Page 1 of Fae-King It (Mystical Matchmakers #5)

PROLOGUE

30 years ago

Ronan clenched his teeth and fought the urge to fidget with the sleeve of his tunic. It was itchy and hot, but his father had already warned him that he must be on his best behavior today. That the visitors to their kingdom could bring it great luck and help it thrive.

He’d waited until his father’s back was turned before he rolled his eyes. How fairy godmothers could bring luck and prosperity to the kingdom, he didn’t know. All they did was find fae their perfect match. Whoop-dee-do. It wasn’t like they slayed dragons or conquered the bog monsters. Though Ronan wasn’t sure he’d want to kill a dragon anyway. Dragons interested him.

Many things interested him. His brain was always tick, tick, ticking along—observing people, things, and the world around him. His father thought he was an imbecile because he so rarely talked, but, in reality, he was so focused on absorbing the world around him that he didn’t feel the need to contribute to conversation.

Even worse than the fairy godmothers, the enchantress, Zephira, was in attendance today. Ronan sometimes heard his parents talking about her, and it was clear they didn’t like her. At all. Yet she was invited to their castle on a regular basis. His mother had said something along the lines of keeping enemies close.

Ronan found Zephira very interesting indeed, but she’d made it clear that she had no time for silly little boys and threatened to turn him into a toad on more than one occasion, crown prince of the Southern Isle or not. So, he settled for watching her from afar.

“Stand up straight,” his mother hissed beneath her breath, poking him in the ribs.

Ronan sighed and returned his posture to what he thought of as his “parade pose.” Shoulders back, chin up, hands clasped behind his back, and legs planted shoulder-width apart and straight. He’d seen his father’s captain of the guard stand like this and thought the man looked ready to take on any foe and win. Though Ronan didn’t think he could take on an enemy, that was the image he wanted to project. Strength and honor.

Too bad his family didn’t seem interested in building either of those character traits in themselves or instilling it in their only child. Either way, Ronan had decided that it was time to be strong. He was thirteen. Mostly a mature male. He needed to act like it.

Those words may have sounded like his father’s attitude, except Ronan and Caden Byrne had completely different ideas of how an adult fae male should behave.

The double doors at the end of the throne room began to slowly open, their heavy weight pushed by two footmen on each door. The royal herald stepped inside, clicking his heels together. “The Proxa ladies and Jurgen Mueller,” he began. As Ronan watched, the herald called their names. “Mother, Graciella Proxa. Sisters Frederique, Monique, and Dominique Proxa.”

Ronan watched as the women entered the room in the order they were announced. It was strange that the three sisters were so close in age. Fae couples often had trouble with fertility. Siblings tended to have decades between them due to this. Yet the three sisters were no more than a year or two apart in age. His busy mind wondered if it was because their mother was a fairy godmother. Or if it was something else.

Another sharp nudge from his mother’s elbow brought his thoughts back to the throne room. As his family was obsessed with tradition, the ladies’ names were read from oldest to youngest. He watched dispassionately as a woman about his mother’s age stepped inside, curtsied, and moved to her right. A girl a few years older than him followed, her rich brown hair gleaming in the sunlight. She curtsied as well, her eyes going first to his parents before settling on him.

Ronan didn’t like the way she looked at him. As though she were the predator and he the prey. His eyes narrowed on her and she dropped her gaze, but he got the sense it was more to put him at ease than show submission. She was one he would have to watch. With one glance, Frederique Proxa had made herself an enemy.

Monique was close behind, her hair the same color as her mother and older sister’s. Her skin was the same golden tone as her mother’s as well, while her eldest sister had the pale freckled skin of her father. The middle Proxa sister was about his age and kept her eyes slightly lowered as though she were looking at everyone’s chin rather than meeting their gaze. Maybe she meant it to be respectful, but Ronan got the impression it was more dismissive than anything else.

She would be another one to watch.

As Monique stepped aside, the youngest Proxa girl entered. She had to be a year or two younger than him, though she was nearly as tall as he was. Brilliant blonde hair gleamed in the sunlight, shimmering like spun gold. Her skin was also the same tan as her mother and middle sister, but her cheeks bloomed with pink. Her eyes were so big and bright that he could see the pale bluish-green hue of them all the way across the room.

Blinking, the girl curtsied as well, her movements even more graceful than her sister and mother’s. Though her eyes were large, there was no expression in them. Only mild interest sparked there, as though the people in the room existed on the periphery of her notice.

For a split second, her eyes met his, and Ronan suddenly felt off-balance. He recognized a kindred spirit immediately. She wanted to be here about as much as he did. Another blink and the expression was gone, leaving only a blankness behind.

