Portraits of a Faerie Queen by Tay LaRoi

Author:Tay LaRoi
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: action, lgbt, fantasy, lesbian, college, faeries, magic users
Publisher: NineStar Press

Chapter Eighteen

By the time we finish Fuloch-proofing half of Northland, it’s four in the morning, five by the time I drive up to the house, six thirty by the time I take Dominic’s advice and fall asleep. Noon when Shaylee calls and tells us the queen is home.

“She’s ready when you are,” she says over the phone.

I jump out of bed and rake a comb through my hair. “How is she?” I ask.

“Not too bad, actually,” she replies cheerfully. “That confrontation with the shapeshifters wiped her out, so you should be okay. I was going to ask Dominic to come with you, but she seems safe enough.”

Turns out Dominic’s not even awake. Setting up protective charms and spells must’ve taken so much out of him that he crashed on the couch instead of dragging himself to bed. I drape a quilt over him and leave a note on the kitchen table.

“If you don’t think she’s dangerous, I’m sure I’ll be fine,” I whisper to Shaylee. “I won’t be there long anyway.”

“That’s true,” Shaylee replies. “I’ll catch up with you afterward. Bye.”

I hang up, grab the painting, and go.

The horror of damaging it keeps me from running, but walking feels like moving in slow motion. The keep can’t come into view soon enough. When it finally does, I find myself paralyzed with fear. What if the queen doesn’t accept it? What if she finds some other way to hang Mom over my head? What if she tries to trap me again? There’s no way of knowing until I stop panicking and just go.

A short, wispy faerie in ragged clothes greets me at the entrance.

“I’m to take you to Her Majesty,” she squeaks. “She’s feeling a bit under the weather and isn’t holding audiences today, but she made an exception for you.”

Strange. I didn’t think faeries could get sick, especially the queen.

The keep stirs with its “morning” routine. Staff dashes here and there with fresh laundry, food, and knickknacks. Patrons roam the hall looking sleepy and spent from the night before as they prepare to do it all over again. It’s unsettling how quiet and calm the place is. I didn’t even realize quiet moments were possible in Faerie.

The servant leads me to the familiar jewel-encrusted door. It’s as beautiful as I remember with its swirling patterns and lifelike movements, but something seems off. The jewels don’t sparkle as bright. They’re dull, as if covered with a fine layer of dust. Everything moves slower, like a wind-up toy losing momentum.

The servant gives a hesitant knock, distracting me from the door. “Your Majesty,” she announces. “I’ve brought the human girl. She has the painting.”

A faint “Let her in” barely makes it through the wood.

The servant looks from me to the door, gesturing with a small pushing motion. I take the hint and slip inside.

The room smells sour and stagnant, like illness. The only light comes from two candles on either side of the enormous bed where the queen sits with a steaming earth-colored mug in her hands.

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