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‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐄𝐍 𝐀𝐒𝐏𝐇𝐎𝐃𝐄𝐋 𝐒𝐈𝐓𝐒 𝐁𝐄𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐀 𝐆𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐏 𝐎𝐅 𝐄𝐀𝐆𝐄𝐑 𝐍𝐘𝐌𝐏𝐇𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐏𝐈𝐗𝐈𝐄𝐒 as she instructs them on painting with acrylics. The smiles plastered on their cheeks bring forth a sense of irony when the kingdom of Aelethia threatens to unravel in full. Still, amidst the blight, the fae manage to keep their heads held up.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Asphodel lifts her amethyst eyes, an opulent violet that puts the alliums to shame. Her ashy brunette hair drapes over her shoulders in long waterfalls. White baby's breath flowers grown into her curls, as well as a laurel of water lilies crowning her head. She smiles as Elowen and Ronyn approach closer, one so beautiful it puts any woman to shame.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"A little pixie told me that you'd be searching for me," she exclaims to the two. "Hold on just a moment. Then we can talk."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Around them, the fae students all stare in awe at the two visitors. They've probably never seen a were up close. Ronyn could be considered intimidating with his athletic build and gnarly tattoos inking up his skin, and when he grins, those sharp canine teeth are on full display. Nevertheless, the man would never hurt a ladybug unless it attacked him first.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎For Elowen, she knows the only other wyng in existence is Morrow, and from what she knows, he's not known to make his rounds to the other provinces unless he wants something. For the fae to even agree to house him for a handful of days seems out of the ordinary. After all this, it's safe to say that Elowen's wings make her a complete alien to Asphodel's students.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎The queen flicks her wrists. "You are dismissed until after the harvest moon's gathering."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎A plethora of cheers erupt before the room becomes a mess of half-painted canvases and variegated palettes. It would be an enormous mess for anyone to tidy, but almost immediately, the art supplies seem to clean up themselves.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Asphodel clasps her hands in front of her. "My, my, what do we have here? I haven't seen a wyng in years, aside from that grumpy alpha who's napping the day away."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"She's more than just a wyng, and that's why we came to see you," Ronyn explains. Before she can stop him, he reaches for her maroon locks, his rough-padded fingertips gliding across her cheek. He tucks the strand behind her pointed fae ear. "She's a half-breed."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎The queen frowns, the expression showing her age just a little bit more. "That's not possible. The wyng were only allowed to breed in purity."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Morrow's a half-breed," Ronyn points out.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Yes, but Morrow Killian's situation is much different. His existence is because of his father and mother's bargain with the witches," Asphodel shudders at the mention of those forsaken people. "Letting him onto our lands was our first mistake. Agreeing to his favour will be our second."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎The speculation surrounding Morrow intrigues her more than it should. She wishes she brought the journal she discovered in the Tabrien library with her, the one written by Lililya Killian, but to her dismay, she left it behind to collect dust. Lililya's anecdotes provided her with answers to Morrow's sketched upbringing. Whatever history that surrounds Morrow isn't a past that's taken lightly. The trust has long been severed for him, all thanks to his involvement with the witches of Scaerus.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Ronyn growls at her disapproval for his alpha, an instinct he can't suppress. He thankfully changes the subject. "This half-breed happens to be half-fae, which means she should have some fae magic in her blood, correct?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Asphodel steps towards Elowen, her amethyst hues analysing her apparent fae traits. She looks as if the creator just slapped a pair of wings onto a fae, since her similarities to the fae are quite uncanny.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎The queen remains nothing more than a breath away. "No magic in you?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎She shakes her head. "There never was."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"I find that hard to believe," she whispers, her voice a delicate caress. "Who held the magic? Your father or mother?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Father, but I'd never met him."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"I see," she taps her lavender-manicured nails upon her chin, her gaze glazing over in pools of fog. "Not much of a man if he's abandoning his own child."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎To Elowen, she never held a grudge towards her father. Sure, she wished upon countless stars for him to return to her life, but she knew deep down that there was always a reason he could never come home. Elowen's mother told her their romance was rash, quick, and unprecedented. He wasn't upheld high by the fae Yestrean royals, and she was a wounded messenger for the Reovellian guard. There wasn't time to announce a pregnancy, mostly because her mother was far from her father's embrace by the time she discovered she was carrying little Elowen.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen bites the inside of her cheek. "I'm not certain he knew."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎This piques Asphodel's curiosity. "Oh?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"My mother never resented him for not being involved in my life. He just needed to be elsewhere, and I understood that."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"How valiant to think of it that way," the queen straightens her posture. "I think there's more to your story, honeydew, because what you just told me doesn't line up with the ways of fae magic. It's certainly a rarity for it to not show at a young age."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"But I'm half-fae," Elowen rouses. "It's got to be in me somewhere."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"There is something in you," she mutters. "I can sense it, feel it. It's buried deep, almost..." she stops speaking.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Then help me unlock it. Please."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎" I can't."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Gods, this feels like it's Elowen's only chance at figuring out who she truly is. There is something, that low lying hum that sings beneath the flow of her blood. Ever since she arrived in Yestrea, it's been there, a constant in her mind as if she was meant to come here.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen lets her shoulders and wings sink in defeat. "Is there anything I can do that might help?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎The queen ponders the question, the wrinkles cornering her amethyst hues tightening into a furrow. "There is... one suggestion."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"And?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"If you're truly concerned with your ability to harness your magic, you first need to understand your bloodlines in full. You're an anomaly, honeydew. Like your alpha, you shouldn't exist without the tampering of divine intervention. There's only a handful of beings who are powerful enough to weave their way through the realms of life and death, which means one of your parents made a deal with someone they shouldn't in order to create you."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen's heart sinks. "The witches."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎A‎‎‏‏‎sphodel avoids her gaze. "Heed my warning, they will give you what you seek, but only at a price. That alpha of yours is all the evidence you need for their imprisoning bargains."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎But she can't ask Morrow. Morrow won't let her leave his goddamn sight, and the only reason she finds the time to even inquire about her fae magic is because Morrow's fast asleep from dying for the seventh time.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen meets the gaze of her beta, only to have him shake his head in refusal. Even Ronyn denies the request for Elowen to visit with the witches, but won't he have the same questions? What's keeping her magic so contained that not even Asphodel can retrieve it? What secrets were her parents keeping from her? About her blood? About her heritage? About the name and identity she carries next to her heart like an oath?

