Page 49 of Where Broken Wings Fly

I pulled her closer to me, wrapping my arm tighter around hers. “Explain them to me, please?’

She nodded, trying her best to keep her words slow and private. “Those of Choilltean, you know. Mostly the dark-haired ones, always wingless, and with ears curved downwards.”

I nodded along.

“Those of Uisge, though,” she lifted a hand, pointing to a pixie standing against one of the walls. Her hair was long and moist, water dripping down the lengths of it and collecting against the deep-sea-blue gown that stretched her body. “Their ears are curved upwards. Something about hydrodynamics, or whatever. Shea knows more about them. But they’re easily identifiable amongst us; they can often blend into the depths of the sea, or press against ocean-beds due to the pastels and coral-like colours.”

I continued to nod, though my eyes were growing dry from the lack of blinking.

“Speur – you haven’t met anyone from there just yet. They’re all winged, not a single one lacks a pair.” She pointed to a male who was leaning over a female against the wall, a wild smirk on his face. His hair was as white as snow, though there was the hint of a rainbow-like tint beneath it. “They belong to the skies. We rarely see any of them, save for the holidays. They’re a bit strange, if I’m being honest.”

I snickered along with her as she tugged us through a winding path of bodies, careful to duck or twirl out of the way of anyone with a large glass of glowing amber liquid.

“These four holidays are the only time we all gather together like this.”

“It’s beautiful.”

“Until it’s not.” She winked, spinning us around the corner of a hallway. The castle had become unfamiliar with so many bodies moving about, I had no idea where we even were. “The fighting normally starts in the later hours. Usually the males with far too much drink in their system and misplaced confidence. Don’t worry, though, the females get their fair few punches in too.”

“That’s a little less beautiful.”

She chuckled once more, the sound harmonic and enthralling as we moved through the mist around us. We were about to take another turn, when I caught the sight of two familiar faces.

“Rory! Aisling!” I hollered out, pulling away from Niamh and immediately regretting it as a wave of bodies crashed against me. Both Rory and Aisling spun on their heels, their eyes searching the crowd until they locked onto me.

“Olivia!” they both called, skipping their way across the hall and stopping in front of me.

Rory’s lavender hair had been left down, the long lengths of it as smooth as velvet where it fell over his back. He bowed deeply to me before rising up again, the depths of his violet eyes softening as I smiled at him.

Aisling looked as bubble-gum-pink as ever, her face painted in various shades of orchid and her hair twisted back into a series of intricate braids. Her gown was an extension of her hued skin, a deep fuchsia that spread against the earth beneath her and somehow contained not a single fleck of dirt.

“What are you two doing here?”

Niamh arrived a second later, slamming to a stop and regarding them both with a long draw of her eyes that started at their heads and stopped at their feet.

“We don’t normally come,” Aisling started, her voice loud and shrill in order to carry over the growing volume of the castle. “But after seeing you and the Prince, we couldn’t help ourselves!”

“You are Faiche’Rugadh?” Niamh half-breathed, half-exclaimed. “I’ve… I’ve never met one.” She bowed towards them, the spread of her rich hair cascading over her face as she rose.

“Like she said, we don’t normally come,” Rory repeated, though the hint of disdain in his voice was louder than his words.

“I assure you, you are welcome here.” Niamh pressed a flat hand to her heart and dipped her chin at either of them.

Something told me that them being welcome here had never been the problem.

“If you’ll excuse us, we need to do our rounds.” Niamh offered them another short bow, wrapped my arm around hers, and yanked me away from them before I could stop her. We continued to duck and twirl around bodies, until we arrived at the throne room.

Unlike usual, there were no guards at the doors which were wide open. People moved freely in and out of the grand space, and we followed a small crowd of them pushing in.

Standing on the dais looking more regal than he ever had, was Raegan. His hair had returned to the dark, muddy shade that it took to in Choilltean, his dark eyes currently planted on the cup in his hand. His shoulders, wide and proud at his fathers side, contained long chains of gold that swept up and down, looping from his bicep to his neck and back again. All of his jewels glistened against his dark oak surcoat, the darker of the rings melting into the castle interior and the brighter ones sparking against the light of the fireflies.

There was only one person in this whole castle with a weapon. Standing at Raegan’s side, trying his best to reduce himself to a smaller man, was Killian. His surcoat matched Raegan’s, a deep shade of coconut-brown that blended into his dark, combed hair that scattered across his back and neck.

Killian and Raegan both snapped their eyes up at the same time, nostrils flared, and found Niamh and I amongst the chaos immediately.

Killian, for all of his trained calm and collected nature, let his jaw fall loose where I swore he attracted a firefly or two.

Raegan, on the other hand, bore into me with a gaze so powerful I felt the need to shrink down and melt into the earth beneath me.