Page 7 of Brutal Fae King (Dark Faevea King #1)

It doesn’t take long before I am once again hauled out of my cell to perform some tedious task. But it’s one of the guards I met with before, and he just looks at me before settling himself in the corner of the room I’m supposed to be cleaning from top to bottom. It’s an unused room in the West wing of the castle—I’d be surprised if anyone has been in here for years. I’m just being set to clean this room just for the sake of cleaning it. It feels like that’s been the point of most of the tasks I’ve been given.

But this time, I have a friend in the corner of the room. He nods at me through his helmet, then leans against his spear as if he’s dozed off.

That’s my cue; I pick up and sprint as quickly as possible out of the room. I know he’s risking everything to support me, so the least I could do in return is to be there and be back as quickly as I can so there’s a chance he won’t be spotted “sleeping” and get in trouble.

I move like a cat through the castle—fast, near soundless—but the guards I pass seem to understand to just let me pass. Before long, I’m in the corridor I was dragged to when I saw the witch, and now that I know that it’s there, there is a conspicuous gap where the door is.

So I unravel the piece of paper with the spell on it and chant the words as quietly as I can:

“Friag na jehrinchia! Noree maleob na Herabug! Friag! Friag!”

I have no idea what it means, but as soon as the last word leaves my lips, the wall shudders. The stones very slowly seem to writhe, like I’m watching a cluster of maggots in a bowl. After a short while of wriggling, the color starts bleeding out from between them. It fills out the shape of a doorway and then eventually solidifies into a real door, with the door handle swimming up through the magic, eventually coming to rest where a door handle should be.

I wait for a long moment, making sure there’s no more movement before I reach forward to touch the handle. The moment my fingers brush it, it snaps down and opens by itself. I recognize the swirling blackness.

And the silken voice that comes out, I recognize as well. “Welcome! Come in, My Queen!”

It feels like a soft wind starts pulling me in, my hair flowing toward the door. I take a moment to collect myself before I step in.

It's the same as it was the last time, so I’m not worried this time. Soon, the same woman ghosts out from the obscurity. Her piercing gaze and unsettling smile meet mine.

“I am pleased to see you have found your way to me again,” she purrs. “More good omens!”

“Yes…” I murmur. “I was coming to ask you about you calling me a “queen” when we first met.”

She smiles even wider.

“I know,” the witch replies. “I have already seen it.”

I just wait for her. She slowly cocks her head—and her head just… keeps going sideways and-

And she’s gone.

My stomach drops into the sole of my shoes. I spin around, looking for her. But the darkness is too thick.

In front of me, the darkness begins to lighten and form shapes and shadows.

My queen. Her voice no longer hits my ears but rattles in the air like a cold breath. Ask your questions.

“I-I want to know what “Queen” means,” I answer. “I’ve heard rumors of a lost queen. What does that mean? Is that me?”

The light patch of darkness begins to form even clearer shapes. It’s like a silhouetted puppet show. There’s a woman in front of me, tall, with a spiked crown on top of her head.

Yes… That same voice rings in the air. There is to be a queen of Faevea. She is the key to the land surviving the assaults from its enemies. Without her, the land will crumble, and its people shall die.

The shadow woman raises her hands to the air, hands spread.

She is burdened with power. Power that can be used for many means.

Black shadow lightning cracks out from the outspread hands of the silhouetted woman.

The warrior queen must choose how to use her powers, for Faevea’s fate hangs in the balance.

“I do have lightning powers,” I insist. “But I’m not a warrior! I’ve never picked up a sword in my life! And how can I be the queen when I have always been a peasant in Thawallow? I’ve lived my entire life there! I’ve never been in the castle before now!”

I sound like I’m begging; I don’t want it to be true. I don’t want to be tangled up in politics and royalty—I just want to get home to my sister.

But in front of me, the shadows shift and change. Suddenly, there are two people sprinting. The more feminine figure holds a bundle in her arms.

There was once a king and queen of Faevea, the ones who birthed the rightful queen, now lost. The witch’s voice rattles across the air again. They, too, had the strength to change the realm with their powers—to create… and to destroy.

The puppets keep running. I focus on the bundle in her arms. I can see the shadow bundle moving.

This made them dangerous, the witch continues. And this made them threatening.

The pair approach a large wall, and they’re forced to stop. They look back and forth. Then they turn around. The male figure held an arm in front of the female one. The female one curls protectively around the bundle in her arms.

Other heirs to the throne wanted them gone; their threatening nature was the excuse the other heirs needed.

A wave of shadow starts to move over them both, except a little purple color starts seeping into the shadow. Black magic. Echoing screams bounce around the empty space. I cringe. Little streaks of red swirl in the shadows in front of me.

Other royals got involved.

The red shadows part, and I see the shape of a baby in the darkness, kicking and arms lightly flailing. I’m surprised to see the baby alive.

The king and queen were found dead. The baby, however… she was never found. That is as far as the mortals knew. The baby had simply disappeared. Most presumed her dead. Others rumored she was alive, and so was dubbed ‘the lost queen’.

Darkness shrouds the baby.

However… we know that is not where it ended. The baby was never found-

The shadows part like a curtain.

-because she was never supposed to be found.

There’s another woman running. This time, I can see the face of the baby in her arms.

When the king and queen foresaw their deaths, the first thing they did was give the baby to their most trusted servant. She took the baby as far from the castle as she could and found a childless couple.

The woman stops running. Then, I see a very familiar silhouette.

“That’s my house!” I gasp aloud.

That is the house of the childless couple. The ones who were trusted with the lost queen.

“But…”

The silhouette of my house opens its front door. A beam of light passes through the door, and a pair of shadow people wait at the door. Except I’m familiar enough with them that I recognize them. I recognize my mother’s portly frame and that odd cowlick my father had that could never be flattened down.

