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The day that I was taken by the Fairies was the twenty-first of June, 1560, which just so happened to be the longest day of that calendar year. It was also known as the Summer Solstice, marking the time of new beginnings, inner power and the sun leading us to better days.

I didn’t know all that back then, though I’ve come to know it since. If I had, it might have made me feel better. But all I had known at the time was that the day I left the mortal realm was beautiful and warm—and only days later, I was close to freezing to death in the bitterest, coldest weather I’d ever known.

Summer had been slow to appear that year, with May dragging its feet, seeming to hold on longer than usual to the cool, wet days of Spring, as if it couldn’t bear to part with them. June finally arrived, and the sky was a blazing blue celebration of clear skies with no clouds in sight. Everywhere there seemed to be flowers, filling the meadows and gardens with glorious splashes of color. I had always loved summer, and it was by far my favorite time of year. That’s one reason why it had been so hard to be spirited far from my home and into an eternal winter of ice and snow and sunless skies.

I had awakened early on that day in June and went down to the kitchen to cajole the cook into making me breakfast. Though I usually preferred something light like fresh berries, sweetened with cream and honey, I had asked that morning for something heartier to fortify me for the long, vigorous day of hunting ahead of me.

Our father had asked me and my brothers to go hunting for wild boar in the forest by his estate. It was an unusual request, but not totally unheard of. I decided on a bowl of steaming porridge to fortify me for the chilly mornings we were still having and asked the cook to add in a splash of cream. I loved cream and always had. Anyway, I hoped the porridge would warm the icy knot of unease inside me, but it did little to help. I gave up after a while and pushed the dish aside, because I found I was far too anxious to eat more than a few bites for some reason.

I told myself it was nothing—maybe a bad dream only half-remembered or a case of indigestion from the night before. Or perhaps it was because I was about to spend the next few hours in the company of my older brothers, none of whom I was close to or even liked very much. And that feeling was mutual. I was the next to the youngest of five sons from an old, distinguished family led by my father, Sir John Honeywood.

My father was a harsh taskmaster, and he had pitted me and my brothers against each other for as long I could remember—destroying any tender feelings we might ever have felt for each other. We were half-brothers from different wives of Sir John. He seemed to enjoy the way his sons all vied to impress him and gain his favor. We still had to interact with each other from time to time, and this was one of those occasions. Our father had demanded it, and so we danced to his tune, as usual.

We all helped out by working in the Tournament games that Sir John loved so much, and there we also competed for his regard, because that regard was in short supply. None of us wanted to give him any reason to take any scraps of it away and use his fists instead. We grew up not feeling any love for each other, but only a sense of rivalry. Our father believed in not spoiling his sons, and his beatings for even minor infractions were frequent and at times harsh. Between the frequent tournaments and my father’s discipline, my brothers and I were usually bruised and bloody or healing from sprained and broken limbs. My father always claimed he had to toughen us up—teach us to be real men—by allowing us to serve him as his squires and footmen.

On that particular morning, I rose to stand by my bedroom window, gazing out, filled with that strange sense of foreboding I couldn’t seem to shake. Was something awful about to happen? Hunting wild boar with our crossbows could be dangerous, to say the least. Their sharp tusks, aggressive natures, and ability to ambush hunters made them difficult to kill.

The sun was just about to come up all the way over the horizon, and the dew was still heavy and sparkling on the neatly trimmed grass. Our family estate had been settled since long before my birth at a large, impressive property called Scolley Hall, in Kent, a county in southeast England not far from the British Sea, the narrow passage between England and France. It was a beautiful old house, if a bit run down, but a large house like Scolley Hall required a great deal of upkeep, and for my father, money was usually in short supply. It was one reason why he hosted the Tournament Games as often as he did and also took part in them to compete for the prizes, which he then sold.

Kent was known for many things. It was the first part of England to be colonized, and one of the seven kingdoms of Anglo-Saxon England, so it had a long and impressive history, and my family had been a part of it almost from the start. The area was known for its large wetlands and its close proximity to the sea. But even more importantly, and probably its biggest claim to fame, was the fact that it bordered on the edge of the Liminal, which was more commonly known as the Realm of the Fae.

A hundred or more years ago, when my ancestors had first come to live here, a deal had been made with the Fae tribes who lived closest to our land. It was an arrangement that allowed our family to live near the border in relative peace and safety, as long as we kept up our end of the bargain and never, ever crossed over the border into Fae lands without their express permission. So far, we had always strictly adhered to that rule. But now my father had directed his sons to go hunting in the woods adjacent to the Liminal, because he said he had a taste for wild boar. He reminded us to be cautious because it was easy to stray over the border, unaware.

