“I wasn’t asking,” King Oberon snaps, the menace in his voice palpable as it slices through the celebratory atmosphere.
I feel like a rope in a tug-of-war, caught between the two powerful men. King Oberon glares at King Ashton, who smirks back with an easy confidence that probably infuriates the other fae.
Me? I’m just trying to shrink between them, to disappear from this whole tense situation.
“You don’t tell a fae king what to do,” King Ashton says, each word measured.
“You’ve had enough time with the chosen one, and you know it,” King Oberon asserts angrily, his eyes narrowing.
“Maybe let’s let her decide,” King Ashton suggests finally, his grip on my hand tightening slightly, as if he senses my anxiety. “Unless you’re afraid she’ll choose me,” he adds, a teasing note creeping into his voice, but I can see the flicker of seriousness lurking beneath the surface.
King Oberon growls, low and threatening, and before I can say anything, he grabs my arm, pulling me toward him. “Enough,” he snaps, his tone leaving no room for argument, his grip tight.
The sudden movement throws me off balance, and I grab onto King Oberon’s arm to steady myself. That’s when it happens. A flame erupts from Oberon’s free hand, licking up his arm in a blaze of red and gold, illuminating the stunned expressions of the fae around us. The crowd gasps, the music screeching to a halt, and the ballroom stills, other than the fire that’s casting flickering shadows across their awestruck faces.
“King Oberon of the Fire Fae,” someone whispers, awe in her voice, the reverence palpable in the air.
“How is this possible?” another voice murmurs, confusion rippling through the crowd.
I look around, bewildered, as fae drop to their knees, shock written plainly across their faces. Others whisper, their expressions flickering between fear and wonder.Why is this so strange? I mean, he is called King of the Fire Fae.
The flames fade, leaving King Oberon staring at his hand as if it belongs to someone else. He flexes his fingers, his scowl replaced by something almost like wonder.
“What’s wrong?” I finally ask, my voice trembling as I struggle to understand what just happened.
King Ashton’s gaze is glued to the other man. “Remember when we said we lost our connection to our elemental powers when we were cursed by the goddess? None of us have been able to access our control over fire, water, wind, or earth since that day. Until now. Until you.”
What does this mean?The question echoes in my mind as dread washes over me. Every eye in the room turns to me.
“Did she fix just him or…?” a fae asks into the silence.
“Maybe our powers work now!” a woman exclaims.
A woman squeezes her hands into fists, and her dark eyes meet mine with a pleading intensity. “Nothing.”
Everyone begins focusing. Begins trying. But all I can think about is what they'll do if I didn'tfixthem.
All around me, hope bleeds into sadness. There's no more fire. No more anything.
“What does this mean?” one of the fae asks.
King Cassius’s voice sounds loud in the quiet room, cutting through the tension like a knife. “Perhaps it’s because we fae kings have been connected to the human by the goddess. Perhaps only we four have powers now.”
“Let’s try your theory,” King Sylvian suggests, serious for once.
One by one, the kings step closer, until they’re standing together, their faces filled with a cautious hope, as if they’re afraid to even dream of getting the powers back that they lost. And I might not have powers myself, but some part of me understands what it’s like to lose parts of yourself that you used to cherish.
“I’ll go first,” King Ashton says.
The others nod solemnly, anticipation hanging thick in the air as they wait.
King Ashton raises a hand, and suddenly a gust of wind rushes through the hall, tugging at hair and clothes as gasps ripple through the crowd. The wind swirls around us, a playful current that seems to dance and twirl, an embodiment of the very essence of life itself, before suddenly dying down, leaving a stillness in its wake.
The fae king stares at his hand for a long moment, disbelief etched across his features. “That’s… unexpected.” But there’s pure bliss in his voice.
“King Sylvian, care to try?” King Oberon asks, lifting a brow.
King Sylvian kneels, his fingers brushing against the polished wood of the floor, and almost instantly, cracks form in the stone and flowers begin to sprout and bloom in vibrant colors, their petals stretching towards the ceiling like they’ve been waiting for this very moment. My eyes widen as the flowers spread in all directions, even converging around my feet, creating a beautiful blanket of color that radiates life and warmth.
