Page 8 of Accidentally Ever After (Wings & Whispers #1)

The next day, Instructor Thaelon droned on about proper dining etiquette while I fought to keep my eyes open. After my “extra lessons” with Caelen, we’d spent the night together in his chambers, exploring each other with increasing boldness until dawn began to lighten the strange fairy sky.

“Consort Morgan,” Thaelon said sharply, “are you attending to this lesson at all?”

“Absolutely,” I lied, straightening in my chair. “Soup spoons on the… left?”

Thaelon’s wings twitched in disapproval. “Right. And they are positioned in order of use, from the outside inward.”

“Right. Outside in. Got it.”

As Thaelon turned back to his diagram of proper place settings, my mind wandered again to the previous day’s activities. Specifically, to the way Caelen had looked as he came apart beneath my hands, his wings flared wide, those patterns on his skin glowing like constellations.

“Consort Morgan!”

I jumped. “Present!”

Thaelon sighed deeply. “Perhaps we should end early today. You seem… distracted.”

If he only knew , I thought, fighting a smile. “Sorry. Didn’t sleep well.”

Thaelon’s expression suggested he didn’t believe me for a second. “Indeed. Well, tomorrow we shall discuss proper behavior at formal ceremonies. Please attempt to be more focused.”

After he left, I wandered to the balcony of my chamber, looking out over the fairy realm.

In just over a week, this place had gone from alien prison to something closer to fascinating new home.

The thought should have alarmed me—wasn’t I supposed to be looking for a way back?

—but increasingly, I found myself wondering what it would be like to stay.

A knock at my door interrupted my musings. Opening it revealed a fairy courtier I vaguely recognized but couldn’t name.

“Consort Morgan,” he said with a bow that was exactly one-quarter depth (Thaelon would be proud). “His Majesty King Orion requests your presence in the throne room immediately.”

My stomach dropped. In my week at court, I’d managed to avoid a direct audience with Caelen’s father—the fairy lord who had tricked me into signing the marriage contract in the first place.

“Did he say why?” I asked, suddenly wishing I’d paid more attention in Thaelon’s lessons.

“It is not my place to question His Majesty’s intentions,” the courtier replied stiffly.

“Right. Of course not.” I tugged nervously at my shirt—one of my human ones rather than the revealing fairy garments. “Lead the way, I guess.”

As we walked through the palace corridors, I tried to recall everything Thaelon had taught me about proper court etiquette.

Bow from the waist for the king. Don’t speak until spoken to.

Don’t make direct eye contact for too long.

Don’t scratch inappropriate body parts (that one seemed like common sense, but Thaelon had been very specific about it).

The throne room was as intimidating as the rest of the palace was beautiful—a cavernous space with soaring ceilings, walls of what appeared to be living crystal that shifted colors like mood rings, and at the far end, a dais with two thrones.

The larger throne seemed to be carved from a single massive gemstone, dark purple with veins of silver running through it.

The slightly smaller throne beside it was similar but with more delicate proportions.

King Orion sat on the larger throne, looking every inch the fairy monarch.

He resembled Caelen in his height and build, but where Caelen’s features had a certain warmth beneath their otherworldly beauty, the king’s face was all sharp angles and cold perfection.

His wings were enormous—easily twice the size of Caelen’s—and the same purple-blue hue but with silver edging that caught the light like razor blades.

As I approached the dais, I became uncomfortably aware that we were not alone. Courtiers lined the walls, watching with varying degrees of curiosity and disdain. Lady Ellaria stood near the throne, her expression one of barely concealed satisfaction that made my skin crawl.

I stopped at what I hoped was a respectful distance and bowed from the waist, exactly as Thaelon had taught me. “Your Majesty,” I said, proud that my voice remained steady. “You summoned me?”

King Orion regarded me with eyes the same violet as Caelen’s but lacking any of the warmth. “Consort Morgan,” he said, his voice like ice crystals forming in the air. “I thought it time we became better acquainted, as you are now technically my son-in-law.”

The way he said “technically” made it clear exactly how he felt about that situation.

