I’m half surprised he didn’t strip the Thornbys of their title before having them executed. That’s far more the King’s style. But he seems to be ruling with a softer hand.
A scary, all-powerful hand that can crush anyone with ease, but one that has definitely been moisturized.
Though some of the humans here are willing and grateful to serve the Midnight court, all familiars have been subject to the King’s unique ability to put others under his thrall. It’s what makes his reign so terrifying and impenetrable. He isn’t afraid to use it on familiars or fairies.
Then again, back when I was a kid, no one dared breathe a word against the monarchy. Apparently, some things have changed.
Charming isn’t just the royal surname, it’s what makes the King undeniably more powerful than any other. He’s the only one with the power of thrall.
It’s what has me trembling almost violently even as I pretend to be invisible. Without the protection of my father I’m as vulnerable as a lamb for slaughter.
I really wish I had my combat boots right about now. They’d at least give me the illusion of being a badass.
A part of me wonders if it might be more than an illusion soon. Sometimes I swear I can feel something stirring deep within, waiting to be unleashed. Thanks to eating a magic cookie a powerful mage baked, it’s possible I could sprout a magical ability when I least expect it.
But for now, I’m terribly human.
“Your Majesty may want to remember that the ambassadors from the Common World are in attendance tonight,” the King’s aide reminds him quietly, giving me the opportunity to take my first hesitant step away from the threat.
“Pah,” the King huffs. “Those fools will not notice one of the court amongst the servants. The interfering beaters are too busy drinking our champagne and relishing their inside look into our way of life.” His words are dark, underlined with resentment.
I’m not the least bit surprised to hear the King use the derogatory name for beings who have beating hearts. My own big red organ does its best to thump its way up my throat andout of my mouth so it can splat on the marble floor and give me away.
Damn heart. I should have cut it out years ago.
“The rumors of your rule being unchecked and despotic, while untrue, are spreading.” The aide continues diplomatically. “We do not want the attention, Your Majesty.”
Whatever the King says next is lost to me as the two walk away.
I finally take in big swallowing gulps of air as I desperately attempt to feed my starving lungs.
I’m suddenly glad for the forced makeover I received earlier tonight.
When I would have phoned it in on the dress, the Fairy Godmother wouldn’t hear of it.
The Fairy Godmother, aka Dame Kiki Eleganza, the best drag queen in the greater Boston area, was my best bet at getting entry into the Midnight realm. I just hadn’t realized the deal would come with a makeover.
I glance down at the daringly low-cut neckline that frames my collarbones and is adorned with ornamental black flowers, hoping like hell my pulse isn’t visible. At least the black dress placates my goth girl’s heart. You can take the girl out of Midnight, but she’ll still have a weird affinity for Tim Burton aesthetics the rest of her life.
Sweat beads along my hairline as I navigate the crowded ballroom. The tight fabric encasing my arms covers the tattoos but feels like a straitjacket. My voluminous skirt brushes against a chair, the sudden squeak making me flinch.
As effective as the Fairy Godmother was at getting me here, I’m the only one who can get me home.
The need to get the fae fucks out of this ballroom as soon as possible grips me with a desperate edge. Even as fear claws at my throat, I remind myself I didn’t come this far just to run now.
So I force my feet forward, keeping my head down and my movements casual as I continue to search the fringes of the ballroom for what I came for.
A hush falls over the room, forcing me to stop. The King and Queen stand before the indigo velvet thrones that sparkle with something shiny like glitter to create the illusion of stars. The small, yet terrifying King is now poised on the dais at the far side of the room, his coal-black eyes sharply scanning the crowd.
Even shorter than her husband at under five feet, the Asian queen’s jet-black hair is now streaked with silver. She’s otherwise unchanged down to the same vacant expression she always wears.
“Greetings, my friends and fairies.” The King’s voice travels to the far corners of the ballroom. “I thank you all for attending tonight’s ball. The beginning of the Midnight fairy social season is of particular import. Not only have we opened our borders to host several esteemed ambassadors from the Common World,” he gestures to a small cluster of humans, mages, and even a fae elf with false graciousness, “but this is also the season in which my son shall pick his bride. The future princess and eventual Queen of Midnight.”
My fingers stiffen on the cold flute. Ascending the stairs onto the dais in a long-legged gait is Prince Kaison Charming himself. He stands next to his father, dwarfing him with over a foot of extra height. For some reason my heart pounds so hard, my ribs rattle under the impact of each beat.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
I’m not sure why seeing him has such an effect on me.
