The shift was immediate.
The air grew warmer, sweeter. The roads turned from dirt to cobblestone lined with moss. Lanterns made of oak and blossom hung from curved branches above. Shops carved into tree trunks sold glowing elixirs and glowing scrolls. Music floated on the breeze with soft harp strings, chimes, the murmur of fae melodies that wove magic into the air.
Faeries of all kinds drifted by in a slow, elegant bustle. A wrinkly gnome with spindly white hair and gold eyes hobbled by, humming about bleeding skies.
Alora considered stopping by the book shop but quickly changed her mind when fae stared at her openly, pausing on the street. She kept her gaze low, her steps steady as she hurried away.
Perhaps she could have hailed a carriage, but the walk helped to clear her head.
If she was cast out, where would she go?
Well, her father had alliances with other kingdoms. The United Crown was a few days away by ship.
The sun was high in the sky by the time the path curved and rose through a thicket of thorned roses, black-petaled and humming with enchantment. Beyond it stood an estate grown from the bones of nature itself.
Briar Manor.
Vines laced its arched windows and twisted ironwork. The walls shimmered with a faint, silvery sheen as if wrapped in moonlight, even under the sun. Thorns curled around every edge, but the garden beds were pristine, full of pink and white foxglove.
Beautiful.
Lethal.
Like everything in the Midlands.
Climbing the stone steps to the grand doors, Alora paused at the threshold, her hands clenched around the strap of her knapsack. Then, summoning what dignity she had left, she raised a hand and knocked.
But no answer came.
Alora knocked again. She stood there a few more minutes, before hesitantly trying the knob. The door creaked open to the foyer. The floors were polished to a shine, the walls gilded in metal ivy. But otherwise, empty.
She frowned, not sure if she should wait or knock again. Shrugging, Alora walked inside.
The interior was a seamless blend of nature and wealth. Arched halls were formed of twisted silverwood, the ceiling open to the sky in places where vines draped like chandeliers. Floating lights flickered in bubbles of glass. Paintings moved on the walls, whispering secrets to each other when they thought no one was listening. The scent of petrichor and crushed jasmine clung to the air.
But then she heard faint moans.
The doors to the library were wide open and to her horror, Lady Zinnia was riding a lover, her back arched, eyes closed in ecstasy.
Gasping, Alora rapidly stumbled backward from the door.
The creaking of the bed and moans stopped abruptly, and a male voice laughed. “I believe your guest has arrived early, my lady.”
Alora rushed away for the foyer, covering her mouth. Her face was on fire.
Lady Zinnia swept out in a huff, clad in a silky, transparent robe that scarcely concealed her long-limbed form. Her pale, luminous ivory skin, flushed and dewy with exertion, caught the light like warm milk.
Her hair, a waterfall of soft rose and coral pink, spilled over her shoulders in loose coils like the petals of her namesake, disheveled yet undeniably beautiful. The tips of her pointed ears were still flushed, and her pale pink eyes fixed on Alora with a cool, appraising glower.
“The letter instructed we were to meet at noon,” she said sharply.
Alora cringed. “I am so sorry, please forgive my intrusion. I left at first light and didn’t stop in town as I usually do. I failed to realize how early it was.”
Her godmother’s pale pink eyes narrowed.
The fae rarely accepted mortal excuses, even practical ones.
“She can join us if she wishes,” the male called.
