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Farron

T he marble floor is so perfectly polished, I can see my reflection in it like a pond. If only it were made of water, I could sink straight to the bottom and never emerge.

I’m no stranger to parties. I often travel with my family throughout Autumn, celebrating harvest and new moon festivals.

Not to mention, my book club at the Scriptorium can get positively raucous at our year-end celebration.

Why, last time, Professor Thiran even cracked open his aged single malt whiskey, and we all took a nip.

By night’s end, we were poring over poetry about falling stars and tide-kissed sailors.

Certainly not the work of scholars. Ah, wild times.

But parties in the Summer Realm are a completely different beast. Here at Soltide Keep, the heart of Hadria, men and women saunter through the ballroom, sashaying by coral-encrusted pillars wearing less clothing than I do when I’m merely in my undergarments.

Mother insisted we dress per their customs. My father, Padraig, embraced it; I catch sight of him now, juggling three pomegranates for a wide-eyed crowd of Summer children.

His barrel chest, smothered in bright red hair, is on display, barely contained by the rivers of white cloth draped over one shoulder.

I subconsciously pull at my own clothing, a sheet of swathed orange fabric, wishing it covered more of my pale chest. Despite it not being the custom, I did, in fact, keep my undergarments on.

Soltide Keep, I must admit, is truly an architectural marvel.

It’s no wonder it’s also known as the Summer Palace; it appears designed for beauty rather than fortitude.

The palace is crafted of organic sea matter with bones of stucco, plaster, and colored tiles that form gorgeous mosaics.

Though the floor is marble, the pillars and ceilings are the lightest pink, appearing as if cut from coral.

Glistening tide pools are carved into alcoves, smelling of briny ocean and filled with all manner of sea stars, barnacles, and seagrasses.

It’s gloriously cool within the palace, despite the heat outside.

The season never changes in the four realms: the Summer Realm is always blistering hot, Winter cold and unyielding, Spring fragrant and green, and my own Autumn Realm is always crisp and colored in a cornucopia of reds, yellows, oranges, and browns.

But all the realms observe the annual calendar, which is based on the seasons around Castletree—the only place in the Enchanted Vale blessed to experience all four seasons.

I imagine Castletree is beautiful right now, basking in warm sun and balmy breezes through the glorious meadows and forests that surround it.

Servants stroll through the ballroom holding platters of food, including bread baked with olives, palm leaves stuffed with figs and dates, and even sea urchins, still with their spines. I don’t dare attempt one of those, but I do help myself to two honeyed custards and a glass of saffron wine.

I know Mother wants me to mingle with everyone— especially the Summer Royal Family—but my feet are planted to the floor.

Thankfully, no one has wandered over and attempted to make conversation with me.

I purposely chose my location to blend in: surrounding me are pedestals adorned with marble busts, depicting the previous High Rulers of Summer as well as famed gladiators, sailors, and artists.

“Great party, isn’t it?” I turn to the bust right beside me.

The man’s marble eyes stare back, emotionless yet piercing.

“Come here often”— I peer down at the plaque below the bust—“Aeneas?” Aeneas, the first High Prince of Summer, does not respond.

The perfect company for a party. “So, how about the honeyed custards?” I nudge the pedestal with my elbow as if we’re old friends.

The movement makes the bust wobble, and with a yelp, I snatch Aeneas’s skull and steady him.

A servant gives me a stern glare as she passes by with more goblets of wine.

Sighing, I mumble, “I’m hopeless.”

Even my baby sister isn’t as pathetic as I am.

Princess Eleanor, our sweet Nori, despite barely being of age to attend school, is peering over a tide pool and pointing at the various treasures within.

Though I can’t hear what she’s saying, I know she’s likely reciting memorized facts to her captive audience and apparent chaperone for the evening, Prince Decimus of Summer.

I search my memory for everything I know of the Royal Family.

Decimus is the middle child, an accomplished gladiator and the Imperator of Summer’s army.

His mother, Princess Sabine, married twice, first to Cenarius, a bard-warrior, then to Ovidius, a famous navigator and naval commander.

