Now there are eleven of us still living, if you want to call what we are doing living. Three of the eleven have gone off into the forest. I have considered it myself. It would definitely be easier than staying here, where everyone constantly fears me. The smell of their fear keeps me on edge and always alert. During the war, if someone was afraid nearby, it usually meant they sensed something about to attack. Now that I am home and everyone reeks of fear, I watch constantly for whatever might attack, even though nothing here ever does.
It’s tough to break a centuries-old habit, especially when that habit has kept me alive all this time. When we fought the nightmares that hunted them, our people loved us. We were hailed as heroes, and everyone praised us. There were banners and parties in our honor. At first, when we returned home, there were parades and celebrations, but now that the war is over, they ignore us. They treat us as if we are hideous or deformed. We're kind of like their dirty little secret. We're reminders of the brutality and reality of war.
We remind them of the fear and anxiety. We hunted down and killed the nightmare creatures that made them all piss themselves in fear. I think they fear that we’re worse than the terrible things we hunted. They may even be right. I suppose since we killed those things and kept on killing those things, that in some ways, we are worse. Now, we’re the things that make them piss themselves since those other things no longer threaten them.
The nightmare creatures we hunted were evil monsters. What we pursued was created by crazy minds – giant bugs that bit and spit acid, beings with too many arms and no proper hands, mind-bending creatures that could turn into poison mist, and others that reeked so badly your eyes wouldn’t stop watering for days. We hunted the real-life versions of things that parents threaten small, misbehaving children with.
We hunted the things that go bump in the night—monsters that reach out from under your childhood bed to devour you, body and soul. Now, they treat us like we’re the monsters. If I had known this would be my reward, I might have just let one of those creatures eat me. It would've been easier than dealing with this for the rest of my days. Fey live long lives, and I don’t know if I can survive more centuries of this. I’ve only been back home for a few months, and I already hate it. I’d rather go back to war. I’m still thinking all this over when I get home.
I'd like to lie down for a while and maybe take a nap. I’m still in knots over that audience with the king. Going full hunter mode was dangerous; my control could have slipped. Everything inside me was screaming for me to challenge him because he is unfit to be king, mainly because he is unfit to be our king. What ruler participates in using his subjects as food for those things? I pause, leaning my forehead against the door, and take a deep breath before I let myself in. I step inside, and I hear voices. I hear my parents talking to someone, but I don’t recognize the voice.
It’s a deep, rumbling baritone that I find soothing. I pause for a moment, listening, leaning against the wall. That’s a voice I could get used to. I wonder who it belongs to. I hear the door to my father’s study open and stand up. My father comes around the corner, smiling. I wonder what’s happening and who this visitor is. He tells me to come and meet the man who is offering for me. I’m not surprised, but marriage is one way to escape Imelenora and get away from Ellisar. I’m still dressed for court, so I look presentable, at least.
I run my hands over my clothes, checking them for any damage. I can’t imagine any male offering for a feral female. No wonder my father is so happy. I follow along dutifully behind him, wondering whose fifth wife or concubine I’ll be. I suppose that’s one way for my parents to get me out of the house and maybe out of Imelenora. I enter the room and come to a sudden stop, almost toppling over. I think my mouth is open in shock. It’s the human male from the bridge. He’s talking with my mother when he notices that I’m here. He turns to face me, and our eyes lock again.
That familiar feeling of calm washes over me. He doesn’t seem to see this as a challenge that most guys would consider just from such a look. He seems to sense somehow that I might startle easily. Moving slowly, he offers me his hand. I sniff again, and there’s still no fear, only arousal. Tentatively, I take his hand, and a slight smile appears on one side of his mouth. He pulls me into an empty chair beside him. There is a fizzy, floating sensation to his touch. His thumb makes slow, soothing circles on the back of my hand. I am still stunned by his gaze and too dazed by this sudden turn of events to remember my manners.
Love what you're reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.
Social etiquette among predators is crucial for survival. Offend too often, and you’ll eventually face someone stronger who will accept your challenge. I don’t want to chase him away by seeming threatening, so I make myself drop my eyes, blushing a bit at my own awkwardness. I hear him chuckle, and it’s a deep rumbling sound that I quite like. To my amazement, he sounds pleased with my reaction to him. He seems, somehow, to understand that I’m not… typical. So far, I have liked everything I can sense about this glorious male.
I inhale deeply to catch a whiff of what he smells like. He smells mouthwateringly delicious. Gods above! He smells good, like summer in an ancient forest – sweet grass, moss, sunshine, and oak leaves with a hint of something musky and spicy. It makes me wonder what it would be like to be immersed in that, with that fizzy floating touch in places best not mentioned in polite company. Immersed in that smell with that touch… Without meaning to, I let my thoughts stray in that direction. I’m aroused. I get an immediate glare from my father.
