“And me!” A little boy pushes his way to the front, waving a doll in front of his round face. The doll has a mop of curly blackhair and crooked green wings like he does. “I lost my mother when she tried to give birth to my sister, and my doll, Charlie, was with me. We buried my sister’s doll with her, even though I thought Charlie needed a friend. My sister had my mom, and Charlie had nobody.”
“Charlie had you,” I reply, kneeling to be eye-to-eye with the youngster.
“Because of you,” says a tall Fae with the same hair and wings as the boy. He wears a blacksmith’s apron like the doll, too. “When we lost so many parents to the virus or to trying to have more children, you gave the children we had someone to love. The comfort you spread, Princess…well, hopefully, it extends to pardoning an impertinent boy who’s overcome with excitement to meet Magmell’s most beloved dollmaker.”
My breath catches in my throat as the blacksmith steps out of my line of sight, revealing the villagers. All the kids, and more than a few of the adults, clutch dolls to their chests. I know I made many dolls over the years, but I never inquired as to what happened to them. Tales of stillborn Fae buried with dolls reached my ears, but I never thought to ask about those who survived. I guess I assumed each doll sat proudly on a nursery shelf to be abandoned for more sophisticated things as the child grew up.
“We are all grateful,” says a goblin, clutching a green doll in his claws. “When I joined the village, nobody would look at my hideous face. No, it’s fine. You Fae are gorgeous, it’s no secret. I had nobody to talk to…until this little fella appeared in my shop. The little gears and clockface on his belly reminded me of why I came—to make my clocks in peace. Making art isn’t valued in the goblin horde, but your doll told me my art would be welcomed here…because I was welcomed here. And eventually, I did win over the beautiful Fae by making beautiful clocks…but I wouldn’t have stayed without your gift.”
Making those dolls sustained me when loneliness threatened to eat me alive. I never thought receiving one was just as powerful. My intention was to welcome outsiders into the village, so they were never an outsider again… I never thought of it in terms of building a community. I wipe the tears from my eyes with my sleeve and sniffle until there’s a tug on my skirt.
“Do you need to cuddle my dolly, m’lady?” asks a tiny Fae with blond pigtails. Her dirty hands with black crust under her fingernails hold a mud-coated doll up to me. “Dolly is great at cuddling and gets in trouble for being dirty, too. She knows that when we are the dirtiest, we need the most cuddles.”
“Dolly is wise beyond her years,” I say, accepting the doll for a brief hug. The tiny Fae is missing her two front teeth when she smiles back at me.
“Will you give her wings when I get mine? Dandelion’s doll has wings because he’s a boy and was born with wings. When I fall in love and get my wings, will you give them to Dolly, too? I won’t want her to feel alone when I have wings, and she doesn’t?”
“Of course,” I reply automatically, but then I reconsider. “You know, not everyone grows wings. I have fallen in love—” I pause to grasp Franklin’s hand and watch the little Fae’s eyes grow as wide as saucers. “But I am part human, so I may never grow wings.”
“Dolly won’t be sad, because she will be just like you,” she answers, still giving Franklin the side-eye.
“No matter how different Dolly looks,” I say with a somber tone. “She will never be cast out of this village. We are all included here, I promise.”
“Can you do that?”
“My father could, but he’s gone. I’ll have to ask Maple, and between you and me,” I whisper loud enough for everyone to hear. “He’s kind of a sourpuss.”
The villagers giggle and whisper amongst themselves. With one last hug, I whisper to the little Fae to return to her parents. I use Franklin’s hand to rise to standing, but then release it to place my arm around his waist. The words I gave to Dolly were for him. No matter where we go next, I will make sure he’s welcomed. I’ll be his voice when he can’t speak, and I’ll listen when he chooses to share his words with me. The strength of having him at my side while my village has my back gives me a strength I have never possessed before.
“So what will it be, Maple? Will I be beheaded in the town square, in front of all these little Fae clutching their dolls? Or will you allow Snapdragon to drag me through the muddy streets behind the royal carriage? Or will you banish us to the hucow sanctuary where we await Snapdragon’s army to slaughter the innocent herd?”
Nobody dares to breathe. I doubt anyone on the royal court has ever spoken to Maple so plainly, especially outside of the castle. Even Snapdragon has given up his struggles to fume with his hatred barely contained in his gaze. I lock eyes with him and glare until Franklin’s kiss on my head breaks my concentration. It’s written in my love’s eyes. I shouldn’t focus on the ugly stain on the world when I’m surrounded by love.
“No, Your Highness, now, we kneel,” Maple replies. He wobbles and grunts as he drops to his knees. He lays the royal scepter before him on the ground and pushes it toward me. I hold his gaze until his forehead touches the planks of wood.
Am I ready? Do I dare? My father’s reign was one of peace, love, and hierarchy. This moment could define mine. What is my vision for future Magmell? A vision pops into my head of a little Fae, a hubull, a goblin, and an orc, dancing around the maypole. Yes, I want my reign to not only signify peace, but also unity. The sea of bowed heads and fluttering wings count on someone to deliver this vision.
It has to be me, so I bend over to retrieve the scepter to clap it onto the ground like my father used to at the end of his declarations.
“All hail, Lilyfair, seventeenth regent of Magmell!” Elm leads the chorus of shouts, but not with his sword raised. In his arms are two squirming boys and a very tired wife.
“Long live Queen Lilyfair!”
EPILOGUE
FRANKLIN
Two Days Later
“No, no, no, we don’t need that crap,” Lilyfair says, throwing her hands in the air. “Don’t you dare pick any flowers for my coronation either. They are planted in places to attract pollinators, so we can grow enough food for winter. Maple and I calculated how much we need to sustain the village, and it will be tight as is.”
“Lilyfair, Your Highness, surely the people will appreciate the grandeur of the ceremony so much that they won’t miss the beauty in the gardens,” her new lady’s maid says, juggling two golden vases.
“Hungry people don’t need pretty ceremonies. They need crops. Food,” she replies, pursing her lips at the maid to accentuate her point.
“What’s this about not having a menu or using the formal dining rooms?” Birch, the castle’s chef, shouts as he enters the empty ballroom.
“It’s called a potluck,” Lilyfair replies, a little sheepishly. “It’s a symbol of our new policies centered around sharing resources between the castle and the village.”