“Thank you for the invitation,” I said carefully.

“Not an invitation,” he corrected coldly. “A summons. There is a difference you would do well to learn.”

I bit back a retort, reminding myself that this was the guy who could turn me into a toad with a snap of his fingers. “Of course, Your Majesty.”

“I understand you are adapting to court life,” he continued. “Learning our ways, our customs.”

“I’m trying,” I said honestly. “There’s a lot to take in.”

“Indeed.” His gaze swept over me, lingering disapprovingly on my human clothing. “And yet you resist the most basic adaptations, such as appropriate attire.”

I glanced down at my jeans and button-up. “I find these more comfortable.”

“Comfort,” he said, as if the word tasted bad. “A human preoccupation. In the Seelie Court, appearance and station are intertwined. By refusing to dress appropriately, you diminish my son’s standing.”

Anger flared in my chest, but I tamped it down. “I wasn’t aware of that, Your Majesty. I’ll take it under consideration.”

The king leaned forward slightly. “See that you do. Now, to the matter at hand. It has come to my attention that you and my son have become… intimate.”

Heat flooded my face. How the hell did he know about that? Had someone been spying on us in Caelen’s private study?

“That’s… personal,” I managed, mortified to be having this conversation in front of the entire court.

“Nothing involving the royal family is personal,” King Orion said coldly. “Particularly not when it concerns the succession.”

“Succession?” I repeated, confused.

“My son is heir to the Autumn Throne,” the king said, as if explaining to a particularly slow child. “His consort plays a role in that future. A human consort… complicates matters.”

“I don’t see how my being human affects Caelen’s ability to rule,” I said, forgetting formality in my confusion.

Titters of laughter rippled through the watching courtiers. Lady Ellaria’s smile widened, something cruel in her eyes.

“Of course you don’t,” the king said dismissively. “You are ignorant of our ways. In Seelie tradition, the consort’s essence mingles with the ruler’s over time, influencing their magic and their reign. A human essence…” he paused, his disgust evident, “would weaken the throne.”

“That’s ridiculous,” I said before I could stop myself. “Caelen is still Caelen, regardless of who he’s with.”

The temperature in the throne room seemed to drop several degrees. The king’s wings extended slightly, a gesture I now recognized as aggression.

“You dare question our most sacred traditions?” he asked, voice dangerously soft.

I opened my mouth to backpedal, but before I could speak, the throne room doors opened with a resonant boom.

Caelen strode in, dressed in full formal regalia—a midnight blue tunic with silver armor over it, his hair elaborately braided with silver threads, a circlet of what looked like white gold resting on his brow.

His wings were fully extended, nearly spanning the width of the wide aisle, and his expression was thunderous.

“Father,” he said, his voice carrying easily in the hushed room. “I was not informed of this audience.”

King Orion’s expression remained impassive, but his wings twitched in what might have been irritation. “I was not aware I needed your permission to speak with your consort.”

“Permission, no,” Caelen said, coming to stand beside me. “Courtesy, yes.” He placed a hand on the small of my back, the touch both possessive and supportive. “What matter is so urgent it requires ambushing Blake before a full court?”

The casual use of my first name was clearly deliberate—a statement of intimacy and defiance.

“We were discussing appropriate behavior for a royal consort,” the king said coolly. “Including proper attire and respect for our traditions.”

Caelen’s hand remained steady on my back. “My consort is still learning our ways. I find his progress admirable, given the circumstances of his arrival.”

The subtle emphasis on “circumstances” was not lost on the king, whose wings twitched again.

“Be that as it may,” King Orion continued, “there are expectations that must be met. Traditions that must be honored. The Spring Conjunction approaches, and your consort will be formally presented to the other courts. He must be prepared.”

“And he will be,” Caelen said firmly. “Under my guidance, not through public interrogation.”

The tension between father and son was palpable, the air practically crackling with it. I had the distinct impression I was witnessing a power struggle that had been brewing long before I entered the picture.

“Very well,” the king said finally. “I shall leave his preparation in your hands. But be warned—the other courts will not be as forgiving of human… inadequacies… as you seem to be.”