Smirking, my mother nods and gives me a wink, seeming to approve of both this male and my reaction to him. I am stunned and can’t gather my thoughts or words. The human male appears to sense my inner turmoil and chuckles again. He asks if I’d like to go for a walk with him. Unable to form coherent words amid the flood of emotions inside me, I nod. I desperately want to untie my tongue and talk with this male. Just the fact that he doesn’t fear me is intriguing on its own. He’s human, and that makes it even more fascinating.
He introduces himself, “I am Lord Kenric and I’m very pleased to meet you, Víl?.”
He offers me his arm, and we walk for a bit. “I heard what happened at court today.”
My stomach drops. I wonder what this male wants with me. “Can I ask you some questions about it?”
I shrug and gesture for him to go ahead. Maybe if he asks me some questions, I can loosen my tongue enough to answer them. I do like this male, and I want to talk with him. “I’m still struggling a bit with your language, so please correct me if I am inappropriate in any way.”
I nod, agreeing. “If I understood some of the comments I heard at court correctly, it seems that you’re some kind of war hero.”
I look at him oddly and shake my head. “No. I won’t claim that. We buried the heroes. The only ones left are us broken things.”
He looks sad for a moment before leaning down. “Believe it or not, I know what that’s like.”
Something inside me untwists slightly at his admission. “Your parents and I talked about your… condition, but I wanted to talk to you. Is it hard for you? To be stuck like this and unable to change back?”
I nod. “It’s terrible. Everyone, even my mother, is afraid of me. Everyone but you.”
He looks puzzled, so I tap my nose with a finger. “I can smell it. Even if they don’t mean to be, they still are, and I still know it. Just like I know you aren’t. Not even a little. Their fear makes me edgy. I keep expecting something to leap out and try to devour me at any second.”
I see him thinking, and he gestures to someone in the distance. They hurry over, and I hear him requesting a carriage.
He turns back to me, clearly pleased with himself. “Let’s go outside the city, away from everyone, where you can relax. We can talk there for as long as you want.”
Finally, someone understands. “Yes, please. The Old Forest, if we can.”
We’re inside the carriage, and he asks me what Yávi? Mairi? Andún? means. My old honor name, which I’ll have to work to get back if I want it. It depends on what that worthless bastard on the throne intends for me to do to get it, I suppose. I tell him what it means when it’s not the old formal court Fey - Splendor of the Autumn Sunset.
He looks puzzled, so I ask which part he doesn’t understand. He was expecting some military rank. I suppose that if you're unfamiliar with our naming conventions, this might seem strange, so I'll start by explaining Fey culture to him, beginning with the Lawful and Lawless. If he’s offering for me, he should have at least some understanding of what he’s asking for. I start to explain Fey to this human, hoping that I don’t say something that makes him withdraw his offer.
Let me try to explain Fey to you. At age twenty, when we reach physical maturity, we’re taken to the temple to swear our First Oath, one way or the other. Our magic is tied to it. If we break the oath, we lose our magic. Not all Lawless are terrible. I have a couple of friends who are Lawless Fey, and not all Lawful Fey are the paragons they claim to be. Our king is a prime example of that. I do not doubt that if my brothers and sisters hadn’t shown up today to speak for me, I’d have ended up as another statue in his garden for a few centuries.
I think I called our king a tricksy son of a banshee. Lord Kenric laughs, and it’s a sound I quite like. “Can you explain to me how a Lawful Fey could be tricksy, as you put it, and not lie?”
I laugh at his naivete and start explaining. “You humans talk about deals with devils, but it really should be deals with Fey. We’re all taught this from a young age, typically starting around the time we begin learning to talk. By the time we’re adults, it’s second nature, and we don’t even realize we’re doing it, but we all do this. Give us another few hundred years of practice at it, and well… you get the idea.”
“Some are better than others, but even the worst among us is almost as good at it as any infernal. I can conveniently forget to mention things I don’t want you to know. I can make a statement and let you draw your own very wrong conclusions. I can misdirect you. I can make misleading statements. I can imply things. I can dodge your questions. I can refuse to answer them. I can leave out some pertinent information that completely changes the context, like someone clearly did with me. Did I duel all three hundred and eighty-six of them? Yes.”
Minus Kenric, because he is:
- The only one with a functioning brainstem
- The only one who doesn’t immediately default to misogyny
- And the only one who learned what “basic courtesy” means
But the rest?
Oh.
Oh, they are a gift to me.
Shows up insisting Centis has “superior economic leverage,” which is adorable coming from someone representing a kingdom that thinks ledgers are “witchcraft math.”
Takes notes like he’s attacking the parchment.
Which he should—it's the only useful battle he’ll ever win.
Claims he’s “not intimidated by Fey.”
Then proceeds to flinch every time someone with pointed ears clears their throat.
If fear had a smell, it would be him.
(That’s not his real name, but it should be.)
He speaks with the confidence of a man who has never once been right about anything.
Any anything.
He tries to negotiate like he’s playing chess…
while holding the board upside?down…
and eating the pieces and maybe the library paste.