The Liminal was frankly an impossible place that shouldn’t have existed but did. It was the home of Fae creatures and somehow existed between the mortal realm and all the others.It was said there were many of them, some very small, and others quite vast. Some were too far away to reach, while others sat almost on top of us. They were the in-between, magical places, transitional and transformative, sometimes there and sometimes not—realms that were somewhere in time and space, though no one could say exactly where, brushing against the borders of our mortal world in only a few special places.

They wouldn’t show up on any mortal maps, but those of us who lived near one of them were well aware of their existence. The Fae realm, nearest us, was a vast, wild and mostly uncharted territory. No one, to my knowledge, had ever mapped it in its entirety, so no one had any real idea of how big it was, or even where the various Fae tribes were located inside it. A few intrepid mortals had tried to explore it or simply travel there, but they had all disappeared without a trace. I had grown up close to two such realms and rarely ever gave them a second thought. One was in the sea and unreachable—lying somewhere in the English Channel’s depths off the coast. But the other bordered our estate and was in the deepest, darkest part of the forest.

Normally, none of the realms were accessible to mortals—except in the time of the Solstices, when “the veil” between the realms was extremely thin. Then, it became easy to slip across and not even know you’d done it. Once inside, however, it was almost impossible to get back out.

Again, I didn’t really know. No one did, because no one who had ever been there had ever come back. They had simply vanished. Everything I knew was from stories and legends.

All types of Fae tribes lived in and around the Liminal’s edges, too, like pixies, leprechauns, ogres, vampires, selkies, goblins, banshees, brownies, dwarves—so many more. The two largest races who inhabited the Liminal realm were the Fairies and the Elves, rumored to be mostly in a wild and frozen land farther to the north.

A few tribes lived farther south. Closer to my father’s estate were the Woodland Fairies, a gorgeous, flighty bunch that were said to be both amorous and magical. They were the same size as the Sidhe, but not so malevolent, though they were still Fairies and thus, couldn’t be trusted.

The Dark Fairy tribes of the Sidhe were much larger and fiercer, but all of them were war-like and easy to anger, and their greatest enemies were the Elves. In fact, the Elves and the Fairies seemed to be in a perpetual state of war.

These Dark Fae preferred places that were scarcely populated, and rumor had it that they came often to our realm, so they could prey on mortals and then melt back across the border with ease.

It was with trepidation that my brothers and I would be hunting so perilously close to the border that day in June, and we needed to be careful not to stray over it without so much as a by-your-leave to any of the Fairies. It wouldn’t have been intentional if we had, but that mattered very little. From what I knew of the Fae, none of them were particularly forgiving.

My brothers and I had ridden out that morning, heading for the deepest part of the forest on our father’s estate, where wild boar and deer were plentiful. It had been a lovely summer day, warm, if a bit overcast. We’d only been there a short time when I happened to spot a boar and began to pursue it. I’ve wondered since if the boar were even real, or if he were a figment of my imagination. I’d chased him at least a half a mile before I had a chance to get off a bolt from my crossbow. I shot it into the huge wild hog, and it took off loudly squealing into the thick underbrush. I’d followed it as best I could, but I was in the oldest part of the forest, still on my father’s land, or so I thought, though the trail wasn’t well marked. It looked as if no one had been through there for a long time, and I remember thinking that was odd, since I’d hunted that area just the week before.

Somehow, I found myself separated from the others, and even though I blew my hunting horn again and again and called for them at the top of my lungs, I received no answer. Suddenly the wild boar I’d been chasing and thought I’d lost came crashing back out through the bushes, heading straight for me.

My startled horse reared and bolted, spilling me off its back and landing me in the middle of a prickly bush. Luckily the beast didn’t pursue the attack, but by the time I’d extricated myself from the bush, my horse had fled the scene. I found myself alone in the deep woods, and to make matters worse, I realized as I got back up to my feet that I had twisted my ankle, and it was painful to walk.

Nevertheless, I struggled back up and started trying to find the trail. I was used to taking rough falls from my mount, having participated from a really young age in the tournament games my father loved, along with my brothers. My father would have scoffed at such a minor injury and taken the flat side of his sword to us or even his fists if we’d ever cried out or made any complaint. I searched around for a few minutes and found a stout, fallen branch from a tree to lean on. I was limping my way back toward where I thought the main trail might be, when I suddenly stepped into a clearing and found myself surrounded by Sidhe Fairies.

I hadn’t been thinking of anything in particular except catching up with that boar that morning, and I hadn’t given so much as one thought to the fact that today was the start of the Midsummer Solstice.

