with disbelieving laughter. “For the past few days, I’ve been thinking that I would never find the heir. That our people would have to compromise with me and be condemned to uncertainty on my death. All along I’ve been thinking that I have to let you go but it’s not true. None of it is true!” He runs over to me and sweeps me up into his arms. “Katria, you were born to be the queen of the fae.”

  I blurt more laughter. “You’re too tired. You can’t possibly believe what you’re saying.”

  “You know what I’m saying is true,” he whispers into my ear. “You know it deep within you.”

  I ignore the nagging feeling that he’s right. The feeling I’ve been desperately trying to ignore for days. “You’re desperate.”

  “Fine then.” He pulls away. “If you don’t believe me, come and put on the crown. If you’re right, and I’m wrong, then you have nothing to fear. It will fall from your brow like any other’s.” Davien starts for the doorway but I’m frozen in place.

  “And, what if you’re right?” I ask in a very small voice.

  He glances over his shoulder with a small smile. “Then you will rule, as your birthright intended.”

  “But you still have the magic.” I rush over to him. “I abdicated.”

  “These things can be undone. Remember, abdication was only ever meant as a placeholder until the true heir was ready. You are ready and I will give you back your power gladly.” He grabs my hands. “Come with me.”