Page 10 of Where Broken Wings Fly

But when we turned the last corner of the last road and I was looking at one finally, my mouth fell open where I remained collecting mouthfuls of wood dust.

It made Buckingham Palace look like just a house. While it was crafted of the same natural elements as the rest of the village, there was something far more mystical to the appearance of the several stories, sharpened spires, and creaking drawbridge that fell down across the quickly-moving moat that surrounded it.

The castle had been built in the only place within their strange little wooded-domain that allowed streams of sunlight through the towering trees around us. The last hour of sunlight melted across the castle, painting the bark-like exterior with a dripping of honey-gold brilliance that shimmered across every surface. Draped off of every inch of the walls were a mix of decaying vines and auburn-struck leaves, varying in shades of browns and oranges that furthered the ethereal glow of the palace.

“Wow,” I breathed, forgetting myself as I stood next to Killian. Shea and Niamh whispered amongst themselves behind me, but I found myself unable to break the intense gaze that I held with the tremendous structure ahead of me.

Killian pressed his arm against mine and dropped his voice impossibly lower. “Do not look at anyone once we enter the castle. Keep your eyes on your shoes. Speak to no one but me. Understood?”

Fear tied the tip of my tongue, leaving me only the option of nodding. He let a curt nod shake his own head before he offered me the bend of his elbow. After frowning at it for a moment too long, I hooked my arm around his and let him lead us across the draw-bridge.

Just a dream.

The circular river hissed as we moved across it, the occasional spray of the water tickling at my nose and reminding me to look down instead of up. It was easy to do, because I caught the glistening of the river and had to take a moment to appreciate the fact that it was no shade of blue that I had ever come to learn — instead a muddling of purples, pinks, and oranges that flowed and ebbed against one another.

My pace must have been slowing, because Killian used our linked arms to drag me back to his side as my eyes remained fixed on the river. Stumbling after my shoe caught a crevice between two slats of wood, I jolted within my own body to bring myself to attention as we neared the front of the castle. There, standing proudly with a spear each of chiselled-down stone, were two guards.

They dipped their heads at the sight of Killian, to which he did not return the gesture. He only waited for them to yank at the oak-like doors and reveal the interior of the palace to us. With a deep breath, I followed him in.

Delusion had led me to believe that I would suddenly be standing on marbled floors, looking at concrete walls, the space illuminated with chandeliers or pretty-white lights.

But, no. Like the rest of their world, everything around me was of the earth, as they were. The walls continued as strengthened bark with thick veins that spread wild patterns from floor to ceiling, meeting the dangling threads of ivy that swung down from above. The floor, like their roadways, was composed of that same minute mulch that had been compacted to such an extent it was as solid as stone. Moss adorned the walls in random collections, which was where the fireflies seemed to flock to and light up each hallway as we walked through them.

It looked like the sort of place where moisture would thrive, where mould would collect and feed dead things — yet it was far more beautiful than anything I had laid eyes on. With every step that I took along the interior of the castle, I felt that tight wrapping of my chest loosening, my lungs expanding wider and my mind softening.

Even though I was trying my best to keep my eyes low, I caught the odd glimpse of pixies moving around the castle. While they all looked the same with their sharp eyes, curving-elongated ears, and wild, tangled hair, they also had striking differences. Not a single one had hair cut shorter than their shoulders, but the shades of that hair varied with every dark colour imaginable. It was as if they were capable of dyeing their hair from the very elements around them; dark browns, deep-reds, near-blacks, and even the odd hauntingly forest-green.

Each of them wore the same attire as Shea, Niamh, and Killian. All composed of that same threaded, leaf-like material that crafted tight shirts and even tighter pants. The guards posted outside each and every doorway — with spears in hand and shield over their backs — had the same leather gauntlets, greaves, and chest-plates that Killian wore on his body like a second skin.

Unfortunately, every single pixie in our vicinity took notice of me. I felt their eyes of brown and green and dark-red burning into the side of my face as we passed. Several times I reached a hand up to make sure my hair was still concealing my ears. For some reason, though, I had a feeling that my ears were not what was giving off my foreignness.

Just a dream.

Killian tensed his body as he halted us in front of another set of double-doors. He nodded to the four guards outside of it, and with one assessing glance at me each, they pushed them open.

We stepped into a throne room.

There was no doubt that was the title of such a space. It was far too wide to be anything else other than a ball-room or a gymnasium, yet it hosted no furniture save for the long, knitted carpet that stretched from the entrance to the… the throne.

The throne was a work of art itself. Branches had grown from the ground and wound themselves over one another so vigorously that it had been capable of being carved into, transforming the tendrils of dark wood into something that could be sat on.

Glancing around the room before I had to drop my eyes once more, I took note of the abundance of fireflies that collected across the walls of vines and moss, as if they, too, gathered in this space to pay their respects to some King or Queen. Between the swinging plant-life and veins along the wooden walls were carvings. Some of the trees themselves, others being leaves, and tucked between the larger images were small patterns of woodland creatures.

Just a dream.

I made the mistake of looking across the throne room. If this was a dream, then I wasn’t sure who, exactly, the man sitting upon the throne was.

Tremors snaked over my spine as I looked at him, as I tried to decide if he was the most enticing man I had ever seen or if he was the most terrifying.

The darkest pooling of mud lived within his eyes as he met my eye contact, all of his sharp features somehow tightening as he refused to blink. Killian nudged me, reminding me to break away from the daunting challenge that the stranger was enticing me with.

I finally looked down.

“Killian,” the stranger sighed, his body unfurling from where he sat. I didn’t need to look up at him to confirm — the air around us seemed to lighten as the aura he commanded settled into something less threatening. “What is this?”

There was a nervousness to the way that Killian shuffled his feet, but his voice was as strong as ever as he responded. “Whatever do you mean, my Prince?”

Killian had something in his voice, but I couldn’t quite place it.