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Ronyn dips his head, a slight bow for the queen of Yestrea. "We appreciate your efforts."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Likewise, Sir Ronyn," her lips begin to curl back into that breathtaking smile.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎As Elowen and Ronyn leave the classroom, the stirring beneath her blood continues to grow. Even her creature seems to respond to the newfound hum with utter intrigue. An entirely new feeling awakens with her exposure to the fae, and Elowen will welcome it in full.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Maybe then, when that hum becomes a hurricane, the answers she desperately seeks will be found.

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*

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‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ 𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐘𝐍 𝐒𝐄𝐄𝐌𝐒 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐅𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐎𝐖 Elowen around. Afterall, those were Morrow's original orders: to never let the sparrow leave sight. Before, she was grounded with a wounded wing, but with fae magic lingering within the mystical air, there's no need for bandages. Now, she's a flight-risk that they can't afford to lose. If Morrow's attempt to persuade the fae to lend him magic goes south, then he'll result in wringing every drop of it from her.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Although, Morrow won't find what he searches for, because not even Elowen can find that power inside of her. Afterall, his end goal in all of this is to be able to cross Pailon's impenetrable borders undetected to get a cure from the ancients. It's bizarre, almost suicidal, but that won't stop a soul that can cheat death, right? Elowen's seen his skin covered in runes, the way some fade over time and others bleed from use. He's truly the reaper's right hand, and his purpose within this kingdom is to tarnish it with his darkness.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Yet, the were obey him willingly. They follow his orders, his schemes, no matter how ridiculous they may be. Dealing with the witches? No one with a sane mind would even contemplate that.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Except Morrow.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Now, Elowen debates on whether she's just as crazy as the were-wyng she's tethered to.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Her thoughts briefly orbit around the thought of flying away from Yestrea to pursue her hibernating magic, but her creature's little voice is the one that tells her otherwise.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Stay here.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎And Elowen will stay. For now.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎But that could change, couldn't it?

