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ten

Feral Dreams

E xcluding her ill-fated presence at the court banquet, Heather’s days were rather uneventful. The royal heirs would visit and dole out commands on occasion, but most of her time was consumed aimlessly wandering her miniature home.

She wasted chimes wrestling with troublesome thoughts. Would the faerie wood be cut down? Would the rest of her life be spent as this size, with no one to talk to? This existence was void of music and stories that had once sustained her heart.

The snug library was a cozy reading room, but without actual tomes…

it was practically useless. The way she was feeling these days.

As with all the rooms in the keep, the library proved a work of art.

Three arched windows made up the exterior wall and gilded bookcases with faux books were nestled against the opposite one.

A mantled marble fireplace took precedence on the center partition, its hearth dark.

Someone had taken great care to scale, and needle point a tapestry featuring the faerie tree and hung it above the mantle.

The floor resembled cobblestone with multiple rugs strung across it, warming the space. Sinking further into the plush upholstered reading chair, she gazed up at the library rafters. It was painted to reflect a night sky full of stars.

Agitated and restless, she tapped her foot. It was too early in the evening to attempt sleep. And she had already walked miles, circling the halls.

She left the chamber behind, went to her room, and scurried over to the armoire.

From the princess’s remarks, Heather understood the doll garments were sewn from scraps of the girl’s previous season’s gowns.

For miniatures, they were constructed from lavish materials.

Tedious details in embroidery had the dresses rivaling frocks donned by the princess herself.

Heather had four to choose from. Feeling bold, she selected a ball gown and slipped behind the changing screen.

It was a gorgeous shade of pale rose with chocolate trimmings.

It had an off the shoulder neckline, the most daring she had ever worn, with more than a hint of cleavage.

The bodice was embellished with lustrous cocoa glass beads, corseted and pointed down sharply into a ‘v’ at the waist where it met a full skirt.

She adored the sleeves, they were a deeper hue of pink velvet, which billowed below her shoulders, with brown rouching under each. They were fitted to her arm at the elbow but flared again at her wrists.

The skirts were two layers. The bottom coordinated with the bodice in pale rose and was decorated with the same cocoa beading in a crisscross pattern. The outer skirt complemented the sleeves and split at her hips on either side so that the inner layer shown through.

She rushed out from behind the screen, in a most unladylike manner, to see herself in the full-length mirror.

Viewing oneself in reflective glass was rare, something she had never done prior to her seclusion in the miniature castle.

Only royals were known to own them. She had to admit, the dress’s shading was lovely with her dark hair.

She twisted left then right and twirled to view the complete effect of the voluptuous skirt and petticoats flaring out around her.

Flashes of her ankles and calves showed in the reflection.

She sat on the settee, slipping on the silk stockings and dancing shoes from the king. She faced the mirror again and spun. There! Her scandalous bare legs and feet were sufficiently covered when her gown lifted. Considering her appearance, she tapped her chin, deep in thought.

“The crown!” Retrieving the tiara from the bottom of the wardrobe, she placed it upon her head, but it wobbled on top of her ribbon. Biting her lip, she considered her options.

Her life, more than ever, was at the whim of the royals.

They could storm in, oust her from the castle and she would never regain her prized memento.

The princess had already attempted to snatch it from Heather’s hair.

Sighing, she untied the ribbon and decided it was best to keep in on her person.

Tying it about her middle, she slid the bow around her waist so that it was now at her back.

Making a lovely sash. She twirled once more in front of the looking glass.

“All set for the ball!” she exclaimed. She practically flew down the steps, and outside the doll castle to the chessboard.

She wanted to dance, but not for His Majesty, the princess, or his visitors. Simply for her, and her enjoyment of the movement. She shuffled one of the chess pieces to the center of her dance floor.

Her imagination struck again. A painting of herself formed in her mind’s eye, showing her stooped and gray, of an advanced age, dancing with a solitary chess piece if His Majesty failed at obtaining an antidote.

The future looked bleak- Mae would pass into the Summerlunds.

