Chapter One
Aurelia
The sweet scent of willow bark fills the air as I carry my large basket of freshly dyed wool blankets, socks, and shawls to the town square. The market begins soon, and today’s offerings should allow me to earn enough to buy food and goods to last another three or four weeks.
My fingers ache as I adjust my grip. Sheering season always brings extra work, and I’m glad for it, even if I do wish my father could help me with the spinning like he used to. But he’s given in to despair the past few years, and loses himself to the drink too often.
All around me, others make their way to their assigned stalls, some laboring under the weight of sackfuls of potatoes, apples, or grain, others less burdened with spices or dried goods.
“Good morning, Aurelia.” Roarke’s deep voice sends a little thrill through me as he eases my basket from my arms and carries it the last few paces to my stall. “Let me assist you.”
My cheeks flush bright pink—at least I imagine they do—and I struggle to form words. “I…it’s not your place…I mean…”
His golden eyes find mine. “We are equals, Aurelia.”
“We are not.” I stare down at my hands. My fingertips are calloused, my joints swollen and sore. It is my penance for being born without magic. For being thedaughterof one born without magic.
This realm has two types of people. The magical and the outcasts. We are the outcasts. Roarke? He has magic within him. Enough to keep him in the good graces of those who keep us trapped here. The Fae.
“Here,” he traces a knuckle over the heart-shaped neckline of my corset, close to my heart, “we are.”
I can’t help leaning in when he does. Our lips are only a whisper apart, and I think, perhaps, this is the day he’ll finally kiss me as I have always wanted to be kissed.
For over a year, we have bantered back and forth on Market days, and he even came to the cottage for supper with us a few months back. But that night ended badly when my father had too much mulled wine and screamed that he would never let a magic-bearer court his daughter. I thought Roarke would never speak to me again.
I was wrong. Still, he pursues me. Steals moments of closeness, holds my hand, kisses my cheek. “Roarke, what do you want from me?” I ask, peering up into his hazel eyes where the gold streaks flare brightly.
“Your trust, darling. Perhaps one day, your heart. If you choose to give it. I adore you, Aurelia. I have from the moment we first met. If only you believed me.”
Any reply stalls on my lips as my heartbeat quickens. I wish I could allow myself to love him. But the laws of this realm forbid it, and if the Fae discovered our desire for one another, they would not punish Roarke. No. They would punish me.
A commotion breaks out at the edge of the square. A fight between the mulled wine vendor and the beer peddler. Those two are always going at it, and if they are not careful, the Fae will come down from the stone castle that towers above the town and put an end to both of them.
Roarke’s eyes widen, and he hurries towards the fray. With a hard shove, he sends Brall, the wine vendor, stumbling back. Javer grabs one of his bottles of dark brew and brandishes it over his head. “You stole your recipes frommy father,” he says as he tries to get past Roarke to Brall.
“I did no such thing.” Brall pushes to his feet and brushes off his black pants and waistcoat. “My recipes are my own.”
Roarke wrestles the bottle from Javer’s hand and sets it back down on his table. “Enough of this. Do you not see the position of the sun? It is close to its peak, and the Fae will soon walk among us. If they find you fighting, your lives will be forfeit.”
The two grumble, but go back to their respective booths and start arranging their wares.
A glance at the sky sends my heart into my throat. I dawdled for too long wishing for things I can never have. All of my blankets, socks, and cloaks should be properly displayed by now.
My hands tremble as I pull each item from my basket and drape it over the racks affixed to the sides of my tent. Securing my coin purse around my waist, I smooth down my skirt and wait for the market bell to toll. Already, the locals who do not have wares to sell are milling about, planning their purchases.
And Roarke? I can no longer see him. With a sigh, I scuff at the cobblestones with the toe of my well-worn boot. We are not meant to be. I know this. And even if we were, the Fae would never allow our union.
Outcasts can only marry outcasts. And that’s all I will ever be.
* * *
Roarke
Market day is pure torture for me. I have to watch those with magic—those like me—treat Aurelia like she is less than human. They insist she lower her prices for the wools she spins and dyes by hand, call her names, or ignore her completely. I have paid everyone I trust over the years to purchase something from her—for full price of course—and soon, I do not know what I will be able to do for her if she does not allow me to court her properly.
This realm is cursed. Nearly two centuries ago, the King was exiled from the Fae realm and forced to live among humans. But he abhors those who are not Fae, and instead found a way to create his own realm here in Greenland. I do not know how he was strong enough to do this, but the barrier is inescapable.
Those who venture too close to the veil are transported to the center of the realm, directly in front of the castle, and then judged as either magic bearers or outcasts. Seventy-five years ago, my dragon flew directly into the veil, and I was fortunate that the shock of the magic caused me to shift back into a man. A very naked man.