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Until she comes up with a viable idea on what to do, she'll have to stay with the were.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen tucks herself away in the library, curled up on a sofa. Her white feathered wings fall elegantly behind her as she sits with an old novel about Yestrean fairytales. They're much more extravagant than the ones Elowen remembers as a child, not even comparing to the ones her mother told her before bed. Beside her, slumped against her hip, snores Ronyn. He's draped across most of the cushions, a book fallen atop his face as his leather booted feet hang over the edge of the sofa's arm. The day's sunlight streams through magnificent glass windows, and it wasn't long until Ronyn got cosy and passed right out.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Every so often between chapters, Elowen will reach over and stroke behind Ronyn's ears, only to have delighted growls erupt from his chest while he sleeps. She smiles, knowing the secret to befriending a were is just offering them scratches.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen turns the page in her book, only to have her thoughts snap and crackle to life. Her creature instantly perks up at the intrusion of the aura on the other end of the tether. The mind-link.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎I need to speak with you, sparrow, Morrow's low voice growls. He doesn't sound angry, nor delighted. Just... stale.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen flips the page of her book. Can't. I'm currently being used as a pillow.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎What?

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Ronyn's napping.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Her body begins to tremble as a flood of emotions waft through her like a tidal wave. Stings like knives course through her cranium, followed by the quaking of thunder and red. So much red. Then, as if it never happened, the sensations settle. Had that just come from Morrow or herself?

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Where are you right now? he asks, his tone more curious than before.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Ronyn's bed. You'll find me tied to the headboard.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎I swear to the fucking moon, if he gave you rope...

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎The library, the aura of his wolf settles when she gives him the truth. I'm just reading.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Then, their tether snaps, and whatever presence called upon her from the other end no longer wishes to communicate with her.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen refocuses her attention back onto the words transcribed within the fae fairytales. So far, she hasn't learned anything of interest that might help her harness her unknown abilities, or if those same abilities even exist.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎A deadly growl breaks the silence of the royal library, the sound coercing Elowen to drop her book. She lifts her eyes to meet the irritated meadowed hues of Morrow. He leans against a bookshelf of dusty novels, toned arms crossed over his broad chest. Only now, he dresses in a loose navy shirt with a few buttons undone, revealing the top of that spear gouge above his heart. His charcoal hair remains a windswept disarray, evidence that he's flown since he's woken up, something Elowen's slightly jealous about.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎The alpha crooks a brow. "Don't tell me you actually enjoy the company of my beta."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"He's a lot more amicable than you."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Morrow grunts before pushing himself from the shelf with his shoulder, taking calculated strides to Ronyn's sleeping body.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Without much warning, Morrow pulls on Ronyn's shirt collar, hauling him off the sofa and onto the floor.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎The beta's nails turn to claws when his body collides with the wooden floorboards. "What the fuck!"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Dinner," Morrow grumbles. "Make sure the sparrow follows."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Then, those shadowed wings walk towards the exit, knowing full well that Ronyn and Elowen won't be long trailing after him.

