Eliott should have never listened when they said he should go out of the palace today. He should have taken one look at the darkening sky and called it off, even if he had to pull the authority card.

But, as usual, he had ducked his head amidst his trainer's rants and resolved to just get it over with. The town did need assurance Rosewall was still listening.

Besides, what's the use of sending an underling such as Eliott when it should be the King who should show his face? Eliott chuckled to himself at that thought. It's almost a blessing his horse got spooked off by a rushing merchant cart and ran off into the nearest woods leagues away from town. He wouldn't want to be at the blunt end of the people's anger.

Eliott pursed his lips and tried standing up. Pain shot from his leg and pulsed against his temple. He winced and dropped back to the slab of stone he had propped himself on earlier. Of course, with a spooked horse, it was never going to end well for its rider, especially if it was someone as inexperienced as Eliott. What was Clem thinking of sending a child by himself with a flighty steed?

A sigh pushed off his lips. His hands running up and down his thighs in an attempt to dry his sweaty palms against his breeches. He glanced to his left, noting the messy array of thick, gnarly trunks and lush green canopies. The undergrowth showed no signs of clearing out, even when he squinted at it.

All around him, various animal calls formed some sort of symphony. Squirrels and other critters dashed from branch to branch, bearing their daily quota of nuts and other items to store in preparation for winter. Distant hoots of birds of prey rang from inside the embrace of the higher canopies. The melodious melodies from the songbirds thankfully drowned them out.

Were there lions here? Or wolves? Or anything that could chomp its teeth down his arm and lop it off?

Eliott shook his head, clearing his head of the gruesome images of animals attacking him. If he stayed here and waited for someone to get him, maybe no harm would come on his way. That, or vultures would find him and circle overhead until they could feast on him.

Holy Palendral. He should stop thinking about his own demise. Perhaps the people in Rosewall were already looking to find his location. It had been several hours since he was supposed to show up in Wendsholme, the nearest town.

His horse, the frantic mare he had been paired with, had long been gone. No traces of its dark coat could be found within Eliott's line of sight. If it hadn't thrown him off to the first bush it found, he would have gotten up and searched for it. But as it was, the mare was left on its own. Let him hope it knew how to go home. Or maybe it wasn't planning on going home at all. Either way, the horse's freedom was a matter out of his hands.

He sighed again and forced his gaze to land on the main source of pain on his leg. With painstaking effort, he turned his leg. The side of his pants was split wide open after being dragged through something he could only refer to as a thornbush. Angry gashes burned down the length of his calf, tearing through flesh in a series of serrated spikes. Thankfully, the blood had stopped flowing so he didn't need to worry about binding it.

Still, it hurt to put pressure on his injured leg. It didn't take him long to figure out he probably had broken bones in there too. The way he slammed into that thornbush was as painful as it was undignified. The only time luck was on his side was when he hadn't fallen in on his neck and broke it.

Eliott turned to the direction he remembered coming in. He must have blacked out sometime after he flew off his steed because the last thing he remembered was wrestling the reins and getting a good glimpse of the low-lying, twisty branch curving at eye-level. That branch must have slapped the horse's snout, which spooked it further. Then, his memory immediately cut off to him lying face down, snorting sharp needles up his nose.

The King would flip out if he found out what happened to his first born. Eliott could already picture his father parading down the line of court officials in his throne hall, ranting about how important it was to keep his heir and the future king safe at all times. Clem would probably lose his job for letting Eliott off on his own.

It wasn't the trainer's fault, though. Eliott, in his haste to get this impromptu tour over with, had thrown himself into the first horse the stablemasters had given him and went ahead. Now that he's thinking about it, he did pull the authority card, just in a different context.

Something rustled behind him. Eliott jumped and whipped to the source. He saw a quick swipe and heard a distressed shriek followed by a fiery hiss. A ball of feathers zipped down his periphery before slamming into the carpet of grass and dried leaves a few feet from his perch. He craned his neck to the sky only to find a bushy-tailed rodent baring its teeth at the direction its enemy fell towards. Before Eliott could do anything, the rodent turned around, flashed its fluffy tail, and scampered off.

Okay...what was that?

A set of terrified chirps floated from the ground, catching his attention. He scanned the forest floor and spotted a ball of tufts nestled between a clump of grass blades with yellow flowers and tall, crooked tree roots. An onyx beak snapped at the wind, more cries begging to be heard emanating from its bobbing throat.

Eliott's heart wrenched. He recognized the round body, the dappled wings, and the thin but long legs sporting hooked claws. It was a mistlark.

That rodent from earlier might have raided its nest and stolen its eggs or its store of food. Unlike most birds who hunt when the situation requires it, mistlarks were the only type of songbirds who had the habit of building stocks of food. Maybe it was because of their tendency to stay rooted in the place they're born or maybe because they learned that Rosewall has some of the harshest winters.