My heart sank when I saw the soldiers, because I remembered how dangerous it was to have anything to do with the Fairies. My mother, who had been called Ashlin, had abandoned Sir John’s house when I was very young—perhaps as young as four or five years old. One day she was there, and the next, she was simply gone, never to be seen again. At least, not by me.

My father never spoke of her afterward. She had left me behind, so he’d told one of the maids to see to my needs and that was that. I had only my memories of her, and thankfully, they were vivid. I still remembered sitting in her lap as she brushed my hair, singing me lullabies and telling me stories about all the Fae creatures surrounding the human world. She seemed to be most frightened of the Dark Fairies and the Elves, and she would shudder when I asked for stories of them. She claimed they were evil, dangerous and warlike.

I had known right away that the men surrounding me were most likely Woodland Fairies from the nearby city of Solaria. They weren’t as dangerous as the Dark Fairies, but close enough. The Solarian tribe lived closest to my family’s estate, and they had been the ones who had attended my father’s tournament a year earlier.

On that day, I had first met Ellien, the Lord of Solaria, it had been a typical day in Kent—in other words, soggy and miserable. Though it was in the month of May—a couple of weeks before the Solstice—it had rained all morning, so the fields were muddy and treacherous for both the horses and the men. My father had told me that Lord Ellien was fascinated by the jousting and the other games, including swordplay, most especially, and he had recently sent word that he would be there at the Tournament that day. It was highly unusual, to say the least, but my father said he was hopeful that Lord Ellien might wish to bet a little of that Fairy gold we had heard so much about, and he was hopeful they might return often.

Since I loved fighting with swords and lances, and since I practiced all the time, and I thought I was particularly good at it, I couldn’t wait to show off to him. Not being a knight, I was only participating in the Games that day as a squire for my father, but my friends and I had mock battles during our down time between bouts, so I made sure we sparred near the viewing stand. I much preferred my friends to my brothers, who would always try to hurt me if they could or even put me out of commission altogether.

My stepmother, who disagreed with my father about us participating in the games as his squires and footmen, was sure that one of us would be killed every time we participated. She was also far too timid and afraid of my father to truly object. She was my father’s fourth wife, and my mother’s successor. My father never had much to do with her, like he never had my own mother. Perhaps he simply wasn’t the kind of man to let sentiment or feelings interfere with his life in any way.

My stepmother was kind and loved us as best she could, but I don’t believe she had the capacity to do much more than to mildly protest against our participation in the games. My father paid her little mind, though she was right to worry. Many knights and their squires and foot soldiers actually were killed each year in the games. Matches were bloody and injuries were common.

Once, during a tournament held near Chalon, things turned deadly when the Duke of Burgundy tried to pull King Edward I off his horse. Considering this to be unchivalrous, Edward had lost his temper and galloped away with the duke still clinging to him and dragging the ground. Foot soldiers and squires on both sides then entered the fight, literally shooting crossbow bolts at one another. The tournament became known as the Little Battle of Chalon, and participants and even spectators had been killed in the fighting.

My father saw no shame in that story, but only glory.

Perhaps my father thought he was toughening up his sons for their inevitable military service later on. Certainly, I’d seen my blood flow often enough and had been unseated from my horse many, many times. Then again, he had six sons, all of us in good health, which was an uncommon thing when I was growing up. Perhaps he thought he had some of us to spare. Those of us who were not my eldest brother, that is.

The rest of us weren’t going to inherit and therefore were literally “spares” who would eventually be obliged to become either a military officer or a clergyman. Though for a man like my father, knightly service to the king was everything.

It was the only profession he would entertain for his sons as a respectable field of endeavor, except maybe—possibly—the church. That was also open to those of us who were born of the gentry, but the church probably never expected nor wanted the kind of heathens we’d been raised to be. So, the clergy was probably not for any of us, and my father, a non-believer far before that kind of thing was acceptable, more than likely wouldn’t have really admired that choice much anyway.

As for me, I wanted to be a soldier for the new young queen Elizabeth. I wanted to be a knight, and I had been practicing since I was a small child. I had often played with wooden swords and lances against my brothers and my friends. They were a way for us as would-be knights to learn and to show off our fighting skills, and display our chivalrous qualities, though at that early age, there was far more savagery than chivalry, I’m afraid.

Lord Ellien had indeed noticed me as we practiced near him, waiting for the jousting to start. We were only using old, cast-off swords, but the Fairy lord stayed to watch us and seemed to greatly admire my skills. He paid a great deal of attention to me anyway. He later told my father he admired my ability with a sword. My father even asked me over to the viewing stands so I could meet the Fairy lord. He had been most cordial and had given me a token of his favor, a beautiful, silken scarf that he took from around his own neck and tied around mine. I’d been thrilled and flattered.