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*

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‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐈𝐍 𝐄𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐍'𝐒 𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐄 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃 prepare her for the rowdiness of the fae, especially now that the harvest moon's festival commences tomorrow at dusk. The dining hall fills itself with hungry pixies and faeries as plates of steaming scalloped potatoes, soup, and sourdough bread careen from kitchen doors, floating as if they possessed wings. Elowen studies the vast length of the table. Although she sits close to the head, the other end seems miles and miles away, a speck in the distance. It's an impossible architectural feat to create a room this elongated, but the impossible is possible in the realms of the fae.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎At the head of the table sits a man whom Elowen can only assume is King Novus. He's dressed in emerald robes decorated in deer pelts and warmed with foxtails. His crown, woven of vines and stag horns, rests upon the top of his greying lavender-hued brow. Beside him at his right hand is Asphodel, the queen dressed in a dazzling deep violet gown assorted with tiny orchids embroidered into the skirt, a much more regal appearance than what she saw previously in the day, but one that manages to take the breath from Elowen's lungs.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Novus spreads out his arms, his voice amped with domination. "Let us eat!"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎At once, the dining hall fills with the sound of forks scraping upon plates and sing-song laughter, sounds that could never be replicated by the serious undertones of the were.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎As Elowen prods at a piece of cauliflower on her plate, she continues her analysis of other prominent figures at her end of the table. Another man sits at the king's left, one with sinewy muscles and dangerous navy coloured hair, a thick beard dazzled with glitter, and deep leather straps over a warm elk tunic. Morrow sits beside Asphodel with Ronyn and Elowen across from him. Beside Morrow sits Ember, the fae ambassador.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎At the snap of Novus' fingers, wine fills in the goblets.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"I see you've finally awoken from your slumber," Novus smirks as his beady green eyes study the alpha. "It's not often I have a guest that dies and comes back to life on my turf."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"I didn't come all this way for you to talk about my death," Morrow's voice drips, smooth as he reaches for his goblet of wine.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"A smart creature would've never dared make that sort of bargain with those hags in Scaerus."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"That same creature also wouldn't fear them, so what the fuck does that make you?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Instead of taking offence, Novus lets out a warm billowing howl. "Lighten up a bit! You're quite tense for someone who I'm allowing to sit next to my wife. Maybe I should have you swap seats with Oleander."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎The unknown man with the glittery beard grunts in disapproval, shooting a stare of disfavour in Morrow's direction. This man must be Oleander, and judging by his position next to the king, he must be highly regarded amongst the fae courts.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Novus grins as he leans back in his velvet throne, beady eyes never once leaving Morrow. "I don't believe you're well acquainted with my advisor then. Oleander Flickerfoot, meet Morrow Killian, the alpha of Tabrien."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Oleander grits his teeth as he tears into a hunk of pinkish river salmon, a slight hum emanating from his throat. "It's a pleasure."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Morrow grunts. "To you as well."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎To Elowen, it's clear this is no pleasure at all, just an introduction that's forced to be cordial.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"And Morrow," Novus continues, "I see you've brought some guests to my table. It's a shame two of them had to stay behind in their rooms. What are their names again?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Arion and Cordea."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"My little nymphs tell me she's healing well," Novus hums as he dismisses his meal altogether, favouring the wine over the food. "I've met Sir Ronyn plenty of times, always a delight, unlike yourself. Nevertheless, tell me about this special one. Asphodel failed to bring me back a name."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen's appetite vanishes as the king's dark emerald hues regard her from his throne. Chances are Asphodel told him about her unknown fae heritage, and most of all, her vacant magic.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Morrow's lips curl devilishly. "She has a name alright, but good luck trying to wring it out of her."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Novus frowns to interrogate Ronyn, crooking a lavender-hued brow upward in utter confusion. A name should mean nothing, nothing at all. But Elowen takes pride in her wyng bloodline, and if the terrans can eradicate that, then all she has left is her name.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Ronyn digs his fork into a piece of steak. "Morrow calls her sparrow."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Interesting," the king mutters under his breath, but he doesn't dismiss Elowen without a little fun.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Those beady irises pierce right into Elowen's heart. She freezes, her limbs stiffening at his mere gaze as if he harnessed medusa's powers. Impossible. There hasn't been a creature such as that in millenia. Yet, he is no snake-headed fearmonger.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎She's frozen, stone.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎This is simply fae magic at its best.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Asphodel swats her husband on the arm. "Release her. There's no use antagonising her, else she'll just run away."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎At once, the magical restraints on Elowen's limbs release, her wings fluttering at the feeling of freedom. She scowls as she refocuses on her own meal, all while the chaotic laughter of Novus echoes through the vast hall.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"She's a hybrid," Morrow finally admits, "but what I came here for doesn't fucking concern her."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"No? She's already piqued Asphodel's interest. Isn't that correct?