Having multiple spouses is not unusual in the Enchanted Vale, though certainly it is more common in Summer than in Autumn.

Decimus is sired by Ovidius, I recall. They share the same dark brown skin and prowess with a short sword, but where Ovidius wears his hair in long braids and boasts an impressive beard, Decimus’s hair is shorn, his face clean-shaven.

Despite Decimus’s fearsome reputation in the arena, he appears to be endlessly patient with Nori, nodding as she rambles on about her tide pool findings.

Even my brothers are honoring Mother’s wishes to mingle.

Dominic and Billagin—imps disguised as boys—have cozied up next to the warriors Ovidius and Cenarius and are attempting their own gladiator match against one another, using skewers from the fruit plates.

Like Decimus, the prince consorts show incredible patience.

I watch as Ovidius puts his hands on their shoulders to correct their form, while Cenarius, a bronze-skinned man with a wild tangle of blond hair, laughs and cheers beside them.

Princess Sabine, the matriarch of the family, wanders over to watch this mock gladiator match, and my pulse rages in my ears.

Our family has visited Hadria before and hosted their Royal Family in Coppershire, but the sight of Sabine never fails to make my heart quicken.

With her blond hair braided into an elaborate crown upon her head, skin tanned from days in the sun, and eyes like aquamarines, she’s beautiful as the dawn.

Legends of sirens flutter through my mind, though I don’t imagine any creature could be as lovely as she.

Sabine jumps between Dominic and Billagin, wielding her own skewer, and both her husbands laugh.

After a valiant attempt to waylay my young brothers, Sabine allows them to strike the final blows and collapses to the ground in a dramatic display.

Sabine was once a High Princess like my mother before she passed the rule to her eldest son.

I try to conceive of my mother engaging in play of such a sort, but find my imagination lacking.

Last, I search the room for the rest of the members in attendance from both the Autumn and Summer houses. I’m not surprised to find them together, huddled in a corner, gossiping like old maids.

High Prince Damocles of Summer and High Princess Niamh of Autumn. My mother.

Though Damocles takes after his biological father, Cenarius, they do not appear to have much in common.

Where Cenarius has a constant smile on his face, eyes crinkled with laughter, Damocles looks carved of stone.

He wears a draping of dark blue cloth around his hips, leaving his chest bare.

His shoulders are wide and thickly muscled, skin various shades of tan, most likely from training with equipment.

He runs a hand over his shorn blond hair, and my mother leans closer to whisper to him.

Then they both direct their gazes at me.

My heart sinks. I can feel their piercing stares and even more piercing intentions from across the room. I know what they’re whispering about. Mother couldn’t keep silent about it for even five minutes while on our journey here.

They’re trying to set me up with the third son of Summer.

Daytonales.

The name sends my blood boiling. I met him once, when we were both children, but that was enough to solidify my understanding of the youngest child of Sabine and Cenarius.

Daytonales is a hideous toad.

Back then, he was wild, crazy, careless.

A tornado with tangled blond hair that smelled of the sea.

He had no patience, no decorum, and no care for fine literature.

I can only imagine what kind of brute the years have turned him into.

All I know is he’s made a name for himself as a gladiator, but he obviously hasn’t learned manners, as he didn’t even show up to greet us today with the rest of his family.

If Mother thinks I’d have any interest in him, she doesn’t understand me at all.

If my heart was in a pit, it sinks down to the Below as I watch Mother detach from Damocles’s side and saunter over to me. I sigh and shift from foot to foot, desperately wishing I had another honeyed custard so I would have something to do with my hands.

“My clove, are you enjoying the party?” Mother grabs my arm and nuzzles against me.

Her dark hair, woven into a long braid, shimmers with a few streaks of gray.

Now that we’re arm in arm, both dressed in the one-shouldered draped cloth of Summer, I notice how ghastly pale we are compared to the sun-loving Summer folk.

“Not as much as you seem to be,” I mutter.

She flicks her gaze back to where Damocles stands.

“The High Prince is quite a fine young man, isn’t he?

