My attention drifts out the window, over the forges and town smiths that stand between the city and Ignaria. Squinting, I try to make out the remains of the elemental lands ringing the outskirts of Solevara. As a child I used to stare out these same windows in awe of the fae fires that appeared to be burning at the edge of the world. One of the four elements necessary to feed into our people for a thriving kingdom.
Allegedly the fires still burn in the fire lands, but I can’t see them between the lack of wind from Aeronia and the rain storms that keep the fire stifled. I can make out little more than gray smoke on the horizon that rolls into the sky like the dying breath of Ignaria itself.
What a vindictive bitch,I think as I watch what Gaia has done to her own land.
Cillian is right about the power being drastically diminished. It’s broken my heart to watch the crops of the Homestead produce less and less as our energy from the earth has been destroyed. It used to be a vibrant sight to behold, but now even with the synthetic fertilizers and machines, the healthy green fields are not the same.
The previously fertile soil now crumbles in your hands, missing all of its natural nutrients, causing the roots to rot and the plants to wither. Those that do survive aren’t what they used to be. The flavor is tainted with chemicals and, as a result of the reduced energy, they don’t hold the power and healing nature they once did.
Selfishly, I never considered the full degree of the storm's impact on the safety of the Fae as a whole. The synthetic options were celebrated when Kiel and Isolde introduced them—fertilizers, wind machines, water purifiers, and chemical fuels. But we soon learned they did nothing for us. While the elements appeared to grow with them, they created dead produce, fake flames, wind that doesn’t breathe, and water that doesn’t replenish.
I may not be the Chosen Prince, but I’m still a Vaylor.
Cillian’s selflessness digs at me like a pest burrowing beneath the bark of a tree—persistent and apparently inescapable. I’d built this image of him during my visits: the prince living a pampered, idle life with no responsibilities. Yet here he is proving me wrong. Proving that he’s the male I always believed he would become.
Guilt washes over me. I’ve used my magic to secretly replenish some of the land on our Homestead but it hasn’t been enough to make an impact. And here I am, ready to run from this world the moment I figure out what happened to Nova, while he’s doing everything he can to save it.
What would it be like to be the queen? Digging into what has upset the Goddess. Helping Cillian to help solve the problems the Fae face. My eyes slide over the clay roofs of the houses that stretch out through the city limits. Homes filled with ordinary Fae that don’t deserve this depleted life. We could work side by side to stop the storms, regrow our elemental lands, and protect the Fae.Side by side…
“Are you even listening?” Isolde snaps her boney fingers in front of my face, pulling me from the startling thought.
We’re three hours into this lesson, and I have as little interest in learning about the proper etiquette for dinner parties with different social levels of the Fae as I did when I was a child. I’ve never understood why we should act differently with a servant than with the highest Elite. Ophe has always been a better friend than any of the Elite City’s Fae.
With the exception of Cillian before he cut me out of his life.
“Umm…” I clear my throat. “Yes,” I say as I straighten the utensils in front of me, twisting the plate a fraction of a leaf. I may have been raised on a farm, but I do know how to use a fork.
Isolde leans down to move a spoon back to where it was before I adjusted it. I roll my eyes.Okay, maybe not to this obsessive level, but I can eat a meal without embarrassment.
“No, you weren’t,” she bites out, that fire in her eyes thinning to slits as she straightens.
She’s not wrong. I can’t seem to get her son out of my mind, the one whosees me. And wants to help all the Fae of this world, not just those who can dress nice and attend royal events. Unlike this female in front of me.
Nova was just killed, and she’s more worried about who will continue to arrange social events for the Elite than the death of the Daughter of Gaia. The princess, who Isolde raised as much as our own mother. Yet the queen seems unfazed a week after her death.
Isolde’s indifference buries the guilt at rejecting a life that I don’t want. Nova was easily replaced. Cillian is stepping up to solve problems that Caspien and the Kiel haven’t been able to, or maybe haven’t even tried to, figure out. Someone else can step into my role of event coordinator as well.
As soon as I figure out what happened to my sister, I’m getting the hell out of here.
“My apologies, your Majesty,” I say, fighting sarcasm. “You’re right, I was thinking about my sister.” The words come out sickly sweet.
So far, she has refused to answer any of my questions about Nova. I decide to try a different approach. If I’ve learned anything about the queen over the years, it’s her disdain for humans. I’ve heard she was pivotal in the decision to cut off access for any more humans to move into our world. The first humans came here unwillingly—as changelings. Later, families moved here voluntarily. I’m not sure why anyone would want to be a servant to this woman or the Elite, but humans outside Solevara have a good, quiet life.
“The thought of the human’s being responsible for what happened to Nova …” I shake my head in disgust.
She freezes, and I hold the wind in my chest, waiting to see if she’s going to take the bait.
“Yes, well, they are an untrustworthy species. You should be cautious of that little friend of yours.”
My mouth almost falls open. I didn’t realize the Vaylors kept up with my life away from the castle. Ophe was born here. She may be biologically human, but other than one short visit to the human world, she knows nothing beyond the Fae. And she’s more trustworthy than any Elite.
Isolde reaches for another utensil, but I cut her off before she can dive into the riveting history of a miniature spoon. “Have there been any developments in finding the humans who attacked her?”
She huffs out a sigh. “I am not privy to that kind of information.” And again she returns her attention to the spoon in her hand.
The budding hope that I could use the role of queen to help the Fae withers away. I would just be a smiling face, planning events.
“Of course you aren’t,” I mumble as I look down at the array of cutlery, adjusting pieces of the silver again.