Caelen’s wings flared wider, a clear display of anger, but his voice remained controlled. “Thank you for your concern, Father. If that is all, Blake and I have matters to attend to.”

Without waiting for dismissal, Caelen turned, his hand still on my back, guiding me toward the exit. The court parted before us like water, whispers following in our wake.

Once we were safely in a private corridor, Caelen’s controlled facade cracked. His wings trembled with barely suppressed rage, and the patterns on his skin glowed with agitation.

“I apologize,” he said, voice tight. “I should have anticipated this. My father’s games are typically more subtle, but he must be truly concerned to act so openly.”

“He doesn’t like me very much,” I observed, trying for lightness but failing.

Caelen’s expression softened as he looked at me. “His approval is irrelevant. The bond is between us, not him.”

“He said something about my human ‘essence’ weakening the throne,” I said, the words still stinging despite my attempt to dismiss them. “Is that true?”

Caelen sighed, leading me to a window alcove where we could speak privately. “It is a very old belief, from a time when the barriers between realms were more permeable and interspecies unions more common. Some traditionalists still hold that a ruler’s power is influenced by their consort’s nature.”

“So it’s fairy racism,” I translated.

A surprised laugh escaped him. “An oversimplification, but not entirely inaccurate. The truth is, there is little evidence for such claims. The last human-fairy royal union was centuries ago, and that reign was prosperous by all accounts.”

“Why does it matter so much to him?” I asked. “Is he really that worried about you being magically contaminated by my human cooties?”

Caelen’s expression grew thoughtful. “I suspect his concern is more political than magical. A human consort represents change—an opening to the mortal realm, new perspectives, potential shifts in policy. My father has ruled the same way for millennia. Change threatens him.”

“So I’m a political statement,” I said, not sure how I felt about that.

“You are far more than that,” Caelen said firmly, taking my hand in his. “To me, at least.”

The simple statement made warmth bloom in my chest. “What’s this Spring Conjunction he mentioned?”

“A gathering of all four Seelie courts—Spring, Summer, Autumn, and Winter. It happens once a decade, hosted by each court in rotation. This year, it is the Spring Court’s turn to host.”

“And I’ll be… presented? Like a show pony?”

His lips twitched. “Not quite so objectifying, but yes, you will be formally acknowledged as my consort before the other courts. It is… significant.”

“How significant?” I asked, suddenly suspicious.

“It would make our union official in the eyes of all Seelie. Before the conjunction, the binding could technically be dissolved by the High Council, though the process is complex. After… it becomes permanent.”

“Permanent as in forever?” I clarified, panic rising. “No take-backs, no escape clauses, just eternal fairy marriage?”

Caelen’s expression grew guarded. “You still seek an escape, then.”

It wasn’t a question, but the hurt beneath his controlled tone was unmistakable.

“I don’t know what I want,” I admitted, which was true.

“This has all happened so fast, Caelen. Two weeks ago, I was just a caterer trying to make rent. Now I’m in a magical realm, married to a fairy prince, being called before the king to discuss my inadequate human essence. It’s a lot to process.”

His wings drooped slightly, but he nodded. “Of course. I should not expect you to embrace a permanent arrangement so quickly.” He released my hand, stepping back slightly. “You have time before the conjunction to consider your path. No decision must be made today.”

The withdrawal—both physical and emotional—left me feeling cold. “Caelen…”

“It is alright, Blake,” he said, his regal mask slipping back into place. “I have duties to attend to. Perhaps we might speak more at dinner?”

Before I could respond, he bowed slightly and walked away, his wings held stiffly against his back in a way I now recognized as emotional containment.

I watched him go, conflicting emotions churning in my chest. Part of me wanted to run after him, to tell him I didn’t want an escape clause, that whatever was growing between us was worth exploring further.

Another part—the practical, human part—reminded me that I had a life back on Earth, a business I’d built from nothing, friends who must be wondering where I’d disappeared to.

With a sigh, I headed back to my chambers, more confused than ever about what I truly wanted.