Jessa would leave the king’s service, marry and possibly bear children.

And Heather would miss all of it, stuck here in this castle, alone.

But she refused to fall prey to her negative thoughts.

She cut them off before they could take root and set her stomach to a roil.

“Would I care to dance?” She curtsied elegantly to the chess piece and pretended to offer her hand to the carved knight.

“I’d love to, kind Sir.” She made her own music by humming the ballad of the faerie tree.

The song filled her with memories of her mother.

And Jessa, who Heather may as well have lost, thanks to the king sequestering her here in his library.

She spun circles around the chess piece, her dress flaring wide.

“What, this old thing?” She gestured to the wish ribbon tied at her waist. Her dark brown tresses whipped about her at every pirouette. “I simply adore this song. Have you ever seen a faerie tree?”

Heather twirled, and low kicked across the dance floor.

Causing her expansive skirt to flounce and swoosh.

The silky material flowed as a summer breeze gently at her ankles.

Spinning, she released her pent-up emotions through her movements and the melody in her head.

She imagined the music rising and falling like a wave on the tide, with slow melodies and loud dramatic crescendos.

She mocked a gasp and clasped her chest, “Good Sir, your actions are appalling! How dare you kiss my hand? Such a flirt,” she slapped the knight playfully on his chest plate, laughing at herself. If Ulcer could behold her foolishness now, pretending to be a lady.

“How dare he,” a deep masculine voice rumbled sardonically.

Heather froze in place and gasped for real this time.

She wasn’t alone! She knew her cheeks had to be flaming.

Heather took cover behind the chess piece but poked her head around to see who the voice belonged, curiosity overpowering her embarrassment.

Her rash movement wobbled the tiara, and she raised her hand to steady it.

She blinked, wide eyed, wondering if what she saw resulted from her imagination or prolonged loneliness.

Before her stood the most handsome man she had ever beheld.

But he wasn’t a man… he had wings. Large luminous mint green, white, and gray wings protruded from his back.

They were transparent, and at first glance, they appeared delicate.

But the longer her eyes feasted on him, she knew it was the wrong word to describe them.

The truth was in the way he held himself.

He was lithe, alert and toned, his chest was broad, and his shoulders were strong.

His form tapered to a lean torso and narrow hips.

He stood with a wide stance, his feet firmly planted.

He was a good head and a half taller than she, forcing her to peer up at him. This male was anything but delicate.

His wings were glowing from some mysterious, enchanting inner light. He had the most shockingly silvery white mane of hair, with darker roots. It was cut short, but the front was slightly longer and fell towards his eyes. Was he faerie? She remained partially hidden behind the chess piece.

“He’s no gentle folk!” He added to her ruse.

“What a churl!” He snarled, stepping closer.

He gestured to the rapier and dagger hanging from his hip, his movements full of confidence.

“Do ye want me to duel him on your behalf?” His mouth quirked in a wide grin, flashing elongated, pointed eye teeth.

Teeth of a predator. She had sufficient knowledge of the natural world to realize the prettiest vegetation could be deadly.

He took another stride towards her as she hesitantly stepped out from behind the ivory knight.

She was lonely enough to take a chance on him, predator or no.

She had to crane her neck to look him in the eye, but at last their gazes met.

His matched the pale green of his wings, they were a striking contrast to his well-fitted obsidian velvet long jerkin and hose.

He had ornate vambraces on his forearms, an antiqued silver metal work resembling clinging vines.

Added proof that he was far from delicate.

He appeared poised to challenge a calvary.

“Would ye honor me with a dance, Princess?”

Princess? Why would he address her so? Then she recalled the tiara on her head, and the miniature castle at her back.

“Princesses don’t dance with faeries they haven’t been introduced to,” she stated shyly and clasped her hands behind her.

They step circled each other, their eyes roving.

She couldn’t help but notice their differences.

Besides the wings and elongated canines, he had slightly pointed ears.

Her gray gaze locked with his leaf green irises in admiration. Kindness shown in their depths.