Apparently, he’s already cleared the pirate blockade that plagued the Balthazar Isles for years.

Isn’t that impressive? Sabine was wise indeed, both to raise such a son and in her choice to pass the Blessing to him. ”

Oh no. Please don’t let this be going where I think it’s going. “Always seemed a bit soon for Sabine to pass her Blessing, don’t you think? She’s not even old.” I chance a glance back at the Summer Princess, who is licking the juice of a pomegranate off her finger.

“Oh, she received the Blessing when she was very young. Had her fill of it. Besides, it’s the right choice.

We fae live too long to rule for our whole lives.

No one should have this amount of power for such a lengthy time.

” She digs her fingers into my arm. “Fresh ideas! Young minds! The tenacity of youth. That’s what society needs to flourish.

” She looks up at me with a gaze too intense, but her voice becomes pensive.

“For the sake of the Vale, we must pass power to the next generation.”

This is going where I feared. Quickly, I say with a grin, “Good thing you don’t look a day over three hundred.”

Mother doesn’t fall for the compliment. Instead, she shifts in front of me, taking my face in both her hands.

“Sabine saw something in Damocles. We spoke of it at the last Council of the Realms. Isidora, Sabine, Erivor, and I. We four High Rulers have overseen times of turmoil and times of peace. It will only be a matter of time before Isidora passes her rule to her heir. Stagnation is the burden of civilization. For peace and prosperity, we must be growing, learning. It is only right that our reigns pass to those with the will and courage to act. Farron, you are smart and kind and?—”

And out of here, I think, pulling away from my mother. “Must we do this now? Isn’t it enough you’re scheming with Damocles to set me up with his half-feral brother?”

Mother puts her hands on her hips. “Perhaps that’s what you need.

Someone to push you to do the hard things.

Stars know I’ve never been capable of changing your stubborn mind.

Daytonales may take taming, to be sure, but imagine it, Farron.

You, on the throne of Coppershire, a High Ruler with a prince consort of royal Summer blood?—”

Throne. High Ruler. A prince consort. Blood.

It’s too much, it’s all too much. My heart leaps into a gallop, and black creeps along the edges of my vision.

Unable to take a full breath, I stagger backward, smacking into the bust of Aeneas, the first High Prince of Summer.

With horror, I turn to see the bust wobbling back and forth.

Both my mother and I let out cries and lunge for it, but it’s too late.

The bust clatters to the ground, shattering into a thousand pieces of marble.

The music stops. All voices cut off mid-word. The only sound is my raging heartbeat. Slowly, I turn back to the crowd to see every single pair of eyes staring at me.

Oh no. Oh nonononono.

I can’t do this. I can’t be here. I can’t even make it through a party and Mother wants me to be High Prince ?

What would she do in this scenario? Give a speech of apology? What about my father? Make some joke that would defuse the situation?

I have neither the charisma nor the charm. There’s only one option.

Run.

Sprinting out of the ballroom, I careen down the nearest hallway.

I take corner after corner with no mind to where I’m going.

I need to get away from their gazes, my mother’s horrified gasp.

How does she not see what a mess I am? She’s been hinting for the last year that she wants to pass the Blessing, but now she’s full-on telling me that’s the plan. I’m not ready.

I don’t think I ever will be.

How do I get out of this blasted keep? I can’t go through the main doors without crossing the ballroom, and I’ll never show my face there again. I’m sure Mother’s hunting me down right now, and my guest chamber will be the first place she’ll look.

A briny breeze drifts down the hallway, and I catch sight of a curtain blowing in the wind.

An open window. I rush to it. There’s no plan, only the certainty that I can’t be here anymore.

Maybe I can flee to the marketplace and lose myself in the crowds.

Or perhaps make my way back to Autumn. Stars, I’ll swim if I have to.

I brace myself on the windowsill and take a deep breath of sea air.

I don’t want to be a High Prince. And I certainly don’t want to see the gladiator Prince of Summer.

Desperate to escape, I fling myself out of the window…and straight into the muscled chest of someone climbing in.