AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“I’ve heard many say they support Ladrien’s claim—”
“They’re going to leave us to rot.”
Many left, one or two at first, and then whole groups of them, caravans of mortals and their kin fleeing the city.
Maytree said she preferred this. She’d always been a friend to mortals, but the latest incident had shook her. She dismissed many herself, accusing them of plotting or poisoning. Precious few had her ear now—she only seemed to speak to Markham or Miriam. Even Juliana felt the Queen had become more distant towards her. She trusted her enough to have her guard Hawthorn, but she stopped speaking when she walked into the room. She was no longer welcome at meetings.
“I don’t suppose you’d tell me—” she asked Hawthorn one night.
He shook his head. ”Iwould tell you, if I knew anything,” he responded. “You aren’t the only one she keeps in the dark.”
Juliana tried not to show her disappointment. In all likelihood, it wasn’t personal—merely an understanding that Juliana could lie and not be held to her vows, that truth could be tortured from her. It did not matter that she felt like she would never betray Maytree, that she’d sooner die than let harm befall Hawthorn... the fact remained that she could be broken. Rarely did she ever long for the ability to only speak the truth, but she wished she could prove her worthiness through words now, if her actions were not enough. She wished she could make vows that would stay forever.
The castle grew cold and dusty, the food quality dwindling. The marketplace—what little of it Juliana could see on her few excursions from the palace walls—shrank. Only a handful of stalls seemed to remain.
“Your Majesty, perhaps we ought to consider offering the mortals an incentive to stay,” one of her advisors suggested. “There is a reason we’ve invited them into our lands. The economy alone—”
“They are replaceable,” she insisted, although her eyes refused to meet Juliana’s when she spoke.
“No, they’re not,” Hawthorn muttered.
Juliana imagined he was probably just annoyed that Owen and his wife were amongst those fleeing the city, the latest in a string of deserters.
The capital turned dark and cold. Cobwebs and moss crept into the crevices. Aoife muttered about her books getting damp, and the vines lapsed into mourning.
“Do you think they miss the citizens?” Juliana asked Hawthorn one evening. “Or… are they just feeding off your mother’s energy?”
Hawthorn shrugged. “Hers,” he said, “or mine.”
The dark silence thickened around him.
Princess Serena stayed with them until almost a week before the day. Juliana guarded them both when they were together. They played board games, walked around the gardens, occasionally showed each other their magic.
Polite. Restrained. As awkward as Hawthorn could be.
There were worse ways to start a relationship, and Juliana could see that he was trying.
Trying, and hating it.
They didn’t speak much, either.
Among the humans remaining in the palace were Miriam, Markham, Iona, Aoife, Dillon and Albert. Most did not surprise her, although she asked Aoife one morning when Hawthorn declared he had a sudden desire to visit the library.
“You didn’t even think about it?” Juliana asked her, as Hawthorn stuffed his face in a book and pretended not to listen in.
Aoife shrugged. “Did you?”
Juliana tore her eyes away from Hawthorn, which was a foolish action. She wassupposedto be watching him. “That’s different. I have my father here—”My family, my life.
“My life is here,” Aoife told her, looking upwards at the towering shelves. “I’m not leaving my books for anyone.”
Juliana nodded, thinking of the others. Iona and Albert said that they didn’t belong in the mortal realm, not anymore. Faerie was their home and their coffin. Miriam and Markham, she knew, were involved in some plan to protect the remaining mortals, hiding them or escorting them out, if worse came to worse. She didn’t know the specifics. Few did.
It was safer that way.
The days and nights rushed together, endless and over in an instant. Exhaustion had crept into Juliana’s bones, clawing at her mind, stiffening her sinews. She hardly slept, too terrified of shadows in the dark, convinced every sound was an assassin readying to pounce.
One night, just a few days before the main event, she woke up gasping and sweating, desperate for water. The silver jug beside her bed was empty.