Whatever it was, mistlark stocks were prone to be raided by rodents and other critters who were looking for a good addition to their own storage. Sometimes, they win against the thieves but most of the time, they end up like this mistlark in front of him. It was unfortunate.

"Hey," Eliott braced the slab of lichen-infested stone and edged off it in a series of slow movements. He wouldn't want to scare the lark away. "I'll pick you up. Is that okay?"

He kept his eyes on the bobbing throat on the forest floor. The lark regarded him from one of its eyes but no chirps bubbled from its body. He clenched his jaw against the pain shooting from his leg as he crept towards the bird and extended his cupped hands forward. Then, like all the times he tended to injured birds in the menagerie, he scooped the lark up.

The bird's feathers shook against the wind as Eliott back-pedaled into his stone slab. The pain in his leg had only intensified enough to drive sweat into dripping down the side of his face. It was worse when he couldn't transfer any of his weight to his hands. Not when they're occupied.

So, he ground his teeth harder and pushed through the pain. When he settled on the slab once more, he blew a breath at the immediate reprieve and laid the bird over his lap.

He noticed one of its legs dangled out of its control. An amused snort rose from his throat. "Would you look at that," he muttered to himself and perhaps the cold breeze blowing around him. "We both have busted legs."

The bird made no reply. Instead, it opened its beak and a series of notes filtered out. It took Eliott a moment to realize. The mistlark was singing.

It was odd. Why would it sing in an unfortunate time such as this?

"What are you going to do with that bird?" a voice speared from somewhere behind Eliott. His first instinct was to drop his gaze to the lark to figure it wasn't the one who spoke. His next instinct was to look behind him.

He did the latter and his gaze fell on a girl.

Except it wasn't a girl. Not quite. Sure, she had the same face with the same number of eyes, nose, ears, and lips, and the same two arms and two legs, but her resemblance to a human ended there. Firstly, her hair was too red for it to be considered normal by human standards. Then came the issue of her horns. And her wings.

She was fae.

Eliott felt the blood drain from his face. What was a fae doing here? Shouldn't they be in the mountains, doing their magic and stuff? What did she care about a fallen bird?

"I asked you a question," the fae said, a frown similar to how humans do it etched on her gentle features. Peeking from the locks of straight red hair were two pointed ears. The right lobe was pierced with a single thorn. Wouldn't that...hurt? "What are you planning to do with the lark?"

Eliott blinked. A fae who knew of the language of humans. And worse, she was conversing with him. Or at least, trying to.

His mind ran through the legends and rumors he had come across about the fae and basically any other race who didn't look remotely human. He had been warned to never go near one. She could place a curse on him, turn him into a vegetable or something. She could lunge and tear him to shreds. She could also wrap her hands around his neck and wring the life out of him.

Fae, amongst all the non-human races present in Lezeris, were the most vicious of all.

"Can't you speak?" the fae prodded again. She was perched on the lowest branch behind Eliott, the tree encompassing the both of them large enough to extend its shadow a few feet wider. "If you're not gonna answer, may I please have the lark back?"

Eliott snapped out of his reverie and forced his tongue to unlatch from the roof of his mouth. He did everything he could to avoid looking at the girl's eyes or at the feathery brown wings folded behind her. "I am planning to help it," he said, his voice coming to him as monotonic and bland. "Bind its leg until it heals and all."

The fae raised an eyebrow. For a second, she looked just like a normal, human girl. "Do you know that much about birds?"

He blinked. Was he really having this conversation now or did he hit his head too hard and had begun his descent to madness? "I know enough," he scratched the back of his neck which was slowly becoming irritated with all the hanging vines scattered around. "That is, if I can figure out how to get out of this forest first and get back home."

"Give it to me," the fae extended her hand towards him. With the distance between him and the branch she was perched on, it was impossible for him to simply reach out. He would have to stand.

He stared at the bird chirping in soft tones on his lap. It seemed oblivious of the exchange happening around it and about it. "I can heal it on my own," he said. "I just need to get home."

A loud thud made the dried leaves crunch. The fae's wings stretched to its partial length to catch her weight. Damn, who knew wings could be so useful? He swallowed against the lump in her throat as she stalked towards him. With his busted leg, it was impossible to bolt up and run. He was doomed here.

Instead of smashing him to smithereens, the girl crouched until she was eye-level with his wound. She tapped her chin. "That looks serious," she said. "It might tickle a bit."

Before he could process what was going on, she reached out and laid a hand against his leg. His eyes widened. "Hey, what—"

"Stay still, genius," the fae snapped, eyes already focused on his open gashes. "The magic won't work if you squirm around like an agitated worm."