Once the announcement of names was complete, his mother nudged him with her elbow again, subtly shoving him forward. Growling beneath his breath, Ronan moved with his parents toward the family.

Bows and curtsies were exchanged again. Frederique tried to engage him in another staring contest, but he looked down his nose at her. He had better things to do than engage in ridiculous behavior. Monique kept her gaze down, only looking up when someone spoke to her directly, which wasn’t often.

However, it was Dominique that interested him the most. She stood utterly still next to her sisters, her hands clasped together in front of her. Her eyes moved between the adults as they spoke, but she didn’t say a word. No one asked her any questions either. It was as if none of them wanted to see her, so they didn’t.

But Ronan did.

The herald interrupted their boring civility by announcing Zephira the Enchantress. When the sorceress entered the throne room, everyone turned to look at her. Even Dominique. Her shoulders went tight as she looked at Zephira, and he watched her knuckles turn white as she squeezed her hands together tightly.

He took a small step to the side, bringing himself right behind her. “Do not be afraid,” he murmured beneath his breath. “She is an ally of our kingdom.”

Her shoulders rose a half inch before she took a deep breath and forced them to lower. “I am not afraid. More like…curious.”

Her words echoed his own feelings about Zephira. He wasn’t exactly afraid of her, though he did have a healthy respect for her magic. He was curious about her. He often wondered what her life was like. If she had a mate. A family. If so, she must not be very happy with them because she wore a black scowl most of the time she spent in his family’s kingdom.

Once Zephira entered, the children were ushered out of the throne room with the directive to “entertain themselves.”

Ronan didn’t bother to play host. He merely bowed to the three sisters and marched away. He was tired of the stuffy heat of the castle, the restrictive material of his tunic, and the shoes that pinched his toes.

He all but ran out of the castle and through the gardens. Along the way, he shed his tunic and shoes, wrapping them into a bundle that fit beneath his arm. The wrinkled fabric, smudged with dirt from his soles, would likely get him a scolding, but he didn’t care.

Using the stealthy movements the head cook, Jessel, taught him, Ronan slipped through the manicured beds to the outer edges of the garden, where the flowers and bushes grew unchecked. His lessons with Jessel were their little secret. She might be a cook now, but she was once a deadly agent of the throne. She rarely talked of her past, but based on the skills she taught him, he knew she had been good at her job.

His thoughts on his training, Ronan silently pushed through a hedge, emerging on the other side in his secret spot. The place he liked best.

This little corner grew wild, safe from the neat tending of the royal gardeners. The grass was thick and soft, providing a comfortable place to stretch out in the sun. It was his favorite hiding spot. When his lessons grew too boring or his parents were irritated with some prank he played, Ronan would sneak out here. Sometimes, he even crept out here at night, when the moon glowed in the sky and the crickets sang.

With a sigh, he dropped the bundle of his shoes and tunic on the ground before plopping down beside them. The scent of honeysuckle dance on the breeze that ruffled his hair when he leaned back on the grass, folding his hands behind his head.

Just as Ronan was about to fall asleep in the late morning sun, quiet footsteps had his eyes popping open. He jerked up into a sitting position, a snarl on his lips as he faced the threat.

Dominique Proxa froze. Her long pale blue skirt was clutched in one hand, keeping the hem above the weeds and small brush that surrounded his hiding spot. Though he was scowling at her and crouched in a fighting stance, she didn’t look afraid. Not even a little bit.

“What are you doing out here?” he growled, straightening to his full height.

“The same thing you are,” she answered.

The sound of her voice made him blink. Now that she wasn’t whispering, he could hear it more clearly. It was low and smooth. The voice of a grown woman, not a child at least a year younger than himself. She sounded completely composed, as though she happened across princes in wild gardens every day.

It made a glimmer of respect unfurl in his chest, but he shoved it away. He refused to let a spoiled rotten fairy godmother ruin his quiet place.

“And what am I doing?” he asked, using the haughty tone he sometimes heard from his mother’s mouth.

“Hiding,” she answered, glancing around the wild garden. “What is this place?”

Ronan glared at her. “ My hiding spot. You need to find your own.” He bit back a wince. He shouldn’t have admitted he was hiding. Not to a girl he didn’t know.

She looked him up and down, those aquamarine eyes assessing and calm. Then, she surprised him by saying, “Very well.”

But she didn’t turn and walk away. No, she came right toward him. Ronan caught himself about to take a step back and planted his feet. But she sidestepped him, walked through the brush and tall grass, and disappeared into the tree line.

Damn. The little fairy godmother had no idea the creatures that lived in the forest. If she did, she wouldn’t have waltzed in here in her pretty blue dress and perfect golden curls.

