Page 121 of Why Broken Wings Fray

“Olivia,” he whined, his voice the final agony that sent me on my way. “I shouldn’t have waited so long, please do not go. Do not go without me. I should have told you that day, I should have told you—”

His words tapered off as my ears silenced all noise but a sharp ringing through them.

The last thing I was blessed with was the sun of Saoghal. Not the fiery star in the sky, but the radiance of a king that had warmed me from day one.

My body went limp in his arms, his head pressing against my neck as he made feverish moans.

The pixies thought Mag Mell was a glorious paradise, but it wasn’t. Right here, right now was.

I died in the same place that had brought me life, and I died in the arms of the one who had reminded me just how badly I wanted to live.

55

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The human woman who stumbled her way into the world of the pixies, would forever remain within it. The King, the pixie that loved her more than life itself, made sure of that.

That was why Olivia Loughty, Vet, caraid of Urram of the Grey Skies, lay on a slab of stone within the mausoleum that, until now, had been empty. It was the only place worthy of her, mostly because of the intricate and delicate carving of the stone exterior, the pillars of beauty and the impressive exterior. But it was the inside that made the King think of her, that made him feel close to her once more. The ceiling of the mausoleum had been torn out, replaced by panes of glass that would only ever let one thing in: sunlight.

Olivia Loughty deserved to rest in sunlight.

There she was, laid across that marbled-stone, her body wrapped in the ancient robes of mourning. For Choilltean, they were dark green. For Uisge, they were dark blue. For Speur, they were nearly white. But for Cluaineach, the place that would forever be Olivia’s home, her robes were yellow. A pale yellow, like the sun peering through clouds. Nothing loud and obnoxious, because Olivia was none of those things. No, these robes were soft and inviting, warm and gentle. Just as she was.

There was not much within the mausoleum. There was the dripping sunlight that would forever grace the space above. There was the slab with the human woman laid upon, her hair wound in an elegant braid and her hands crossed over her still chest. And there was the King of Talamh, a pixie male who knelt at the side of her, his head laid across her chest, his eyes sore and dry from being unable to blink off of her pale face.

He did not stir when he heard another enter the space, their footsteps somewhat heavy yet their scent familiar.

Shea, the pixie female who had been a mentor of sorts to the King when he first arrived in her kingdom, leaned against the nearest wall of beige and watched him, quietly.

It was Raegan who broke the silence. A voice cracking and brittle, not belonging to him at all. “How did my father do it?”

Shea’s lips turned downwards as she crept across the room, coming to a stop beside her King where she crouched down. And Shea, who rarely touched another, placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed.

But she hesitated on her answer. And when she finally did answer, even Raegan could hear a sprinkle of deceit in the answer she offered.

“Because your father was a heartless male. But you, Raegan… You have a heart.”

Raegan frowned as he stared at Olivia. “Not anymore.”

He was not surprised that Shea offered no response, instead just retracted her hand and remained at his side as he continued to stare absently at the human.

Raegan had never been much for talking. He remembered, vaguely, living in Cluaineach. He remembered a life with his mother, with the male that she was with. He remembered laughing and smiling, running and climbing, singing and dancing. But then he was taken beneath the trees, away from the sun, and the King of Talamh forgot how to do those things.

But then she came. Olivia Loughty had stumbled into his throne room, her cheeks flush with fear, and Raegan remembered. He remembered how tight his chest could get when he laughed, he remembered how fast his heart could beat when he smiled. He remembered the songs he used to sing and he remembered how warm it was to be loved.

Raegan had learned it all, and now she was gone. Now, Raegan would be stuck with remembering, with feeling the ghost of the life that he could have had.

Olivia had taught Raegan to talk, so talk, he did. “She claimed we were mates,” he laughed, somewhat bitterly, the noise bouncing as he shook his head. “She claimed it multiple times, actually. Can you imagine?”

His snort was cut short by Shea’s sharp, “Yes.”

Raegan, for the first time since she had gone limp in his arms, looked away from Olivia. His eyes snapped to Shea, who had rocked back onto her heels and resumed her crossed-over-chest position with her arms.

He prefaced his words with a nervous laugh. “There is no way. I knew love, once. I knew it in my mother’s eyes. In the soft kisses to my brow, in the songs she lulled me to sleep with. But the gods… The gods, Shea… they despise me. They curse me, over and over and over, and they will not allow me to have love. I do not have a mate, nor did I ever have one. I will never have one. I am unworthy of such a beautiful thing.”

Shea only stared at Raegan, watching the King rattle off more words than the two of them had shared in over a century.

“I thought I could be selfish with her,” he mumbled, looking back at Olivia as he took her hand in his and rolled his thumb over her knuckles. “I thought I could love her silently and that the gods would not notice. I thought I could steal this joy for myself and hide it from the world in hopes of keeping it. And then I thought… I thought perhaps the gods had forgiven me, that I was allowed to love and be loved.”