The Cruel Fae King by A K Koonce & Rebecca Grey

Author:A K Koonce & Rebecca Grey [Koonce, A K & Grey, Rebecca]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-11-18T16:00:00+00:00

Thirteen

Now It’s a Party

Syren

Morning comes, but only after the tossing and turning of fitful sleep. Yellow sunlight breaks through the gaps in my curtains, casting my room in an amber glow.

Ruffled pink sheets and the crumpled rose comforter remain tangled on my limbs. I kick them off unenthusiastically. I lift from the soft mattress, but I sit there for several long minutes. I’m unprepared for the day. My mind is still a jumble of burning palms, bloody tears, and whispered conversations.

Bear has an annoying way of being right. I don’t know the people here. I don’t know what the looming illness of this curse has done to them or made them do as a result.

After following a particularly yellow ray of sun my eyes land on my dresser. Large white peonies bloom over greenery within a large square vase. A small red envelope is tucked within the petals.

My feet meet the chilly morning floor, curious what kind of apology Bear has written out for me. I lick my lips in anticipation as I pluck the card from the flowers.

Be ready by noon.

Wow . . . the romance is too much right now. My ovaries are truly wooed.

The looping black ink stains the red paper. Another demand, not an apology. Exasperated by the sheer will of this man, I sigh, fanning myself with the card. He has no respect for me. I’ll truly be a captive in this castle forever.

Taking a handful of the pretty white peonies, I walk to my balcony doors. Water drips from the stems of the flowers onto the ivory tiles. Drip. Drop.

Every droplet compels me to move faster. With the doors swinging wide open and the sun warm on my face, I pay no mind to the servants in the courtyard who turn up to look at me still in my night clothes.

The stone edge of the balcony, black and sparkling, looks less magical during the day. Stars that twinkled off the building in the evening light are nowhere to be found. A soulless black castle is all that remains.

It’s a fitting image of a kingdom with a cruel, cruel king.

I tilt the flowers upside down over the ledge before opening my hand one finger at a time until they tumble from my grasp. White petals fall slowly in pursuit of the flowers that land down on the green grass. I dust my hands off, ridding them of the dirty feeling of the arrangement.

I am not King Iri’s prize. And flowers aren’t enough to make up for how much he’s done to me.

Welcoming the cold morning air, I leave my doors open. I thumb through the wardrobe, no longer finding any appeal in pleasing the king. So instead of the lovely blue dress that my hand is instantly drawn to, I push past skirts—some heavier like what I would traditionally wear and some form-fitting like the fashion of this court and stop on a red dress. It calls to me because it’s less formal than anything I’ve ever worn, but equally as pretty.

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