With a heavy sigh of regret, Ronan grabbed his tunic and yanked it over his head, brushing at the smudge on the front. Then, he shoved his feet into the shoes that pinched and took off after her.

He caught up with her in moments, probably because she stopped walking and watched him approach.

“Why are you following me?” she asked. “I thought you wanted to be alone in your hiding spot.”

She didn’t sound angry or even amused. The question was asked in a flat monotone as though she didn’t care what his answer was, one way or another. Her distant attitude intrigued him more and more by the minute. He wondered why she held herself at a distance from everyone.

But he wasn’t going to ask because then she might suspect that he cared. Not that he did…care. He was just curious about the girl and her family. That’s all.

At least, that was what he told himself.

“We have all manner of creatures in this forest,” he answered as he came to a stop in front of her. “It would be best if you went back to the castle and found your entertainment inside.”

Dominique tilted her head, looking up at him with those calm, probing eyes. “Thank you for the advice, but I am more than capable of taking care of myself.”

Without waiting for his response, she turned and continued down the fading path through the trees. At one time, fae often walked in these woods with their friends—or lovers. But now, they avoided it. The creatures that had begun to arrive here were not the sort one wanted to meet while out on a leisurely stroll with a female fae.

“Seriously, girl. You should listen to me and go back to the castle.”

She stopped moving immediately and slowly turned to face him. Her eyes were no longer a warm bluish green. No, they were the color of a winter sky on a clear day and just as cold. “You may call me by my name, which is Dominique. Or Lady Proxa. Whichever you prefer. But you will not call me girl.”

Ronan was taken aback by the sudden change in her demeanor. He got the impression that she was ready to attack him just for calling her “girl.” Then, he remembered the way her family dismissed and ignored her. Calling her “girl” in the tone he’d used likely felt the same.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized. “I meant no offense.”

Her eyes shifted, morphing from icy blue to the warm aquamarine they’d been before. “Apology accepted,” she said.

She turned and started walking deeper into the trees again, her pace slower. When she looked back at him, Ronan found himself joining her.

“I meant what I said about the forest,” he stated. “It’s not safe here. Even in the daytime. You should head back to the castle.”

“If it’s so unsafe, why are you walking with me?” she asked.

“Because I don’t want you to be hurt.”

She sighed. “I promise I won’t go too much farther. I just needed…space.”

“From what?”

Dominique didn’t answer, her brow furrowed as she thought. She stopped abruptly. “Do you see that?” she asked.

Ronan shifted his weight, his head swiveling as he prepared for a possible attack. “What do you see?”

“Flowers,” she murmured. “I’ve never seen any that color before.”

The girl hurried ahead, Ronan jumping to keep up. But she didn’t walk much further, just twenty feet or so, and he decided not to complain. He would keep his guard up and his eye out.

“They’re so beautiful,” Dominique whispered, bending down next to one. “And look! The petals are iridescent!”

Ronan glanced down and saw that the flowers were the same pale blue that her eyes had been when she was angry before. And she was right. The petals were iridescent, shimmering in the muted light beneath the canopy of trees.

Just as she reached out to touch one, a voice rang out in the forest.

“Do not touch that!”

Ronan whirled to the left and saw Zephira standing among the trees. He felt Dominique straighten beside him, her body tense and still.

He started to take a step to the side, to stand in front of her, but Zephira flung out her hand. Her magic clutched them tightly and sent their feet skidding across the ground as they moved a distance away from the flowers.

Without thinking, Ronan retaliated, sending out his magic without strategy or clear thought. Dark tendrils of smoke and shadows unfurled as his power shot across the clearing. His tutor in the arts of combat with both weapons and magic would have been disgusted by the sloppy attack.

And because it was sloppy, the enchantress had no problem deflecting his power.

“You dare?” she hissed, lowering her chin as she stared at Ronan.

Her dark cloak seemed to billow around her, and suddenly, she seemed taller, broader. The dim light beneath the trees grew even darker, as though the sun was setting. Grey wings, tipped with black feathers, exploded behind her, spreading wide, and the whites of her eyes disappeared, turning black as pitch and glittering with blue light around the edges. The lights flickered like flames as though fire burned within the sorceress.

“For your insolence, I curse you both,” Zephira said, her voice becoming a thousand tiny whispers around them. “You will walk alone, never to love or marry until you are lucky enough to find your soul mate. But that soul mate will not recognize you in return. They will treat you only with distrust and anger. This curse will only be broken when your soulmate vows their love aloud and bestows their kiss upon you.”

