Page 19 of Accidentally Ever After (Wings & Whispers #1)

I woke with a start, sunlight streaming through the windows of my apartment. For a moment, I lay disoriented, trying to shake off the remnants of an unusually vivid dream. Something about fairies and… a wedding?

Must have been that fantasy novel I was reading , I thought, stretching as I got out of bed.

It was Saturday morning, and according to my phone, it was exactly two months since I’d catered that fancy wedding at Glimmerglade Estate—the one with all the weird rich people who’d insisted on that fantasy fairy theme.

It had been my biggest job yet, and thankfully, it had gone off without a hitch.

I shuffled to the kitchen to make coffee, trying to shake off a strange feeling of dissonance, as if something wasn’t quite right.

My apartment looked the same as always—small but comfortable, decorated with mismatched furniture I’d collected over the years.

My catering calendars and invoices were stacked on the counter where I’d left them. Everything was normal.

So why did I feel so… off?

As the coffee brewed, I checked my phone messages. Several clients asking about availability, a text from my friend Sarah asking if I wanted to meet for lunch, and an email reminder that my rent was due next week.

Ordinary life. So why did it suddenly feel so foreign?

I took my coffee to the window, looking out at the familiar view of the city. The morning was clear and bright, promising good weather. On impulse, I decided to accept Sarah’s lunch invitation. Maybe some human interaction would shake off this weird mood.

Human interaction? As opposed to what? I wondered, frowning at my own strange thought.

Throughout the morning, the feeling of wrongness persisted.

I kept expecting to see something that wasn’t there, reaching for objects that should be to my right but were actually to my left.

When I showered, I turned too quickly and nearly fell, as if my body was compensating for extra weight on my back that didn’t exist.

By the time I met Sarah at our favorite café, I was thoroughly unsettled.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” she commented as I sat down across from her. “Rough night?”

“Strange dreams,” I said, which wasn’t exactly a lie. “I feel like I’m still half in them.”

“Must have been some dreams,” she said, studying my face. “You look… different, somehow.”

“Different how?”

She tilted her head, considering. “I don’t know. Just… different. More confident, maybe? Like you’ve been on some life-changing retreat or something.”

The observation sent an inexplicable chill down my spine. “Nope, just been working. Speaking of which, how’s the gallery?”

Sarah launched into stories about her job at the local art gallery, and I tried to focus, to enjoy the familiar rhythm of our friendship. But part of me felt distant, as if I was watching the scene from outside myself.

After lunch, instead of heading home as planned, I found myself drawn to Richmond Park. I hadn’t been there in months, but suddenly I felt an irresistible urge to visit. It was a beautiful day for a walk, I reasoned. Nothing strange about wanting to enjoy the outdoors.

But as I wandered the paths of the expansive park, I realized I was looking for something specific, though I couldn’t articulate what. A particular spot called to me, pulling me off the main trails and into a less frequented area where the trees grew thicker.

I came to a small clearing where a circle of mushrooms grew in the grass—a fairy ring, like in children’s stories. Something about it made my heart race, a feeling of recognition so strong it nearly knocked me off my feet.

I’ve been here before , I thought. Recently. This is important .

I approached the circle slowly, drawn by a feeling I couldn’t name. As I got closer, something strange happened—the air above the mushrooms seemed to shimmer, like heat rising from pavement on a hot day.

This is it , I thought, though I had no idea what “it” was. This is the way back .

Back where? I had no answer, only an overwhelming certainty that I needed to step into that circle, that something vital waited on the other side.

As I stood there, debating whether I was having some kind of breakdown, a jogger passed on a nearby path, giving me an odd look. The mundane interruption broke my trance, and I backed away from the fairy ring, suddenly feeling foolish.

What am I doing? Fairy rings aren’t portals. They’re just fungus .

I returned home, but the restlessness only grew worse. I tried to distract myself with work—reviewing upcoming catering jobs, planning menus—but nothing held my attention. That pull toward… something… continued to nag at me.

By evening, I was pacing my apartment, feeling like a caged animal. When I tried to sleep, I dreamed of wings—massive, iridescent things the color of twilight—and woke reaching for someone who wasn’t there.

“This is insane,” I muttered to myself as dawn broke, finding me still awake and increasingly agitated. “What is happening to me?”

On impulse, I dug through my closet until I found the clothes I’d worn to cater that weird fairy-themed wedding. Maybe retracing my steps would help make sense of this bizarre fixation.

As I pulled out the white button-up shirt, something fell from the pocket—a small object that caught the early morning light with an unearthly shimmer. I picked it up, and my breath caught in my throat.

It was an ear cuff made of what looked like white gold, designed to curve along the shell of a human ear in an elegant spiral. I had never seen it before in my life, and yet…

A gift , I thought with absolute certainty. His gift .

Whose gift? I had no answer, only that overwhelming feeling of significance.

With trembling hands, I attached the cuff to my right ear.

The moment it touched my skin, a shock ran through me—not painful, but intense, like completing an electrical circuit.

For a split second, I saw a flash of violet eyes, felt the brush of something against my back that wasn’t physically there.

“Caelen,” I whispered, the name coming from nowhere and everywhere at once.

The ear cuff. The fairy ring. The strange sensations. They were connected somehow, pieces of a puzzle I couldn’t quite assemble.

Without conscious decision, I found myself dressing, grabbing my keys, and heading back to Richmond Park. It was barely 6 AM, the park nearly empty as I made my way directly to the fairy ring I’d found the day before.

This time, I didn’t hesitate. Something—someone—was waiting for me on the other side of whatever threshold this represented. Someone important. Someone I… loved?

