Around me, the lights gasp.
The fairy in front of me remains expressionless. “I will speak with my king for you.”
He flies away, and the fairies around us are silent. Soon a bright, golden light descends from the tree. It floats near my face, and the fairy studies me before he speaks. His hair is dark, and he has strong features. Though he looks as young as Galinor or Irving, with fairies, I’ve heard it’s hard to tell.
“I am King Brugpondam,” the fairy says. “We have much to discuss. Dine with us? Your animals will be well tended.”
I glance at Galinor and Irving, but they only shrug. I nod to the king.
“Do not be alarmed.”
Before I can respond, I begin to shrink toward the ground. I yelp in surprise and look at Irving and Galinor. They, too, rapidly become smaller. Galinor reaches for me and pulls me to him, wrapping his arms around my back. The motion makes me feel nauseous, and I clench my eyes shut. Even after the shrinking has stopped, I huddle next to Galinor.
There’s a tap on my shoulder. Hesitant, I look up. The king is now our size—or rather, we are his size. I exhale sharply. Unnerved, I look back at Galinor.
“I think it’s all right,” he whispers.
I nod and step away.
Brugpondam offers his arm to me. “What is your name?”
Galinor frowns at the fairy, but next to him, Irving motions me on with a jerk of his head.
Hesitant, I take the king’s arm. “I’m Lady Anwen of Primewood.”
He pulls me close to his side and gives me a questioning look. “You don’t have a knife on you, do you?” His words tickle my ear.
He’s very handsome. It’s a little distracting.
I shake my head, and he grins. “The last time your friend visited us, I almost lost my life.” He nods toward Galinor.
I’m not sure how to respond.
“You seem much more reasonable.” The king’s eyes twinkle at my bewilderment. “Now, come with me.”
I squeak as he wraps his arms around my waist and flies me into the tree. Behind me, Galinor and Irving both protest as they too are lifted off their feet.
In the center of the tree, thin limbs have grown together to form a deck. Hundreds of fairies sit at wooden tables. In front of them are bowls filled to the brim with all sorts of unnamable dishes.
“You will sit with me.” The king sets me on my feet. He takes my hand again and leads me to an elevated table.
The tables are lined with silk-spun tablecloths, and atop them, hundreds of candles burn.
The king pulls out my chair, and I sit. Irving and Galinor are led to their seats across from us. A brunette fairy woman, resplendent in a yellow gossamer gown,pours the men their drinks. She gives Irving a coy smile, but it’s Galinor she lingers over. She murmurs questions and flatteries. I look away when she strokes his arm.
King Brugpondam takes the delicate glass pitcher from the fairy woman next to us and fills my drink himself. He watches me with dark, intent eyes. The candlelight glimmers on the gold circlet atop his head, making him look even more ethereal than he already is.
I’m amazed, however, at how human they all look—if a person can get past their wings and faint shimmering glow.
The king holds the goblet up. “Have you ever tasted fairy cider?”
“No, Your Majesty.”
“You must call me Brug.” His mouth tips in a crooked smile, and he raises the goblet to my lips. “Here, try it.”
I flush, uncomfortable, but I obligingly take a sip.
Brug smiles, sets the goblet down, and steeples his fingers under his chin. “Now, Anwen, who in your family is cursed?”