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎The queen nods. "Indeed."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Morrow's growl rumbles the entire table, his nails suddenly clasping around his golden goblet with wolfish claws. The rumours about Morrow and the fae haven't been kind to him, and that lack of kindness and hospitality shows in such a public display of irritation. Ronyn is right. He's not charismatic or charming in the slightest.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"The blight," Morrow mutters under his breath. "I came here in order to stop it."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎The glee that once coated Novus' angelic fae features simmers away into a more ashen facade. "Then you came here and found a deadend. There's no way to stop the blight. Not even the strongest of fae magic can reverse the death caused by that contagion."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"I'm not asking for you to try to reverse it," Morrow takes a large gulp of wine, knowing his next request is the biggest hail mary he can give. "I want to cross Pailon's borders."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"You're the biggest muttonhead I've ever met."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Morrow snarls, feigning his sharp canines to the king. "There's no other fucking options. You're one of the most powerful beings in Aelethia, and yet your magic has no effect on the blight. What other choice do we have? We have to go to the ancients. I believe they started this shit, and they'll be the ones who can end it."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Novus tips his glass, the berry liquid swishing from side to side, as he mulls over Morrow's request. "My answer still hasn't changed. Your request only proves how much of a dimwitted toadstool you are for even wasting my time like this."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Morrow's shadowed wings bristle as he rises to his feet. His meadowed-hues shadow over, but not enough to let his wolf take the reins, but just enough to instil fright into those around him. His features remain sharp, as if a finger to his jaw would leave one with a cut. Most fae begin to cower back; Ember shuffles off her seat and onto the lap of the fae beside her, while Asphodel scoots her chair closer to Novus.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎If Novus weren't the most powerful fae in Aelethia, Morrow would've torn him to shreds the moment he called him a muttonhead.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"We've run out of options," Morrow's voice comes out quieter than she anticipated. "And I've already started with... with the process. All I ask is for some fae magic so I can pass within Pailon's borders and find the ancient who's responsible for this."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Does this process involve the hags?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Morrow swallows. "I needed their incantations to change my blood so it matches the ancients. It's already been done."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Dark magic," the king hisses, slamming a fist to the table. "As long as your blood is thick with their sloppy mystics, I will take no part in your ridiculous arrangements."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Then we all die from the blight."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen wishes Novus could revert back to the jolly king he was when she entered into the dining hall. Now, he's a hunter stalking his prey with no fear of taking out his next target. Only, Morrow also appears like a hunter. It's two hunters who'll end up dead if they don't come to an agreement.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Morrow Killian," Novus mumbles. "You may be immortal, but the ancients know how to shatter a witch's curse. Crossing into Pailon will be your death."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Then I die."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen's creature screams inside of her at Morrow's confession of death. Does Morrow think that all of this will make him a saviour? There must be another way, and yet, no one will volunteer to do the unthinkable. Only Morrow, and Morrow will do it if it means protecting his pack.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎But is there any other choice? From what Elowen knows, Morrow's been adamant on discovering the cure for the blight, but no luck comes his way except the death of his brethren. The plague spreads rapidly, infecting the seven provinces until all life drips with decay. It wreaks havoc on the Yestrean province, and judging by the slight tick in the king's jaw, he understands there might not be another choice. Still, the fae despise the witches and their magic, and there's no way Novus will lend Morrow his magic when he's marked by Scaerus.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎As if a switch had flipped, the king gestures for Morrow to take a seat as a euphoric grin spreads across his cheeks. "Enough of this depressing conversation! There's festivities that will begin tomorrow evening, and I wouldn't want to kill the mood with all your 'death' and 'gloom' energy."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Morrow clenches his fist. "I'll need an answer."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"And you'll get one, after the harvest moon's festival," the king winks at the alpha. "I'm sure your friends would love to let loose for a night, wouldn't they? They have to put up with you."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Morrow takes a seat in his chair again, growling in fury under his breath. No answer isn't the answer he sought. A yes or a no would've allowed him to develop his next steps, but here, they've been halted by the fae's need to party.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎But to Elowen, a festival of dancing and fae wine sounds rather enticing. It might bring her back to the days when she was a child in Reovell. She loved to dance in the street and eat as many sweets that could fill her rosy cheeks. She wishes to harbour some of that joy that will pour from the fae tomorrow evening.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎With that, Novus raises his goblet in the air, his voice a command over the fae. "To the harvest moon!"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎For the rest of the dinner, Morrow doesn't say a word.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

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i'm so happy you got to meet a few more of the fae in this chapter! i loved coming up with their appearances, because i wanted them all to be fun and magical as if you just walked into a garden. 

the next chapter is going to be a bucket load of fun. A FAE PARTY. i've been itching to write this for so long and i'm so happy i'm finally there! 

also, here's to a great start to 2024! now it's gonna take me 6 months to write the year correctly lol.

ivy <3