Page 16 of Fate of the Sun King

“I’m sorry,” I say, and I don’t know exactly what I’m apologizing for, but I’m sorry for so many things. Some that are out of my control, but still, I want to be the one who fixes everything.

I slide my magic away from her heart, directing it through her limbs, where it twines with the echoes of her power. It feels like a dance, one of the most intimate sort.

Suddenly, it all coalesces into a wave that threatens to drown me. It’s too hard to pretend I don’t feel this. Too hard to pretend I don’t want her with every fiber of my fucking soul.

I yank on my threads, pulling them back into me abruptly, with such force that we both grunt. Then without another word, I scoot off the bed and stride for the door, desperate to escape.

“Nadir,” she calls after me. “I’m sorry.”

I nearly miss a step at the broken sound in her voice, but I continue walking.

I need air. I need to breathe.

I don’t respond as I keep my gaze averted and leave the room.

CHAPTER FIVE

LOR

THE WOODLANDS: FOURTEEN YEARS AGO

I run through the forest, my bare feet squelching in the mud. My tunic is streaked with dirt, the hem lost to the thorns of a rosebush an hour ago. Mother will be less than impressed. It’s not often we venture into the city for new supplies or clothing. “Someone might see us,” she always says with her hands clasped, her worried gaze pinned to the door. I don’t know why no one should see us, but I’ve learned to accept this fact. Perhaps this is how all families live in the forest.

Tristan and Willow are off in the trees, concealed within the many paths and shadowed corners. It’s Tristan’s turn to find us today. Willow is the most skilled at hiding, but I’m taking a page from her book and being sneaky right now. I venture further than I normally do, splashing through a small stream that runs across my path. The icy water chills the tips of my toes, but my feet are accustomed to the elements, my soles toughened from the countless hours we spend exploring our isolated environment.

A rustle in the trees brings me to a stop as I listen intently. Is it my brother? He couldn’t have found me already. Not even Tristan is that good.

Whoever loses today has to chop firewood for the week, and I hate doing it. I’m not strong enough to lift the axe, and Tristan loves to annoy me by pointing it out. Eventually, my father will take pity on me, all while grumbling at Tristan that this is actually his job.

But if I win, then Tristan has to grind flour for an entire month. The only task I dread more than chopping wood is pummeling wheat into a fine powder before sifting it for stones. It’s mind-numbingly tedious, and I have better things to do with my time.

If Willow wins, Tristan and I technically have to handwash all the sheets, but she never actually follows through on making us do her chores.

A moment later, a squirrel skitters in my path, and I grin. Tristan hasn’t found me yet. I plunge deeper into the trees, picking my way down a path barely worn into the earth. Far in the distance, I hear the screech that signals Willow’s capture. I stifle a giggle and continue running, determined to evade my brother.

After shoving through a thick line of brush, I come to a halt. A woman sits in a clearing, tending to a small fire with a charred stick. She looks up at my entrance and smiles, no hint of surprise in her serene expression.

“Hello there, little one. Who are you?”

I take a tentative step, instantly drawn towards her.

She’s High Fae, with delicately pointed ears and glowing skin. I’m High Fae too, but no one else knows that. It’s another thing Mother says we must hide from the world.

The woman is beautiful, with flowing silver hair and piercing blue eyes. I take another step, reeled in by her calm like she’s a still lake on a hot summer day.

“I have some faerie cakes if you’re hungry,” she says softly, her smile hugging her eyes.

I nod as I take another step, bridging the distance. I’m not used to strangers, and her presence is a novelty I can’t overlook. Besides our rare visits to The Woodlands’ markets, my entire world consists of Tristan, Willow, Mother, and Father. I never get to meet anyone new.

She reaches into her bag and pulls out a package wrapped in white paper, the crinkle making my stomach rumble. Everything we eat is homemade, but sometimes, when we’re in the city, we pass the bakeries and patisseries with their colorful towers of cookies and cakes and confections. We’re never allowed to buy any, but I imagine what it would be like to swirl my tongue over their bright, sugary frosting as it coats the inside of my mouth.

The stranger unwraps the paper, producing a shiny white box trussed up with a wide gold ribbon. She eases the bow open and lifts the lid. By now, I’m standing directly over her as I anticipate its contents like a wolf sniffing out a burrow of orphaned bunnies. Six small cake squares are decorated with colorful icing and flowers dipped in sugar. They look like sculptures of art and are almost too pretty to eat.

“Go on,” she says. “I don’t mind sharing.”

I hesitate for only a moment before picking one out and sinking my teeth through its moist layers. The flavors burst in my mouth like a rainbow unfurling. Lemon and vanilla and something else that can only be described as the taste of happiness. I chew slowly, closing my eyes and savoring every delicate note. The way it crumbles in my mouth and the way the sugar grinds against my teeth. While Mother’s sweet buns are my favorite dessert, this is far and away the best thing I’ve ever tasted.

I devour it in three ravenous bites, and the woman holds up the box, offering me a second. This time I don’t hesitate to select another, but I take my time with smaller nibbles as I attempt to parse out each flavor and sensation.