That’s definitely my parents… except… if the witch is right, then they’re not.

They’re my adopted parents… and my sister… is my adopted sister?

My family isn’t my family?

The baby was placed into the care of a couple I foretold to be a loving and caring couple, the witch says. One who would care for the lost queen like one of their own.

My throat is thick. I swallow hard before I can speak again.

“Y-yes. They were wonderful,” I croak.

The visuals fade. For a moment, I’m just stuck on my own in the darkness. I’m just trying to wrap my head around this all.

Eventually, the rage just builds and builds.

“Why?!” I snap. “Why couldn’t you have just left me there?!”

The shadows begin to move in front of me again.

That, the witch’s voice says, needs us to cover what happened in the castle in the absence of the rightful heir.

The silhouette forms the shape of the castle.

The one who murdered the king and queen was the brother of the king, she says, a power-hungry tyrant who attempted to claim territories beyond their realm.

A man appears. A tall crown rests on his head, crooked in the lighting, until it looks like a set of curled horns.

He was ruthless in his militaristic pursuits, and he was successful in them. Much suffering and death occurred at his hands. Depending on what one’s qualifications are for greatness, he could have been considered a great man.

I give a loud, disapproving grunt.

But he was a prideful man, and that would be his downfall. He needed the best of everything.

The shadows around the king shift, and I see the silhouette of a turkey on one side and a large bottle on the other side.

Fine foods and wine could only sate a man so much, the witch says. He decided he needed a wife. A fine, human specimen to bear him a male heir. He decided upon his bride by looking at a portrait of a woman across the realm. He saw the painting of her; he wanted her, and he had to have her.

A smaller woman appears by his side, arms together, head hung.

Unfortunately… a portrait does not tell all.

A pair of fae wings spread from the back of the woman. The tyrant backs away, hands in front of the face. A vague shout of rage echoes throughout the swirling darkness, and the silhouettes fade into blackness.

He did not want his bride, but they had become married. She was treated horribly for her crime of being a dark fae. When she bore a half-human and half-dark fae child, he attempted to rid her of it. To no avail, of course.

The shadows clear. The dark fae woman cowers from another figure, a baby in one hand and the other held up over her head. The tyrant is posed over her, something I can’t discern in his hand.

But I suppose I don’t need to know precisely what it is to know how awful it is. My stomach is turning.

Before long, the witch continues, the bride of the tyrant had pleaded for help, and such prayers were answered.

With a BANG, there are suddenly hundreds of dark fae silhouettes. I see the tyrant bearing a sword. But there are just too many of them around him. In fact, for the first time, I see silhouettes at the periphery of my vision. I turn around, and I see an entire dark fae army all around me. Hundreds of shadows of dark fae, all armed with swords and spears, in their characteristic spiky armor.

The tyrant was defeated quickly by those who answered the prayers of the tyrant’s bride. With the bride alone, she became queen and upheaved his rule.

The dark fae woman stands tall, her own crown and wings standing proud and tall.

She banished humans to the outer walls for fear of their loyalty to the former king, the witch says, and she found her true love amongst her dark fae saviors.

A dark fae man appears at her side.

The pair of them undid much the tyrant had done. Together, they ushered in a new era of peace. However, even with their half-fae and half-human child, even when they had their own full-blooded fae child of their own, what they didn’t have was an heir.

I frown.

“How didn’t they?” I ask.

The future foretells of the true heir of the kingdom returning someday, the witch says. The future is uncertain and hinges on the power of the lost queen. The throne is rightfully hers, and she may save the realm… or destroy it.

With another flash of red, all the visuals disappear. I just stand for a moment, staring at blackness. Staring at nothing.

“And… that’s me?” I clarify. “The lost queen.”

The witch forms in front of me, out of the shadows she’d been using to demonstrate her story.

“Yes, My Queen,” she purrs.

I sigh.

“And… now that I’m here… can I turn down the throne?” I ask. “Can I just turn away from all this and go away?”

The witch cocks her head.

“If you leave, Faevea will be certain to fall,” she replies. “The return of the lost queen is essential for the survival of the realm.”

I sink down.

Maribelle… she probably needs my help—she’s so sick…

But if I leave here, the realm will fall? So Maribelle is going to die either way!

My sister—no… my… adopted sister…

It feels like my brain goes numb.

Me being a queen… the rightful heir to the throne…

I don’t give a damn about any of that. The only thing that keeps coming up over and over again is the fact that my childhood… was a lie.

I wasn’t my parent’s daughter. Every time my father patted my back after a chore well done and said, “that’s my girl”, was that a lie? Every time my mother proudly referred to Maribelle and me as “her girls”, was that a lie? Every time either one introduced me to someone new as “their daughter”, was that a lie?

My heart is cold. My eyes are stinging.

Did Maribelle know? She was born so much later than I was… adopted, but did they tell her? Did she know that we weren’t full-blooded sisters?

Were my parents ever planning on telling me that I wasn’t theirs, or did they die before they could? Was I going to live my entire life happy in this delusion, or would this kidnapping have happened regardless, and I’d have found out either way?

Could… could those other women who were killed by the king searching for the lost queen have been saved if I had known earlier and turned myself in?

My mind is whirring. I can feel myself swaying on the spot.

“My queen,” the witch says. “It is time for you to leave. He searches for you.”

“I… okay,” I murmur numbly.

I blink, and a bright light glares in my eyes. I flinch and cover my eyes, but after a moment’s adjustment, I realize I’m back in the corridor where the witch’s doorway formed.

I turn around and stare at it. There is no doorway anymore. Just the space where it should be.

He searches for you.

I’d best get going before my guard friend gets in too much trouble.