An agitated worm—

He was the prince of Rosewall and the first in line to the Lezeris Throne. He would not be compared to a worm.

A laugh caught his attention. He looked down to find the girl snickering under her breath. "What?" he demanded.

The fae straightened and tucked her hair behind her ear. Her knuckles brushed the twisted horns curling from her hairline. "You humans are all the same," she said. "Squeamish."

It didn't occur to her that maybe the humans were scared of the fae?

He shifted from his perch, wincing in preparation for the stab of pain it would give. Instead, he swung towards the fae with such ease. There wasn't a drop of pain. What...?

The fae checked her fingernails and stuck her bottom lip out. "You're welcome," she said. "Now the bird—"

"You healed me," the words bled out of Eliott's mouth before he thought twice about it. He found himself staring up at the fae who lowered her hand.

She bobbed her head. "Yeah, I did," she twirled a finger in the air. "With magic. You can go and gasp."

Eliott did not gasp. Instead, he knitted his eyebrows. "Why?"

The girl had the nerve to look confused. "Why?" she echoed like she couldn't believe she was even having this conversation.

Eliott cautiously checked his leg, keeping the fae in his periphery. She didn't make a move at him. And true enough, the skin on his leg was good as new. The bones felt like they were arranged neatly inside him. Even the small gashes were gone.

"Yeah," he said. "Why would you help me, a human?"

The fae's features softened. "Oh, that," she said. "We're tasked to help all creatures with our magic. It's a sacred duty instilled in us as fae. I guess humans are part of that too."

Eliott pursed his lips, not daring to speak. A strange feeling curled in his gut. Here the humans were, torching fae villages and driving them out of their homes, and this fae just told him it was their mission to use their magic for good. If there was a name for this feeling, he supposed it would be guilt.

"Thank you," Eliott said, raising his eyes to meet the girl's. He had never seen such a beautiful shade of green before. It was like the lush grass but brighter. Livelier. "What's your name? Or do fae not have names?"

She chuckled. "We have names," she said. "I'm Edge. You?"

He touched his chest and did a partial bow. "Eliott," he said. "It's nice to meet you."

The fae extended her hand towards him again. "The lark?"

Oh. That's probably why she came here. Eliott just managed to get a free ride. Gingerly, he scooped the bird up from his lap and passed it to Edge. The fae made shushing noises as she cradled the crying bird in her hold. Then, she closed her eyes. Before Eliott's eyes, an ethereal light shone from her hands, wrapping the bird in its soft glow.

As quickly as it came, the light vanished in a flash.

"There we go," Edge opened her eyes and checked on her work. The lark rose with its two legs, its busted one now fixed. She gave it a little shake. "Fly along now, little one."

The mistlark, as if it heard and understood Edge, spread its wings and launched itself into the air. Within seconds, it was gone. As if it's never there.

"Wow," Eliott breathed. "It was far better than what I could do for it. Thank the gods you've come."

Edge regarded him then. She smiled. "That's the nicest thing a human has ever said to me," she said.

Eliott decided it was a compliment on his part. He confirmed he could now say nice things. "If it's not too much trouble," he said. "May I have your family name?"

A confused look contorted the fae's features. "Family name?"

"Oh," he slapped a hand to his mouth, backtracking. "What I meant is the uh, thing after your first name to signify which family you belong to...?"

Edge's chuckle stopped him short. She slapped her thighs, her trousers crinkling with the motion. "I know what you mean, don't worry," she said. "Fae do not have family names. We are named after which aspect of nature gave birth to us. As for mine..." her eyes twinkled as she winked and laid a finger to her lips. "It's a secret."

Bummer. "How about you?" she asked. Her gaze was trained to the crest pinned on his vest. "You seem from somewhere important."

Eliott's hand launched up and covered his crest. Let him hope fae were not familiar with the coat of arms of each of the nobility. "I-It's a secret as well," he said. "I will only tell you if you tell me yours."

To her credit, Edge merely laughed again. "Fair enough," she said before looking at a random, far-away direction. "Well, I should go. I think my job is done here."

"Wait," Eliott called just as she turned to go. "Do you know the quickest way to Wendsholme?"

Edge was more than happy to oblige. After she gave him directions, she spread her wings and bid her farewell once more. Then, as quietly and as quickly she had dropped into his life, she was gone. Soon, he was alone again.

A single brown feather fluttered to the ground. Eliott lunged for it, cradling it to his chest before it touched the grass. He held it up to the light, a silly smile playing on his lips. The magic Edge cast to heal his leg seemed to be finding its way to his heart, shining and burning brighter.

"Edge, huh?" he muttered to himself.

Without further ado, he began walking with his newly-healed leg, away from the forest. It was the first time Eliott je Clair wished he was something other than a prince, that he wasn't as human as he came to be.