The magic of her words twined around Ronan and Dominique, neither of them able to avoid it. It glowed like black fire, tinged in blue. A sharp pain bit into his left wrist and he cried out, hearing Dominique echo the sound beside him. He lifted his hand, looking down, and saw that a small black crescent moon was etched upon the inside of his left wrist.

At his side, he saw a movement and glanced over to see Dominique lifting her right hand. On the inside of her right wrist, she bore the same mark.

With another gesture of her hand and a crack of thunder, Ronan and Dominique were surrounded by Zephira’s magic. In a blink, they were back at the castle, in the garden where both Ronan and Dominique’s families were gathered.

As one, the adults turned toward them.

“What is the meaning of this?” Ronan’s father asked.

“Your son attacked me when I tried to save the girl from death by prism flower. As payment for his act, he and the girl are now cursed.”

There was stark silence around them before everyone began talking at once.

“Cursed? By whom?” the king roared.

“By me, of course,” Zephira answered.

“How dare you?” hissed the queen.

“You cursed my daughter?” Graciella cried.

Their husbands’ blustering threats of retribution somehow echoed in the open space, adding to the pulsing tension.

“Enough!” Zephira shrieked, throwing both arms into the air. Another crack of thunder rent the air, making everyone shudder. Even the castle seemed to quake beneath the power of her voice. “If you or anyone in your hire raises a hand to me, I shall curse you all and this entire kingdom!” Zephira pointed at King Caden. “You know what I am capable of and that I will do as I vow. Warn the others what they will face if they disregard my words!”

Ronan’s father stiffened but stopped yelling at the sorceress and faced the rest of the adults. “She does not lie,” he admitted. “She has the power to bring down my entire family and kingdom.”

Silence fell around them all.

“The young ones earned what has befallen them and they shall pay without your interference.”

With those words, a flash of light engulfed Zephira and she vanished in a puff of smoke.

Ronan suddenly became aware of the hand clasping his, holding tightly. He looked down as saw that Dominique was standing so close that their arms were touching. It was her hand intertwined with his, gripping him as if he were the only safe place in this garden. The matching crescent moons on their wrists nearly touched.

As though she sensed his eyes on her, Dominique looked up at him, her face ashen. Her aquamarine eyes were huge and frightened, filled with tears.

Before he could speak, rough hands seized his shoulder, and another pair grabbed Dominique’s. They were torn apart. Ronan heard her cry out in pain, but he could no longer see her because his father was dragging him into the castle.

His feet stumbled on the stone steps as his father dragged him down toward the dungeons. Panic lanced his chest because he knew where they were going. His father was going to punish him, even though he had no idea what happened.

Ronan clenched his teeth together to stop from babbling an explanation. He’d endured this often enough to know that nothing he said would stop King Caden. His father wouldn’t believe a word he said until he began asking his questions between lashes of the strap.

The door to the whipping room slammed open, and Ronan was dragged inside.

An hour later, he sank to his knees, a bitter taste of sickness in his mouth though he hadn’t vomited. His back burned from the strikes of the leather. There were some places where he knew the skin was broken because he could feel the slow trickle of blood as it dripped down his back to the waist of his breeches.

“That was the entirety of the encounter?” his father asked, slightly out of breath.

Ronan started to nod but caught himself just in time. “Yes, Your Majesty.” To refuse to answer aloud would have earned him another five lashes with the leather strap.

“Very well. We will not speak of this again. Nor will we tell anyone that you are cursed. We have plenty of enemies already. No need to give them more ammunition against us. This stays within our family and the Proxa’s. I know they will maintain their silence. A cursed fairy godmother would never be trusted to find the proper match for any highborn fae.”

Unfortunately, his father was wrong. The curse didn’t remain between the royal family and the Proxa’s. News spread like wildfire, far and wide, that the crowned prince of the Byrne family was cursed and that one of the Proxa girls had suffered the same fate.

Offers of marriage arrangements had already been arriving for Ronan when he turned twelve, but they dried up. His father was furious, claiming that no kingdom would ally themselves with a cursed prince who would someday become a cursed king.

For thirteen years, he suffered at the hands of his parents and their demands. He fought against their growing greed and selfishness. He argued in defense of their people and their suffering. But those arguments fell on deaf ears. Each time, his anger toward the golden-haired girl grew. She had put him in this position by not listening to him and returning to the castle when he insisted. She was to blame for so many of his struggles and so much of his pain.

Until his mother fell pregnant when he was twenty-five. It was then that his father disinherited him, claiming their second-born would rule their kingdom as he was not fit.

His father intended the pronouncement to be another punishment, but Ronan felt nothing but relief.

He was free.

Without the burden of the kingdom on his back, Ronan left Magic for the human realm and discovered an entirely new world.