Chapter 17

The silver-backed brush glided through my hair, each rhythmic stroke releasing a fragrant cloud of lavender into the quiet room. I sat perfectly still, a willing statue, my gaze captured by my mother. Morning sun streamed through the window, igniting her platinum hair into a halo of spun silver. Her eyes, the color of a cloudless spring sky, held a gentle geography of crinkles at their corners as she worked. A quiet hum vibrated in her chest, a melody that danced in the air between us as she meticulously unspooled every last knot. It was the most beautiful sound I had ever heard, and I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to capture it, to hold the notes in my mind like catching water in my hands.

A simple white dress fell over her fair skin, the cloth whispering against a delicate silver chain at her throat. A single blue gem, a captured piece of her eyes, rested at her collarbone. On her wrist she wore a delicate silver bracelet. She never took it off.

My bare feet dangled, swinging high above the polished marble floor. I wiggled my toes to the rhythm of her humming. When the last tangle surrendered, she set the brush down and knelt before my chair. A smile bloomed on my face, immediate and effortless, and a familiar flutter, like trapped butterflies, stirred in my stomach.

I reached out a small hand, and she leaned into my touch, pressing her cheek against my fingertips. Her skin felt like warm silk.

"Mommy," I whispered, the word a breath. "I think you're beautiful."

Her own hand rose to cover mine, her thumb stroking my knuckles. "And I think you are beautiful too, my darling." She closed her eyes for a single, long heartbeat. When they opened again, a new gravity settled in their depths. "Now, let me see your left wrist, please."

My right hand fell to my side. I held out my arm, a silent, obedient offering. She carefully adjusted the silver bracelet, the twin to her own.

"Remember," she said, her voice dropping to a low, serious murmur that felt ancient and vital. "You must never, ever remove this. It guards our secret. It guards us."

A thought, quick and forbidden, flickered through my mind—the delicate points of her ears, always hidden with her magic. I pushed it away. A secret was a promise. "Okay, Mommy."

The memory blurred at the edges, the scent of lavender replaced by the clean, crisp smell of linen. I was standing in my mother's room, the afternoon sun long gone. I looked down to find myself in a soft pink nightgown with matching slippers. When I looked up, a small gasp escaped my lips; my mother wore the very same.

She patted the vast expanse of white duvet beside her. "Come," she beckoned softly. "Time for sleep."

I shimmied out of my slippers and climbed onto the mattress. It felt like sinking into a warm cloud as I crawled over to her. She lay propped on one elbow, her platinum hair fanned out on the pillow like a starburst.

"Hey, Mommy?"

"Yes, my darling?" she asked, her blue eyes studying me.

"Can I have a bedtime story?"

A soft smile played on her lips. "Hmm, let me think." She tapped a finger to her chin in mock contemplation.

"The one about the girl," I prompted, snuggling closer. A strand of her hair tickled my nose, and I giggled.

"Are you going to fall asleep before it's finished?" she teased.

Love what you're reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.

"No," I declared with the fierce certainty of a child. "I'll stay up for the whole entire thing."

"Alright then," she conceded with a soft laugh. "The story of the girl who married a king to save her people."

A thrill shot through me. "I love this one."

"I know you do." My mother leaned in, her voice a gentle murmur as she pressed a soft kiss to my forehead. "Once upon a time," she began, her voice dropping into the familiar, melodic rhythm of a storyteller, "in a kingdom hidden from mortal eyes, there lived a girl named Lira. Her home was not merely a place, but a song. It was a meadow of impossible flowers that chimed softly in the breeze, where the light dappled in shades of pearl and amethyst, and the very air hummed with ancient, peaceful magic.

"But one day, the song faltered. A seer, her eyes clouded with visions of smoke and steel, spoke a prophecy before the Fae Queen. 'When iron seeks to bleed the flower,' she rasped, 'And greed consumes the sunlit hour, a child of meadow, fair and slight, must wed the darkness, bring the light.' A shadow had fallen across the human realm: a king whose heart was a cold, greedy stone, and whose ambition was a fire that threatened to burn all worlds to ash.

"Lira, who was known not for strength of arm but for the dexterity of her magic—for weaving starlight into thread and coaxing whispers from the wind—stepped forward. The thought of her home turning to dust, of its music falling silent, gave her a courage she never knew she possessed. Seeing the fire in her heart, the Queen gave her a sorrowful blessing."

My mother’s voice wove the world around us. "Lira left the land of soft moss for a world of hard, unforgiving stone. As she traveled, she felt the grating cacophony of the mortal world, an air that tasted of smoke and iron. It was on this journey that she began her most important enchantment. Under the cold light of the moon, she gathered a strand of starlight, a drop of morning dew, and a single tear for the home she’d left behind. She spun them into a delicate silver bracelet, whispering the glamour into the metal until her reflection in the polished surface showed only a mortal girl, her pointed ears rounded and the Fae light in her eyes carefully concealed."

I couldn't help but interrupt. "So she was like us?"

My mother’s smile was sad and knowing. "Yes, darling. Just like us. After a long and weary journey, she arrived at the king's castle—a fortress of black stone that clawed at the sky. She presented herself at his court, walking through the cold, echoing throne room that smelled of grease and iron. The King was lounging on his throne, a predator bored with his toys. With a confidence she had to invent, Lira declared that she had heard tales of his power and had fallen in love, wishing only to be his queen. The court held its breath. The King, intrigued by this beautiful and audacious diversion, let a slow, cruel smile spread across his face. He agreed to marry her."

I closed my eyes, picturing the brave Fae girl, her heart pounding a secret rhythm beneath her ribs, standing in the shadow of that terrible throne.

"He brought her into his castle," my mother continued, "and prepared a grand, cold wedding. The entire kingdom gathered to see the beautiful, mysterious woman who would be their queen. She walked down the aisle toward the king..."

But here, her voice began to fray. The soft, melodic cadence warped, stretching thin and echoing as if from the end of a long, dark tunnel. The king in my mind twisted, his face curdling into a nightmare. A jagged scar cleaved his left cheek. His eyes, once imagined as handsome, were now nearly white, a sliver of icy, predatory blue seeming to pierce right through me.

The warmth of the bed vanished, replaced by the cold, rough fabric of my mother’s coats pressing against my cheek. I was in her closet, suffocating in the darkness. Through the slats in the door, I saw her. She stood before the monster from the story, her body rigid with a terror I had never known. My own heart hammered, a frantic drum against my ribs. Hot tears streamed down my face as the king stalked toward her.

He reached out, his movements unnervingly slow, his face a mask of cold cruelty. Just as his fingers were about to close around her arms, she dissolved into a swirl of glittering, defeated smoke.

A low, cruel laugh rumbled from the king's chest. Then, his bone-white eyes swiveled, scanning the room until they found the closet, and locked onto mine.

A scream lodged in my throat, silent and sharp. I scrambled backward, my feet tangling in a world that had lost its floor, and I was falling, tumbling into an endless, ink-black void.

My eyes shot open.

A gasp tore from my lungs. My heart pounded against my ribs, a wild bird trapped in a cage. Cold sweat slicked my skin. My gaze darted frantically around the familiar, silent shadows of my own room, searching for a threat that wasn't there. Then my eyes landed on my desk.

Sitting there, bathed in the pale moonlight, was the leather-bound book we had found. It lay open, as if waiting to be read. As if nothing had happened at all.