The thought should have been alarming. Instead, it felt like the first true thing I’d recognized since waking in my apartment.

I stepped into the center of the fairy ring and waited, heart pounding.

For a moment, nothing happened. Then the air around me began to shimmer, the early morning light fracturing into prismatic patterns.

The world seemed to fold in on itself, reality bending in ways that should have been impossible.

I’m coming back , I thought, though I didn’t know where “back” was. I’m choosing you. Again .

Light engulfed me, white and blinding, and the world fell away.

When I opened my eyes, I stood in a crystal chamber filled with startled-looking beings with pointed ears and massive, insect-like wings. And directly in front of me, his violet eyes wide with disbelief and dawning joy, was the most beautiful creature I’d ever seen.

“Blake,” he breathed, wings extending fully in what I somehow knew was extreme emotion. “You came back.”

“I don’t understand what’s happening,” I admitted, my voice shaking. “I don’t know who you are. But I know I’m supposed to be here. With you.”

He approached slowly, as if afraid I might vanish. “You are Blake Morgan,” he said gently. “And I am Prince Caelen Luminaris of the Autumn Court. We are bonded—consorts—though you cannot remember it now.”

“Consorts,” I repeated, the word feeling right on my tongue despite its strangeness. “Like… married?”

“Yes,” he confirmed, now standing directly before me. “Though the circumstances were… unusual.”

I should have been terrified. Should have been demanding explanations, proof, something to make sense of this impossible situation. Instead, I reached out hesitantly, drawn by an instinct I didn’t understand, and touched his wing.

The contact sent a shock through both of us.

His wing trembled beneath my fingers, and images flashed through my mind—not complete memories, but fragments: flying together above a glittering palace, sitting beside a pool of glowing flowers, bodies painted with luminescent patterns, wrapped in wings that felt like home.

“I know you,” I whispered, awed by the certainty even as the specific memories remained elusive. “I don’t remember you, but I know you.”

“The bond remains,” he said, wonder in his voice. “Despite the ritual. You felt it.”

“I found the fairy ring,” I explained. “And this.” I touched the ear cuff. “It was in my pocket, though I have no memory of putting it there. When I put it on, I saw your eyes. I heard your name.”

His own hand rose to touch the cuff gently. “My gift to you, before a formal court function. You must have transferred it to your human clothing at some point.”

An older fairy with enormous wings stepped forward, his expression thunderous. “This proves nothing,” he declared. “The human returns out of curiosity, not choice. The ear cuff is a physical reminder that should not have been permitted.”

“Father,” Caelen said, his voice cooling noticeably. “The terms of the ritual stated only that Blake must choose to return of his own volition, without direct intervention. The bond drew him back, just as the matchmakers intended.”

“I don’t understand what’s happening,” I said, looking between them. “But I know I’m meant to be here. Something led me back, something stronger than memory.”

A fairy woman with butterfly wings in sunset colors approached. “The convergence,” she said, her voice warm and somehow familiar. “The Festival of Lights created a connection that transcends the ritual’s effects.”

“This is highly irregular,” the older fairy—Caelen’s father, apparently—protested. “The council must deliberate on whether this constitutes a valid return.”

“There is nothing to deliberate, Your Majesty,” the sunset-winged fairy said firmly. “As Keeper of the Covenant, I declare the test satisfied. Consort Morgan has returned of his own free will, drawn by the bond despite the absence of memory. The union stands.”

Murmurs broke out among the assembled fairies, most seeming to agree with her assessment. Caelen’s father looked furious but contained, his wings held rigidly against his back.

“So be it,” he said finally, his voice cold. “The presentation will proceed as planned this evening.”

As the other fairies began to disperse, discussing the unexpected development in excited tones, Caelen turned back to me, his expression a mixture of joy and concern.

“You truly remember nothing?” he asked softly.

“Fragments,” I admitted. “Feelings more than specific memories. I know that I… care for you. Deeply. But the details are missing.”

“They will return when the twenty-four hours of the ritual expire,” he assured me. “Until then, I will help you navigate as best I can.”

“So I’m really married to a fairy prince?” I asked, still trying to process the situation. “That’s… not what I expected when I woke up yesterday.”

His lips curved in a smile that felt achingly familiar. “Our beginning was unconventional, to say the least. Though I believe you once called it ‘the best mistake you ever made.’”

The phrase rang true, though I couldn’t recall saying it. “How long have we been together?”

“Two months,” he said. “Though it feels like both longer and shorter, somehow.”

“And we’re… happy?” I asked, needing to know.

His expression softened, wings extending slightly in what I somehow knew was affection. “Very. At least, I am happier than I have ever been. You seemed to share the sentiment, before the ritual.”

I nodded, accepting this. Whatever magic or connection had drawn me back to this place, to this being, felt right in a way I couldn’t articulate.

“What happens now?” I asked.

“Now,” he said, offering me his hand, “we prepare for your formal presentation to the four courts. And tomorrow, when your memories return, we begin our life together in earnest—without further interference.”

I took his hand, the contact sending that same shock of recognition through me. Whatever else I didn’t know or understand, this felt right. Felt like coming home.

“Lead the way, Your Highness,” I said, the formal address feeling both strange and familiar on my tongue.

His smile widened. “Caelen, please,” he corrected gently. “When we are alone, you call me Caelen.”

“Caelen,” I repeated, the name resonating through me like a bell. “I think I can remember that much, at least.”

As he led me from the crystal chamber into a world of wonder I both knew and didn’t know, I felt an inexplicable sense of peace. Whatever had happened in the two months I couldn’t remember, whatever would happen in the future, I had made the right choice in returning.

The rest would come back to me in time. For now, it was enough to know I was where I belonged.