These Fairy soldiers weren’t exactly hostile now as they stood ringed around me in the forest, but they were quite obviously suspicious and unwelcoming. They didn’t say much as they bound my hands behind my back to take me before their lord. I decided it would be in my best interests to do the same.

Seeing as how the Fairy lord had seemed to be so impressed with my tournament skills, I was hopeful that when his soldiers brought me before him that he would remember meeting me at the tournament my father had sponsored the year before.

And he had—he was gracious and understanding and even offered to send word to my family as to my welfare. He brought in one of his physicians to treat my twisted ankle and asked me to stay and have luncheon with him. He wouldn’t take no for an answer.

It was said that if a mortal should ever eat or drink anything in the Liminal, they would never be satisfied by any other mortal food ever again because the food was too delicious. The mortal would then wither away and die. However, my father had said that if the food was freely offered and freely accepted, and it was made clear that the offer of food didn’t lead to any obligation on the part of the mortal, then it was relatively safe to eat—or more than likely anyway.

I decided to risk it, because I was so hungry by that time, and I’d missed my own midday meal altogether. I’d accepted Ellien’s invitation and followed him to his dining room. And indeed, the food was the best and most delicious I’d ever eaten by far. The roast venison was perfectly cooked and tender. The bread was light as the air and slathered with pale, creamy butter. There were all kinds of delicious roasted vegetables grown in the Fairy lord’s own gardens, and golden-brown pies that were filled with goblin fruit, universally acknowledged as the best in the entire world. It was supposed to be so good that it ruined you from ever eating any other fruit. That seemed to be a theme with their food, actually.

I tried to eat sparingly, just in case, but it was no use. I still devoured a huge slice of blueberry pie and had to stop myself from asking for more. All of the meal was washed down by strawberry wine, again made from goblin fruit, and I drank way too much. Enough to be feel a little drunk and dizzy that evening when I finally pushed away from the table and sat down by the fire to have the final glass of port that Lord Ellien insisted on.

It was then that Ellien told me he thought it would be best for me to stay the night in Solaria, because it was too dark to find my way home that night. He said he’d provide someone to show me the way in the morning. He told me he was so glad he’d met me again, because he’d been most impressed by my skills the time he’d seen me fighting with my friends. He flattered me and cajoled me into not worrying about a thing, and he assured me I could go home soon—very soon.

Lord Ellien gave me a bedchamber in the palace to sleep in, and it was more luxurious than any I had ever slept in before. I fell asleep on the soft feather mattress, thinking I’d go home that next morning and telling myself not to worry. When I woke up, it was three days later, and I was feeling ill. Lord Ellien sent his physician to see me again, and he said I needed to rest another day before trying to make the trip back home. Ellien told me he had sent word to my family, and that no one was worried. He’d send me home just as soon as he could free up a few men to take me. But I saw soldiers lounging around the city gate every day. And every time I brought that up to Ellien, he assured me I was mistaken, and they had plenty of important tasks to do there in Solaria. He told me not to worry. He seemed to say that a lot.

And though I enjoyed staying in the palace, I had to admit that I was feeling uneasy—a few days had passed since my ill-fated hunting trip, and I was still there in Solaria, mostly confined to my room.

Lord Ellien was cordial to me—sometimes even seemed to be on the verge of confiding in me—but he maintained a distance between us. And I only saw him at dinner each night.

The Fairy lord had, however, lavished me with clothing, jewelry and anything else my heart could ever desire. I truly couldn’t have wished for more, except perhaps for companionship—I suppose I could have wished for that. I felt very much alone, and I had a feeling like we were all waiting for someone or something—though I couldn’t have said what that was.

And then on the fifth day since I’d come to Solaria, Ellien told me the prince of the Dark Fairies was coming for a visit in the morning. He seemed almost sad about it, which I didn’t understand. When I questioned him, he only shook his head and said, “You’re a nice boy for a mortal, Killian. Much more polite and well-mannered than I’d expected.”

Well, what the hell did that mean? He’d refused to say more.

Did this Dark Fairy prince dislike mortals? Would he disapprove of my being here? I tried to tell myself I probably wouldn’t even meet the prince at all. And there was absolutely no reason for me to feel nervous. That sense of foreboding that I remembered having just before my hunting mishap had probably just been my imagination. Surely it had been. And I was no doubt worried for nothing—for no good reason at all.